Sometimes, even the best laid plans go awry. Tonight’s plan at my house was for the Yankees to beat the Phillies in time for us to switch over to the Lakers, who would beat the Celtics while Michael and I ate the steak he had cooked on the grill.
A relaxing evening. That’s what I was hoping for. Unfortunately, the Yankees didn’t cooperate. They wasted Andy Pettitte’s valiant effort and looked sluggish and flat yet again. Ever since they hit Roy Halladay, their bats have been made of swiss cheese (not counting Cano, who is exempt from every criticism this season). No point in dragging out the gory details, including the umpiring, although special mention must go to Joba. What’s his deal anyway? Can he pitch in relief or can’t he? Okay, so the Yankees lost. We switched over to the Lakers, who didn’t disappoint. Neither did the steak. But just as I was about to wash the dishes, a torrent of water started pouring out from underneath the kitchen sink, and I went running for towels.
Something was leaking, which wouldn’t be a big deal except that the plumber spent hours here yesterday fixing the same leak. Trying not to panic, I called him while I watched the water gush and Kobe Bryant hold the championship trophy high in the air. No answer. Why should he pick up the phone? Everybody in SoCal was watching the Lakers!
“What should we do?” I asked Michael.
A man of few words, he grunted and went outside to shut off the water to the house. So now we have no water until, hopefully, the plumber comes back tomorrow to re-fix the leak he didn’t fix yesterday. Yeah, relaxing.