Two quick stories and some thank you's...

• So I talked to HEH last night...and her "friend might be coming into town this week" so she'll "let me know" and "give me a call later this week" if she is "available to do something." Wow! Really? You spoil me! You make me feel so special. Cripes, I feel like Screech in gym class, waiting to get picked for dodge ball.
  
  Man, am I ever grateful that she is allowing me to be her back-up! Think of the possibilities! If she absolutely can't find anything else to do, she might do something with me. Might! Maybe! Let me mark that one down on my calendar. I'm floating right now. I am channeling David Blaine right at this moment. I am actually floating at the prospect of possibly doing something this weekend.
  
  You can't see it but I look like I just ate the Ziggy Piggy from Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure. Extremely happy. Elated. This is the best news I've gotten since I found out that Mountain Dew doesn’t really make your wang shrink. Holy cat’s man! She’s making me look like Milton Waddams trying to pick up chicks at the office Christmas party.
  
  That being said, if she calls, I will still go out with her. Because, let's face it, it beats staying home and playing pinochle with my “very real” internet friends.

• I used to play basketball with this kid in 8th grade. His name was Kevin Johnson. No, he was of no relation to the real Kevin Johnson. He was the fake Kevin Johnson. Not the point. The kid's nickname was Airball. You know why? This ain't rocket science. He shot so many damn air balls we had to name him that. It’s like when you see a kid keep getting punched in the face; you start to call him bag.
  
  Our coach was obsessed with him though. So, every time it came to crunch time, the play would call for Airball to shoot a three. Inevitably, he would air ball it. It was horrible. Talk about a horrible strategy. Isaiah Thomas couldn’t find a way to mess up a team this badly.
  
  The coach was named Ruben. I don't know if that was his real name or if it was a nickname after the sandwich. Either way, I think Ruben had a non-sexual, man-boy connection with Airball. Not that it matters, but Ruben was black and Airball was white. I just don't think society was ready yet.
  
  The point of this story? I still reminisce about 8th grade “B” league traveling basketball and get all uppity over a coach that didn’t have a sound strategy. Lazy volunteers.

• Thanks to Kayse for e-mailing me with comments, though they’re normally just to berate what I’ve said.
  
  Thanks to QJL for making constructive criticism on The Cabbie. Your help is always appreciated.
  
  Thanks to Trete for keeping me entertained with billions upon billions of potential fantasy baseball trades.