The Triumph of Dumb Luck

After a week of 5:00am and 6:00am wake-ups, I felt like fate was sitting on my chest while I lay on the floor, squirming but unable to move. Unfortunately, my plan to come home at 1:30pm today and take a nice long nap was side-tracked by my brother's own idea that I should help him move a heavy, awkward bookcase in his house.

Prior to actually venturing over there, however, I needed to take care of a few menial tasks -- not a lot of time, but enough time for my brother to keep calling home and asking me to bring this and that thing that he forgot. By the third call, I was pretty pissed, and when my father admitted that he had no idea where he would be able to find two Romex connectors and that I'd just be better off stopping by the hardware store on the way there, I was pretty much at the end of my rope.

I pulled up next to Jones' Hardware and, upon traveling through the door, was instantly transported to a different time, a time when you couldn't see the walls for all the crap hanging off the hooks, a time when two guys could stand at the counter and talk like men, cursing and blathering, bullshitting while another guy waited behind them, appreciating the candor and in no rush to interrupt.

But alas, interrupt I did, to get the pieces I needed. As Mr. Jones went to fish out my connectors, the young guy he was bullshitting with said, "Well, I gotta go, but see what you can do with these," at which point he deposited two blue pieces of paper on the counter. Piqued, I leaned in and took a gander at what they were.

Mets tickets. Two, to tomorrow night's game against the St. Louis Cardinals, to be precise.

(And I know, I know, I'm a diehard Yankees fan. But I do love baseball, and I have been meaning to see a game in Shea Stadium before it too gets the kaboom treatment.)

So I leaned in and casually asked the guy, "How much you asking?" Before he could answer, I had my phone out to call my brother and ask him how high he'd be willing to pay.

And before the phone could even ring, the guy looks at me and goes, "They're yours if you can use them."

At which point I responded, "Damn straight I can!" and snatched them off the counter.

I mean, none of this changes the fact that my brother is disorganized and doesn't manage his time well and needs to pull his head out of his ass when it comes to getting shit done around his house. But hey, at least I've got plans tomorrow night -- and baseball trumps naps any day of the week.