Six Inches from Being Steve Bartman
Today I had to make my usual Sunday morning run to the hardware store to get ... something or other, I can't remember. Anyway, as I was leaving, I looked behind be, saw no one there, and started backing up. I have one of those backup warning thingies that been when you are about to hit something, and suddenly the things starts screaming at me, and I jam on the brakes. There, cutting behind my car, is Randy Johnson, Diamondbacks pitcher and 27-time Cy Young winner. I seem to have missed his knee by about 6 inches. Gulp.
By the way, if you think Johnson looks creepy on the mound, you should see him flashing a searing FU look. This event effectively adds to my long history as scourge-to-the-stars, wherein I have stepped on Raul Julia's foot, spilled a big Gulp size diet coke on Brook Shields, added a big ink stain to Farrah Fawcett's blouse, hit Martina Navratilova in the face with a revolving door, and, uh, others I might share if my mom did not read this blog.
