Flowers.

The other day I pointed out the long-standing tradition of a mysterious stranger leaving flowers on Poe's grave to mark his birthday being broken HERE. And then just now on my favorite Yankees blog, I read this creepy story about Thurman Munson's locker:

Normally, no one went near Munson’s locker – not the maids when they vacuumed, not the clubbies when they were doing laundry, not the players when they were looking for somewhere to drop some fan mail or a box of bats. Everyone just stayed away from the shrine.

But sometime in the middle of the 2003 season, a bouquet of flowers appeared one day on the bench in the middle of Munson’s locker. No one knew where the flowers came from. The equipment managers asked around, but no one had any idea. For days, and then weeks, the flowers lay there even as the smell became overwhelming. No one wanted to go in and take them out. It just wasn’t done.

Finally, as the odor became noxious, the flowers were removed by an attendant who literally tip-toed into the locker and grabbed the rotting stems. “It was strange because they just were there one day, and no one admitted to putting them there,” one attendant told me for a story in the Daily News. “And we all knew we should throw them out, but it was like, ‘What do you do? Just go pick them up?’ No one wanted to do it.”

What the fuck? I knew they keep Munson's locker exactly as it was when he was killed, but I had no idea nobody was cleaning the dust off of it. What happened with it when they switched to the new stadium? And, just like with the Poe flowers, will anyone ever find out who did it? And how much more does this shit hit home when taken along with the fact that while I was at my check cashing place large, institutionalized bank wherein I keep my financial portfolio today, the pen I used had an exagerratedly large, goofy, over-sized red flower on the end of it? 


Like. Box of fucking crackers, eh?