There is always someone who says very sagely that there is always someone else in the world worse off than you are. Don't you hate that person? Really. Don't you just hate that person? Because they always show up at the height of a grand pity party to throw a wet blanket on even that. Right? Here you are having a miserable day and you start to grumble. Grumbling at least makes it feel a little better because it's getting some of the frustrations out and perhaps someone who cares about you is even giving a little much needed sympathy. Then along comes the preacher, teacher, mother, brother, husband, wife, best friend, boss, co-worker or construction worker who says gravely: "There's always someone else in the world worst off than you."
Drat that person. May he/she absentmindedly walk right into a water-filled pot hole and fill up their boots. You know why? Because the Fan is having one of those weeks and really wants to blow up at somebody or perhaps have a good cry. And yet, without that person even being around, that voice in the Fan's ear keeps whispering..."There always someone else..." Yeah, yeah, okay. But the Fan sure pities that poor person because they must be flat out miserable.
First of all, the Fan has caught one doozy of a cold. Yeah, you know the kind. The nose plugs up or drips constantly. The wheezing in the chest sounds like someone is sawing wood in there. Between the sneezes and blowing of noses, this old Fan just feels like someone rolled over him with a steam roller that has the New York Giants written on the side of it. And no, the Fan will never get over that Super Bowl.
So anyway, the Fan and his good wife settled down to watch the 3-1 Yankees to see if they can get in the World Series. The Fan has already decided, as usual, that the Yankees are going to lose. But at least he has been doing better on that old temper of his. The good wife of course is more optimistic and scolds the Fan for his lack of faith.
With plenty of tissues available and the garbage can right by the lounge chair available when needed, a coke can chilled to just the right temperature and a box of Wheat Thins at the ready, the game starts.
Oh. The Fan forgot to tell you that it snowed on Thursday. That's right. 6.5 inches of the blasted stuff fell on northern Maine on October 22, 2009. For cripes sake, the golf clubs aren't even out of the trunk of the car yet! The front garden hasn't been pruned for the winter yet. And we get 6.5 inches of the white, cold stuff.
Okay, back to the game. Jeter singles (man, is he the Man or what?). Damon singles. Okay, boys and girls, here we go. Then Teixeira comes up. Had he stunk up the CS up until that point or what? Well, he gets two quick strikes on him, including one in the dirt that made him look like a lefty-swinging Soriano. But he works the count back to 3-2. Lackey throws a curve that is at least six inches outside. "Yesss!" the Fan cries. Except the ump called him out on strikes. What!? Why the heck can't major league umpires call the strike zone anymore? Someone tried to rebut the Fan a week or so back by saying that the little strike zone they show on the telecasts are not accurate. Yeah, right. Then why would they have them then? That pitch went around the plate.
Well, if you saw the game, you know the rest. A-Rod wasn't ready for a really good pitch to hit (despite what the announcers said - heck, he hit that same pitch into the 40th row the other night) and popped out to the infield. Matsui then grounds weakly to first (instead of taking the pitch the other way like he usually does). See!? The good wife shushes and the Fan gets himself under control because we don't want another episode like earlier in this series.
Just then the Angels are coming up and...and...and...the power goes out. VVPPFFHHTTT goes the sound and then we are sitting in the dark. The power returns shortly, but good old Time Warner Cable is down for the count. No phone, no food no pets...we ain't got no cigarettes. There is no television signal, no phone signal and no Internet. It's all down. The good wife and the Fan looked at each other for a good long while. The Fan briefly thought about the bedroom, but that would be fun for her with phlegm all over eh?
So long story short. The Fan took his Nyquil, prayed for that good old Nyquil coma. Then the Fan walked his sorry body upstairs to bed, all the while with that awful person whispering, "Somewhere in the world someone has it much worse than you do." Yeah? Well, kiss my furry butt. Heh. But it figures they could have been correct all the while. Somewhere in New York, someone with a bad cold and a leak in the roof actually got to watch Phil Hughes and Joba Chamberlain throw away Game 5.
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