Last night was a big downer. I went 0-for-2 and just didn’t feel like playing. Coach Torre had to basically plead with me to take the field from the sixth inning on. The reason? A girl, as usual.
I’m going to make this story quick, because we’re staying in L.A. for the off day, and I really want to get some rollerblading in before we fly out to Detroit tonight. The Cali rollerblading scene is just so much more legit than New York, you know? People actually take it serious here. Back home, you’ve got to deal with skateboarders throwing soda cans and Italians with ugly accents calling you derogatory names for gay people.
Anyway, I hit the boardwalk at Venice Beach yesterday afternoon and ‘bladed like a fiend until about three, then found an empty bench where I could eyeball Cali’s many fine ladies. I took a book from my waist-bag (and no, it’s not a fanny-pack … they look similar, but are entirely different products).
The book was this dictionary I always carry around. It helps me pick up girls, because when they ask what you’re reading, it’s such an awesome line to go “this is the dictionary. I’ve always had a passion for words. I bet there’s even one in here for you.” Then you have to find a word that basically means beautiful.
A few minutes passed, and finally this slim brunette with cute glasses sat at the other end of the bench. She wasn’t a ‘blader, but that didn’t worry me — she seemed smart, and I knew she’d appreciate the dictionary routine. At first she didn’t look over, so I flipped the pages really loudly and kept going “hmmmm,” like I was reading something real interesting. Finally she took notice, but still wouldn’t start a conversation. I had to man up.
“This is a dictionary,” I said, pointing gravely at the book like a professor probably does. “I’ve always had a passion for words. I bet there’s even one in here for you.” Then I blanked for a while, but finally came up with “handsome.”
“I bet there’s a word in there for you, too,” she said.
“Oh yeah?” I asked, my interest piqued.
“Solipsistic.” Then she smiled and left.
Wow. A-Rod was on cloud nine. I flipped through to check out the definition, but my dictionary is a Thorndike-Barnhart Junior, the kind with huge print, and it didn’t have that word. I ‘bladed like a madman back to the hotel so I could look it up online on the lobby computers.
Let me just say this, mystery girl: ha fucking ha. Maybe you should get into comedy, Carrot Head.
But you know what? The joke’s on you. You just hurt a dude so bad that he played like an idiot for the world’s most important team, and because of that they lost a crucial game.*
Don’t bother leaving a comment if you read this. You’ve already done enough.
*Editor’s Note: The Yankees won last night’s game against the Angels by a score of 8-2.