Sometimes I’m a substitute for a partners “pitch” league in Norwich. If you don’t know, pitch is arguably the greatest card game played on this earth (although no one outside of Central New York and the Southern Tier has ever heard of it). I’m not smart enough to explain the rules, though. So you’ll just have to trust me that it’s a pretty good time.

Anyway, a few nights ago the league asked me to fill in for someone who wasn’t feeling good (apparently, this person had eaten one too many ((one)) of those new Cheesy Beefy Melts from Taco Bell).

If the person I replaced knew then what they know now, they’d have overcome the Ebola virus – let alone a few Mexi-cold sweats – rather than give up their spot to me on that night.

It was a pitch massacre. Some say it equaled the combined horror of the Battle of Little Big Horn and that TV commercial for Time Warner Cable’s “On Demand Expert” featuring Rod Wankel.

Overall, really, it was a just a combination of bad cards and even worse plays – mostly by me.