I’m hopelessly hooked on the Yankees, of course. And I need to cut back on my blogging or I’ll lose any semblance of a normal life.
But here’s the source of my latest obsession (besides Xavier Nady): the She-Fan Cam.
Look at it, would you please? It’s smaller than a cell phone and only a little bigger than an iPod, and you can slip it in your pocket and take it anywhere.
I couldn’t get along without it while I was roaming around Tampa last week, and I can’t get along without it now that I’m home.
I’ve had it with me at the supermarket, at the dry cleaner, even at a doctor’s appointment – always in the off-chance that I might get someone somewhere to talk about baseball.
Take today, for instance. My nails looked like hell from so much blogging, so I went for a manicure at the Fess Parker Resort here in Santa Barbara.
(Yes, for anyone old enough to remember, he’s the same Fess Parker who played Davy Crockett on TV.)
Anyhow, when I arrived at the salon I sat down with Lonnie, my manicurist. As she whipped out her tools, I whipped out the She-Fan Cam.
I tried to convert Lonnie by explaining the finer points of the game, but she said her favorite sport is stretching out on a beach and drinking margaritas. Oh, well.
You know who I’m dying to thrust into the glare of the She-Fan Cam next? This guy.
What in the world was Cano thinking? He neglected to tell the Yankees he had a sore shoulder before trotting off to play in the WBC and is now being sent for an MRI? Would I ever like to grill him.
I also wish I could turn the She-Fan Cam on him.
A.J. had a terrific outing against the Astros. I’d ask him if he would make me a promise to keep throwing filthy stuff and not wind up on the DL.
And finally, I’d have a video chat with the Captain.
I’d want to find out what happened against Puerto Rico. A mercy loss. Not good, guys.