I only tell you that...because I have to go sit in his chair tomorrow morning & inevitably stare up at his thousands of framed posters of Derick Jeter & Wade Boggs & Darryl Strawberry & Paul O'Neill...he goes way back & yes...I am tormented by these faces while I'm being held captive in his chair. It's either look up the doc's nose or eyeball Joe Torre. Can I have another choice please, please, PLEASE?!

...& I DARE not tell him that I'm a Redsox fan...I almost let it slip last time I was there...then I thought better of it. I know how yankees fans can be & this man is skilled with drills & huge needles & PAIN. I just know that the second the words...Big Papi dribbled out of my mouth...he'd instantly run out of novocaine & the unmedicated torture would begin.

Although...I have to give him a smidge of credit for not having one single photo of A-hole up there (he's only got World Series yanks pics...so really why would he have A-hole up there?). Way to go, Doc (please don't hurt me).

Labels: Baseball, Ouch