The Fine Line Between Irony and Idiocy

Games 62 through 65 - Red Sox

Red Sox 8, Cubs 1
Red Sox 10, Cincinnati Reds 3
Red Sox 7, Reds 0
Red Sox 6, Reds 1 (in progress)
Record: 35-29

I'd call it ironic, the obvious connection between my flogging of the Sox and their near-immediate resurrection, if it weren't such well-trod ground, such a predictable pattern. I bemoan the Sox' passivity, they start bludgeoning people. I call out Edgar Renteria, he goes on an epic tear. I tell the world (all 55 of you) that Manny's invisible, and he rakes like a Vermonter in late September. David Wells gets the gasface, and then rips off 2 stellarborderingonspectacular starts. Fuck it, I've already admitted that I know less than nothing about this team and this game - I'm just playing on emotion from now on. (I just got back from Happy Hour. Can you tell?)

I'm really only blogging tonight because I'm headed for a week's vacation on North Carolina's scenic Outer Banks with my colleague and his family and my puritan work ethic is nagging me not to go another 10 days without giving the world this kind of Grade A entertainment product. Me, Whit, 2 wives (ours) and 4 girls under the age of 4. And no Extra Innings package. Tell me again why we're doing this? I hope we've negotiated a good Father's Day package. 6 uninterrupted hours in a beach bar with the U.S. Open on the telly would be the best gift ever.

Back with more next weekend, at which point the Sox will nearly certainly have pissed me right off about something. For instance, the rapid rate at which Mike Timlin's trying to blow a 5-run lead would be an excellent topic for a rant. Commence reverse jinx mojo...now.