Boy, do I know THAT look.  It’s the same look I had on my face when it appeared my beloved NY Mets were about to go down in flames in Game 6 of the 1986 World Series against the Red Sox.  Totally…and I mean TOTALLY…defeated.  Like I’m not sure I could ever overcome what was surely about to transpire.  Then, like a gift from God, Bill Buckner…bless his heart…couldn’t bend his rickety old body far enough to pick up a little dribbler down the first base line hit by a guy named Mookie, and the rest was history.  Mets go on to win the Series, and I gleefully made confetti out of my Zoloft prescription.  So…what’s the point of all this? Continue reading →