Odyssey
To say I was upset after Saturday night's game would be a gross understatement. I was pacing about Heather's living room, ranting about swearing off the Red Sox because why waste my time? Think of what I could accomplish if I took the 300 odd hours a year spent watching the Red Sox and did something else. Anything else. I didn't even bother watching the whole game.
Needless to say, I was at the game early last night - but it wasn't easy to get there. I woke up not wanting to go; the thought of witnessing the culmination of a Yankee sweep at Fenway was almost too much. However, as the day wore on I let go of my anger and despondency and entered into an oddly tranquil statement. Fuck it, I thought, whatever happens, happens. Just enjoy being at the ball park one more time this year.
And so I did. Coming up out of the tunnel from the Kenmore Square T-Station I was happy to be there. I did game day things: some beers at the Cask n' Flagon, sausage from the Sausage King, more beers and banter on Yawkey way. I mourned the end of the 2004 Red Sox season by soaking up the last few hours of it, in preparation for the coming dark of winter.
As you all know by now, I was a little premature. The Sox managed a come from behind win on Ortiz's walk off homer, a moment I did not see in person, sad to say. In the eighth winning, at ten to midnight, we left to catch the T back to Quincy. I didn't feel at all conflicted about this. I had made my peace with the season, said my goodbyes and didn't feel like taking a $50 cab ride home. After Saturday's mugging, I didn't even think about a comeback.
For reasons beyond my control, the T ride home took over an hour. I won't go into detail save to say that a rather dim fellow decided that the T tunnel - not the platform, the actual tunnel - was an ideal place to relieve himself and barely missed being squashed like a bug. Simple bastard. The end result was I arrived in Quincy at 1:15 A.M., with barely enough time to slide in the back door of the local and see Big Papi's dinger on TV.
So now we play another. I'll be watching. Nobody believed me when I said I quit anyway.
Needless to say, I was at the game early last night - but it wasn't easy to get there. I woke up not wanting to go; the thought of witnessing the culmination of a Yankee sweep at Fenway was almost too much. However, as the day wore on I let go of my anger and despondency and entered into an oddly tranquil statement. Fuck it, I thought, whatever happens, happens. Just enjoy being at the ball park one more time this year.
And so I did. Coming up out of the tunnel from the Kenmore Square T-Station I was happy to be there. I did game day things: some beers at the Cask n' Flagon, sausage from the Sausage King, more beers and banter on Yawkey way. I mourned the end of the 2004 Red Sox season by soaking up the last few hours of it, in preparation for the coming dark of winter.
As you all know by now, I was a little premature. The Sox managed a come from behind win on Ortiz's walk off homer, a moment I did not see in person, sad to say. In the eighth winning, at ten to midnight, we left to catch the T back to Quincy. I didn't feel at all conflicted about this. I had made my peace with the season, said my goodbyes and didn't feel like taking a $50 cab ride home. After Saturday's mugging, I didn't even think about a comeback.
For reasons beyond my control, the T ride home took over an hour. I won't go into detail save to say that a rather dim fellow decided that the T tunnel - not the platform, the actual tunnel - was an ideal place to relieve himself and barely missed being squashed like a bug. Simple bastard. The end result was I arrived in Quincy at 1:15 A.M., with barely enough time to slide in the back door of the local and see Big Papi's dinger on TV.
So now we play another. I'll be watching. Nobody believed me when I said I quit anyway.
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