Bali, Indonesia. A cliff jutting over the Indian Ocean, and the monkey and I are as about as far from the Bronx, New York as humanly possible. The Yanks are about a bazillion and one since I left Amerika (the Bahasa Indonesia spelling) and stopped watching them. It occurs to me, following the monkey's lead, that I have no control over these things. The Yanks win without my help. They have always won and lost without me. Does this mean that when I screamed at Pat Kelly all those times, he didn't hear me? It seems so.
This past weekend the Yanks and Sox played. I wasn't nervous or irritated any of those days. I did not experience the elation of a Derek Jeter double off the green monster or the low point of a Kevin Youkilis homer. They played and I didn't watch. Instead, I climbed the steps of the Buddhist monument, Borobodur, near Jogja. Was it reaching the stage of enlightenment, the total withdrawal of desire for earthly matters, that made me feel so at peace? Or was it the simple fact that I don't have the major league package yet and ESPN played the freaking Little League World Series instead of the Sox-Yanks?!!