I didn’t plan to be up this morning writing a blog. A car wouldn’t start across the field, so I got up at 5:30 to give my sister a ride to work. When I got back home, I realized trying to go back to sleep was futile, so I went the other way and put some coffee on. It’s raining. It’s already rained a lot. Another day in paradise beckons.
Maybe it’s the shortfall in sleep, but life seems humdrum this morning.
So I’m supposed to write a humdrum blog? Hell, no! I’ve got to come up with something. Anything! It’s a habit. Maybe an addiction.
Is Tiger Woods going to win another major golf tournament? Maybe one. Dan Jenkins once said Woods would become the greatest unless he came down with a bad back or a bad marriage, and damned if he didn’t wind up with both. I’m neither as wise nor as witty as Jenkins, but when Woods was dominating golf as a young man, I used to watch him take those ungodly rips and think, man, his body will never withstand it. Most golfers are smooth. Woods used to look like Ted Williams swinging a bat. Slaid Cleaves wrote a song: “Brokedown.” His was a prodigious gift that ultimately he could not harness. It’s not a new story.
The Los Angeles Lakers lost by 48 points last night. My medication must be off. Either that or my Twitter account. There is no March Fools Day. Who beat them? Oh. The Clippers. Who else? A lot changed while Rip Van Winkle was asleep. Aren’t Kobe steaks named after Kobe Bryant?
Sorry. It’s all I’ve got. I will be here all weekend, though.