Tagged: disco
My Saturday Night Fever With Hal
As I sat here in Santa Barbara, wondering if/when the Yankees would announce who will play left field, I decided to stop reading other blogs and go straight to the source. No, I’m not referring to Cashman. He’s only the GM. I figured I should talk to the man with the real power – the guy who controls the payroll. So I hopped on a plane (it wasn’t easy, given all the new security restrictions) and headed for Tampa.
“Do you know where I might find Hal Steinbrenner?” I asked my cab driver after arriving at the airport in Florida.
“Sure,” he said. “On Saturday nights he’s always at the Kit Kat Club.
“Really?” I said. “What sort of place is that?”
“A disco club,” he replied. “Everybody in Tampa knows how much that boy loves to dance.”
“Great,” I said. “Take me there, please.”
Within minutes, we pulled up to the club and I went inside.
The scene was very high energy. I searched everywhere for Hal and – success! – there he was at a table for one, sipping a scotch and looking like he was dying to get up on the floor and shake it.
“Hi, Mr. Steinbrenner,” I said. “I’m She-Fan. Perhaps you’ve heard of me. I have a Yankees blog.”
“Of course,” he said, offering me a chair. “You’re the one who does crazy videos making fun of the greatest franchise in sports.”
“Well,” I said, blushing, “I also write about how much I love the Yankees. In fact, that’s why I’m here. We really need a left fielder, Mr. Steinbrenner.”
“Call me Hal.”
“OK, Hal. Listen, I don’t want you to think I’m not grateful for the way you re-signed Andy and brought Granderson over from Detroit. I’m not so sure about Nick Johnson and Javy Vazquez, but let’s concentrate on the left field problem.”
“Problem? We have options. Have you forgotten about Brett Gardner?”
“Have you forgotten he’s not much with the bat?”
He took a few swallows of his scotch.
“You could re-consider Damon,” I pressed on. “Or go after Bay or Holliday. Just don’t settle for Reed Johnson, no offense to him. We’re the Yankees. We need an outstanding, top quality player out there.”
He considered my pitch for several minutes. And then he smiled broadly. “Don’t worry, She-Fan. I’ll call Cash in the morning and tell him what you said. We’ll find somebody. You won’t be disappointed.”
“Promise?”
“Swear. Now let’s dance.”
And so we did.
Yankees-Red Sox Discussion Leads To Marital Discord!
So there I was, sitting across the dinner table from my husband Michael, when I mentioned that the Yankees were playing the Red Sox in Ft. Myers tomorrow night. He didn’t twitch or grimace or even roll his eyes; he kept right on eating his grilled chicken.
She-Fan: “You don’t hate the Red Sox?”
Michael: “No.”
She-Fan: “Come on.”
Michael: “I don’t hate any team.”
She-Fan: “Then how about their players?”
Michael: “I don’t hate them, either. There are players that get under my skin though.”
She-Fan: “Like who?”
Michael: “Pedroia and Youkilis. But I don’t hate them. I don’t hate anyone or anything.”
She-Fan (skeptical): “What are you, Gandhi? How about Schilling? You always call him a blowhard.”
Michael: “If I were a hating type of person, he’s someone I would hate. But I’m not.”
She-Fan: “Fine. What about Travis Hafner? He made you crazy during the ’07 playoffs.”
Michael: “Yeah. He went, like, 0-for-98 against us in the regular season and then murdered us in the ALDS. He really annoyed me, but I don’t hate him.”
She-Fan: “John Lackey?”
Michael: “He seems arrogant and not that good. Very annoying.”
She-Fan: “But not hate-worthy.”
Michael: “Right.”
She-Fan (frustrated): “Let’s move off the subject of baseball. You hate your cousin Skip, don’t you?”
Michael: “He’s a user. Never picks up a check.”
She-Fan: “So you hate him. Admit it.”
Michael: “I do.”
She-Fan: “Bingo. Anyone else?”
Michael (pushing his chair back from the table and nodding): “Al Pacino. He used to be such a good actor. Now he’s a big windbag. Hate him.”
She-Fan: “O.K. We’re getting somewhere. Who else?”
Michael: “Ann Coulter. Morally and politically bankrupt.”
She-Fan: “Not surprising.”
Michael: “And disco. I really hate disco.”
She-Fan: “Well, we hardly ever -“
Michael: “Curry. I hate the smell of it, the taste of it, everything about it.”
Michael (getting riled up): “And I despise all vegetables except carrots.”
Michael: “The color pink. It reminds me of bubble gum that gets stuck in your sneaker treads.”
She-Fan (soothingly, as if speaking to a mental patient): “Why don’t we forget all this harsh talk and watch some TV.”
Michael: “Anderson Cooper.”
Michael: “He’s a complete fool. I hate the way he says ‘Nawlins’ instead of ‘New Orleans.’ Like he’s from the Ninth Ward instead of the Upper East Side. Give me a break. And he plays the serious news anchor one minute, then turns around and co-hosts Regis & Kelly. I hate them all. They’re liars and phonies and -“
She-Fan: “YOU NEED TO STOP THIS!”
Michael: “The thing I really hate is when you yell at me.”
I apologized. We made up. And then we went back to talking about baseball.
Confessions of a She-Fan 