On the eve of the 1988 World Series, full of spit and vinegar and an abiding certainty that there was only one way it could turn out, I wrote something to the effect of, “If the Dodgers beat the A’s, I’d be inclined to push a peanut with my nose up Century Boulevard.”
Whereupon the Dodgers beat the A’s, and I got a letter from a reader to the effect of, “When do you think you’ll be pushing that peanut up Century Boulevard? I’d like to be there.”
My reply: “I didn’t say I’d do it. I said I’d be inclined to do it.