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It’s all about the trophy

It all started around July 27 — maybe (probably) earlier than that (most definitely) when it looked like a Major League Baseball season was going to happen.

Which it did.

On July 27.

Leading up to July 27 was a rollercoaster ride because there was so much waffling and fussing going on between the players and the owners about how many games there were going to be and how much money everyone was going to make and how everyone was going to stay safe and all of that stuff that goes along with trying to have a major league sports season of any kind during a pandemic.

I was so wrapped up in whether I was going to see the White Sox play I completely overlooked all the social issues going on in our country.

So yeah, I blame it on baseball.

That’s why I couldn’t understand when a friend of mine got mad at me when I said, “Thank you, Karen.”

Talk about catching a face full of meanness.

Did I get a “You’re welcome?”

Oh no.

I was on the receiving end of a tirade, and was called basically everything except a Child of God.

“I’m so sick of you liberals,” she began. “You’ll cut the leg off someone just so you can give them crutches.”

I wanted to tell her that Jim Brown originally said something along those lines, but my mind wasn’t really in the “football greats” frame of mind. It was kinda locked on baseball. Plus, I was afraid she’d hit me. I don’t like being hit.

“You’re a Dem-Socialist of the lowest order and you and your libtard friends live to hand out participation trophies because, heaven forbid, anyone excel over one of your friends, or especially excel over you,” she continued. “The world doesn’t owe you anything, snowflake. Get used to it.”

I wanted to ask her what it was I wanted a participation trophy for, but again … There’s that fear of being hit.

And surely she wasn’t talking about baseball. I don’t think you get a participation trophy for liking baseball, do you?

I mean, if someone is handing out trophies for liking baseball, sure, I’ll take one.

I mean, I do like me some baseball.

“And you are a snowflake of the worst order, a social justice worker with the morals of a kangaroo on meth,” she continued. “You’ll trample on anybody, you expect the world to work for you and your outdated ideas and anyone who disagrees with you is deemed ‘not worthy’ of breathing the pure air that surrounds you.”

I’ll have to admit at about this point I was trying to imagine how big my baseball trophy was going to be.

If they gave them out, that is.

She brought me back to her rant when she quoted from the movie, “Fight Club,” which is the best movie ever that’s not about baseball.

“You are not special. You are not a beautiful and unique snowflake,” she said.

To me, that ranks up there with Gary Cooper portraying Lou Gehrig in “Pride of the Yankees,” and saying, “For the past two weeks you have been reading about a bad break. Yet today I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the Earth.”

You know, THE Gehrig farewell address.

I was hoping she wasn’t going to quote that because ... Well, you hear Gary Cooper acting like Lou Gehrig, there’s just no getting over that.

And it made me wonder if Gary Cooper got a trophy for that.

I don’t know if she paused for breath, or just simply got tired of berating me, but I seized my opportunity.

“Are you okay?” I asked (while hiding behind my car door).

“You just called me ‘Karen,’” she said.

“Well, actually I thanked you,” I said back. “And Karen is your name, right?”

She gave me a confused look, then nodded at me.

“Oh yeah, so it is,” she said. “So it is.”

Then I started thinking about my (maybe) baseball trophy again.