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.
The Russians are STILL Coming
1 week ago