I went to Toronto this last weekend and something odd happened at the border. The little Canadian guy behind the glass asked me for my papers and I handed them over. He asked why I was there and I said "business." Sure, why not. It's not a lie - I was there for a BP Pizza Feed. He asked my occupation and for a moment I paused, then said "baseball writer." He looked at me and said, "what?" I smiled, realizing I was about to utter one of the coolest things ever: "I get paid to write about baseball."
It felt right. I'm the luckiest boy in the world, Pee Wee.