Well, it happened again. Not unlike Bill Murray in a certain 90’s flick, I tucked myself into my couch yesterday evening expecting change, and at the sound of the final buzzer was greeted with cheerily jarring tones of a Sonny and Cher song.
Obvious fabrications in my point of comparison aside, being serenaded awake by the sounds of a diminutive yet mustachioed dead man and a woman who by this point must be at least ninety percent plastic would still be less jarring than the feeling of inescapable futility I experienced while watching the San Antonio Spurs lose yet another game to a team that they had held a lead against midway through the fourth quarter.