I’ve never been any good at it. Waiting, I mean. Not for the phone to ring. Not for a red light to turn green. Not for the woman ahead of me at the supermarket checkout to fish around in her purse for her debit card.
I was OK with Friday’s day off from Yankees-Angels, figuring I could use the time to drive to LA and get some work done, but to have to wait until Sunday for Game 6? That’s just plain torture.
I’ve been reading all sorts of speculation about which team the postponement helps and which team it hurts, and to me the question is silly. The team that plays well on Sunday night will win. Period. The delay gives them both more time to “think about it” – but it also gives the media more time to write nonsense. I went out and did some real reporting. I checked in with various Yankees to see how they were spending their free Saturday night.
(Pettitte lives pretty well, doesn’t he? Those contract incentives paid off.)
(That was Mo. He said he was staying loose by the fire in case Joe called for him in the sixth inning.)
(I’m glad Damon and Swisher are having fun, but could they please get some sleep?)
(That was Hideki. He said he just finished having both knees drained in case Joe wants him to steal a base or two.)
(Wouldn’t you think A-Rod would have a personal chef to cook dinner? What if he cuts himself with that meat cleaver and can’t play?)
(That’s me, trying to get a comment from Jeter. He never likes to make himself the story, so he wouldn’t talk. I still love him.)
OK, the waiting is over. As Mariano Duncan used to say, “We play tomorrow. We win tomorrow. Das it.”