"When someone on the street tries to hand me a flier, it's like they're saying, 'Here, you throw this away.'"
--Mitch Hedberg

The insects in New York are freakin' ruthless. I woke up this morning with a bite on my thumb, a bite on the knuckle of my middle finger, and a few others on my back that I can't reach or see but I know are there because I can just feel it.

I find this act rather disturbing. Bites on my thumb, knuckle, and the one spot on my back that I can't reach. The spots that hurt the most. The spots I can't alleviate because scratching them would either be ineffective or impossible (to reach). This wasn't a random act of violence. This was a premeditated attack. The bug knew what it was doing.

I've spent the past few hours trying to get my mind off of these bites I can't reach by focusing on the bite on my thumb, but the one on my thumb sort of sucks, too. So then I think about something else, like what I'm gonna have for dinner, but that doesn't work either, because then I just realize I'm thinking about something else because I'm trying to get my mind off of the bites I can't reach. So I'm stuck at square one, again -- angry at the world for giving me these bites I can't see, reach, alleviate, or stand.

Anyways, the moral of the story is, don't take those easy-access bites for granted, folks. The ones on your arms, the ones on your leg, even the ones on your rear. You can reach those. The bugs who did that to you were being compassionate.

BTW: That'd be funny if Kevin Willis tried to scratch a bite on his back........

IF IT WEREN'T FOR SPORTS…….

Sports fans are the most selfish people in the whole wide world.

I had some friends call the other day, a few seconds after Randy Johnson tossed a perfect game against the Braves, and, of course, it wasn't to console me. They were there, with the call, on the spot, because they felt they needed to rub it in a little more, as if I wasn't already feeling like crap because I'd just seen my team receive a nine-inning noogie from a 40-year-old monster.

This doesn't happen with non-sports related events. Friends don't call just to rub it in a few minutes after you get a rejection letter from your dream law school ("Yeah, like you ever had a chance. Stop crying, you loser."), or if you get robbed at a park ("Yo, I'm sorry, but that robber SCHOOLED you!").

They don't call to diminish the promotion you just received at work ("Whatever, man. Every dog has his day."), or bring you down at your wedding ("So what? Like it's gonna last.").

But it happens with sports all the time. You hate when your friends' teams succeed, and you love when they fail, and it's accepted, and we say that's what being a sports fan is all about, and it's all good in the hood, and the process gets passed down from generation to generation.

You ever wonder why?

The answer is -- who cares, Dan.

GREEK GOD OF WALKS WATCH:
Kevin Youkilis: 0 BB, 12 AB

THE TEN FANTASY PLAYERS YOU WISH YOU HADN'T DRAFTED SO HIGH
1. Jose 'Freakin' Reyes
2. Carlos 'Freakin' Delgado
3. Derek Jeter
4. Bret 'Freakin' Boone
5. Joel Pineiro
6. Vernon Wells
7. Russ Ortiz
8. Aubrey Huff
9. Jose 'Freakin' Vidro
10. Derek 'Freakin' Lowe

*All players nicknamed 'Freakin' are on one of my fantasy teams. If I see any of them on the street, I will fight them.