I woke up this morning in Page, Arizona.
This is the view from my hotel.
Which seems excessive.
I have stayed in hotels where the view from the window was an air-conditioning unit, the back of a Denny’s and a guy named Craig smoking next to a dumpster.
Page gives you this.
Mountains.
Canyons.
Morning light pouring across the desert.
Lake Powell lurking out there somewhere.
And, because America refuses to let anything become too majestic, a parking lot full of SUVs in the foreground.
Last night I went to Grand Canyon Brewing Company.
I had done a little research before coming up here and this seemed like the correct Page, Arizona dinner decision.
Brewery.
Pizza.
Nobody asking me to wear a collared shirt.
Perfect.
Then I saw the pizza.
They burnt my first one, and apologized. They brought this, and the extra cheese may have been added as a protective layer. This thing had some heft.
There are pizzas that arrive at your table. This one appeared to have been delivered by the Army Corps of Engineers.
It had geological layers.
Crust.
Sauce.
Cheese.
Pepperoni.
More cheese.
Possibly another sedimentary layer from the Jurassic period.
Somewhere between Neapolitan and nuclear.
And I ate it because I am a professional.
Not a professional food critic.
Just apparently a professional at eating pizza in strange places before photographing houses.
There was also a menu.
I took a picture of it because apparently this is what I do now.
I document menus.
Someday my descendants will go through my photographs expecting sunsets and important family moments and instead discover:
GRAND CANYON BREWING COMPANY. CALZONES $21.
You’re welcome, future generations.
But the real reason we’re here is breakfast.
Because a storyline has been developing around hotel waffles.
Three days ago we discussed the universal hotel waffle machine.
Yesterday, while discussing NASA launching the Nancy Grace Roman Space Telescope, I wondered whether intelligent civilizations elsewhere in the universe had managed to figure out hotel waffle-machine instructions.
This morning I was finally going to face the machine myself.
I walked downstairs.
And discovered this.
Four.
FOUR WAFFLE IRONS.
Not even the traditional rotating hotel waffle machine.
Page has apparently abandoned that primitive technology.
These make four little waffles simultaneously.
There is a giant machine in the middle that says:
FRESH HOT WAFFLES.
There is batter.
There are waffle irons.
There is syrup.
There is everything required for waffle production.
Except one thing.
Instructions.
There were no instructions.
We’ve spent three days discussing this.
Yesterday I wondered whether intelligent civilizations elsewhere in the universe had figured out hotel waffle-machine instructions.
Apparently we haven’t.
So I didn’t make a waffle.
I had this instead.
Eggs.
Sausage.
Bagel.
Coffee.
Orange juice.
And three packets of Cholula because I’m not an animal.
But you’ll notice something missing.
NO BACON.
This is apparently where Page draws the line.
They’ll give you four waffle irons without instructions.
They’ll put you in a hotel room overlooking scenery that looks like somebody left the saturation slider unattended.
But bacon?
Let’s not get ridiculous.
Fortunately, Cholula can fix almost anything.
It cannot turn sausage into bacon.
Science has limits.
Yesterday’s Sports Mess
Speaking of situations where apparently nobody left instructions:
Yesterday we went 1-3.
After going 3-1 the day before, baseball looked at us and said:
That’s adorable.
⚾ TAMPA BAY RAYS F5 ML ❌
This was supposed to be our clean little starting-pitcher handicap.
Ian Seymour against Robert Stock.
Stock entered with an ERA north of seven.
We removed Tampa’s bullpen from the equation.
We isolated what we believed was the edge.
Perfect.
Robert Stock then threw 5⅓ scoreless innings.
Tampa even loaded the bases with nobody out in the fifth.
Nothing.
The Mets led 1-0 after five, which is all we cared about.
Here’s the important part:
I don’t hate the process.
We identified a starting-pitcher mismatch and chose the market designed specifically to isolate it.
We were just wrong about the mismatch.
That happens.
It’s considerably different from seeing a warning sign and explaining it away.
Although I would appreciate Robert Stock returning the Greg Maddux costume before Halloween.
Rays F5. Loss.
⚾ SAN DIEGO PADRES F5 ML ✅
Now here’s what that same idea looks like when it works.
