Major League Baseball is that smug, punchable face your wife can’t wait to slam the door into.
It’s the childhood friend who turns up on the front porch unannounced, crashes on your couch, raids your fridge and kicks the cat. The one who flees the pub 14 seconds before the tab arrives. The one who borrows the Mustang and returns a Yugo.
Every time it happens, you tell yourself, never again. Every few years, you hear that same old knock. You’ve been through too much together to quit now.
So, as a friend, I’m begging you, man.