Upon Further Review

Toggling between the butt-numbing bleachers and standing against a fence, I watched Justin Verlander give up one hit and lose to Clarke County. I watched Jake Peeling wrap his dad in a hug after pitching a no-hitter. Todd Phillips' shot left me, literally, slack-jawed for three minutes and Mary Williams knocking down forwards to make saves will always be filed under "phenomenal."

If you're starting a comedy tour, please take Jeremy Heizer and Jacob Hutchinson in your troupe. Thankfully, I've never been on the business end of a Cynthia Atkins' kill or a Devon Brown charge. Never wanted to try to stop Pickle Nuckols either. Why hasn't anybody said, "To blazes with solar energy, put Kerby Hatter on a basketball court (or volleyball court, whichever) and figure out how to harness that" yet?

Other than that stuff, I convinced a local gal to marry me and we relax on the porch and watch our bird feeders. Despite the fact that I know its brain is the size of a fingernail clipping, you'll never convince me that a ruby-throated hummingbird couldn't schedule basketball games better than the Southern Valley District did its first year of existence.

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