As I was working last Wednesday and talking to Jackie on the phone, a bird smashed into the window directly over my left shoulder. “What was that?!” Jackie said. “It was loud!” Yea, I replied. You’re telling me. I was almost afraid to look over my shoulder. Was there a band of tough kids throwing rocks at houses? I looked. Yuck. Bird guts splattered on the glass. And some feathers. I spent the rest of the day avoiding the front of the house where the bird would have landed. It’s no way it could have survived. Believe me, it was gross. How could he have not seen the side of my house? Dumb bird. That’s right, Deidre, deflect. It was the bird’s fault.
And it was Torre’s fault that he was treated so badly by the Yankees. Talk about grossly handled. Not that anyone would expect much out of an organization that seems to pride itself on public hostility. And I really want to like George Steinbrenner. I want to think he’s mellowed with age. Maybe it was his association with the Olympics. Maybe it’s the way Seinfeld episodes framed the owner’s bizarre behavior. It was cute. However, just like J. Peterman never really ran off to Myanmar (aka Burma), Steinbrenner really isn’t lovable.
What else was gross this week? It could either be the World Series ticket scandal in Denver or the fans’ handling about the whole thing. The rumor was that the team held back tickets from locals so that the team could sell them to tourists who would then come to the city, eat out, stay in hotels, rent cars. In general, spend lots of money. Each ticket to a tourist would bring the city far more revenue than a ticket used by some yokel who would go home afterward. Not that there was anything better for locals to do after the games. There was nothing to celebrate. But the fans still lamented the business of on-line ticket sales where seats were going for upwards of $800 a piece. Others wondered why they couldn’t get tickets at the ticket windows at Coors Field. A conspiracy!
And gross displays of rioting? Nevermind that in Denver. There was nothing to riot over. Well, that’s if you discount the fact that the Red Sox out hit the Rockies by 18 smacks, which resulted in 19 more runs for Boston over the course of the four game series. Ugly. And people wanted more of that? As if the Red Sox were to blame.
I was listening to what would turn out to be the last game of the series while I decorated the house for Halloween on Sunday. I was out front and putting cute little pumpkin stakes into the ground underneath our palm tree. I was reminded that it was about two years ago that we buried our cat, Brooksie (named after Orioles 3B Brooks Robinson) under that tree. As I was feeling all serene and proud of my little plastic pumpkin patch, I saw some fur blow by. Huh? A sign from Brooksie? Weird. Wait, it’s not fur. Feathers are blowing by… I looked around me and saw that I was surrounded by what seemed like a hundred little feathers dancing on top of the crisp leaves in my makeshift grove. Why feathers? My other cat doesn’t chase birds… Ewwww, it’s the bird from my window!!!! Gross.