(Background information: I have a human daughter, she is a baby, sometimes we call her Vladimir Pootin.)
Yesterday Vladimir Pootin, aka Tooth Bader Ginsburg, was awake and crying most of the night, teething and raging. While it was my wife’s turn to tend to her in the middle of the night, I briefly fell asleep and had an unusually vivid dream in which I held a press conference on the state of my daughter’s sleeping habits and my parenting skills.
The press conference immediately devolved into a series of vapid sports cliches. Here, as best I can remember, are the questions and answers:
There was an awful lot of holding of your baby to sleep out there tonight. Do you think that’s going to hurt the team in the long run?
Look, I’m not going to make any excuses for my performance in there tonight. Look, I’m just putting my head down and giving 110 percent, night after night. Look, at the end of the day, I’m leaving it all in the crib.
Would you call this a rebuilding year?
Listen, I’m not looking at this season as a rebuilding year, not at all. Listen, if holding the baby in my arms until she’s asleep is what I have to do to get some rest, well, I’m going to hold the baby in my arms until she’s asleep.
Do you think your feeding strategy can get you through the playoffs?
Hey, defense might win championships, but a good offense doesn’t hurt, you know? Hey, all I can do is be fundamentally sound and trust that all that hard work will pay off at the end of the day.
Going into tomorrow night, is there anything you can take from this loss?
At the end of the day, all I can do is concentrate on the fundamentals, stick to my assignments, and hope for a little sleep.























