We are in the midst of the driest five days in American sports, a spell so dull that that some willingly subject themselves to the drone of Chris Berman and thwack after thwack of ceaseless dingers until they flip from jaded to outright spiteful of one of man's most impressive physical feats.
The Home Run Derby is in close running with the Pro Bowl as the most insipid event in sports. The Pro Bowl is worse, actually, but the fact stands that the grown man who still enjoys the Home Run Derby is lost, indeed. He is a man who doesn't care for a pleasure unexpected or a pleasure deferred. As such, can it be said that he is capable of truly knowing anything of love if he is unable to face or weather the specter of boredom, the context boredom provides and the euphoria that is The Right Moment?
No, he wants dingers. He must have them, and he is insatiable.
Behold now, a perfect moment:
Here me: If you are to spend your evening watching a sportsman do the same thing over and over again, let it be this moment when Peyton Manning scolded Donald Brown, mid-play, like a father to his earnest but hapless son. It was a beautiful sports moment, because it was unique, spontaneous, and beautifully illustrated both players. It rewarded the patience of those with enough care in their heart to continue watching a 17-3 game with the Colts in scoring position and, most importantly, it was f'ing hilarious.
That three-year-old clip was the best and most important thing to pop up in my sports world this weekend (thank you Smart Football), and holy geez if that isn't proof of how awful the offseason is.