In this Sunday Morning Whiskey?! Tango?! Foxtrot?!, we express our disappointment in ourselves …
Yeah, so, we got everything up and running again, finally, which is what we were hoping to do, but within an hour or two one owner — sorry about that, DJay Andersen! — wrote us to let us know that we had pretty much screwed up his entire playoff roster, which, you know, was our only job, not getting rosters screwed up. He was kind enough to tell us we got his pitching roster right, which we needed to know, but it was at that point when we realized that he was going out of his way to be nice to us, likely because he was thinking we are probably a little, I dunno, maybe slow or dumb or stupid or not paying attention or something? but he wouldn't have been wrong in that assessment because we, you know, got everything else wrong on a single roster so maybe there was something fundamentally wrong with us.
Which makes use think, what else have we gotten wrong?
Please, owners, check your playoff rosters. Check your trades. And do us a big favor and double-check every interaction you have had with us in the last two months to see if we were coherent, speaking comprehensibly, and even apparently awake. If you come across anything that makes you think maybe we're a bit off — Paul Martin, no need to report that I told you the Browns had won a game a week before they actually won a game since I've already taken note of that concerning incident — please let us know and we'll print it out and be ready to show the doctor should someone drive us to the doctor because they to are really concerned about us. The documentation could prove useful. And if there's enough, I'll just go ahead and drive myself.
We are worried about us.
And it's not that existential worry like the kind you get when you realize that a heinous, rapey frat boy was just confirmed as a Supreme Court justice and will ruin the lives of everyone in our country but mostly women and the downtrodden while creating even more downtrodden for the next 30 years, but more of a dull, hazy, what-else-have-I-let-fall-through-the-cracks? sort of worry.
Or maybe those two worries are related?
Hey, look, the playoffs have started! Let's enjoy us the playoffs! How are my Indians doing?
Whiskey?! Tango?! Foxtrot?! us?!?! Why does literally everything in the world bring us so down? I mean, seriously, W?! T?! F?!