Last night, I did some time traveling. I went back in time, to a period that predates cable television and the internet. Sorta like going to a bed & breakfast, it’s the kind of thing one can and should do from time to time, but in the middle of game six of the American League Championship Series is definitely not a time I would have selected for this little pastoral reprise, had it been up to me.

I left the office at 6PM sharp, the Yankees sporting a one run lead. I knew if my train was on time (a big if) I could get myself home in time to see the end of the game and hopefully enjoy a raucus Yankee celebration on the field. It was not to be. The train crawled along at 5MPH—much like it is doing right now on my morning train; looks like NJ Transit is once again going through one of its frequent slumps—and got me to Metropark rather late. There was no bus waiting there, either. I could walk home, but that would burn up another twenty minutes.

As I walked bast the cab stand, the lead car had the window rolled down, the game blaring. “What’s the score?” “Tied at six.”

Within seconds, I was in the back seat, and we were speeding toward home.

Down the road we barrelled, and when I got home, Emma The Cat was quite annoyed, as I walked right past her and headed straight for the TV. No petting, no food, not now, Emma. I flip on Fox, and am greeted by a snowy fuzzy picture, the likes of which I have not seen since I was commanded by my grandfather to work the “aerial” and apply fresh tin foil balls to the antenna tips during a football game in the ‘70s that he must have had some heavy money on. I could see the game, but the detail was lacking.

Now, this area had experienced some heavy winds all day, and perhaps that was the cause. Regardless, I needed to call Comcast and get this straightened out. I went to grab my phonebook. For me, looking up a phone number consists of going online and typing the name of the company you want into Google. But last night, after a nanosecond longer than it usually takes to load the page, I realized that I was doubly screwed. Whatever was causing the blizzard on my TV screen was also denying my access to that great info teat, the internet.

Waves of panic crashed over me. I tried resetting the cable modem a few times, no love there. I was definitely screwed. After much searching, I located an invoice from the cable company. Did you know that they put the phone numbers there? Good to know. The call to customer service yielded the usual weak apologies, and I have a date with the cable guy for this Friday. Friday, people. No surfing till Friday. The beach is closed. This also means that tonight’s game seven (yes, through all of this I also had to endure the Yankee loss) will have to be viewed through snowy static again. I hope the reception is good enough to render the disappointment on Pedro’s face when the Yankees hand him yet another postseason loss.