Vol 3.10 "October Obsession" October 19, 2004

It’s Tuesday, October 19, 2004. I hope you remember me; Julie, Fred’s
assistant. Fred let me to write the newsletter this month because I have
something to confess and I just have to get it off my chest.

Nobody ever told me I could get addicted so quickly’after just one week. It
started out as just a curious fascination; you know, to see what the big deal
was. One thing lead to another and the next thing I knew I couldn’t wait to
try it again, and then again. And now I’m absolutely hooked. Even worse, I
don’t care that I’m hooked. I make no apologies and have no regrets. What
does Cheryl Crow say? ‘If it makes you happy, it can’t be that bad.’ I
can’t explain it, the way it makes me feel. I think about it all day long,
and count the minutes until I can get home to get my fix. When I’m away from
it, I sustain myself by reading about it on the internet or listening to the
disc jockeys talk about it on the radio. The topic is on everyone’s lips in
this city of Houston. It seems that I have plenty of company in this new
found addiction of mine. I CAN’T GET ENOUGH OF BASEBALL!!

I’m just a bit delirious after last night’s 14 inning game five between Boston
and New York, not to mention the awesome game-winning home run by Jeff Kent of
the Astros in the 9th inning. Not only am I delirious, but my tongue is still
raw from the half bag of sunflower seeds I downed and my fingers are kind of
throbbing and stinging from the gnawing I did on my cuticles. Thank goodness
it ended after 14 innings. One more and I would have needed medical
attention for my poor appendages. My 14 year old son laughs at me, because
he’s never seen me eat sunflower seeds, let alone half a bag. Apparently,
there’s a technique’one that I have not mastered. He tells me I’m supposed to
put a handful of them in my mouth at one time, store them in one cheek then
crack them open one at a time with my teeth, spitting out the shell, and
moving the seed over to the other cheek where it will await it’s eventual
fate, but only after being joined by all the other little seeds from
the ‘storage’ cheek. He tried to explain to me that the salty little
treasures are much more satisfying when you eat many at once. I get it. But
I can’t do it. They must teach boys that little trick when they hand out the
jock straps and show them how to scratch and spit without looking like a
freak. What’s up with that, anyway? Why do I still think Carlos Beltran is
the cutest thing on God’s green earth after watching him readjust himself a
dozen times and spit all night long? Why is it that being in the outfield at
Minute Maid Park suddenly makes that OK? I don’t know, but it does. If Brad
Pitt did the same thing while walking down Rodeo Drive, he’d be laughed out of
Hollywood. I can’t explain it.

Now, being a new passenger on the baseball bandwagon, I have a lot to learn.
There are so many rules and mysterious words. Tag, steal, splitter, slider,
full-count, down and away, up an in, high and tight, cutter, closer, pickle,
pick, pepper. I have a lot of studying to do if I ever hope to hang with the
die-hards. I probably won’t be an official expert by the time the World
Series begins next week (between the Astros and the Red Sox, of course’I’m a
hopeless romantic), but I’m determined to learn enough between now and next
October to watch the 2005 World Series as an official die-hard. I’ll know all
the teams and players and their stats. I’ll be able to pick my favorite for a
particular game or series with some certainty. I’ll speak the language and
use all the slang terms correctly. With any luck at all, I’ll be able to eat
sunflower seeds the correct way. And I may just learn to spit. I love this

Talk to you soon,

P.S. Fred asked me to tell you about some new items on the website. Check
out ‘My Goodies’ and ‘New Arrivals.’ They’re both in the Photo Gallery.

The founder and president of Diamond Cutters International, is one of the worlds top diamond experts, as well as a three-time Guinness Book record holder in jewelry design.
Fred The Diamond Guy
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