I hate the heat.
Hate the way everything left out in it gets sweaty, sticky, and clammy. Hate how any room without sufficient air flow (older Seattle domiciles... hello) becomes unhabitably stuffy within minutes. Hate how unlike the cold, you can only dress for it so much. Hate how it slowly but surely will cook every inch of your body and mind standing outside for hours on end.
So when I heard about the heat advisory going into effect in Chicago right as the Mariners arrived in town, followed by yesterday’s game in which two umpires, a reliever, and a team employee needed medical attention due to the convection oven-esque conditions, it sounded like one of my personal hells.