Tomato Sauce, or "Ketchup!"

Well, it's back to work, back to school, and back to being a responsible blogger for this naughty boy. I've managed to neglect this for too long, so I'll naturally throw myself into another bout of productivity in the next few days, trying to put up a few posts to defend the statement that I am not apathetic, I am simply lazy. (I'm not entirely convinced that's the lesser of the two evils, but it's my vice and I've got to stick with it.)

I'll start with school. I had three weeks of school between the first and the second study breaks. Unless you have an unhealthy fascination with the primary sector of the Australian economy, I cannot tell you anything about school that will leave you on the edge of your seat.

One thing I can tell you is that I am struggling in the motivation department of my academic life. Dragging my rear out of bed at the ungodly hour of 11:30 has always been a struggle, but the malaise I have been feeling lately makes that kind of sluggish behavior look motivated. Worse than attending (which, I must say to ease my parents' escalating blood pressure, I have been doing) is doing my homework. Assignments stand like hurdles between me and anything else I could be doing. For each one, I am forced to tell myself that it's just one of a few small remaining steps to earn my degree. But one can only get so much mileage out of such sentiments. I hope it'll be enough.

So, school is a struggle right now, unlike the relative pleasures of blogging or going to the pub. (Guess which I've done more of since 14 September.) Work, on the other hand, has been fairly easy to attend. I think this is the result of an aggregate of receiving tangible benefits ($) from going, working with a bunch of cute girls, and the fact that no one at work is interested in discussing the primary sector of Australia's economy.

Outside work and school, baseball spring training started in Australia between the two study breaks, and somehow, I ended up training. As it happened, my buddy Jason plays for a team and asked if I was keen to play. Being nostalgic for little league, loving the game, and even more excited because the Rockies were looking like they would finish above .500, I immediately agreed. (I will get to their current situation in a few minutes. One must remember this happened three weeks ago.)

Admittedly, I'm rusty. I've been trying to get back into the habit of putting myself in front of the ball. I haven't watched pitches for balls or strikes since before middle school. The coach has to explain most of the drills to me. However, I'm American, so people who haven't watched me play think I have a leg up over these guys, some of whom are considerably better than I am. Of all the stereotypes about Americans that I've run into, this is by far my favorite. Especially because I can tell someone who hasn't seen me play that I was brought in as a ringer. (For the scouts reading, I went 0 for 2 with a walk, reached base on a fielder's choice, and had 1 RBI in our first game.)

Speaking of baseball, I'd like to make a few points:

First, I have crow to eat. In April, I wrote that the first six weeks of the MLB season are the best six weeks because the Rockies have not been eliminated from the playoffs. I am sorry I said something so hurtful. Just because everyone else was saying it, that does not make it right. I acknowledge that my comments were hurtful, insensitive, and wrong. I have never been happier to eat crow in my life. Ever.

Second, following the race and playoffs from here is an insane process. Generally, I have been reading box scores and columns, trying to get a feel for the intangibles you can only get from watching each game. I have spent countless hours hunched over my laptop, reliving hours old replays and analysis, looking quite strange to my roommates as I scream out in joy or agony. It bears mention that I'm not the only one blogging about the Rockies: Todd Helton has been keeping a playoff blog - check it out.

Third, one of the most miserable bus rides in my entire life was a result of the Rockies, cheap international calling, and bad timing. The situation was this in Denver: Top of the 10th, scored tied at 6, the Rockies and the Padres battling it out in a single game playoff for the wild card. The scene was this in Puraburdoo (I dare you to find this place on a map): Me, on tour on the Northwest Trip (about which I will be writing profusely later). I am on a payphone, learning the situation in Denver just before jumping on the bus. There will not be another telephone for 250 km.

It was the longest inning.