Bag.

I have very good intentions. Been very busy lately but there's all kinds of stuff I've been meaning to get to, including:

* Colby Lewis's big bag of wrong last night, the old scab it peeled off and poured Cholula Hot Sauce into, and how it factors into the future.

* Something awesome to quite awesome on this Rangers club that isn't getting nearly enough attention.

* Eric Nadel, and our good fortune.

* Four reasons "Sports Night" and Clive Deamer are nothing alike.

* Maybe not that.

* What stood out for me about Brian McNamee's testimony at the Clemens trial.

* Definitely not that.

* The Jurickson Profar Hit Streak and the importance of Barret Loux.

* The Draft, just a few weeks away (and why Zach Eflin is not a Cody Buckel reference).

* July 8-9-10-11, 2010 against Baltimore, a series I'd hoped never to think about again.

* Being Ryan Spilborghs.

* Doug Davis, Ryan Garko, Kip Wells, and Jose Julio Ruiz.

* A couple trade ideas.

* The best thing about umpire Bob Davidson (which would probably involve the first use of the word "rhubarb" in Newberg Report history).

* Other stuff.

But I'm flat.

I'm a four-seamer grooved to Jarrod Dyson, a four-seamer grooved to Brayan Pena, a curveball grooved to Eric Hosmer. I'm a throw 10 feet over the first baseman's head, and another in the dirt and wide of his reach. I'm the most unpalatable baseball that Greg Maddux has ever witnessed as a Special Assistant to the GM, at least in Texas.

Flat.

So rather than open the scattered, linty contents of what's admittedly my own big bag this morning, I'm gonna beg off and look forward to a welcome dose of Appointment Baseball with second-place Oakland, a two-game set that I'm counting on to get me refocused, reenergized, and back on my game.

Please understand.