Good for What Ails You

When I fell asleep last night the Padres were handing Pedro's ass to him on a platter to the tune of 4-0. (Like my brother said--we were on the phone when the onslaught began--everyone has an off day. Given how tired Pedro looked last year I thought he'd have racked up a dozen rocky starts by this point in the season.) When I woke up it was 8-3 and Offerman was striking out to end the game. I don't think anything of interest happened in between. I did, however, have the pleasure of stumbling off to bed with songs from the new M.O.T.O. disc in my head.