So, I’m watching game 3 of the 1975 World Series, which is being rebroadcast on NESN right now. First, it’s fun to watch Ken Griffey as a player in his own right, whereas now he’s usually referred to as Junior’s father. Second, mutton chops need to come back into style amongst ballplayers. Third, as I was watching, the screen went red and the obnoxious blaring noise came out of the speakers.
Oh great, I thought. It’s a test of the National Broadcast System.
Except that it wasn’t a test. We’re in a winter storm warning. I needed to tune to channel 8. Okay, channel 8. Except that channel 8 was just some unintelligible voice, presumbably telling me that it was snowing. And I was a little annoyed that my baseball game was interrupted for that. (Okay, yes, I could consult one of many books or websites and find out exactly what happened in the game, but that’s not the point.) The point is that New Englanders are wimps when it comes to weather.
Coming from the land of snow and ice, I had been spending the day thinking that it was too warm. After all, in Minnesota when it snows, it freezes and I don’t have to walk home in slush — although I usually risk slipping on ice. But this snow-rain-snow-rain crap is just obnoxious.
Oh, look, Dwight Evans just tied it up in the bottom of the ninth with a homerun. Go Sox!