Comic posted Friday, Oct 22, 2004

Posted: 9:06 am, Friday, October 22, 2004

I like to think I'm handling things slightly better than Ron is, but only slightly. Oh, and a quick congrats to the Cards - MNP, her friend with a blog, and my buddy Ivor are all happy. Eric is probably happy, too, he liked the Loo when we went there.

Sorry for yesterday's barebones post. I honestly had very little idea where I was when I was writing it. I'm writing this during my lunchbreak, at least part of it, and am still eight miles high right now. But, since I'm writing this on Thursday, this counts as my one day to speak about baseball before I put the gag order back on until the end of the World Series, which, Christ be with us, will end with the Sox dancing. So, without further ado, my senseless babbling about the ALCS.

My phone was ringing practically the whole game. Leahy called me in the first, when Johnny got gunned out, to ask me if we had gotten Send 'Em In Kim back from the Cubs - we had a discussion back in May about how terrible the Cubs' third base coach was, and I started telling him about how back Boston's old third base coach was. We realized we were talking about the same guy instantly. After Johnny's grand slam in the third, my best friend from elementary school, who I barely ever talk to anymore, called, and asked me if this was really happening. I went ahead and mentioned the eVite wedding, which, of course, he didn't know about. Smooth! I called Sweaty after the game, and then my father, who is 71 but sounded like a kid on Christmas. Dbunz called at one thirty, delirious. "I know you've been doing this a lot longer than I have," said the recent convert, "but, damn, this feels good." Delirious is what I've been all day. Everyone's congratulating me - evidently, I was playing last night - and I can only kind of sit there with a dumb smile on my face. This is incredible.

So, while the Sox power on, while Big Papi reminds Manny that he, too, is allowed to hit the ball, while Pedro and his dwarf take a breather, while Curt's ankle continues to bleed everywhere, the Yankees, Nemesis B to Bush's A, go home and sit. Make no doubt about it - my delirium is caused way more by the Sox triumph, but, God, I cannot wait to see what Steinbrenner does. I mean, is there a hit out on Torre right now? Will Brown ever be heard from again? Clark? Lofton? Hell, A-Rod?

By the way, I noticed A-Rod went from purple lipstick to pink for Game 7. I like it, it brings out his eyes.

After the game, Fox 5 went to a bar on the Upper West, where some Yankee fans were, still. It was an amazing segment - the Yankees fans were like Tourette's patients. In the middle of an otherwise coherent sentence, they'd scream out "1918! Curse! Who's your daddy?!" Finally, I can see how insane I've sounded over the years myself. Damn, I have sounded completely insane.

Last year's ALCS almost killed me. I mean it. I was like that side of meat that Rocky was punching in the first flick. Just numb and dead. This year, down 3-0, the Sox were playing with house money the rest of the series. I mean, check out the Postseason success predictor from after Game 3. BP was giving the Sox a five percent chance of winning the ALCS. Damn!

There were two moments when I got tense (note: I went to bed early during Game 4 - the gang was in town over the weekend, and I was beat): Foulke closing out Game 6, and Pedro making his inexplicable appearance in Game 7. That's it. The rest of the time, I was just happy to be there. Nothing like the corpse I became after Game 7 of last year.

Today, I'm walking around the office about thirty pounds lighter than usual - I'm like James Brown, my feet aren't even touching the floor. Four wins to eternity, boys, four wins to eternity.

Two other quick observations... One friend at work told me that she was glad we won because we deserved it and now I could quit complaining. And another friend told me that now I could shut up about the Curse. OK, there's one Yankee fan that I can rationally discuss baseball with, and that's Eric. The rest of them, I don't try. And the closest I've come to ever discussing this curse thing is saying, "Sometimes, I think we actually are cursed." And I've never mentioned it to these two people. The first friend doesn't know enough about baseball to fill a thimble. After her first game at Yankee Stadium, she was marveling that the crowd really gets into it. She's lived in New York her whole life. This is not the sort of person I try to discuss rivalry baseball with.

As I told Dbunz, though, push out the jive, bring in the love. Bring in the love. Hats off to the Yanks, it was a helluva series.

That is all. Now I return to silence on the subject of baseball until the conclusion of the World Series. Well, one more thing:

You hear me, ball? Obey Papi. Leave the stadium. Travel far, travel straight. Obey.

OK, now I'm done. Tune in Monday for more political rage! Go Irish, beat Eagles!

bullfrog