Mommas Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Sports Writers
When you do stand-up comedy you’re supposed to start with your second best stuff and finish with your finest stuff. That eliminates anything to do with my boobs. My husband says that eliminates any chance I have of doing stand-up. Thanks, honey. So the challenge is how to start this blog with something almost as funny as how I’ll end it based on a premise that’s pertinent to baseball. That narrows it down to my nose. The problem is it’s hard to show you via Bleacher Report that my honker takes the shape of a Phillies “P” when I’m cleaning it out with a Kleenex. Like my husband says, “I’ll make sure they carve Almost funny on your tombstone.” Let’s face it, most bloggers could give this up at any time. So what is it that drives us to attempt to capture the attention of those who peruse Bleacher Report? You could ask one of the Bob’s: Warja or Cunningham—they’re the heavy hitters. I’m about a buck soaking wet. I couldn’t keep up with them with a subscription to Elias Spor