Ordinarily, I don't mind rain. I don't mind it Monday-Friday, when I'm trapped in front of my computer at work. I don't mind it at night, when I'm undertaking reasonable efforts to capture eight hours of sleep.* I don't mind it in the late-afternoon on a hot, sticky August day, when it arrives minutes after a severe thunderstorm warning.
(*The last time I accrued the recommended eight hours of sleep: March 3, 2008. I was unspeakably sick with terrible nausea, and passed out [?] next to the toilet. I woke up without a trace of an illegal drug in my system, TEN HOURS LATER, then spent another two hours laying on the floor contemplating how the heck I got there in the first place.)
However, I draw the line on the weekends. That line is even more discriminating when said weekends involve live soccer games.
There's little to no doubt that tomorrow night's Revs-Crew match won't be cancelled, thankfully. I've been looking forward to this match since the Crew outsourced the Revolution attack to a third-world country and hit lemon-lemon-lemon on the scoreboard four times. It was ugly. There was a former hurricane throwing wind and rain at my windows. It wasn't a night to remember. It was a night to pop The Notebook into the DVD player and fall asleep to the scene where Noah rowed Ally along the creek.
I'm looking forward to hyrdoplaning up Route 1 to Gillette Stadium, firing up my laptop, catching up with Sean Donahue and Tony Biscaia, and banging out a worthwhile match report.
As excited as I am to do just that, I am saddened that tomorrow's Anchorwomen game is postponed until Sunday night at 6:00pm. Coach Koperda e-mailed me this morning with the news, which now leaves me with a gaping hole on my schedule from 12-2pm.
Ordinarily, this wouldn't be a huge issue. In fact, a part of me feels as if I'm blowing this whole postponement out of proportion. It's just that I've just never been a fan of waiting. Plus, I undertook an ambitious work out schedule at my gym in order to accomodate the Anchorwomen match. Let me tell you, I walked like a flippin' penguin into work on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday morning because I concentrated my regiment to the point where my hamstrings tightened up faster than a politician without a teleprompter. Needless to say, the rain associated with this premature Nor'easter is mocking me. What can I do? I just tip my cap call Mother Nature my daddy.
The forecast for Sunday evening is 67 degrees and rain, according to weather.com.
Maybe it'll be a dry rain.