saturday night, as i was trying to eradicate all thoughts of work from my brain, i turned on pbs and started to watch a player to be named later, a documentary from 4 years or so ago that profiles 4 players on the brewers' triple-a affiliate team (the indianapolis indians, not to be confused with the major league cleveland indians). one of the coolest parts of the documentary was that they profiled marco scutaro, now the back-up shortstop for the a's. only they called him scu-TA-ro then and now he seems to go by the americanized scu-ta-ro. or mar-co. scu-ta-ro. like when you played marco polo in the the pool with 13 other kids. and then you got tagged. and you went around for hours while all the kids had secretly gotten out of the pool, toweled off, and started to eat chips and dip underneath the umbrella-d table.
so the documentary was interesting and all, until they profiled the "cookie lady." she looked 70, and all she lived for was baking cookies for the players. if she was a hot septuagenarian, that'd be ok, but she closely resembled mimi from the drew carey show only 30-some odd years older. and wackier. which got me thinking. do i want to continue baking cookies for the bullpen? what if i end up like this crazy old broad, with blue eyeshadow, major pink lipstick going outside the lines, and blush streaking from here to boston? sure, i won't be profiled on some minor league made-for-tv movie, but there's more to life than baking cookies for some world-class relief pitchers. who cares if their tummies are happy? what matters is how they pitch. and cookies most likely don't affect that. but i'm sure other things do. so perhaps i should become the brownie babe. or even better, the lasagna lady. yeah, that has a nice ring to it.
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