When I was 18, I started dating my first real girlfriend (girls on the back of cereal boxes tend to be a bit unresponsive once mom throws the box out, after all). Things started out great; we got along swimmingly, spent every waking moment together, and started making plans to move in together. But, after some time, the cracks in our armor began to show. She tended to slack a bit when it came to accepting my meager requests to not be so irrational. Things got a bit heated, but I accepted it because of what seemed to be before the steady decline in our relationship. I looked past it all because, after all, there were obviously things I really did like about her. Unfortunately, these delusions never really quelled just how bad things really were.
My first relationship has some striking parallels to my “relationship” with one Ike Davis. Starting off as one of the more highly touted of a crop of up-and-coming first basemen in the latter first decade