STONEHENGE, Va. — Historians will one day argue over the exact date. Some say it was a Sunday in late September. Others point to a Thursday night game he forgot to set his lineup for. But all agree on this: at some point this fall, J Bum stopped loving points.
Not stopped scoring them. Stopped loving them. The way a man stops loving a sunset or a well-timed bunt. The points were still out there, glittering on the waiver wire, free for the taking. He just didn’t want them anymore.
It is a strange thing to watch. Bum coaches basketball, where the whole idea is points. He coaches baseball, where the whole idea is runs. He has spent his adult life explaining to children that the scoreboard matters. Then he logged into ESPN and whispered, “Not for me.”
His team is being crushed. Not beaten. Crushed. Opponents have begun starting their backups out of mercy and still winning by 40. One league member benched his quarterback by accident and set a season high. Another forgot it was game day entirely and clinched a tiebreaker.
The lawn, however, is perfect. Immaculate. Striped like Fenway, green like Augusta, soft enough to nap on. It is the only thing in Bum’s life currently gaining yards. Experts believe this is where the love went. A man can only love one thing that much, and he chose the fescue.
Which brings us to the darker theory. Some in the league quietly wonder whether this is not a slump at all, but a settlement. Whether, in exchange for leniency from the Board on the tennis matter, Bum agreed to throw the season. The Board declined to comment. Bum declined to comment. The grass, as always, said nothing. But people have noticed that the discipline never came, and the points never did either, and those two facts are now sitting next to each other on the porch like old friends.
Reached for comment on the season, Bum said he would score when he felt like it.
The grass is a 10. The team is a 2. The tennis file remains sealed.
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