Sigh

Douglas, you are KILLING ME.

You too, Wily Mo.

Okay, is this how it’s gonna be? Get swept in a series, sweep a series, get swept in a series, sweep a series? I mean, I just want to know. I want to get used to that. I want to lay in the proper, um, provisions. Also, if that’s the plan, can we at least continue that through the next series, considering that it’s a five-gamer against the Yankees?

Yeah, five games. My liver has already contacted its lawyer.

I’ll be there on Friday night thanks to Annette. Well, “thanks to” as she’s informed me today that we get to see the matchup for the ages of Sidney “Made of Ham” Ponson and Jason “I moonlight as your son’s math teacher” Johnson. CLASH OF THE TITANS. But she’s got a plan. “I feel like we should bring toys and games to keep ourselves occupied with at that game,” she said, “Or vials of crack.”

I like the way she thinks.

What I want to know is, should I just start wearing a helmet now to prepare myself for the inevitable “head crashing into seat in front of me” thing that’s bound to happen? Can’t hurt, right? Or should I just forget the helmet and hope for some selective amnesia for the next month or so? Or at least until football season starts?

Ahhh, football. God, I love football. Doesn’t football feel like a safe haven right now? Tom Brady wouldn’t drop a ball, leading to the game winning run for the other team. Tedy Bruschi wouldn’t bobble a foul pop. Mike Vrabel, well, the only think I know about Mike Vrabel for sure is that Amy and I are fairly certain that he has hair gel spritzers in his helment. He probably got the info from Nomar. There is no other explanation. This is going to be HILARIOUS when I’m freaking out about the Patriots in about four months and saying things like “God, I miss baseball. Manny is so entertaining. Josh Beckett is nails.” Okay, I’ll totally never say that last part. But still…

I seemingly cannot maintain a linear thought as relates to the Red Sox lately. Which would make sense because they apparently cannot maintain any kind of linear progression with the whole winning thing. Which, I mean, Beckett and Schilling are allegedly our “aces” and after that, WHO DO WE HAVE? Wells? Johnson? TBA? At this point, TBA is looking pretty damn good.

Yikes.

I’m not ready to commit hari kari with a paperclip just yet, but, I’m also not ruling out the possibility of calling in sick to work with “extreme emotional distress” for the next few days. And I can almost promise you that I will be launching rubber band missiles at anything professing itself to be “Red Sox” adjacent for a while. Because violence is always the answer.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go exorcise some energy by dancing around my apartment to some Bon Jovi. Bon Jovi, Patriots fan. Just sayin’…

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