Wednesday, April 6, 2016

New York’s Only Redeeming Feature (Besides My Mom): An iPhone™ Photo Gallery.

It’s a weird feeling when you watch the Yankees so much that you notice when a player gets a haircut between games.

The Yanks are my spirit animal. And since opening day happened to fall yesterday while I was in New York, I got a boner, and then a kickass seat to the game.

With a game-time temp of 36°, I wore eight layers of clothing (11 if you include two pairs of underwear and jeans). To escape the cold for a few minutes pregame, I ducked into the Yankee museum, where the display featuring a ball signed by every Yankee ever has grown to herculean proportions.

I couldn’t figure out why, among the bats, balls and jerseys up for an auction benefiting charity, was a Star Wars autograph. Different species of nerds, Yanks.

One of the birthday wishes on the big screen was to a guy named Vinny Romano. I wondered, in a stadium in the Bronx, how many guys had that name. My friend Rob guestimated 1,849.

The freezing conditions resulted in a contrasting set of lines for ice cream and hot soup.

New Yorkers are pussies.

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