Friday, July 12, 2013

A Worshipper in the Cathedral of the Holy Cow

Here he comes, squeeze play, it's gonna be close,
here's the throw, there's the play at the plate,
holy cow, I think he's gonna make it!
- Phil Rizzuto
The Scooter's contribution to American pop music was on my mind quite a bit as I sat down to write today's installment of my daily contribution to American clutter.  Not only because the Yankees played yesterday afternoon and I caught the tail end of the post-game show on my way home from my depositions in Monmouth County - celebrating an 8-4 win over the Royals.  And not only because we had meatloaf for dinner. 
It was because yesterday - after two weeks or so of nonsensical douchebaggery on the part of the guy buying our home (most of it in my estimation either urged on by or manufactured wholly by his attorney), wasting a lot of his time and ours trying to nickel and dime us on various things, he finally cried "Uncle".  At some point yesterday morning his lawyer notified our lawyer (my law partner Louis Karp) that they were finally finished dicking around.   The light bulb finally went off in someone's head that we were finished negotiating - principally over issues generated by the asshat who performed the home inspection on his behalf - and he either acceded to our terms or moved on up the road and became someone else's pain in the ass.  Happiness is when the other guy folds.  I went to sleep last night very, very happy.
We are not yet finished.  We are awaiting the results of the appraisal, which our realtor thinks will go according to Hoyle.  I am a skeptic by nature so I shall believe it roughly seven or eight minutes after I see it.  Not a moment earlier.  But we are in fact closer to home than we have been at any time since this process began. 
Hence the baseball metaphor. 
Hence the Scooter.
Besides - who among us does not enjoy the occasional serving of meatloaf....

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