1-3, 158 games to go

I don't really want to talk about the Braves. I'm sure bonitis (ed.) will come here later and go on a long diatribe about how Royce Ring's groundball to flyout ratio is at least three points from his regressive mean or how Chipper Jones's Isolated Patience is sure to increase by at least a factor of two any time now. Or something to make it not sound as bad as it is.

Here's the thing: it's not bad. At all. It's four games into a very, very long season. I was shocked to turn on ESPN today to see them talking about what's wrong with the Tigers? Um, the lost three games in a row? And you know what? They're probably going to do it again. It's the first week of the season, teams are still adjusting their rosters, still getting used to not drinking beer in the middle of the afternoon, and still adjusting to steroid withdrawal. Baseball is such a sport of aberration -- an unlucky bounce here, a low pitch there, or a Manny Acosta sighting and a sure thing becomes a loss. That's the point of a one run game -- they're so frustrating that you begin to second guess everything. And when we finally come back and win a few of them (which, I promise, will happen), we'll talk about the lucky breaks instead of the unlucky ones.

Of course I'm unhappy we lose a series to the Pirates of all teams, a team that is right up there with the Orioles in what appears to be a collective effort to suck really bad. And an opening loss to Washington hurts, too. But, it's such a long season. The only thing we can be sure of is that Mike Hampton is never, EVER going to pitch. That's it. By tomorrow, this will all be yesterday's news... until the Mets come to town. The beauty of baseball is that there is an opportunity for redemption almost every night -- and the problem of baseball is that is an opportunity for a soul-crushing defeat almost every night. Hopefully we'll inflate to the mean.

Oh, and I had a Zalad for the first time the other day. Quite delicious. The right mix of greens, carrots, and chicken tenders. Of course, with the fried chicken strips and fatty dressing, I'm not sure how healthy it was, but that's a salad for you -- tries to pass itself off for something good, but inevitability corrupted in the end. A life metaphor? No.