Sore Spot
Right now, the most important thing in my life is Curt Schilling's right ankle.
Okay, so that might be a little bit of an exaggeration, but it's definitely the thing that I've been pretty preoccupied about. It's like this: when I was younger, if I got a failing grade in school or I thought I was getting strep throat, I'd go along with my day as best possible. And sometimes, right when I was forgetting about my bad grade or my sore throat, it would hit me and I'd remember it all over again and feel really nauseous. That's what my day has been like with Curt Schilling's ankle.
I feel like it's inevitable, that the ankle is going to make Schilling unavailable. Just like I hoped that my parents wouldn't care that I failed a test. Or that my strep throat was going to just go away on its own before the afternoon ended. Nope. Not gonna happen. And so, like every crazed Sox fan, I feel like Schilling has the Ankle of Doom. That's not even exaggerating anything.
Why did I feel so confident two days ago? Because of Curt Schilling. I thought, who can beat a one-two of Curt Schilling and Pedro Martinez? Nobody! I even thought, "Wow, I can't believe we expected to have the Sox win last year when Pedro was their only solid ace on staff. This is why this year is different, because we have two with Schilling."
Yeah. Those thoughts. Went through. My head.
Now I'm just stuck.
I really hope the ankle comes back, that those stupid shots work, that it's a mild thing that needs a day or two. That's the optimist in me. The realist knows that this has been a nagging injury all season, and that with this timing, it's just catastrophic. CATASTROPHIC.
Then again, Schilling's a gamer. Life will be okay if he can pull himself together. And I also think, what the hell, the Sox can win it without Schilling.
... Right?
So that's the serious part of all of this. Last night sucked. I'm not even going to go into the specifics of the game. Let me just say this: I am never going back to the Cask n Flagon to watch a game. Ever.
During the ALDS, the place was great. Not that packed, not that crazy, just a bunch of true Sox fans watching the game. Not anymore. Once it becomes cool to watch baseball, all these phony losers come out of the woodwork. Here are some prime examples:
- Two girls, wearing pink Red Sox hats, drinking WINE at the Cask n Flagon. When I saw the glass, I almost questioned whether they had to bring a bottle themselves to the establishment. One girl fell on the floor, dramatically, when Bernie Williams got some insurance for the Yankees. She waited until some guy took pity on her and picked her up, telling her, "Don't worry, there are six more games." She said this, I swear: "Pedro always kills us!"
Riiiight.
- Apparently, one group of Red Sox girls was unaware that it is the YANKEES fans who chant each player's name until they respond back. Whoops.
- Ironically, the Yankees Suck even when their starting pitcher goes six full innings without having a baserunner and when their lineup scores eight unanswered runs. Yes, the Yankees Suck.
This is what gives Sox fans a bad name.
- Some stupid, stupid, STUPID person comes in and goes, "Well, I mean, I like the Sox, but I'd be okay with a Yankee sweep."
No. No no no no no. It is impossible - IMPOSSIBLE - to "like" the Red Sox while simultaenously saying that you are "okay" with the fact that they might be swept by the Yankees, thus ending their season.
Also, I wasn't happy with the Cask n Flagon because it was always $5.00 pitchers of Miller Lite. So we order a pitcher, drink it, and then when we're moving to a new room, we get the check. $12.00!!! So we call over our waitress who tells us, "Oh yeah, we're not doing that promotion this week. Your waitress should have told you that." Me: "Well, she didn't." Her: "Oh." OH! Oh.
Let me tell you what the answer "oh" gets you: barely 15% tip. Go talk to the waitress who didn't tell us that the pitchers were $12.00. There's your $7.00 tip.
Had the Sox won, this all would have been a happy entry. And it kills me, because did I really expect them to go through the postseason undefeated? I mean, did I expect the Yankees to roll over? No. And th good news is, the Sox didn't just fold. They were down, 8-0. They could have ended it, shut-out. They could have just done the three runs. But they battled for seven runs. It showed something about the Sox. Even when Schilling struggled - giving up six runs - the Sox answered back with seven.
Ughhh. Just when I thought I was set, the ankle pops up again. That's exactly how it was with the grade and strep. I'd finally convince myself life was okay and then BAM! You suck. God. This is tough. I really don't even know. I just have to hope for the best. (Will you LISTEN to the ANGST in that? I mean, this is basebalL! And yet, it's like, the most important thing ever right now.)
Which brings me to my final point: I have to do my work and stop obsessing. I can't get to bars two hours in advance of games, to sit there and wait and wait until gametime, to sit through a game, lose my voice, become completely drained and return home after midnight to begin my work. Not going to happen. In the end, whether the Sox win or lose, I have papers due and reading assignments. So I have to be mature, starting tonight. I just have no choice anymore.
