The Boston Red Sox: Defenders of the 2004 World Championship!! "Whoever plunges into his experiences with the momentum of hope, will remember so that he cannot forget." - Soren Kierkegaard.

Wednesday, April 06, 2005

I was all happy last night as I sat out behind work, waiting for Mike to finish up inside. I was sitting on a bucket, reading my book (Perfume by Patrick Suskind) and enjoying the beautiful weather. It is finally spring here in Cincinnati. Last night it was a peaceful, breezy 65 degrees, and when I walked out of work the sky still had a warm hue to it, even though the sun had already set. All the lights in our alley behind the restaurant seemed warmer, almost golden. The casual way the dishwasher walked out of the back of the neighboring restaurant and shook out his broom reinforced the sense of warmth and spring in the air: a month ago he would have stepped out quickly, breath pluming out of his mouth, and shook the broom briefly to get back inside where it was warm; last night there was no hurry. And I was content in the knowledge that very soon I would be walking home to our waiting VCR with a tape of today's Sox/Yankees game inside, waiting for us to sit down, waiting for us to rewind it, waiting for us to watch. Life doesn't get much better than it is right now.

So we get home, Mike opens a Pepsi and I get the tape ready and get my scoresheet together and we start watching. First sign that something is going to go wrong: they broadcast the game on the motherfucking YES network. I hate the clowns that do their fucking announcing almost as much as I hate the team they work for. But whatever - we just block out Michael Kay and Paul O'Neal's endlessly self-gratifying bullshit and concentrate on watching Clement pitch. It's true that we do have to hear some unfortunate comments, like how tough it is for Clement to face this Yankees line-up coming from the National League as if Pavano isn't faced with the same challenge, or like how every routine play that Derek Jeter or Alex Rodriguez or even - ugh - Tony Womack makes is an incredible example of athletic prowess...but, like I said, for the most part we were able to ignore them.

Then, bottom of the third inning, Jeter gets hit in the hand with an inside pitch (have I told you all yet how much I miss Pedro? It just made me think about that one game in 2003 where he sent Jeter and Soriano to the hospital after hitting both with inside pitches in the first fucking inning of the game. God I love Pedro) and then A-Fraud gets caught stealing or something - in any case, he was out at second but they call him safe, and Mike and I are getting ready to pitch a serious bitch fit when all of the sudden the cable went out. And then we realized that we had taped 3 1/2 innings of baseball and 5 1/2 innings of dead air. And that's why I didn't get to watch last night's game.

File under: God hates me because I don't believe in him.