(Pre-reading note: I hung up with Gurs at 12:15 this evening, and I said, "I'll write a quick RedHotHalos post before bed." It had been four days, so it was time. As I type this, it's 12:58. Too late. Oh well. This also means that it's long. Pull up a chair, or print it and head to the bathroom.)

I was going to try to write something compelling and/or interesting tonight, but I can't really come up with anything. We just finished the second game of a three-game series, and we'll be back to close it out on Monday night.

I've had a couple of long days in a row:

Saturday, the team returned from a road trip, but the R/DS wasn't with them; he had a wedding to attend on Saturday night, and had "peeled off" after the final game of the trip. This meant that I had to greet the bus when it arrived to pick up broadcast gear.

Arrival: 7:15 a.m.
My arrival at the ballpark: 6:15 a.m.

That's pretty early. I was productive through the morning, escaped at noon for 90 minutes for a run and a bit of lunch, and went hard at the ballpark the rest of the day and night. Day ended at 11:30, and I'm a bit surprised that I didn't run somebody over or fall asleep at the wheel on the way home.

As for the broadcast, I was relatively happy with it. I nailed the call on a dramatic, game-saving catch for the final out. I accidentally failed to record it, however, I think. Good with the bad... life goes on.

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Today, a pretty standard 10 to 10 day at the yard. This league plays Sunday night games, which just sucks. Previously, Sunday could be my "time off" during the season, getting home from the ballpark at 6 or so. This is early, and gave me actual time to make dinner and make some phone calls (I'm generally a Sunday night nuisance) and just wind down. I'd usually watch ESPN Sunday night baseball.

This league, though, plays exclusively night games. Always. Sunday, an hour earlier, but that's it. Doesn't offer much in the way of rest. (Though I'm not traveling this year, of course, so that's some actual time off.)

I started my Sunday with a record-length run of 2.2 miles. Just under 20 minutes, which isn't particularly good time, but I felt good when it was done. The iPod was cranking GbV's Under the Bushes Under the Stars, and it was a perfect soundtrack.

You can do a lot worse than 68 degree temperatures in which to run at 9 a.m. Awesome.

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Monday morning will bring a very early call to work. 7:10 a.m., so that I can throw on a mascot suit and give prizes to a bunch of little kids. It's rewarding, and the program is neat, but, gosh, it'll be another long day. It'll be followed by several 8:30 to 6 days, which are longer than 9 to 5 days, but shorter than 7 to 11 days.

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I should mention that the R/DS [ed: For those that missed it, "R/DS"="Roommate/Direct Supervisor] returned this morning. Within four seconds of his arrival, I remembered how awful he is to be around.

Me: "How was the wedding [of your best friend, that you were Best Man for]?"
R/DS: "There were a lot of problems, but it was okay, I guess. I'm exhausted. You would be, too, if you had only slept in a bed for 4 hours over the last two days."

He's not a real positive guy, and it's aggravating to everyone. I wonder what his blood pressure is.

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The Walkmen have always been a band that I wanted to like more than I actually liked. Maybe it was the artsy tendencies and wailing vocals that sometimes got to me. In a mood, they've always been great. But their records have so many plodding, plodding songs, and sometimes I can't handle it. Anyway, A Hundred Miles Off, their recently-released and, from what I can tell, worst-reviewed record, is awesome. All mid-tempo, with some rock, and Hamilton screams a lot. I love it so much.

Another great album that's been getting played quite a bit in Rud-land is the Sunset Rubdown album, Shut Up I Am Dreaming. It's from one of the Wolf Parade guys, and Wolf Parade's album was my number one selection from 2005. (Though Clap Your Hands Say Yeah and The Hold Steady both have made runs for the spot.)

Anyway, I'd highly recommend both, not that you care.

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I'm really, really proud to be a Northwestern Wildcats fan. College World Series best-of-three championship series against Arizona starts Monday at 8:00 p.m.

Where does college softball rank on the college sports hierarchy, in terms of coverage, participation, prestige?

Let's think:
1) Football
2) Men's Basketball

3) Women's Basketball

Baseball/Softball/Hockey

I don't think that's an unreasonable ranking. Are there other sports that would compete with the third tier listed here, in terms of coverage, participation, and prestige? Women's soccer? Volleyball?

Except for the SEC until recently, just about everyone was playing softball. The SEC has joined, and is becoming quite good. More play softball than hockey, certainly, and certainly more big schools. Baseball is inherently bigger.

Softball coverage: Got some ESPN morning coverage during conference season. Several Super Regionals were televised. Every game of the WCWS has been on. (They even pre-empted The Best of Mike and Mike In the Morning.) That's lots of coverage.

So, can I say that softball is probably the fifth-biggest collegiate sport? That'd be accurate? Am I wrong?

Translation: This is pretty big. Go Cats.

- - - - - - - -

Again, 2.2 miles isn't much for a career-long run, but it's something. In almost seven weeks here, I've dropped, officially, nine pounds. This brings my grand total to somewhere between 70 and 73 pounds lost, which is probably about my greatest accomplishment ever. (Though, of course, it was set up by years of non-accomplishment.)

I think I'd like to lose a total of 12 to 15 more, bringing the total to 85 pounds. Then I'll try to gain 30 back.

My BMI remains right at the edge of the Overweight category, which indicates what awful condition I was truly in December of 2004.

The Good:

- I feel better than I have in years.

- I felt comfortable going shirtless with people that I don't know that well last weekend. Judging eyes, that is.

Bad:

- I still had the biggest gut, by a long shot, among the beach group last weekend. (Granted, two were former D1 athletes, one is a weightlifting fiend, and one is a tall, skinny dude who played D3 basketball.)

- The Tony Danza shirt is far too baggy now. The solution is not to get a new Tony Danza shirt, but to simply wear the original Tony Danza shirt in its baggy beauty. Even more ridiculous, you should know.

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WIDiRVoFOW
[ed: For those that missed it, "WIDiRVoFOW"="Why I Dislike the R/DS Vignette or Foible of the Week." It's the only weekly feature on RedHotHalos, and it's grown quite popular.]

This Week's Reason: It's not that he's fat (though, as they said in The Usual Suspects, he's 'Orca Fat'), it's that he's such a freakin' glutton, and still acts like he's trying to lose weight.

Supporting Evidence: Again, he pays lip service to Weight Watchers points and says things like, "I like apples and cucumbers. They're the fewest points-per-ounce, and I don't mind eating them." But, today, he said to me, "Actually, I'll bring [ballpark-related item] downstairs. I've got a hankering for some pie a la mode, so I'll stop by the ice cream shop [which is located downstairs]."

Then, ten minutes later, he returned. I said, "Looks good." He said, "It is good. I'm going to try to try every pie-ice cream combination possible this summer."

[Note: There are at least three types of pie, and I think ten kinds of ice cream. It seems like this goal would be contrary to dieting.]

Additional Bit of Hilarity: My first week in town, he actually used the phrase, "The diet starts tomorrow," which is what my dad used to say while indulging - and indulging some more, and some more - during the holidays. It's funny, because it's the joke you make when you have no intention of actually commiting to anything. Like the "Free Beer Tomorrow" sign you see at hilarious restaurants throughout the country.

I understand that "Compulsive Overeating" was categorized as an eating disorder in seventh-grade wellness class, and I understand he must be afflicted but, dude, don't freaking talk about it all day!

Don't tell me about the pain, just show me the baby. Garsh.