On the Radio (same day as the Mets first no-hitter)

There are special days and there are days that just suck. Today was a special day. A big red letter day.


(If Lefty were here to see me he'd be looking at me like the pic over there.)

It began with a backwards segue into yesterday on account of my insomnia. I needed to be awake, alert, and articulate at 9:00 AM for the first time in months to be on Meryl’s radio show.

I twisted and turned in bed trying to sleep with little luck. Too much heat, too many blankets, too many pajamas. I turned on the air and pretty much did away with all else. Next thing I knew, it was 7:30 AM and time to wake up from no sleep. You’ve been there. It’s unpleasant.

Lynn and I made it to her office so that I could call in on a land line to “Let’s Get Organized” on Voice America.com. We got there with time to spare, so I had time for a cup of coffee. Lynn set me up in an unoccupied conference room and I drank the coffee. I called in. The interview went well. If you want, you can listen to it. I was her her first guest on her very first show. She's Fran Dresher's cousin. Very cool person. 

http://www.voiceamerica.com/episode/62097/time-to-get-organized

After the interview, I took a cab back to the west side to get some errands done. Came home and made tacos. Listened to the show and bristled at the number of times I said the word, “ummm….” I went to the gym and worked off my frustration. I came home and felt strong. I ate tacos.

Then I turned on the Mets. On the radio. The team across the bridge.

Johan Santana was on his game. You could tell from the first inning. Then the second inning. Then a buzz started. Then the buzz became audible and text and phone calls started flying. Then, after 8 innings and no hits, I called my dad. He’s an old Brooklyn Dodger fan and a Met guy since 1962, two years before he married my mom. The Mets have never had a no-hitter in 8,019 games. My dad has seen 8,000 of them. Dad was locked in. We decided to talk after the game, for better or worse. Almost as if not to jinx anything.

Fifteen minutes later we were talking. My father was as lucid as I’ve heard him in almost two years. He was elated. Santana had done what Seaver, Ryan, Gooden, Koosman, and Cone couldn’t. He threw a no-no.  This is history. This is fun. This is happy. This is the contrast to what Lynn told me last week: bad things always happen, get used to it.

I refuse to get used to it. I liked today.