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Fuck, it's hot - Jason Lindquist
Idle ramblings of an idle mind
Fuck, it's hot
82 degrees at 9pm last night.

I have pictures and a writeup coming for Comic Con. Hopefully.

It was so blasted hot in San Marcos today (and abnormally humid)... one of the softball players at Palomar got bussed to the hospital for heatstroke. Matt tells me the first time that happens to you, it damages your body's ability to regulate its temperature for the rest of your life. (Ow.) Their coach had them doing relays. That was Very Dumb.

Our day was shorter than usual, they let us go about 2. Warmup, about 20 minutes of defensive drills, 20 minutes hitting in the cages, then about another 20 minutes of situational defense. By which time I could wring the sweat out of my T-shirt.

I forgot to set my alarm Saturday night. Woke up at 9am Sunday for a 9:30 game at Helix. I called Nate, thought about skipping it entirely to deal with stuff around the house, but Nate talked me out of it... we were playing the last-place team. By the time I got there, Scott had just hit the team's fourth home run of the day. I went 1-for-2. Strike three on my first at-bat was nearly a foot outside. I watched the ball go by. I watched the catcher reach out to catch it. I watched me get rung up. What an ass. Fuck 10-run leads, I understand opening up a zone, but not that much. The next at-bat was a routine single over the first baseman's head to score the run that put us over the slaughter rule threshold. Blair had walked ahead of me and stolen second on the first pitch. I'd bitch about that being classless, except I wouldn't have gotten an RBI off my hit if he'd only been on first. So I guess it was a good thing I didn't stay home...
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