Keith Law is like Raymond Carver: low on the horizon. He strikes with few words, but those few words are the entire dictionary. He knows exactly who is going to be five-tool savvy, who's going to crumble like crumbs under sneakers. He knew Nick Markakis was going to be king before anyone else knew how many k's were in his last name.
So, if you care at all about baseball's future, this link is necessary. Like water or a nice down comforter.
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Today has been great so far. Those days don't happen often. There are new wheels from a Porsche 928 sitting my Golf that're for the Jetta. There are Volkswagen parts ready to become something large, black and powerful this weekend. Plus, the weather is fantastic. I didn't wear a jacket to work. Hopefully I won't need one tonight, because it's buried beneath the wheels in my Jetta.
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I have the Australian Open on for background noise. What I like about tennis is that fans always scream, it never stops. A rally could go on for three minutes straight, and they're going to freak the hell out as soon as somebody scores a point. The commentators are always so calm and suave. They know exactly what needs to be said. It reminds me of when I had my kidney stone removed and while they were giving me the anesthetic, there was a nurse who was humming a Cowboy Junkies' song. That was the last thing I remembered before I woke up and had a stint string hanging out of my penis.
One thing I can assure you is that Im glad I haven't had a kidney stone since then. My doctor told me after you get one, it's much more likely that you can develop another one. I wanted to get rid of both my kidneys when he said that.
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Accents are sexy. Always sexy. On women, at least.
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I'm gonna go Mick Foley on your ass.
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