The above is a slightly Bruckheimer-ized version of what I really did this afternoon. I've never owned a gun and never will. Nor an axe, for that matter.
What I did do today was try to arrange my errands around Barry Bonds' at bats in the Giants' game. I didn't want to miss a home run, if he hit one, because he's so close to the all-time record now. So I waited until after he was up in the first inning to rush to the post office and then drop by Mom's to help her turn her mattress over. (He walked that time, by the way.)
At Mom's I watched a couple of innings, until Bonds' next turn (an out), and then high-tailed it home so I wouldn't miss that historic home run. I was really sure he'd hit number 69 today, since he'd already hit ten of his 68 against the Padres this season. I even thought there was a good chance he might hit number 70, to tie Mark McGwire's record.
So I was standing in front of the TV set clenching and unclenching my fists in excitement and anticipation when he came up in the sixth and hit the ball completely out of Pacific Bell Park and into McCovey Cove. Not only did it get him closer to the record, it also put the Giants ahead in the game. The armada of small boats and surfboards were circling when the ball hit the water, and I'm pretty sure it was retrieved by a guy who jumped off a rubber raft.
There will be no mistake about whether the ball is authentic, since every ball pitched to Bonds for the rest of the season is a special one, marked with a hologram. (Of what, I don't know.)
So he got number 69, but 70 will have to wait for another day.