Michael King against Brady Singer.
King was the reason we wanted the bet.
Singer was the pitcher we wanted to attack.
So we took everything else and threw it out.
Five innings.
San Diego led 4-0 after five.
That’s it.
That’s the entire business model.
Padres F5. Win.
⚾ MILWAUKEE BREWERS ML ❌
Cubs 17. Brewers 3.
Seventeen.
Chicago hit nine home runs.
Nine.
At some point this stops being baseball and becomes an FAA notification.
Kyle Harrison allowed nine runs in 3⅔ innings.
This one is important because Harrison was specifically why we thought yesterday was different from the Dustin May game.
We weren’t tolerating Harrison.
We liked Harrison.
And Harrison responded by wandering into Wrigley Field carrying a can of gasoline and several complimentary books of matches.
That doesn’t require a new rule.
Sometimes your handicap is structurally sound and the thing you believed turns out to be spectacularly wrong.
Nine home runs wrong.
There probably isn’t an Excel column for that.
Brewers ML. Loss.
⚾ BALTIMORE ORIOLES / COLORADO ROCKIES OVER 10.5 ❌
Final score:
Orioles 2. Rockies 1.
At Coors Field.
Three runs.
We could have played this game in Yellowstone with a wiffle ball and generated more offense.
But there’s a wrinkle here that actually matters to our process.
We built this handicap around Kyle Bradish.
Bradish had just been hammered.
Tanner Gordon had an ERA over five.
Coors Field.
Rather than deciding which questionable starter we trusted, we decided not to trust either.
Then Bradish didn’t start.
Cade Povich did.
That’s not a bad beat.
That’s information changing after we built the handicap.
So another little item goes onto the checklist:
If the handicap depends heavily on the starting pitcher, verify the starting pitcher again before placing the bet.
Yesterday we didn’t have that opportunity.
Today we will.
Over 10.5. Loss.
Three runs at Coors.
I’m still offended.
THE GIANT SCOREBOARD
Yesterday’s 1-3 moves our giant monument to questionable judgment to:
ALL SPORTS: 1,038-1,070-7
Recent journey:
1-8 → 4-0 → 0-3 → 1-2 → 1-2 → 1-2 → 2-1 → 3-1 → 1-3
It’s less of a trend line and more of an EKG.
Meanwhile:
TENNIS: 0-1
Untouched.
Protected.
Future archaeologists will discover it and assume it had religious significance.
They’re not entirely wrong.
TODAY’S GRINDER
We’re grinding today’s card a little differently because I’m currently in Page and can’t actually place anything until I’m back in Nevada.
Which might accidentally be useful.
We’re doing the research now.
Then, before anything gets booked, we’re going back through the survivors and checking:
Starting pitchers.
Lineups and injuries.
Consensus market.
Price.
No Bradish surprises.
No forcing five picks because five looks nice.
And definitely no betting a starter we’re already writing paragraphs explaining away.
So far, our board has produced:
🟢 DETROIT TIGERS F5 ML
Troy Melton against Connor Prielipp.
This is currently the strongest candidate.
Melton is the starter we want to back.
Prielipp is the starter we want to attack.
That makes the market pretty obvious.
Five innings.
Don’t invite everybody else to the party.
🟡 CLEVELAND GUARDIANS ML
Still under consideration.
Gavin Williams gives us an advantage against Spencer Arrighetti, but the price was already getting expensive when we looked this morning.
This one needs another look when I’m back in Nevada.
🟡 TAMPA BAY RAYS ML
Not F5 today.
Yesterday’s starter advantage doesn’t exist today.
This would be a team bet.
Tampa is substantially better than the Mets, and the price was reasonable enough this morning to keep it alive.
But it hasn’t earned a spot yet.
And that’s where the board stands for now.
We’re not done grinding.
More importantly, we’re not booking anything until this afternoon.
Because apparently we’ve finally learned that information arriving closer to game time can be useful.
Unlike hotel waffle instructions.
Those apparently never arrive.
This isn’t called Pick What I Pick.
It’s called Don’t Pick What I Pick.
Please wager accordingly.
