It Ain't Heavy, It's My Team

That is, until the swoon of August makes me wonder why I cared so much

It's late August in Washington, and I'm miserable. Uncharacteristically miserable. I used to love August in Washington. The heat? I love the heat. The crowds? There are no crowds. Washington is empty. Congress is gone. The President is at the ranch. The Supreme Court is shut down. There are seven people left in the city, and our job is to make sure that the furniture doesn't get stolen while nobody's home. There's no traffic. You can park anywhere. It's perfect. It's paradise. Except for one thing.

For 33 years this city didn't have a baseball team, and there was no suffering...

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