The Quest for the ALCS... begins Noooowwww
In less than six hours, Johnny Damon will lead off the Red Sox lineup and begin the 2004 ALCS in Yankee Stadium.
Honestly, part of me wonders whether I'll be around to see the game. I feel like I could spontaneously combust at any moment.
They said that this year's ALDS was a disappointment in the baseball drama department. I wonder whether these people think having ten near-heart attacks within the span of five days, all under the age of 25, is an enjoyable enough experience that you'd want to repeat it.
I mean, I had a great time watching the Sox cowboy back and take the series against the A's last October, but I swear my heartbeat stopped at lesat ten times throughout the weekend. People around me weren't sure whether to call 911 or hug me. I wish I were kidding. At least half a dozen people told me that I was going to kill myself. Sadly, I really had no argument against that. There was a legitimate chance that the Red Sox would cause me to go into cardiac arrest in October. No lie.
So this year, when I could watch the Cask and only experience a quickened heart beat, I didn't think that was so bad. Game 1 blowout? I'll take it. Game 2, Pedro stays with it, complete with a 95 mph fastball to end the seventh? Saweeet. David Ortiz eating Jarrod Washburn for dinner Friday night? Call it a day. I'll take it all.
The truth is, I needed to save up some energy for this ALCS. Already before the game has begun, before the Sox have taken the field, before that stupid Jeannie Zelasko (I definitely butchered her name) is in make-up, I'm freaking out. My heartbeat? Irregular. My knee? Banged up already from being unable to stop shaking. My hands? I can't even type this without a zillion typos because they're shaking so badly. I am a walking disaster.
I've got my Sox gear on. We've planned our strategy to get our lucky table at Cask. We've got our money to get the $5 pitchers and chips. We're set. The Sox, they're set. Everything's in place. It's time to just get the job done.
I just hope I make it.
Honestly, part of me wonders whether I'll be around to see the game. I feel like I could spontaneously combust at any moment.
They said that this year's ALDS was a disappointment in the baseball drama department. I wonder whether these people think having ten near-heart attacks within the span of five days, all under the age of 25, is an enjoyable enough experience that you'd want to repeat it.
I mean, I had a great time watching the Sox cowboy back and take the series against the A's last October, but I swear my heartbeat stopped at lesat ten times throughout the weekend. People around me weren't sure whether to call 911 or hug me. I wish I were kidding. At least half a dozen people told me that I was going to kill myself. Sadly, I really had no argument against that. There was a legitimate chance that the Red Sox would cause me to go into cardiac arrest in October. No lie.
So this year, when I could watch the Cask and only experience a quickened heart beat, I didn't think that was so bad. Game 1 blowout? I'll take it. Game 2, Pedro stays with it, complete with a 95 mph fastball to end the seventh? Saweeet. David Ortiz eating Jarrod Washburn for dinner Friday night? Call it a day. I'll take it all.
The truth is, I needed to save up some energy for this ALCS. Already before the game has begun, before the Sox have taken the field, before that stupid Jeannie Zelasko (I definitely butchered her name) is in make-up, I'm freaking out. My heartbeat? Irregular. My knee? Banged up already from being unable to stop shaking. My hands? I can't even type this without a zillion typos because they're shaking so badly. I am a walking disaster.
I've got my Sox gear on. We've planned our strategy to get our lucky table at Cask. We've got our money to get the $5 pitchers and chips. We're set. The Sox, they're set. Everything's in place. It's time to just get the job done.
I just hope I make it.
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