In preparation for today, I finally washed my Nats cap. The thing was a disaster, encrusted literally with the detritus of countless lawn-mowings and figuratively with the detritus of years of Nationals fandom.
This, I thought, was a new beginning. I would wash away all the sweat and little bits of grass that somehow wound up on my head and awful Boswell columns and Nook Logan at-bats, and together my hat, my team, and I would walk into a glorious future, cleansed of the filth of the past.
Almost nothing came off. It's ground in there too deeply.
And then I put my hat in the dryer and it shrank.