Fred Lynn, 1988 Fleer #566

So there's this thing I do on this blog (or used to, in the long-ago when I didn't have to be shamed into writing by my restless readers) where I project thoughts, fears, delusions, etc. into the minds of the players pictured on my cards. For instance, even though this photo was snapped nearly 30 years ago, I might suggest that Fred Lynn is wondering what the hell we've all done to deserve a year like 2016. By now you know my personal laundry list of difficulties over the past calendar year: my wife's breast cancer diagnosis in March at 24 weeks pregnant (coinciding with the death of her grandmother), her subsequent treatment before and after our son Finn's June birth, Finn's cleft lip repair surgery in September, the financial stress of paying two mortgages until we finally rented out our old rowhouse IN NOVEMBER...hell, since the last time I posted back in *cough* October, my car battery went kaput and various tow truck snafus stranded me in my workplace parking lot for three-plus hours...and three weeks later, Janet got hit by an elderly driver making an ill-advised left turn just a few blocks from our home, WITH Finn in the car. (They're both fine, and her car will be, with Geico picking up the tab.) So I have plenty of reasons to tell 2016 to go piss up a rope before we even start talking about climate change, or Syria, or the Zika virus, or Brexit, or the neverending roll call of public figures dying, or Donald Effing Trump.

And yet...2016 brought me this daily source of joy, wonder, and warmth.

That's one major exception that proves the rule. As I've taken to saying in recent months, thanks for the baby, 2016. Now go away and never come back.