I’m traveling today so I thought I’d remind us of ShortBurst sports, Edgehogs as was.
Make picks in all major sports, even the God-help-us Olympics, and track your prognosticatory prowess. You’ll be scored with the “X-Rating” a one-of-a-kind, never heretofore seen, unique, sui generis, statistical formula-based number, which runs from 0 (“expert”) to 100 (“in-real-life good”). For you New York Times readers, this means higher is better.
Yes, I am part owner of this fine institution, and that means that, with a fair wind blowing, and everything just so, the stars aligned with the house of Grog infused in the tea of Rum, the Higgs boson creating mass in just the right locality, or, even better ,a generous benefactor finally seeing What Is Investible, I might—I say might—just make some money off this.
My breath is not held. And therefore I am doing the world some good, the carbon dioxide which I ordinarily would have expelled is trapped deep inside, warming my innards through positive feedbacks operating on some tree rings I once ate when Euell Gibbons once thrived and roamed the folding hillsides. I haven’t eaten any cattails, but I once lit one on fire and used it as a punk to startle some fireworks into life. I might have also thrown one at Chuck Coonrod intending to cause him heated distress. It was all in good fun.
See too the ShortBurst Leaderboard, a listing of folks who would have made Cole Porter’s list had they been alive when he was writing about how we should do it to make it to the Coliseum. And by “do it” he meant logging on, via Facebook if you are one of those types, or not if you are not, and making your own prescient picks.
Every time we say goodbye, I wonder why a little. So here are some otters which look like Benedict Cumberbatch.