Saturday, February 25, 2006


Mets single game tickets go on sale Sunday at 9 am. I will wake up Sunday at about 8:54, just enough time to slap myself around, clear my throat, and get on the phone/internet to try to land seats for opening day. It's tough. If you call at 8:59 you get a recording. If you call at 9:00:00:01 you get a busy signal, and may not get through to a ticket operator until everything is sold out. If I could freeze time and acquire the ability to discern nanoseconds, then the whole thing would be easier. I'll let you know how my ticket search goes after tomorrow.

So we keep hearing about Pedro's toe and his shoe and his foot and his sock lint and whatever the hell else is related. I try not to follow it too closely, basically because I fear that learning about it will give me the reasonable belief that Pedro is going to have a bad year, at which point I will vomit all over myself at best or stab myself in the face with an icepick at worst. Instead, I stick to the reaction I had tonight when seeing the most recent story on, along with a picture of Pedro: "Holy crap, I still can't believe Pedro Martinez plays for the Mets. That's insane." I had that feeling with Mike Piazza until about 2003. I think that feeling sums up just how special certain players are; when you just can't get over that they suit up for your team every day. Alternatively, it might sum up that I have a learning disability and need the span of five years to process simple information. You make the call!


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