I’m not sure where the term Slough of Despond comes from, but I’m fairly sure that if such a thing exists, I’m up to my wrinkled old hippo-impersonating neck in it.  I’ve been in a slump lately, and not your garden-variety slump, either--not like a guy who hasn’t had a hit in four games or whatnot. My slump is like a guy who hasn’t had a hit in 3 1/2 years, and on top of that had his pants fall down while trying to run out a sacrifice bunt, and also broke his bat on a foul ball and half of it flew into the stands and beaned a kid with leukemia, and also was in the clubhouse with diarrhea when his turn to bat came up, and the whole stadium had to wait while the bat boy went down to get him. That kind of slump. Which is why you’re looking at a photo of Doug and Jenny standing in front of a wall, instead of a wonderful Wally sketch from tonight, which doesn’t exist.