I was in a vulnerable position on the 2 train this morning.
Squeezed against a door in Penn Station during rush hour is one of the most dangerous spots in the city. There is always a stampede of people coming from the Long Island Railroad and you get pushed and pulled by men in suits and women in fur coats.
I was wedged between two suits by the time we started for 14th Street. The guy on my left was nice, for a suit, and he tried to give me some advice on following the Johan Santana trade rumors.
“You need to try and play the game as if you were a General Manager,” he said. “Look at the numbers and don’t be emotional about the deal.”
“Don’t be emotional?” I snapped. “Everything is emotional in the Bronx. It might be fun to ‘play GM’ in the suburbs, but baseball is serious business around here.”
“I’m just more analytical,” the suit said. “I prefer statistics and ‘The Art of the Deal.’”
“That’s interesting,” I said. “But I prefer ‘The Art of Baseball.’”