Remember yesterday's warm-and-fuzzy story about how charming life in the minor leagues is, even when it sucks? Forget it. I freakin' hate Visalia.
Tonight, I broadcasted a game in the rain. In the fucking rain. You've got to be fucking shitting me. I'm trying to avoid cursing in the blog, but I don't think you can truly comprehend what I was thinking unless I swear this time. All I could think the entire game was, "you've got to be shitting me. This is not happening. You've got to be shitting me."
It didn't rain hard enough to stop the game, but it rained pretty much non-stop the final five innings. Remember, I'm outdoors. No roof. What did I do? Put a towel over the equipment. Kept my scorebook under the table. Used no notes or any reference books. Just sat in the rain, got drenched, and broadcasted a game.
You've got to be shitting me.
It will be funny one day in the future. I guess it's funny now. I hope this is worth it. I hate Visalia. I love my job. Most of the time.
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