July 8, 2010

The cute guy behind the counter had on an A’s hat, and that was all the opening I needed to drop that I was heading to the game.

On my way out later, he told me to have a fun night, and admitted he didn’t know who the opponent was.

“The fucking Yankees,” I said, and he nodded solemnly.

“Yell at Swisher,” he said. “Seriously. Yell at Swisher.”

I vowed to do so. After all, I have been a member of the church of baseball my whole life. I know the dark side when I see it.

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