Fantasy baseball
Is there anything better than spring? The weather (presumably) gets better, the school year is almost finished and, most of all, it’s baseball season. More importantly, it’s fantasy baseball season. Maybe I care a bit too much, but I love waking up and checking my team or talking to friends about good waiver-wire pickups or potential trades. Am I a sports nerd? Of course. That should have been established by now. But perhaps I need the excitement now to make up for how much everyone forgets about baseball by July. Moral victories.
— Vince Nairn
The Masters
You say golf’s boring; I say you’re ignorant. You say Tiger Woods is scum; I say he’s a player on the course and off. You say the Augusta National Golf Club’s male-only membership policy is sexist and backwards; I ask, “Have you really ever watched women’s golf anyway?” OK, let’s stop arguing; golf is a sophisticated game after all. And one thing we can both agree on is that The Masters, the game’s premier tournament, begins today in Augusta, Ga. Four days of the world’s greatest players on the world’s most picturesque course, all in pursuit of golf’s major prize, The Green Jacket. All right, so maybe golf is a little boring, but what else is there to watch during Sunday afternoon — hockey?
— Cameron Dunbar
Being back in America
I didn’t really expect to experience culture shock upon returning to the U.S. after 10 weeks studying abroad in Spain, but the smallest things jumped out at me when I came back to the country I had called home for 20 years. The toilet flushers were in the wrong place. The colors of the Chipotle peppers were all wrong. People were speaking English for Pete’s sake. The Naked juices had been repackaged, and my favorite flavors were gone. I had to fight to keep from succumbing to a panic attack each time I entered Nelson Market. It took me a while to get used to these changes, but I grew to appreciate them, especially in Athens. After all, the peppers in my veggie burrito bowl might be the wrong colors, but the people in Spain don’t even know what Chipotle is. And that’s something I didn’t miss when I waved goodbye to Madrid.
— Rebecca McKinsey
