The following evening was spent in the cozy confines of Yankee Stadium watching our town's fairly amazing offense turn out the lights on Toronto. Consumed a healthy meal of three ballpark franks, Crackerjack and cotton candy. First time I've had cotton candy in a dog's age. Interesting stuff.

We were in the upper deck out in left field, about ten rows deep. Nice, cool evening. About 7 or 8 kids in their late teens filed in several rows in front of us, pretty clearly white trash from the burbs. One of them wielded a sheet of posterboard, on the front of which was messily scrawled in magic marker, "JETER MVP", which she held up periodically as though anyone cared. On the back of the poster, however, presumably left over from some prior use, was the charming inscription, "Beep if you understand English. Fuck Mexicans." Lovely. I scoured the papers the next couple of days, hoping to see a report of a "tragic" car accident later that evening, somewhere in the depths of Jersey or Long Island. Alas, not.

I glanced up at the stadium clock at 8:30, thinking, "Hmmm....I bet Sachiko and Sean Meehan are beginning to play about now...." Ah well. She apparently projected her sine tones that night through her headphones into the room. Wonderful idea. Next time...