There's no crying in baseball?

This time last year my friend Jeanne complimented me on my grace in handling the end of the World Series. Isn't that a sweet thing to say? The same thing cannot be said of me this year: I have been a wreck.

I spent games four through six sucking down free bourbon and diet cokes in a casino bar with friends. Even after the cursing, hand wrenching, and Bobby Knight-esque chair slamming of Game six, I was mostly confident that game seven was gonna go my way. I'd decided early that it would take seven games; my confidence was not shaken, not even stirred.

Not to say I wasn't nervous, I very much was. Very, very nervous. Then it all fell apart.... Friends were posting on social media that they were turning the game off. I couldn't do it. I was M'Lynn noble at Shelby's bedside. " I was there when that beautiful creature drifted into my life.. and I was there when she drifted out of it."

And it was a beautiful season, however it may have ended. My favorite thing about the Texas Rangers is that they play with joy: the smiles on the faces of Elvis and IK when they turn one of those miracle plays; Naps throwing out a baserunner; Nelly grinning around the bases; Josh hittin' the wall and holdin' on for an out; Feliz saving the day; the stank 'stache; Michael Young fielding; Adrian daring them to hit one down the third base line; ginger ale celebrations and on and on. I love this team. Win or lose, I am a proud Texas Rangers fan.

So, I cried my tears; I wallowed in my sadness and grief. Now, my heart is full for we are American League Champions.

When do pitchers and catchers report, anyway?