There are precious few advantages to covering the World Series from home instead of the press box. I can sleep in my own bed, there’s no opportunity for me to inevitably forget to pack toothpaste since that seems like something hotels should provide alongside moisturizer and tiny sewing kits, and I can scream in excitement when the moment warrants it.
I should probably apologize to my downstairs neighbors after the way Game 4 ended Saturday night, when it was actually early Sunday morning and I had to stand up suddenly (loudly) to demand of no one “WHAT WAS THAT?