As if Yankees fans weren’t already anticipating seeing the Bombers back in action, we’ve received some reassurance from MLB.com beat reporter, Bryan Hoch, this morning.
Putting it perfectly, he wrote, “Yes, baseball is back,” and detailed the following from Tampa:
The Yankees had a 9:45 a.m. meeting this morning to kick off the first full-squad workout of camp, which included Joe Girardi’s state of the team address…There’s a few hundred fans already sitting in Steinbrenner Field, scanning the $1.00 rosters that are being sold on the concourses — it’s true, you can’t tell the players without a program, especially the guys wearing numbers in the 80s and 90s.
The boys are certainly back in town.
For an industry so reliant on sex appeal and fast cars, ‘War Horse’ is a pleasant change. For me, anyways.
It might be not a game changer for the whole of Hollywood, or even that of equestrian based plots if you’re the average moviegoer, but you’ve probably seen ‘Seabiscuit’ at least once. Chances are, though, you don’t really remember it and in general, don’t have much of an opinion on these films.
Sad but true, I have to add.
If Quick Tips had another name, he refused to acknowledge it.
He was an orphan and his first memory was of being pointed at for stealing bread from the nursery by the other children. One girl, though, with long blonde hair and bright eyes was amused by his action. She giggled and told Madam Long, the head caretaker, that he must have quick fingertips, for such a feat.
It was only natural that such an endearment from such a pretty girl would stick, though it was shortened to Quick Tips as the years went by. It was also only natural that her term came to be rather fitting for his character.
The only thing left for Ones, he considered, a week after the incident with the mother and teenage children, was to find out the man’s name. Then he would fall back into dreams, never to wake again.
Try as he might, though, this wouldn’t happen.
6 days passed and Ones was the only tip the man received. He still didn’t know his name, either.
Customers came and went and the small tables scattered in the shop stayed vacant. When they weren’t, they seated an individual or two, busy with other concerns. Concerns which blinded them from the beauty of the place. The mohagany walls, with the man’s painted villages hanging on them.
They drank their coffees, stared at their tablets, and were gone. Mostly, though, they waited in line, yelling into their phones or thumbing through emails, thinking about their money elsewhere.
“Where am I?” Ones thought to himself, while absorbing the space around him in the coffee shop.
The man finished addressing him and placed him back in the tips jar.
“Have you got any smaller bills, ma’am?” asked the worn man behind the counter.
The words came out cold. He grimaced as the elderly woman pulled out a 50. She probably didn’t hear him, and she certainly wasn’t the first, he thought.