I'm slightly tipsy on champagne at the moment, in my hotel in the Gaslamp celebrating the end of the three-day torture known as the California Bar Exam - the longest bar exam in the country (with, so I've been told, the highest fail rate in the country).  The good news . . . I've taken the darn thing.  The bad news . . . well, ask me at the end of November when they publish the pass list. 

In the mean time, I'm coming out of my cave, looking around, seeing my shadow, and seriously considering going back inside my cave until next year.  I managed to make it to the game on Tuesday, which, between Bar-induced hallucinations and that heart-stopping almost-homerun that looked like a gimme from where I was sitting, was another form of torture all together.  Now I'm thinking, after last night, that I should never set foot in SD again.  Baseball must be an addiction, because otherwise I can't imagine why I would still love something that hurts me so good.

The point of this . . . I warned you I've been drinking champagne, right? . . . the point is that I'm returning to baseball after a long, painful hiatus.  I've missed you guys.  And to be honest, every time I've been able to check in with the baseball world, I've needed you guys.  Will you take me back?

It's hard to make it through the unluckiest season in my *entire* life (for what it's worth) all alone. . . . 

Side note: Drama, I'm sorry I haven't gotten back to you . . . I'm strictly on my Blackberry at the moment, and it doesn't hold onto old emails very long. . . .