Great Moments in Narcolepsy

Tonight was the night the SABR whack jobs walked their pasty white legs over to Progressive Field for the Reds-Indians game. Baseball is fun, and most of us were excited to go. But not everyone:

No one in our section was exactly sure who that guy is or whether he is with the SABR group. He did wake up eventually -- missed a pretty cool Grady Sizemore catch -- but even then he didn't seem too focused.

Not that I can criticize him too harshly, seeing as though I, along with The Daily Fungo's Mike McClary (who has turned out to be my SABR compadre numero uno) left the game early. It made sense: Sabathia was dealing, the Reds looked like utter crap, it was as humid as Satan's crotch, and some threatening clouds loomed in the western sky. We walked back to the hotel, ordered a couple of beers in the bar, and watched the game on TV, having missed nothing of consequence. By the time we were done with our beers it was apparent that no Red was going to lay a glove on Sabathia all night.

McClary snapped the picture, by the way, and can expect to be paid the standard ShysterBall photo residual within 4-6 weeks. That's my arm and beer in the foreground.