Someone once said that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.

(I had often seen this quote attributed to Albert Einstein, but apparently that’s apocryphal; this thread suggests it may have more to do with Al-Anon. JonathanF, any ideas?)

So it would be mad for me to think that repeating the same old complaints about this moribund offense would yield a different outcome. Frankly, I don’t see a whole lot worth rehashing in tonight’s game, which I didn’t watch, and which offered little worth remembering. So I thought I might do something different and I googled classic Chinese poetry.

Here’s one I found at random, by Su Shi – a bureaucrat who was also apparently one of the greatest poets of the Song era. It is called “My Sick Recovery to Early Spring”:

This spring comes early to a world of snow,

Hard to see but her east wind starts to blow.

She gives subtle signs with pussy willows,

And gentle grace even on drums and bells.

Only one quilt can keep me warm in bed,

Tho’ the night feels like winter long and cold.

When the town’s still dreaming in misty air,

A new sun rises, biting the tip of the hill.

Peach and apricot boughs will sprout out there.

The juice for spring outings will boil bubbles.

There’ll be nothing for me, sick and weak.

I’ll keep the bed from running away at home.

Perhaps tomorrow the bats will wake, rested.