I've been following Irma's angry red eye bearing down on me all week like some raging bloody sock here in the Sunshine State, and with Wednesday's Yanks-O's game rained out I'm at the mercy of an army of grim-faced weather prognosticators and scary images overwhelming my flat screen.
Sure wish they'd played. I could've used the diversion.
It's due to hit sometime this weekend. Some forecasters now say the storm track could break to my right. Others still say it will stay outside and still more now seem convinced it may burn right down my Main Street.
Velocities. Angles. Averages. The weather graphics are all starting to blur together.
Is it just me or are they all starting to resemble fangraph heat maps?
Damn I wish the ballgame was on. Should the batter swing? Should he take? How many outs are there? What's the count? Is it late and close? Should the baserunner take off on the first move?
Oh wait, it's still only Wednesday.
Not quite a late and close situation. Not yet anyway.
And this baserunner isn't going anywhere.
Evacuation isn't an option for me. Too many good reasons to stay and too few good ones to leave. I've never scared easy even when there was good reason staring me six inches from my face, and certainly not when it's still more than a thousand miles away and several days away from it.
I've pre-prepped about as much as my available time, personal resources, native New Yorker common sense and long experience dealing with many of these dicey storms will allow. I've prioritized based on the odds and now I've done all I can for myself and others and all that's left to do is hope with a little luck I can weather this one like I have all the others.
So here I sit wishing our Yankees-O's game didn't get postponed. And trying not to watch any other baseball news or highlights because I heard the Red Sox won and they'll mention it. Or worse, because they'll show replays of that last ball Dellin threw to Machado yesterday.
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| Sept. 4, 2017 - Source: Rob Carr/Getty Images North America |
Yesterday really sucked.
Then I saw a story in the Post yesterday titled "Hurricane Irma can really mess with the Yankees' schedule" that had Joe venting his spleen a bit over how the storm may force the team into playing a twin bill with the Rays at the Trop.
"You would prefer not to play a doubleheader, especially at this time of year," he said. "But Mother Nature has been something we have never really been able to outwit."
Not with a binder you haven't, Joe.
But these Florida heat maps sure look promising. You should look into them sometime. Say, next year. With the Marlins.
Now THERE'S an image to make Irma dwindle in the mind's eye in the absence of a ballgame.
And I can think of another. A magazine cover featuring another Florida transplant like me accompanied by the quote: "Winning is the most important thing in my life after breathing. Breathing first, winning next."
To all my fellow Floridians who are hunkering down and sticking, help out, hold tight and hang tough. We'll all show Irma who's the real boss.
And I can think of another. A magazine cover featuring another Florida transplant like me accompanied by the quote: "Winning is the most important thing in my life after breathing. Breathing first, winning next."
To all my fellow Floridians who are hunkering down and sticking, help out, hold tight and hang tough. We'll all show Irma who's the real boss.
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