I have to start bringing my homework to the bar.
Okay, so that might be a little bit of an exaggeration, but it's definitely the thing that I've been pretty preoccupied about. It's like this: when I was younger, if I got a failing grade in school or I thought I was getting strep throat, I'd go along with my day as best possible. And sometimes, right when I was forgetting about my bad grade or my sore throat, it would hit me and I'd remember it all over again and feel really nauseous. That's what my day has been like with Curt Schilling's ankle.
I feel like it's inevitable, that the ankle is going to make Schilling unavailable. Just like I hoped that my parents wouldn't care that I failed a test. Or that my strep throat was going to just go away on its own before the afternoon ended. Nope. Not gonna happen. And so, like every crazed Sox fan, I feel like Schilling has the Ankle of Doom. That's not even exaggerating anything.
Why did I feel so confident two days ago? Because of Curt Schilling. I thought, who can beat a one-two of Curt Schilling and Pedro Martinez? Nobody! I even thought, "Wow, I can't believe we expected to have the Sox win last year when Pedro was their only solid ace on staff. This is why this year is different, because we have two with Schilling."
Yeah. Those thoughts. Went through. My head.
Now I'm just stuck.
I really hope the ankle comes back, that those stupid shots work, that it's a mild thing that needs a day or two. That's the optimist in me. The realist knows that this has been a nagging injury all season, and that with this timing, it's just catastrophic. CATASTROPHIC.
Then again, Schilling's a gamer. Life will be okay if he can pull himself together. And I also think, what the hell, the Sox can win it without Schilling.
... Right?
So that's the serious part of all of this. Last night sucked. I'm not even going to go into the specifics of the game. Let me just say this: I am never going back to the Cask n Flagon to watch a game. Ever.
During the ALDS, the place was great. Not that packed, not that crazy, just a bunch of true Sox fans watching the game. Not anymore. Once it becomes cool to watch baseball, all these phony losers come out of the woodwork. Here are some prime examples:
- Two girls, wearing pink Red Sox hats, drinking WINE at the Cask n Flagon. When I saw the glass, I almost questioned whether they had to bring a bottle themselves to the establishment. One girl fell on the floor, dramatically, when Bernie Williams got some insurance for the Yankees. She waited until some guy took pity on her and picked her up, telling her, "Don't worry, there are six more games." She said this, I swear: "Pedro always kills us!"
Riiiight.
- Apparently, one group of Red Sox girls was unaware that it is the YANKEES fans who chant each player's name until they respond back. Whoops.
- Ironically, the Yankees Suck even when their starting pitcher goes six full innings without having a baserunner and when their lineup scores eight unanswered runs. Yes, the Yankees Suck.
This is what gives Sox fans a bad name.
- Some stupid, stupid, STUPID person comes in and goes, "Well, I mean, I like the Sox, but I'd be okay with a Yankee sweep."
No. No no no no no. It is impossible - IMPOSSIBLE - to "like" the Red Sox while simultaenously saying that you are "okay" with the fact that they might be swept by the Yankees, thus ending their season.
Also, I wasn't happy with the Cask n Flagon because it was always $5.00 pitchers of Miller Lite. So we order a pitcher, drink it, and then when we're moving to a new room, we get the check. $12.00!!! So we call over our waitress who tells us, "Oh yeah, we're not doing that promotion this week. Your waitress should have told you that." Me: "Well, she didn't." Her: "Oh." OH! Oh.
Let me tell you what the answer "oh" gets you: barely 15% tip. Go talk to the waitress who didn't tell us that the pitchers were $12.00. There's your $7.00 tip.
Had the Sox won, this all would have been a happy entry. And it kills me, because did I really expect them to go through the postseason undefeated? I mean, did I expect the Yankees to roll over? No. And th good news is, the Sox didn't just fold. They were down, 8-0. They could have ended it, shut-out. They could have just done the three runs. But they battled for seven runs. It showed something about the Sox. Even when Schilling struggled - giving up six runs - the Sox answered back with seven.
Ughhh. Just when I thought I was set, the ankle pops up again. That's exactly how it was with the grade and strep. I'd finally convince myself life was okay and then BAM! You suck. God. This is tough. I really don't even know. I just have to hope for the best. (Will you LISTEN to the ANGST in that? I mean, this is basebalL! And yet, it's like, the most important thing ever right now.)
Which brings me to my final point: I have to do my work and stop obsessing. I can't get to bars two hours in advance of games, to sit there and wait and wait until gametime, to sit through a game, lose my voice, become completely drained and return home after midnight to begin my work. Not going to happen. In the end, whether the Sox win or lose, I have papers due and reading assignments. So I have to be mature, starting tonight. I just have no choice anymore.
I have to start bringing my homework to the bar.
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