Or, you could just read what Joe Posnanski wrote:

There is an endless list of names … players who could have been in Cooperstown with the great stuff they had … Roger Salkeld … Dean Burke … Les Rohr … Brien Taylor … David Clyde … Bill Pulsipher … Todd Van Poppel … these are not cautionary tales. These are not exceptions to the rule. They are the rule. These are the reality pitchers, the ones who had their great careers ended before they began.

All of which is to say that Stephen Strasburg fights the odds. But he was fighting the odds anyway, long before this latest injury. Pitchers get hurt in a thousand different ways. And it isn’t the ability to endure pain that gets them through even if a lughead like Rob Dibble thinks Strasburg should just “suck it up” and “stop crying.” No, it’s preparation, and it’s luck, and it’s taking care of yourself, and it’s luck, and it’s maintaining form, and it’s luck, and in many cases it’s surgery.

So I wish Strasburg luck. And if his career is one of flashes of brilliance and extended stints on the DL, I’ll be saddened. But not surprised.

The longer I procrastinate on returning phone calls and emails, the more guilty I feel about it. The guilt I feel causes me to avoid the issue further, which only leads to more guilt and more procrastination. It gets to the point where I don’t email someone for fear of reminding them that they emailed me and thus giving them a reason to be disappointed in me.

Then the guilt from my ignored responsibilities grows so large that merely carrying it around with me feels like a huge responsibility. It takes up a sizable portion of my capacity, leaving me almost completely useless for anything other than consuming nachos and surfing the internet like an attention-deficient squirrel on PCP.

Do yourself a favor and check out the archives. Made of awesome, and perfect for a Sunday night.

I realized this yesterday, as I sat in my car, shoving a Quarter Pounder in my mouth. I drove from Silver Spring to Bethesda to drop off some work during my lunch break and stopped at McDonald’s on the way back. There I was, sitting in my car, combining our love of our cars and fast food with workaholic tendencies. Huzzah!

Well, it was a nice break in the day.

I spent the last week in Bethany Beach, Delaware. And man, I did not want to come back. And now I’m at home, and…I want to go back to Bethany. I had a routine. It involved getting up around 9:30 and then figuring out whether to do the beach or the pool in the morning. It involved a lot of reading and watching baseball at night. It involved hanging out with my sister’s family and my parents. It involved not thinking about work, which has been stressful lately.

In 12 hours, I’ll be at the office. But until then, my mind is still at the beach.

…Who’s Chompie, you ask? Why, this is Chompie:

Here he is, coming through the Discovery Building in Silver Spring. You can also see his side fin, there. Scandalously, it’s his backside facing my building:

That’s right. Chompie is coming for you, Metro riders!

I quoted this in my thesis. Probably my favorite moment of the entire thing is at 8:25 in that–John Adams’s reaction.

Also insanely good is his song near the end of the show:

It kind of boggles my mind that so many people think of Mr. Feeny when they see William Daniels. He’ll always be John Adams to me. And I’m sure he’ll never know how much of an impact he had on my life because of this role.

The answer is: I am so incredibly sick of Strasburg that I could scream. All spring, the Washington Post has had article after article after article about Strasburg. And I’m not talking about only the days he pitched. No, no. That would make too much sense. I’m talking about articles practically every day. (Well, they had to fill the space somehow, seeing how the Redskins aren’t playing.) If I wanted to see last night’s box score, I had to dig through the Strasburg News of the Day.

I had hoped that his debut would lessen the talk. Unfortunately, much like how I hoped that winning a World Series might shut Red Sox fans up a bit, I was sadly mistaken. I understand that he’s an incredibly good pitcher. Really. I get that. But can we stop talking about him all the time? And making excuses for when he isn’t totally brilliant? “He walked 5 men in 5.1 innings? The mound was messed up.” Well, the other pitcher walked 3 in 5.2…but who notices that? He gave up 9 hits in 6 innings? They were bloopers. The other pitcher? Five hits and 2 walks in 6. Which means, even with the walks, that he allowed two fewer men on base…but obvously that doesn’t matter.

And now, it’s all talk about whether or not he should go to the All-Star Game. No. No, he should not. Even if he wins his next couple of starts, no. And not because I’m sure he’ll being going to All-Star Games for the next 20 years, which is a lot of people’s arguments. It’s because he hasn’t even played a half-season in the major leagues. You want to send a pitcher from the Nationals to the ASG? Send Matt Capps. He’s been awesome for them.

If you’re looking for an illustration of what I’m talking about, let’s turn to the O’s-Nats game on Friday. Out of nowhere, Rob Dibble is like, “Let’s talk about Stephen Strasburg.” What? Why? So blah blah blah about Strasburg. The Nats’ announcers annoy me enough already (every single play is one of the best ever; if Zimmerman lays his hand on a ball, it’s all, “Well, that’s what having a All-Star/Gold Glover/best third basemen in the majors will do”–even if the play isn’t that challenging), but to add that? Kill me. I muted it. A few minutes later, I unmuted…to hear “Strasburg.” And quickly muted it again.

Look, again, I get it. But you know what? Crap happens. People get injured. They get into accidents. Weird things happen. Hopefully, Strasburg will still be pitching in 20 years. But it’s not something you can count on. Enjoy him now, but realize there’s a lot else going on.

Not that everyone else is helping. I flipped over to the Yankees-Dodgers game last night only to hear one of the announcers ask the other whether Strasburg should be an All Star. That sound? Was me throwing my remote against the wall.

(Also? Strasburg has stupid facial hair.)

And then I crossed the street. That wasn’t exhaust from the bus. It was just the wind. Yay!

(Later, I was hit with exhaust from a couple of busses. Ugh.)

And yes, this IS from my hotel window

Also, I had cupcakes!

The smores one was FANTASTIC. I highly recommend Cako Bakery if you’re in town.

At some point, I may start to post more regularly again. Whee!