Memorial Day, 2020. It really doesn’t feel anything like a usual Memorial Day at all. And besides the coronavirus, and besides there not being any sports to watch on TV, and besides the never-ending fear and anxiety that is living somewhere inside all of us, the real reason it doesn’t feel like Memorial Day is because of Todd Hensley, HITS President of Hits Digital Ventures, Supreme Overlord of his Desk and birthday boy today, 5/25 (he’s 53).

You see, Todd is in charge of production for the magazine, creates our schedule and oversees the printing and distribution of our issues. Earlier this week, Mr. Hensley and I went over said production dates and he convinced me that next week is Memorial Day. That next week is when we have Monday off. And next week is when we had to rearrange our scheduled activities on Monday and move them to a quick Tuesday and compressed week.

It is also partly my fault, because I’m still trying to figure out how April can have 173 days. So, I went along with the birthday boy, who knows that every year his birthday coincides with Memorial Day weekend, and therefore adamantly believed what he was saying, even though it made no sense.

Clearly, being isolated and careful and anxious is at least in the back of everyone’s mind. And the idea of a three-day weekend means much less than it did in the Old Normal. But I am still confused and unprepared for how to deal with this weekend.

I also assume I’m not the only one, though most people are not directly affected by Hensley’s shortcomings. When I grew up in New York, there were always baseball doubleheaders on TV. Most occurred in the National League and concerned the hapless early years of the New York Mets. For those of you who are unaware, the Mets entered baseball as an expansion team in 1962 and posted a ghastly 40-120 record. They found new and fascinating ways to lose every day. But it was on Sundays and on Memorial Day holidays that their incompetence truly shone. They would reliably extend their doubleheader day into interminable extra-inning contests that stretched late into the night before their inevitable defeat. Oh well, there was sports on all day, and I miss the heck out of it. Even the losing doesn’t seem to matter.

So for now, on this seemingly misplaced holiday, I implore all of you who are having any kind of difficulty at all—whether you are missing sports and/or life as it used to be, or just having a difficult day assimilating it all. My suggestion is simple.

Blame Todd Hensley. And also wish him a happy 53rd birthday. We all need some happy.