A Pete Rose Museum in Anderson Ferry?

And other slightly off-center opinions for a crummy-weather Friday

Today, we explore the hazards of living in the morning, the annoyance that is Jim Harbaugh, stupid baseball analytics and Jim Jordan’s empty career. And oh, yeah, Pete Rose’s boyhood home should be made into a museum.

Climb aboard for the ($8/month) cost of one three-pack of mediocre golf balls you will lose eventually, anyway.

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Grumpy old dude rolls outta the rack and knocks his cup o’ Keurig all over the kitchen floor. The second attempt at life-giving Joe is a K-cup that somehow explodes mid-brew, leaving the coffee vessel a sodden mess of moist Guatemalan grounds.

I won’t even tell you what happened to the oatmeal.

OK, I will.

I mixed up the oats and the water in the bowl, set the nuke-machine timer to 2:00 and walked away temporarily. Only, I put 20:00 on the timer instead. Five minutes later, my breakfast was a miasma of exploded, cement-like oat droppings stuck to the microwave window.

I’d like to be able to sit here on this crappy weather Friday and say my moods do not impact my words. That’d be an alternative fact. True fact is, if I sit down at the keyboard in a state of Pissed Off, it will be reflected in the day’s essay.

(Side note: I discovered over the decades my writing was affected by the sport I was witnessing. Baseball words were thoughtful and relaxed. Football words were angry and hard, basketball words flowed easily, like the game itself. Golf words were simply love letters to the sport. Irritating, I know, especially to readers who somehow don’t care about the Masters.)

Soon enough, we’ll get the happyhappy-joyjoy that usually defines TML Friday, First, I gotta boil. Let’s start with. . .

PEOPLE AND THINGS WE WISH WOULD JUST GO AWAY:

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