Mariners 3, Yankees 0

Ahhhhhh. How do you win without runs?

On a lighter note, Graduate School Pal, a few nights ago, conjured up memories of my overnights to Dallas:

It was "The Balcony Club." It was "The Whiskey Bar." It was 15-year-old Scotch and Macanudos, and refusal of free watermelon shots. It was Stevie Ray Vaughan never coming up on the Juke, but trying anyway. It was rain and sun and one year a friend who had recently smashed his face into gravel via bike ride. It was it was it was.

Oh yes, GSP. It was getting that softness in my chest when I drove through Ferris, Texas, a town that was not only the name of my cat but the signal that my drive had only twenty minutes to go. It was the sight of downtown as I drove north. It was the taste of the first Shiner of the day in somebody's second-story walk-up. It was regrets over the previous night halted by a shout of "Ooh, Bubba's!", the indication that the best breakfast place in East Texas was in sight.

The sight of someone lusting after Mike Mussina.

When you go to grad school, your thirties are your days.