The Way I Figure It…

…not being an actual member of the sports media has its advantages. Chief amongst those being that since no one is actually paying me for commentary, I don’t have any obligation to talk about things I don’t want to talk about.

That said, that sucked, I hate it, but shit happens. But no, a suicide watch isn’t necessary. I’m Zen, people. I managed to get out of bed this morning and everything. Really, I’m fine. I didn’t even break anything. I’m not concerned about the legacy of this football team as it would certainly take something akin to a total frontal lobotomy for me to forget how jaw-droppingly awesome they are. So, it’s all good. You miss your chances sometimes but you don’t stop loving your team when they lose. I didn’t stop loving them in 1990 when they went 1-15 and I’m not going to stop loving them now. And like I said to my mom when I called her this morning to assure her that I was still alive and she didn’t need to send anyone to my apartment to remove all the sharp objects, if the 2003 game 7 loss to the Yankees in the ALCS didn’t kill me, this certainly isn’t going to. We’re all going to be fine. So people can stop talking to me in hushed tones reserved for someone who’s recently lost a loved one. And, as Greta said as she was leaving my place last night, “I look forward to next season when Belichick somehow tweaks the salary cap and employs the eight-armed aliens from Independence Day on his receiving corps.” That really will be something.

Moving on…

To other things like the fact that pitchers and catchers report in two weeks and WE HAZ A SEAN CASEY!

I mean, look at the dude, he surely won’t get bothered in any bars in Boston since he looks exactly like 74% of the dudes already frequenting said bars. By all accounts, he’s the nicest person on the planet so I look forward to endless tales of him teaming up with the other nicest person in baseball, Mr. Tim Wakefield, and the two of them spending their downtime macrameing outfits for rag dolls for underprivileged children.

I realize that adding a Sean Casey likely means subtracting an Eric Hinske and possibly a Bobby Kielty and that’s upsetting because of my largely unfounded crush on Eric Hinske and because if you needed to look at the Sox bench and see one dude smiling like he’d just won the lottery, you couldn’t do any better than Hinske. But even I, irrational though I am, understand that Sean Casey > Eric Hinske in terms of the actual playing of baseball. Plus, he’s going to be so bewildered by Manny and that’ll be entertaining for everyone.

Also, now that other, pigskin-type distractions have been removed, I can fully express my excitement over the whole Santana thing and the fact that, our rookies, we can keep them? Granted, I was waiting for the deal to be finalized before getting too excited about it but Jacoby and Bucky and Lester and Lowrie are ours now. For reals. They’re not going anywhere. Not only that, but the Yankees didn’t get Santana either and the Mets did us all the very kind favor of taking him out of the American League altogether. So muchas gracias, Omar. Admittedly there are concerns about the length of the contract but it appears that Minaya thinks those are problems for Future Omar.

Plus, I mean, the Mets just got a REALLY good pitcher which, you know, is fun, because I dig the Mets. I follow them and watch their games when I can. And you just know that David Wright and Jose Reyes stayed up ALL NIGHT making a “Welcome to the Mets, Johan!” banner for Santana. With glitter glue. And possibly puffy paint.

So, yeah, all of that stuff is awesome. And Dougie Night is still upcoming, don’t forget. I’m choosing to focus on that. Wouldn’t it be weird if the Red Sox have turned me into a cockeyed optimist?

Stranger things, I guess.

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