THE "SPORT" QUANDARY

When...is the game called? Is it when the starting pitcher has a blister on a finger of his throwing hand? Is it when the much-loathed second baseman throws a routine out into the fifth row, first-base side? Nope and nope. Is it when the manager of the team so-completely embarrasses his players that they douse him in Gatorade? Not to celebrate, but to quell?

Is that when you call the game? Naw.

Why even..?

Switch to football. When the wide receiver, who garners much press, bitches to the reporters, do you call the game? Do you ground him?

When the raindrops start falling on your head, do you call the game? When you hear thunder in the distance and sighs from the stands...do you call the game? When the sky flashes with electricity...do you call the game? (In that case, yes.)

Switch back to baseball. Don't we need to get five innings completed before a called-game can be officially recognized?

Switch back to Life.

Dogs....

Lou has not completed his requisite five innings of play. Sure, he's nearing seven years old, but my mathematician mind tells me that he's in the fourth--perhaps the bottom of the fourth, but the fourth, no less.

How many sighs and flutter-breaths from him do I have to listen to before I "pull the plug," "call the game"? How thin must the always-strong dog must get before I pull myself from my tears and concentrate on his.... His tears. His pain. His embarrassment. His dreams left unfulfilled.

Am I being gregarious with my assertions that, yes/maybe, dogs have aspirations all their own? Am I being stupid?

All I can say is this: Seeing a puppy born is wondrous. Adopting and living with and loving said dog is miraculous. Witnessing the end of your puppy's life--be he one or early-seven--is horrific. I don't know what to do. (Typing through tears is tough...but not as tough as the life Lou is living right fucking now, at this moment!)

When do you call the game?

[Teers dreep off me nose.]

When?! When is the lightning enough?!

God works in very mysterious ways. I may have--have--some time off, coming up, with only myself to blame. Do you think?! Do you think that maybe that worked out?! Just in time for Lou's...internment? I don't know. But I have an inkling of a thought that says that God is looking down on me, shaking His head, and throwing me a bone. Me? Hell no. God is throwing Louie a bone. As the thunder crashed.

After the lightning lit up the sky.