Waking up on a Sunday morning without a column idea is nothing new to this writer.

Many a time inspiration has struck in the form of a Sunday afternoon football game or a Monday afternoon nap.

So finding myself lacking in ideas when I woke up on Sunday was no cause for concern.

Wandering into the living room, I scanned the television for any sporting event worthy of wasting three hours of my time. Both football and playoff baseball volunteered to do just that, and with the help of the remote I would be able to switch between the two effortlessly.

The Bears-Browns game began at noon, but seeing as how I had just woken up, I was in no mood for a nap. Keeping it as my secondary option, I searched for baseball and found the Astros-Braves game just getting underway in Houston.

With the Cardinals having swept their series the night before, the game held much interest for me. If the Astros won, they advanced; if the Braves won, the series would be even. I settled in, unknowing of what I was getting myself into:

1st inning – Splitting my interest between the baseball game and the Bears’ futility, my interest level is relatively low. Neither team does anything worthwhile. I raid my fridge for a change of scenery.

3rd inning – Braves’ Adam LaRoche hits a grand slam. I’m sure Astros pitcher Brad Backe regrets serving up the shot. I wonder if I’m going to regret the leftover Hooters wings I just ate.

5th inning – The teams trade runs on sacrifice flies. I think I pulled something in my back without ever having left the couch. Impressed, I lay back down.

7th inning – LaRoche gets thrown out at home on a double into the left field corner. I yell at the TV, upset because LaRoche wasn’t hustling. He doesn’t hear me.

8th inning – Berkman hits a grand slam of his own for the Astros. I’m again yelling because Houston has the smallest ballpark I’ve ever seen. The umpires, still unable to hear me, allow the home run anyway.

9th inning – Miraculously, the Bears blow a late four-point lead and lose by 10. In a separate miracle, Brad Ausmus hits a game-tying home run for the Astros. It gets extremely tense, and I start sweating. Wondering if it’s because I haven’t showered yet, I decide to keep it to myself.

14th inning – It seems like the game has gone on forever. Nobody’s scored since the ninth. It’s nearing record time for a playoff game, and I start to get excited about the idea of witnessing history. This doesn’t do a lot for the sweating.

16th inning – Roger Clemens comes in to pitch for the Astros. The game is now tied for the longest game in postseason history, inning-wise. Clemens, 43, and the ageless Julio Franco face off in a battle of who’s older and still playing professional baseball. While Franco is actually the elder, at 47, Clemens strikes him out. The combined age of 90 still makes me laugh. That’s so old.

17th inning – Just ridiculous at this point, the only player left on either bench is the Braves’ catcher Johnny Estrada. I wouldn’t be surprised to see Air Bud pinch-hit soon. Still haven’t left the couch.

18th inning – Chris Burke finally ends the game for the Astros, sending one into the left field seats and sending the Braves back to Atlanta. And sending me on a much-needed trip to the bathroom.

After 18 innings and over six hours of historic, record-setting baseball, I’m still column-less.

Then, suddenly, the light bulb goes off. Of course! It’s been right in front of me the whole time!

But wait – it’s not bobsled season. Oh well. Back to the drawing board.