Oh, Manny...

I'm suffering from withdrawal.

I haven't been to a game in 17 days, and it looks like I'll have to wait until the 31st before I get my ball fix. I'm working every day this weekend, and I'm NOT going to Yankee Stadium just for batting practice with the Red Sox in town. The place will be absolutely packed. It's just not worth it, and that's a shame because I'd love to get a ball from Manny. Two years ago at Fenway, I caught a BP ball that he hit, but I want one that he throws to me.

I don't care what people think about him. I don't care if he's a one-dimensional player. I love the guy. I've been friends with his high school coach--a guy named Steve Mandl--since the 1980s, so I was hearing stories about Manny when he was 16 years old, about how he used to wake up at 5:30am on school days and sprint uphill with a tire tied around his waist, about how he was embarrassing the competition and attracting scouts, about how he was going to be a first-round draft pick, about how he was going to be a superstar.

My dad attended Manny's last high school game and saw him hit two home runs, and sure enough, a few weeks later, the kid was picked 13th overall in the 1991 draft.

"Twelve other teams are gonna kick themselves in the butt," said Steve.

He was right.

The first twelve picks were: Brien Taylor, Mike Kelly, David McCarty, Dmitri Young, James Henderson, John Burke, Joe Vitiello, Johns Hamilton, Mark Smith, Tyler Green, Shawn Estes, and Doug Glanville.

So that's why I like Manny.

One day, perhaps in a less crowded town like Kansas City or Detroit, he will throw me a ball.

Oh yes, oh yes...

(THE NON-BASEBALL TRAVEL UPDATE, DAY 15: Yesterday, we left the Paris Hilton at 10:45am. Our flight to NYC departed at 1:15pm. We were in the air for seven hours and five minutes. I wrote 26 pages in my journal, and I'm still three days behind.

So happy to be back.)