Whew -- MSG?

And that would not be Madison Square Garden. Rather, it appears to have been Todd English's steak house Bonfire in the Park Plaza Hotel. Gad. I had the cold sweats, a mind that was buzzing like a swarm of seriously irritated hornets and the feeling that a canteloupe was trying to burst from my chest. And, tellingly, that feeling of having been 7 rounds with the pugilist du jour. MSG? Perhaps, but, the food we had can only be described as terrible -- my wife's fish taco appetizer was too salty even for a dedicated sodium junkie to consume. My rib-eye inedible. Ugh. The place looked so promising too -- the menu was very enticing, the wine list careful and creative.... But Mr. English urgently needs to get over there to sort things out. Service was decent, though and the list of Trequilas simply extraordinary. BTW we couldn't get into Olives, another Toddaurant where we love the food. Sweet 19. What curse? Speaking of which, I can only hope that we summarily obliterate the Evil Empire when it comes to town (and in da Bronx, for that matter). I do not want to see anything close or exciting. I do not want to see good baseball. I only wish to see the utter and abject humiliation of the Emperor's storm troops. A-rod? 0 for 20 would be a start. Manny, Davy-O, Jesus Damon, V, Gabe and a few more hitting .400 would improve matters. Pedro earning back his mojo even better. Schilling, Embree, D-lo, Arroyo, Timlin, Timmy W, Foulke shutting them down totally -- best. Being WS champs would be great, but I'll admit that the destruction of the cretins in pinstripes is what will float my boat. I can see it in my mind's eye, red painted sleds (Hueys for those that need the reference -- with the tune sweet Caroline blaring from the speakers, or Boston the band as with the A's last year when they did that mini-gig on the right field roof) -- the boys manning their .50s that belch baseballs. People in pinstripes running like cockroaches caught under the kitchen stove (in New York, of course) . A crazed Red Sox coach reciting the benediction: "I love the smell of napalm in the morning ... it smells like ... victory..." Then landing in Yankee stadium, smoke billowing from scorched Yankee gloves strewn across the infield .... Those Jets look pretty good though ... who'da thunk that you could say that with a straight face?