Anyway, as I have been going through my things, packing up what needs to be packed, pitching what needs to be pitched, I came across a couple of items that amused me. Or saddened me, like this scrap I wrote in a notebook. It was written October 2, 1999, yet the desperate tone sounds awfully familiar:
I sit impatiently waiting for the Reds to begin the final game of the regular season. Already today the Astros won the division title and the Mets have forced a one-game playoff pending a Cincinnati win today (or tomorrow, depending on the weather). It is depressing to think that it was a mere two days ago that Cincy was tied for first and two games ahead of the Mets. Now that I have my playoff tickets, they stand to lose all. But it rains in Milwalkee, and three hours have passed since the game's scheduled start, three hours which could have fit an entire game inside. I stand depressed, and the gray glow of an early October twilight laughs at me as I wait to see if my tickets will be of use.Oh, the heartbreak that I feel in reading that is as painful as the day the Mets defeated my beloved Reds and I had to return my playoff tickets. I had totally blocked that from my mind. The tickets had been in my hand. They said the words "Cincinnati Reds" and "Division Championship Series" on them.
Once upon a time...
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