The 2020 MLB “season” is unraveling before our eyes, like Peppermint Patty jumping up to block a Charlie Brown kick after he somehow got a toe on the ball before Lucy pulled it away.
That didn’t take long, did it?
With basketball beginning tomorrow and hockey on the horizon, one hopes we can keep all three going for the most awesome August of all time. It may be a pipe dream, but isn’t it pretty to think so?
Me: Hey, Google—what time is the Nationals’ game?
Google Home: The Nationals will play the Toronto Blue Jays at 6:05 tonight.
Me: I know. I just like hearing it.
“Washington Football Team.”
Couldn’t get the rights to a real nickname?
Actually, no, the name is brilliant. Seriously. Burgundy and gold star to whoever came up with that one. Outstanding.
It’s almost here.
Our foot is an inch from the ball and Lucy is still holding it.
One… more… day.
Gotta hand it to the folks at Hulu. The world gives their business a gift (let’s face it–Covid basically required everyone to order some kind of streaming service), and rather than rest on that fact have absolutely brought it while we’re all chained to our TVs. Not content (get it? con-tent?) to offer mere Netflix scraps, they’ve put forth overlooked gems. Yes, yes, I made a fuss over Brockmire, but for every Brockmire there are 10 things actually worth your investment.
Case in point: Palm Springs. It’s close enough to “original content” to call it that I suppose. Produced in the pre-Covid era (remember those days?), Palm Springs premiered at Sundance in January of this year. When it became clear a big theatre release wasn’t going to happen Hulu snatched it up. For something like $20 million. According to its own internals, Hulu claims the film set an opening weekend record by “netting more hours watched over its first three days than any other film” in the platform’s history. That’s a solid investment.
The movie? Just watch it. Better to go in fresh. Yes, I thought it’d be a cheap ripoff of Groundhog Day (and as a child of the ’90s that it sacrilege). It is not. Trust me. Just watch it.
Seriously, what else are you doing these days?
From the I’ll-take-anything-but-a-Covid-story series, there is this…
If you live ’round these parts (that would be the Washington, D.C., metro area) you have no doubt felt a crush of very hot weather recently, and someone telling you we were closing in on a record for most consecutive days over 90 degrees in the nation’s capital. As a matter of fact, as of Wednesday that number stood at 20, one shy of a record set in 1980 and tied in 1988. (Both great years for Republicans and the L.A. Lakers, by the way.)
We all had our hopes up…
And then one day, yesterday, it didn’t hit 90 degrees and we were all very, very sad and confused. Still kinda hot though because it was like 87 or 88 most of the day.
Hope you enjoyed yesterday’s cool respite. Forecasted highs the next seven days… 94, 97, 100, 100, 99, 98, 94.
And we’ll be like, remember that day when it wasn’t 90 degrees? Weird.
If you live ’round these parts (that would be the Washington, D.C., metro area) you know one thing for certain: we talk about football regardless of season, regardless of pandemics, and regardless of whether or not anyone will ever actually be allowed to play football again.
Case in point, news this week, my local NFL team will (soon, I guess) change its nickname. This move has been decades in the making, but apparently it’s real this time.
I’ve noted before that I think most people, in D.C. and out, are way more offended by the word “Washington” than by the word “Redskins.” Washington? Ew! Nobody likes Washington. Think about changing that one too.
Oh, no, nothing actually. I just wanted to post that title somewhere with a time stamp.
That’s how we’ll refer to this era some day. Totally thought of it first.
It was 35 years ago this week (July 11, 1985 to be exact) a great national nightmare ended. The Coca-Cola company ended the brutal “New Coke” era with a return of the newly-branded Coca-Cola Classic.
Can someone now please bring back Pre-Covid-life classic?
Remember that scene in The Jerk, with Steve Martin running through the street proclaiming “the new phonebooks are here!”?
Yeah, that was me over the weekend.
Sports are getting real again.