Eh, It Was The Steroids, Anyway

[So, my boss gave me a couple of his Giants season tickets since he's out of town this week and next. "Cool," I thought, "Allen and I try to make one game a year." I put them in my wallet and didn't really think about it beyond saving the date.]

[It became apparent late last week that Barry Bonds was going to break the record this week, but since I was moving, I only thought, "Hmmm, maybe we'll see history made." (No chance of catching the ball, since the seats are along the first base foul line.) Then yesterday, Mireille suggested I sell the tix. My avaricious, monetizing heart woke up from the contended coma it almost always affects, and thought "Why, in fact, not?"]

[I called Allen, and he said he didn't mind, but that I certainly ought to take him to dinner with some of the proceeds. Fair enough, but then I immediately had second thoughts. I mean, the money would be spent, and I like baseball enough that I might actually regret missing the moment. I called Allen back, and could hear the eyeroll over the phone. We decided to go to the game.]

[Moot, of course. He could've waited, y'know, for me, right? It's all about me!]

[I'm sure we'll have a lovely time amid the five other fans who go to the game just to go to the game...]

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