Misery Loves Company: Two Guys Watch Baseball

Deep Cleansing Breaths

I don't think I've ever felt worse at the end of a July loss than I did last night. I stared in disbelief at my computer screen for about 15 minutes before slowly, quietly unplugging the modem line and heading upstairs to try to sleep. Funny thing happened before I got to my bedroom, though.

Every night before I go to sleep, I look in on each of my daughters - really just watch them sleep for a few seconds or minutes. As I gently closed the door after leaving my eldest daughter's room (the child, by the way, who identified this week's Sports Illustrated coverboy, Manny Ramirez, as one of the Old 97s - how's that for perspective from youth?), I really didn't care very much about what happened to the Red Sox.

I will care, and care deeply and insanely, in the very near future, but last night was a great lesson for me. I'm headed to Lake Tahoe on Monday for a week. I probably won't post in this space before July 13, and I probably won't see much more than newspaper accounts of the Sox' efforts until that time. And right now, that's all the tonic this kid needs.