I'm in New York. There is work to be done and I must do it. The hideous and painfully dreadful Dodgers have dispatched the clueless and clumsy Cubs to seize the National League pennant; now all that remains standing in the way of a Dodger/Yankee World Series is the upstart Astros. I arrived yesterday in the city so big they had to name it twice and have been roaming the boroughs with a Mets cap on my balding pate just begging Yankee fans to take a swing. I have no idea what would happen if they did, but it makes me feel good to be doing something completely stupid and pointless.
|That's right Yankee scum, I'm callin' you out!|
|The Queensborough Bridge as the sun sets on the Cubs|
|Please, no World Series here!|
Yankee fans are naturally in abundance in the Big Apple and they sport the smug and certain look I remember oh so well from the 1950's. A Yankees/ Dodgers series is the moral equivalent of trying to decide whether to root for Hitler or Hirohito during World War II. I refuse to participate! A baseball pox on both of their dugouts!
Should the Astros fail to stop this miscarriage of sports justice tonight, I'll be at the White Horse Tavern in Greenwich Village ordering doubles and wearing my Mets cap. Feel free to call, I'll be the guy next to Mr. Met.