If you asked anyone who knows me to sum up my personality, they’d probably begin by detailing my abhor for emotions. Cold-hearted. Callous. Rational to a fault. Devoid of feelings and really damn proud of it.
This mostly comes through in my conversations about sports. I wave off such girly notions as superstition and chemistry. I laugh in the face of people who point to these “factors” as indicators of success. (I should also mention that I’m an asshole. My friends would mention this, too.)
And yet…there are times when this iron-clad facade cracks just a little. It’s rare, but it happens.
Tonight was one of those nights. I flipped on ESPN to witness Dontrelle Willis, revered as one of baseball’s “good guys” and trying to regain his former dominance, had what has to be the worst performance of his career. 1-1/3 innings pitched, 8 runs, 5 walks. Of his 64 pitches, 37 were balls. 37 balls to get 4 outs. Most weren’t even close. It was a positively Ankielesque performance, and watching this dude stand up on the mound and fire ball after ball, his humiliated emotions showing on his face, and hearing the restless crowd start booing him, and having Leyland finally come out to mercifully remove him from the game, I honestly thought Dontrelle was going to cry. And holy fuck, did I feel sorry for him.
Look. I know how lame this is. I know exactly how lame; I routinely tease idiots like me who admit to having these “human feelings” or whatever you call them. It’s not business, it’s personal. Add the fact that I don’t even like the Tigers or know much about Dontrelle at all, and the conclusion is painfully clear: I’m going soft.
This is a temporary problem, I assure you. I’ll get right, and soon.