Secretly, I’ve been hoping that the Red Sox would be done by now. Done, so that some semblance of off-season order can return to our household. My husband can then stop acting as if yet another planet in our solar system has been swallowed up by the sun every time we lose a game. After all, the Sox did come in ahead of the Yankees. Isn’t that enough?
The answer to this question, I’ve been coached, is no. Even though the 86-year-old curse has been broken, the Red Sox are still required to win every single game for the next 86 years to make up for it. Or, at least, all the important ones. No, no, it’s not impossible. Didn’t you see what happened in Games 4, 5, 6, and 7 in the 2004 ALCS? And then in Games 5, 6, and 7 just last week? I’m putting my own damn curse on the Red Sox, and this one better stick.
(I think I just heard my car windows smashing.)
It may sound like sour grapes coming from a jealous wife (why isn’t he paying attention to ME?), but it’s not. Why do you think I have so much time to blog? He has baseball stats, I have blog stats. He has Dice-K, I have diced kale (by the way, don’t dice kale). He has beer downstairs, I have bourbon upstairs. It’s a marital arrangement made in heaven, really. Or, at least, a heaven that works on a draft system.
After the soul-crushing 2003 season, and the euphoric 2004 season, I wonder who is left standing that has the emotional stamina to care?
My husband, that’s who. The instant replay in his head cannot be turned off. He drags every slight around with him like a bedraggled beast of burden. I ask you, how many times do I have to pick him up out of the hamper and lead him stumbling back to his dreams after he dives across the room to catch a missed fly ball? And the screaming. Oh, the screaming.
Shake it off, man. Somehow, I don’t think Manny loses any sleep.
I know it’s only another week, goddamnit, but it’s going to be a looooong week. I’ve been betting against them all this time, but now they have to win otherwise I’m screwed. For the Red Sox to come this far and then not win the World Series, there will be moping for a month. At least. Then, expect a rebound relationship with the Patriots who, let’s face it, have a much easier game with a much bigger ball, so even if they do win, who the hell cares. The following spring, there will be renewed intensity/desperation with regard to our scruffy baseball team, including promises to watch every single game this time so he won’t let them down again, and dying all of his socks red in a puddle of his own blood. That’s after therapy.
No, not again. Hear this, Rockies, and listen well. This is NOT the time to not suck.