What a week for cheese

My wife and I spontaneously drove to Wisconsin to purchase cheese curds last week.

For those who don’t know, that isn’t the epic undertaking it would have been a month ago—since we relocated from New Mexico, and settled into my hometown in far northern Illinois, it was a pleasant 45-minutes to drive home from Juda, WI; and an unpleasantly rainy 45-minutes to drive there, in both cases on the county blacktops and state two-lanes.

And boy, did that only kick off the week, for cheese, the big winner this week.

In other cheese news, The Packers rather resoundingly thumped the Bears this week, dumping both Chicago and the Vikings to 3-3. while the Cheddarheads are enjoying a 5-1 record that looks nearly insurmountable, given the way the Vikes have played. But I promise, this comes back to baseball.

One of the nicest, kindest, most highly-regarded guys in baseball, from the things I have read.

Former Twin Martin Perez, to be precise. In the offseason, he lives on a cheese farm in his native Venezuela—perhaps he and I are not so different. That sounds idyllic to me. This year, it might be a few more weeks before he joins his brother on the farm. That’s because his Red Sox are still alive, as the less-offensive Sox in the playoffs this season, I cannot complain too much about that. They are facing the Houston Astros. As Bob said, they are both teams with some baggage, but they are also teams with fun former Twins playing, and teams who’s SBN communities have earned my respect over the years. I’d like to see either of them triumph over the Dodgers, although if Atlanta pulls off a win, that math may change.

Anyway, back to Martin Perez and the high stinky cheese. He’s already made one appearance in the two games of the ALCS, pitching out of the Boston bullpen for the final two-thirds of an inning, in Friday’s eight-pitcher “duel.” Another old friend, Ryan Pressly, closed things down for the Astros and collected the save.

Gotta love October baseball, even if the Twins never had a prayer this season. Maybe next year—if that thought isn’t too cheesey.