No Johan and Sales Manager Bob Meets Rakes

After months of wondering if Johan Santana was coming to Boston or New York, we all got our answer today: New York it is. Not the Yankees though; the Mets have acquired the best left handed pitcher in baseball for 4 prospects IF they can sign him to a contract extension. All he's asking for is $160 million over 5 years, which if you're wondering is roughly the yearly budget for a third world country, so I'm sure they'll hammer that thing out in a few hours.

2 thoughts on this: First, while I'd have LOVED to have Beckett and Santana on the same team, having to give up Ellsbury, Lester, or any of the other top prospects made me sort of queasy. Second, as long as he didn't go to the Yankees, I'm OK with it. The fact Hank Steinbrenner repeatedly ran his mouth about the Yankees offer being the best, only to get shut out at the end, is icing on top of the cake.

Travelled with Sales Manager Bob the past two days, and while having to work with management is usually about as welcome as a cracked molar, Bob's the exception. A fellow Red Sox fanatic, we usually spend more time talking baseball than actual work and it feels more like spending the day with your buddy than, you know, working.

At lunch today, he asks if he can take us to dinner tonight; us being me, Ang, and the Axis of Evil. After asking him if he's feeling all right, I make sure he's serious. Turns out he was.

It was about 30 seconds after he entered the house that Rakes screams the following; "Mr. Bobby, you donna take us out to dinner?" while he stands all of 2 feet from Bob's face. Right about this time, Bob gets a look on his face that I can only describe as abject horror as the realization sinks in that he's agreed to take ALL of us out to eat. In public.

We finally decide on a local Italian place, and after I pull Trot out of Bob's floorboard and Rakes out of his lap, we head off. Once there, Rakes HAS to sit on the side of the booth with Bob and I, jabbering about Star Wars and Darth Vader the whole time. Meanwhile, Trot sits at the end of the table spending the next 15 minutes trying to eat Bob's house salad, Rakes asks every 3 seconds where his pizza is, and Bob looking at the exit with increasing frequency.

Once the pizza arrives, Rakes pitches an ever loving fit wanting to eat a piece of our Supreme instead of his Pepperoni and at one point looks at me and says the following:

"Look, tough duy. I'm donna eat dis piece of pizza, DEN det a piece of dat pizza. You hear me?"

Look, tough guy? WHERE does he come up with this stuff? When the waitress came by and asked if we needed anything else, Bob didn't even let her finish. By this point, Trot was done and doing his best impersonation of a screaming banshee, so Bob grabbed the check and Trot STILL IN the high chair and carried him to the counter to pay for dinner.

As we leave the restaurant, he looks at me and asks "Are they always like this?" When I answer yes, the only comment he has is "I'd want to work 24 hours a day".

If I still have job tomorrow, it'll be a miracle.