On the road to Frisco

Hello and thanks for stopping by for my first entry of the playoffs.  Since I last checked in we at the Midland RockHounds have wrapped up the regular season and find ourselves in Frisco, Texas for the first two games of our Texas League Southern Division series.  The week didn’t go as smoothly as we all would have liked, losing the first two games of our four game series against San Antonio but coming back to take the final two games to punch our ticket to the playoffs.  Then in our final series of the regular season against Frisco, who we also play in the first round of the playoffs, we needed only one win to clinch the second half title and ensure that a potential game five would be at home but waited until the final game to secure a win.  So despite having a slightly uneven week, our performance also epitomized what playoff races and the postseason are all about: winning games when you aren’t playing your best, winning the games you have to win, and just flat out finding ways to scratch out wins.  I personally threw pretty well over the last week and hopefully I can carry that into the playoffs.

 

Away from the field much of my time has been spent studying for my two classes, doing some light reading and planning for an offseason trip to Costa Rica with my fiancé.  It really wasn’t a very eventful seven days, but there was one event of note from the past week: I managed to sell another of my paintings.  I am still amazed that anyone has any interest in purchasing anything I produce, but it is kind of cool and provides me the incentive to continue painting from time to time.  Well, that is about all I have for you so I’ll call that good for now and post a playoff update sometime in the near future.

 

Days

by Ralph Waldo Emerson

 

Daughters of Time, the hypocritic Days,

Muffled and dumb like barefoot dervishes,

And marching single in an endless file,

Bring diadems and fagots in their hands.

To each they offer gifts after his will,

Bread, kingdom, stars, and sky that holds them all.

I, in my pleached garden, watched the pomp,

Forgot my morning wishes, hastily

Took a few herbs and apples, and the Day

Turned and departed silent. I, too late,

Under her solemn fillet saw the scorn.

 

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