Rituals of winter

Every winter, certain rituals must be observed to appease the ancient gods of cold and ice. Among the most difficult and arcane is the annual selection of baseball tickets, a process so involved that it cannot be successfully completed without elaborate computer snafus. This is especially true for fans of the NY Yankees, whose suffering when they attempt to secure seats serves as a crude initiation ritual to make sure they truly deserve to worship at the Cathedral in the Bronx come spring. Call it penance.
Engaged in a critical part of the ceremony yesterday, Fellow Writer encountered a series of computer screwups unique even for the Yankees, who have set new standards for electronic chaos over the past few years. He kept calling me with reports as the day went on; between calls I studied the suicide prevention manual.
In the end, he came away with three times the number of tickets he'd tried to buy, and the realization that he's related to someone who works in the Yankee ticket office. Unfortunately, the Yankee employee is from the black sheep side of the family, which may explain why Fellow Writer had so much trouble. Despite all evidence to the contrary, he is convinced that every ticket he reserved will be flushed and, if any are forthcoming at all, they will be for seats behind the McDonald's a block from the Stadium.
"Weren't you on deadline today?" I asked toward the end of the day.
"Who could work on a day like this? My editor's a Mets fan; she understands."
That's the difference between the regular season and the off-season. If there were a pennant race on, she'd've nailed him to the wall.