The pain is always there in the morning, regardless if I fall asleep alone in a drunken haze, pass out watching a movie I would never admit to watching or with someone else in the bed.

The next morning, the memories of that pitch may be fading but the results are permenant. There’s at least a couple of articles that may or may not focus on the pitch but still felt the need to include a paragraph about it.

That’s nothing compared to the paragraphs upon paragraphs being written in the corners of my mind. Imagine a room full of monkeys slaving away in front of typewriters.

But while the hope is one of them will produce a perfect sonnet, they certainly won’t make the mistake I made yesterday. The monkey would have shook off the call or stepped off the mound or something.

Point is, they wouldn’t have thrown the pitch because, well they’re monkeys and can’t really throw a baseball.

I mean, I’m sure they could but seeing how they’re not as tall as a human, they likely wouldn’t be able to get enough velocity on it to get anyone out.

But if you stood a Great Dane on his hind legs, it might be able to generate some speed and impress on the mound. It couldn’t be any worse than my performance.