When you wake up in the wee hours of the morning and head to the ball diamond only to see it covered with a large white tarp, you begin to perspire. The fear of a rain out begins rattling through your blood, causing your eyes to burst from their sockets, for a day without baseball is a day that truly isn’t worth living.
The tarp came off and it was glorious, the temperature stayed in the 50’s and the sun never came out because Nebraska is a wasteland from November to mid-April, with no end of the torturous climate in sight until you’re forced to sit through a 4-hour dongfest with the humidity creeping up to 90% while the thermometer reads upwards of 95.