Damn, He's Tall...

So I left my office tonight a bit late, dodging the raindrops as I was walking to meet a concert pal of mine to give her a couple discs of groups we recently saw (Tom Petty) and will see (The New Pornographers). And as I crossed 49th street at 6th avenue in midtown Manhattan, I looked at the tall guy having a conversation with some short dude in a suit. I thought, "He looks damn familiar." And when it struck me just who it was, I literally walked right into the woman in front of me. There, in a cheesy looking white shirt, was the bane of baseball--Alex Rodriguez. A-Rod, Pay-Rod, Gay-Rod, Therapy-Rod--whatever nickname you want to use, he was standing right there.

My stumble into that woman cost me. I couldn't easily stop, and cost myself an opportunity to do what any Mets and Red Sox fan would do--punch A-Rod right in the groin.

Dammit.

Once I got to the corner where my friend was, I stared back at A-Rod from a block away. It was funny watching people walk by him and then do double takes once they figured out who he was. A-Rod's conversation didn't last that long, most likely because the rain was starting to pick up. He hugged the guy in the suit, and then sprinted up the block. And it was easy to see him run from a block away because the damn guy is tall.

And I still hate him.