You've watched her for months. She's the hottest girl in school. You desire her.
You wait for your chance. You pick up the phone. You steel yourself. You call her.
She doesn't call back.
You must stay confident. Be The Man. A woman likes to be chased. You call again.
She doesn't call back.
You send a ring. It costs a chunk. That's OK. That's how you woo a beautiful girl. Send her trinkets of love. It always worked in the past.
She doesn't call.
Not a problem. What's it been? A week? You offer to buy her a house. And a boat. And furs. Lots of furs. Gold rings. Diamonds out the wazoo. You stress there's no deadline on your love. No limit to your generosity. Because you have chosen her.
She doesn't call.
Not that you're concerned. In fact, this only crystalizes your passions. You want her more than ever. She's not just any girl. She's The One. She's more important than your mother, Marinana, and your sister Andy. She's the most beautiful girl you've ever known. So you tell her.
She doesn't call.
No problem. It's only been three weeks. You mortgaged the house. The school is talking. Friends are snickering. The guidance counselor asks if you are OK. Other girls whisper that there's something wrong with you. They notice that rash on your cheek. Nobody ever mentioned it before. Now and then, you overhear the word "stalker." Each day, you sit more alone in the cafeteria, trying to ignore the talk.
Suddenly, the phone rings. IT'S HER! She invites you to her room. You bring aging former-superstar-turned-greeter Reggie Jackson. You fall to your knees. You swear undying love. You show her the ring. You ask for her hand in marriage.
She says she'll think about it.
You're ecstatic. She said she'll think about it.
She cares!! She does!! She really does!!!
She said she'll think about it!
You're walking on air. You're buying wedding bands and commemorative matchbook covers. She said she'll think about it! This is the greatest moment of your life.
Outside her house, you see Joe Torre. He looks embarrassed. He's got a bottle of wine. He's here to spend the night.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
YANKEETORIAL: Let's Deal with It: She-She Loves Someone Else
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6 comments:
You are such a silly goose. He is ours.
If it were your daughter being stalked like that, you'd kill the guy.
Does anyone remember when players actually wanted to play for the Yankees?
She She, and the other pitching detritus to whom we are sending blank checks, only will come if the money is so immense it can't be refused.
They all know the Yankees have no talent to fear in the field anymore, so the Yankee road is a bridge to Wasilla in 2009.
Saying that the these Yankees can win the World series in 2009, regardless of who is pitching for us ( from the discards with whom we are negotiating ), is like saying, " we'll win in Afghanistan if we just send in more troops."
I mean, if we could get Halliday, K-Rod and a few others, maybe....but not with the AJ's, Peavy's, Lowe's and She She's.
It is over before it is over.
Alphonso,
Your words of wisdom ring so true.
I believe we are headed for another era of the dark ages, circa mid/late 80's....
No one loves us anymore.
Where have you gone Paul O'Neil, a Dynasty turns its lonely eyes to you.... boo hoo hoo....
I agree with Whitey. He's ours. He loves us. He only said the "I want to be a Dodger" thing because Mrs. CC wants him to play in California and he's totally pussy whipped.
Shamus, please get your nose out of Alphonso's butt.
It's embarrassing and I obviously have a very high threshold for that sort of thing — embarrassment, not brown-nosing, in case you wondered.
Besides, don't you have to get ready for Chanukah?
And She-Fan, sexism will not be tolerated here. Especially from chicks.
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