Life is full of interruptions and complications; little hiccups in my day that remind me that I don’t have control. I may be sitting in the driver’s seat, but it turns out I’m driving a bumper car. Those things are so freaking hard to control in the first place, let alone when the little pre-pubescent, freckle-faced germ monkey keeps blind-siding you.

Speaking of being blind-sided, the new Pedigree Adoption Drive commercial with all of the dogs behind cages and fences gets me all emotional every time I see it. It’s like they made it just to remind me that I have a weakness. I keep rationalizing myself out actually going through with adopting a dog (all while EB talks about adopting children…). The top excuses usually center around the cost to care for a dog, the lack of time to spend with it, the burden on my roommate, and of course the ethics behind housing a dog in an apartment in a city.

But look at those faces… 25 pages of adoptable dogs in Chicago with dogs ranging in age, size, and personality. If you could see my face right now… ARGHHHHH! I think I want this one (his name is Bubba):

But back to life… I think it is the times when I’ve deluded myself to believe I finally found that magical wheel position that allows me to reclaim control of my bumper car that leaves me in the most vulnerable positions. It doesn’t feel natural admitting any vulnerability. As a society we are raised to do whatever we can as males to mask vulnerability. It’s a weakness and a chip in the false masculinity that we somehow buy into from an incredibly young age. I wish I could say that eventually we can reach some enlightened stage where false masculinity is somehow chipped away completely, but I’m afraid that’s not something even I can do (and my only weakness involves dogs).

Of course, not all of these vulnerabilities and blind-sided shots are negative. Sometimes, another bumper car driver, without reason, ends up in your path and the two of you team up for a while to work over the rest of the field. It’s not something you expect necessarily, and you are left planning on the fly, but you know that it’s worth it. There’s no way to know how long the new bond will last, and there’s always the fear of a much larger plot being formed to set you up, but if you can allow yourself to trust and make the best decisions possible as you ride together, it could work out pretty well.

So anyway, somehow I’ve equated life to a carnival ride. I just hope I didn’t hop in the broken car.

*cue music from The Natural (if it doesn’t give you goose bumps, check your pulse)
It’s that time of year, folks. The orange and blue shaded depression has almost completely worn off and the Cavs are doing a great job of building up the hope of fans across Ohio before their inevitable giant collapse. Instead, it’s time to turn your attention south to Winter Haven, Florida, where pitchers and catchers are reporting for the 1st day of Spring Training.

“The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It has been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game: it’s a part of our past, Ray. It reminds of us of all that once was good and it could be again. Oh… people will come Ray. People will most definitely come.”

*Cue more goose bumps

I know, I do this every year. I follow off-season moves, track winter ball stats, check minor league numbers from previous years, and nod my head with the promises made by the front office and players every year. And every year, I end up disappointed. Even during the Indians’ dominance of the AL Central between 1995 and 2001, only twice did they make it to the Series – coming away empty handed both times (much like Charles Nagy did as the game-winning hit bounced off of his glove in Game 7 against the Marlins in 1997).

Still, I believe there is something special brewing in Cleveland, and it’s not just the beer. I feel like a stranger in a foreign land here in Chicago – knowing that I take my life into my own hands by wearing my Cleveland jersey to a game down on the south side. It’s like dangling a piece of meat in front of starving hyenas with smaller vocabularies and way too much beer.

I’ll still make it down to a game or two, but only because of lack of options. There’s a certain Tigers fan that’s worked her way into my life that I may have to stop talking to for a couple of months as well. All sacrifices I’m willing to make in the name of baseball. Pretty heroic, if you ask me.