It's 7:46 a.m.

Wait. Maybe it's 8:46 a.m.

Dammit, I'm new to this Daylight Saving Time. Whatever the heck time it is, I'm home. It was a little under 17 hours from Sarasota, and I'm out of sorts. If by, “out of sorts” you mean “travel-worn, nearly delerious with exhaustion, and majorly bummed that I have to go back to work tomorrow.”

You guys got me: the job I claimed to have been offered was a totally fake fabrication intended for your amusement. If the “Joe Kerr” bit didn't expose it as a lie, certainly the idea that ESPN would care to include a Reds' representative in any of their projects should.

I'm excited to hear that the Reds won yesterday. I stayed in the sweltering heat yesterday long enough to see Milton's nine strike outs and then left, figuring I'd better go before I woke up from the dream.

Speaking of dreams, I think I'll go try to catch a couple hours' sleep before tonight's smack talk with Bellyscratcher at 8. Or is it 7? Dammit.