I was just saying the other day that I always wished I could hang out with someone who was in jail for 50 years, so I could tell them everything they missed. And then bring them to the beach and show them Jet-Skis. You know, stuff like that. Except nowadays, they've got TV in jail so they pretty much all know what's going on. But I'm sure there are plenty of people who've been in a coma for a while. I'd like to get on a list of people that get to show newly-awakened coma victims around. But their family members probably have that covered.

So I was in NYC on Friday with two friends, and we met up with my friend's other friend who lives in the city, and who I'd never met before. (I insisted we eat at the Riviera Cafe on West 4th Street, where the Red Sox are always the featured game, and Sox fans rule.) So this guy--the one I'd never met--had been in Europe and Central America for the last year, and missed the whole baseball season, and wanted me to fill him in on the '03 playoffs. So in a way, I got my wish. Only this was even better, because I got to talk about just baseball. (He's aware of the microwave oven, VCRs, etc.)

It was kinda cool to relive the whole thing, except for the end, of course. But still, it was like therapy in a way. It was good to say some things out loud that I'd kept inside since last October. Plus, the guy is a very anti-yankee New Yorker despite not being a huge baseball fan, so he was sympathetic. (Had he been a yankee fan, I'd have been outnumbered 3 to 1 at the table.)

Unfortunately, that night's game was a bummer.

But the next day...my luck changed.

My friend Chan had an extra ticket to Bob Dylan at the Mohegan Sun casino. I can't pretend to be a big Dylan fan, but I figured: A. How often do you get to see a living legend? B. It's free. and C. I'll be at a place where I can bet the Belmont Stakes.

So we headed for Uncasville, CT, about a two hour ride.

We got there and Chan decided he'd throw in an equal amount to what I bet, and we'd split any winnings, since he knows nothing about betting on horses. So I decided that if we were gonna win any kind of serious cash, we'd have to go against Smarty Jones. The big plan I devised? Bet on every other horse. I figured that way, all we'd have to do is root for eight horses out of nine, and if the second choice wins, we'd get break (roughly) even, and if any other horse won, based on the odds, we score pretty big.

So when that 4 horse was gaining down the stretch, knowing he'd gone off at 35-1, me and Chan were going nuts. It was like Times Square on New Years' eve inside the betting area to begin with, and that race made it even crazier. That was definitely my favorite horse race of all time. Me and Chan got like 90 bucks each.

Then we found out Reagan died. Four years ago, my friend Bruce and I made a one dollar bet: Who will die first, the Pope or Ronald Reagan? I chose the Pope. Damn you Reagan, screwing the little guy yet again. So I won a bet and I lost a bet, but the loss was negligible.

So then we headed over to the arena, and literally put our butts in our seats as the PA was saying, "Ladies and gentlemen, Bob Dylan..." No waiting. At a concert. Me and Chan timed it just right.

Dylan was pretty cool. He sounded like Adam Sandler a lot, though. He said nothing to the crowd except for introducing the band. "On guitar, deeb deeeba; dooba deebadoob, druuums." Everything he plays is way different than the way it was originally written. I could barely make out Like A Rolling Stone, It Ain't Me, and Highway 61. Chan said the last song was All Along The Watchtower. I completely missed this, despite being familiar with the tune.

Going home, after my lucky day, I knew the Red Sox had won. Schilling on the mound, after such a bad spell, they had to have won. Fortunately I was right. And with today's win, which I also missed most of, the magic number is down to 110 through D-Day.

My friend Calvin informed me that Michael Kay has signed a five-year contract with the "Hell, No" network. If there is a god, I invite him or her to please help us all.

One final note: RIP Robert Quine