When I'm sick and little else can heal me

When I came into work last week I saw that issue of Sports Illustrated sitting on my desk. A friend had stumbled onto it while he was searching through an old box of magazines in his son's school library. It turns out the dateline on that issue is September 22, 1986; I was born September 25, 1986. So we're clear: the team I love most, beating the team I hate most, on the cover of the magazine I hope to one day write for, three days before I was born. Oh, and it just so happened to be sitting in some box in Newtown, where a guy I know would find himself on a weekday afternoon. Now, there are certain times when "coincidence" is just obligated to step aside while less logical, purely baffling forces take over. Pretty sure this is one of them.



Let that sink in. More tomorrow.