I'd just gotten back from mugging a couple of Valley Girls at the Galleria when my friend told me a guy named Scott Ostler had written this funny article ("Real New York Fans Don't Eat Quiche--They Throw It," Oct. 23) about New York and what kind of fans New York baseball fans are and that since I was New York born and bred, I might just like to read it.
It sounded like a great idea to me, reading did, only--as Ostler rightly points out--New York fans can't read, so I got a California baseball fan to read it to me.
Naturally, hearing about my hometown did make me nostalgic to do all those things I love to do when I'm home: Slashing tires, spitting up, urinating on one's neighbor, vandalizing cars, baseball fields and anything expensive and nice looking we can get our hands on. Growing ever more homesick, I looked outside at the attractive homes and swimming pools and thought of all the damage a true city boy could do.
My friend calmed me down and suggested we play a game instead:
(1) This player accepted losing the World Series twice in the late '70s to the New York Yankees with typical team dignity, blaming the defeats on, among other things, pebbles in the infield. Name that player. (a) Bill Russell. (b) Bucky Dent. (c) Richard Dent. (d) Vanna White.