Some of my faves:
Oh, great. Some joker has 2,994 lit up in his window. Hey, guy, it's not about 3,000. It's about winning. I don't care that I'm six hits away. Six hits is nothing. I'll eat six hits for breakfast tomorrow. That makes no sense. I need to sleep. This is the worst.
(after a fight with Minka):
Next thing I know I'm trying to sleep on the couch in Highlight Room Two, underneath the giant flat-screen that plays The Flip on a loop. You can't even turn it off. So it's Jeremy Giambi and me, all night long. Not as fun as it sounds.
The rings are sparkling. I named them, each for a great Yankee champion:
'96: Babe
'98: Mickey
'99: Yogi
'00: Reggie
'09: Minka
Hey, I'm not sleeping on the couch again. I'm not an idiot.
They call Nuney "energetic" and say he has "more range." Yeah, watch him dig one out in the hole and then fire it into the Legends seats. You've got to play under control. I might not get to those balls anymore, but I'm not going to knock a $20 beer out of a Goldman exec's hand. Don't get too comfortable, Nuney. I'm back in six days.
I get home and Minka's just read on some gossip blog that the Charlie's Angels producers supposedly tried to get Leighton Meester from Gossip Girl before they went out to her for the new show. "She's not hot enough for that part," I offer.
That was not the right answer.
Me and Jeremy Giambi have another great night together. If this happens again, I'm going to Highlight Room Four and sleeping under The Dive.
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