Saturday, March 6, 2010

The Magic of Friday Night

He certainly did not spend his first night in Atlantic City walking softly - winning his pre-quarterfinal match 9-4 over one of his fellow Region champions. Yet in the quarterfinal round this morning Frank will test the size of the cudgel he packed with him for his road trip south.

This morning Frank awakens here in Gomorrah by the Sea one of only eight 160 pound wrestlers in the State of Concrete Gardens who could win a State championship. His reward for his good work? He has a date with the #1 seed in his weight class, a young man whose impressive resume already includes a State title at this very weight last year. In a town stuffed to its gunwales by hotel guests this week, the fella standing in the hallway outside of Frank's room rapping on the door is not the room service waiter. One could argue that in life the best one hopes for is an opportunity. As the great American pop philosopher Tom Petty once observed, "baby nothing is guaranteed."

Hoping to manufacture as much positive mojo as possible heading into this morning's festivities, the Missus and me dined last night at a pub on the Boardwalk named "Megan's". Our rationale (OK it was the rationale of the superstitious member of our pair) was that considering the limitless possibilities for names of establishments, finding one located within walking distance of Boardwalk Hall that shares the name of Frank's oldest sib - his big sister Megan - was too much of a sign to ignore. The fact that the oatmeal crusted salmon I ate and the baked mac and cheese that Margaret dined on were both delicious served merely as an affirmation of faith.

Mr. Springsteen advises us that faith shall indeed be rewarded. Here is to hoping that we find out this morning - and throughout the rest of the day - that he is right.


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