Lots of compromises here. My original plan featured 6 months of autumn and 1 month of spring – I can’t possibly imagine an argument where autumn is not a favorite time of year. Spring exists strictly as a transitionary device. And summer is a dire warning, a reminder that we are primarily water and that evaporation could take it all away. Summer evenings are pretty nice, I admit.

Spring
March – April

Summer
May – July

Autumn
August – November

Winter
December – February

Baseball has spoiled our air at 1 News Plaza like a milk carton swollen with semi-solid horror. With that gift comes the death of all banal conversation.

No more talk of office air conditioning hell bent on cryogenically preserving us. No more talk of pizza crusts. And no more natural talk of Shackleton’s great expeditions (I had to force this conversation just today!) Suck all of that chatter away and replace it with bird shit.

Our 160-mile proximity to the Lou imparts a certain tug-of-war on poor Peoria. Look closely enough and you’ll discover gerrymandering rivaling the best in politics, with adjacent neighbors waving battle flags for the Cardinals or Cubs. Genetics seem to play some sort of role in the mess, but I’m not about to bring science into this squabble.

Your author was just trying to do his job that’s not his job (maintenance/IT support/counselor) when disaster struck. I’ve wasted so much time getting to the point of this damn piece, so here’s a quick outline for your busy schedule:

• See rat’s nest of power and coax cable
• Decide that it can be cleaned up with a simple power strip
• Unplug wall warts and hear BZZZZZAAAP sound from TV
• Realize that I’m a marked man – 2 hours until Cardinals/Dodgers NLCS game
• Panic by reassembling rat’s nest (with extra cord kinks)
• Flee when stupid box remains in TV heaven

In other words, it’s the closest I’ve come to feeling like a wanted criminal.

Thankfully, you’ve read this far and will be hearing a tale of heroism so great that you’ll call the kids into the room (even those you haven’t fathered or borne yet!) I marched (slunk) back into the lion’s den (sports department), grabbed the nearest sword (remote control) and menaced (button-pressed) it toward the offending devices (cable TV box, wires, television) and conjured it all back to life (you can watch TBS again.)

Editor’s note: Baseball can still be a lovely thing to watch, enjoy and – we presume – to play. Just leave the teams out of it. And please call it entertainment.

Additional editor’s note: Adam loves baseball.