The Red Sox are in the pennant race. G*d-F^ck1ng D@mmit! Do you know what this means? DO YOU!
It means that for the next month--or however long baseball goes on, see what a fan am I--everyone will be tired. They will be tired, and think that they are somehow Warriors of Fandom for their team. And the next day at work they will say, like a warrior fresh from battle, "I'm exhausted." And I will say, "Me, too. Why are you tired?" And they will give me incredulous/pitying/angry looks, and, although almost too fatigued, they will find the strength, somehow, to explain to me through their exasperation that The Game went late last night. And I will avoid asking which game, and restrain myself from explaining that I am tired from going to grad school while working and running a shiatsu practice, you know, having a real life in which I do things other than cheering.
I will speak to people who live elsewhere and follow baseball. They will assume I am thrilled, or desperately sad, depending on how the Sox are faring. I will try to be polite. It will be a strain.
From Boston right through the 495 belt, everyone will go stark raving mad. In the epicenter, The Hub itself, cars may be turned over. Once a girl was shot in the face. Riots? Riots, people??
Worst of all, my husband's office is in Kenmore Square. Kenmore Square, I now explain for those fortunate enough to be uninitiated, is the home of Fenway Park. Fenway Park is--you got it!--home of the Sox. This means traffic, no parking, mooing out-of-towners shuffling along in herds, taking up the sidewalk, unable to decode the subway. My husband's commute quadrupled, all the lunch spots near his office overrun.
Pray for us.
7 months ago