Oh how I love me some sunny Sundays. Start the day with a fresh pot of coffee. Make myself some scrambled eggs and hashbrowns and position myself on the couch with the Sunday Tribune. In order of relevance, it reads, Best Buy ad, sports page, arts and entertainment, and then the front page. Baseball Tonight in the background.
Then we've got the Braves kicking things off every Sunday on TBS. Skip Caray, like an uncle who spent a few years away in Thailand, comes back into your life. An hour later you've got the Cubbies on WGN, with Bob Brenly's mustachioed face asking you how your weekend has been so far. WGN games, let it be said, are of a much higher quality than the Comcast games. Brighter colors make me happy. At best, I'll be getting dressed around 2ish. Maybe I'll go on a bike ride later, as it is very nice out. Or maybe I'll watch The Bourne Identity on TNT. Who knows? It's a Sunday and the world is my oyster.
Then comes Sunday night. The creeping dread of the end of the weekend and beginning of the work week begins. Heart palpitations, sweats, anxiety. I yearn for Skip Caray's voice. And so it goes. Sunday remains a Jekyll and Hyde. Make up your mind Sunday, you son of a bitch!
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