Friday, August 11, 2006


Game 113 – Red Sox

Royals 5, Red Sox 4
Record: 65-48

My threats to break things in response to Red Sox misplays and brutal losses are a bit of a running joke in this space. I’m a spaz, but I generally refrain from causing actual physical damage to my stuff. Last night, not so much.

As Reggie Sanders’ 8th inning line drive headed into right field, I calmly changed the channel and said aloud, “I’m done. I can’t watch any more of this shit.” The calm lasted about 2 seconds. And then I lost the battle, hurling the remote against the coffee table and watching numbly as it bounced first against the wall and then off the slate floor that marks my living room fireplace. Batteries scattered in various directions, and my wife looked at me as if I’d grown a set of horns before taking her things and walking up the stairs without a word. I’m pretty sure I was in line for some conjugal activity last night, too – my idiocy has no bounds.

I didn’t turn the game back on, and I didn’t look for the score this morning. I knew without knowing that the Sox had lost, swept by the league’s worst team to fall to 2-7 since the trade deadline.

I’m headed to California on Sunday, assuming the airport is open, and the trip could not come at a better time in terms of restoring my sanity. I’m not gonna watch the Sox tonight or tomorrow by choice – doctor’s orders – and I’ll have no opportunity to see them play while I’m taking in the sublime sights of the Monterey Peninsula for the better part of next week. I need a break. They need a break. We need a break.

I come back just in time for the Sox to open their 5-gamer with the Yankees. I'll be tanned, rested, and ready. Ok, I'll be ready. Let's hope I can say the same thing about the Sox.

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