Travel, And Gambling, Is Punishment For Our Sins
How? Let me count the ways.
> Trying to get some writing done in the midst of what seem to be every passenger on the plane that needs to get up, stretch, talk, mess with the overhead compartment and more more more
> Having Ernest Graham and Darren McFadden, both of whom went down with injuries early, and gave me next to nothing
> Squalling infant two rows up, because that's just the way it goes on Sunday afternoon flights, also known as when the business traveling public is most assuredly not flying
> Having a terrible situation at QB on my roto team, and failing to pick up Christian Ponder or Tim Tebow, because Carson Palmer and Matt Cassel were somehow better ideas
> Watching the Packers give up the cheap late cover score, then run the clock out to cost me any further chance of drama (and lo, there would have been $390 worth of drama)
> TSA doing the ID two-step, just to make sure that I wind up spilling the contents of my wallet while trying to get my personal effects together
> Realizing that your suckout waiver wire grab of breakout RB DeMarco Murray is just going to keep you in the middling middle, given the zeroes from the other RBs
> Seriously, I think this kid has two or three extra sets of lungs, and that the rest of the passengers on the plane would probably be OK with stuffing her in an overhead, or seeing if she's be happier outside
> Bilingual couple that need to conduct a very loud and long conversation despite, well, not sitting together, because it's not like I'm sitting here or something, trying hard to get the headphones up high enough to drown them out
> After two hours, distressed infant is still screeching like a banshee ever 30 to 45 seconds, or just with a long enough interval to give you hope that she's finally asleep, but no
> Having the Saints bust out to that peaceful easy cover, inevitable as soon as the Packers spit the bit
> No, seriously, I've flown on planes with bad babies before, and this one was the Hitler of bad babies
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