My Kingdom for a list (not a fear of death)
We’re not in the form for that carry-on this morning (or any morning, to be honest). Honestly, you have one or two bottles of Sam Adams too many in the late evening, and the following morning turns into a post-apocalyptic drama complete with running zombies and lack of clean water.
The normal consolations of the stricken sportswriter are not at hand at such a time, but you’re surely glad we didn’t adopt the last refuge of the scoundrel.
