Tonight, I had, bar none, the best seats I’ve ever had at Yankee Stadium — the first row off the field, about twenty feet to the third base side of home plate. But, as always, there was a downside. (“What possible downside could there be?”, you ask incredulously.) The tickets were courtesy of the owner of the Tampa Bay Devil Rays, so that meant that I couldn’t root for the Yanks — and it damn near killed me. The Yanks went and won it, though.

My stomach hurts in a bad way. Either something I ate at Yankee Stadium doesn’t like me, or this is my psyche’s way of telling me something.