Day Ten and Eleven Wrap Up.

So, yeah.  I missed a day.  I'm human.  Humans need sleep.  And to finish reading a Haruki Murakami novel.  Don't judge me.

I Wish.

This is a diatribe.  I've been saving it for last for a reason.  Fasten your seatbelts.  There will be no pictures, no links, just straight up rhetoric.

Engage.

WHY I HATE YOUR TEAM - FRANCE EDITION

Amor/Odio

Topeka, Kansas has a large Mexican population.  You wouldn't necessarily know it from the census data (Which is stupid, as it includes too much of the outlying county folk in its tally.  If you don't drive on Huntoon at least twice a week, you're not a Topekan), but trust me:  it's visible and significant.

Days after my 16th birthday, for whatever reason--be it fate or good looks or superior skills--I was asked by a hispanic guy (Gabe) from school to play on his team, Los Locos, in a local league called, brilliantly, Mexican League.  I don't want to make this post overly dramatic, but MEXICAN LEAGUE CHANGED MY LIFE.