Wednesday, May 09, 2007

HAIRCUT 100.

[likely stealing this post title from the boys over at Misery Loves Company, but it was too good not to use]

So I could make some kind of witty comments about how when the Mets go to San Francisco, they can’t wear flowers in their hair any more, but that’s even below me. I know, I wasn’t supposed to watch the game, but plans got reshuffled and I didn’t have to get up at 5:30 after all (6:15 instead), and no matter what, I absolutely could watch the pre-game show.

“David Wright cut his HAIR?” That was TBF, not me.
From there, of course, the incredulity only grew.
We started trying to guess who would (and wouldn’t) cut their hair, or who had cut their hair.
I was backing Beltran from the outset, while TBF was dubious.
On the other hand, I couldn’t believe that Reyes wouldn’t (chicken!).

The pre-game finished, and I ran off to brush my teeth. TBF appeared in the bathroom door a few minutes later.
“The haircuts are working. I put it on pause.”

By the end of that first inning, the night before was just a bad dream. This is the Mets we know. This is how we do things.
I went to sleep with Howie on the radio and even one Barry Bonds home run couldn’t give me bad dreams.

We need to find a way to get out to AT&T Park, and soon. There is wi-fi in the entire stadium! And my friend Shirley told me tales of the past when Palm users could have the starting lined up beamed into their devices each game as they entered the park.
(TBF both loves and hates this idea. I told him that if he lived there, he’d get the lineup electronically, but then still keep the box score manually. He says I’m probably right.)
It kills me to think of all the times in the past I was in various cities on business (or pleasure) with time to kill, and all the ballgames and baseball parks I could have seen by now.