You live in constant denial that Peter Pan is really your first cousin and that sitting in an office all day with a bunch of other losers like you discussing the pros and cons of the designated hitter is a perfectly reasonable way to make a living. It probably isn't. Lawyers don't spend their evenings settling bar bets about long forgotten sports legends, and brokers aren't asked the halftime score of the Harvard-Yale game, six weeks after it happened. The trade-off is they aren't afforded the opportunity to write a story about how many games they think the University of Hawaii football team will win this season or spend an afternoon with Cal Lee wondering if St. Louis School will ever lose another Prep Bowl. For some reason they pay you for this ridiculous job.
Nobody's sure why.
A Space Odyssey. You shake your fist at these pretty boys on network TV and SportsCenter for their transparent attempts of wanting to be liked by Mike. NOW everybody's doing it from Portland, Ore., to Portland, Maine. It's as if inserting the word me into the sentence gives it instant credibility. Oui, oui .