I'm packing right now. I'm used to 80 degree days with little wind here in the Valley of the Sun. Rumor has it it gets a bit breezy by the bay and slightly shivery in the City, especially at night. I'm not sure how to pack, but I'm planning on looking like those guys from Cool Runnings when they leave the airport.
Speaking of things I'm packing...
So I've decided that my newly rediscovered bobblehead needs a name.
I've thought a lot about it and discovered that that whole thinking thing is wholly overrated and unnecessary. I'm going with my first instincts. Meet Buster the Bobblehead. I really settled on the name for three main reasons.
1. Simple alliteration. Love it.
2. Tell me you don't see the resemblance:
A. They're both wearing black and orange
B. They both look like they're about 16
C. They're both white.
Yeah that's all I've got, but that second one is really the kicker. I seriously think my Buster looks like he could be a rookie of the year (although he is a little stiff on defense *rim shot*)
"I'll show you my little stiff" - Buster the Bobblehead
3. Seeing as Buster is my favorite non-living Mythbuster,
I similarly favor my Buster the Bobblehead as my favorite non-living San Francisco Giant (sorry Kung Fu Panda)
So there you have it. Buster the Bobblehead.
You bet your ass he'll be travelling with me to San Francisco and he will have a spot in the hotel room to watch every game (and yes, I'll turn the TV on for him). Superstitious you say? Maybe. But I'll leave you with this. Over the last few innings, I sometimes forgot to hold Buster as we watched the Giants bullpen take the hill, but never when I held him (and he got to see the game) did the Phillies get a basehit.