Last night Paint Monkey and I went out to dinner, our requirements for the establishment were it had to be cheap, it had to have smoking, it needed to be quiet enough to talk comfortably and most importantly of all, it had to have the game on. We found our spot, Sweet Victory! Our table wasn�t ideal for viewing, we were almost directly below one TV, so in order to view said TV it required looking straight up and then turning your head to the extreme right. The other TV in our viewing vicinity was on an angle and obstructed from my view by a light fixture, so for me the fun, alignment killing position. We watched the Cubs game unfold,
Paint Monkey: Ok, Sammy�s up. Don�t try to hit it out of the park, get on base... just play baseball.
(after striking out without ever coming close to the ball�)
Monster: Arrrgh! Jackass.
to the bitter end�
Monster: Oh God, it�s just silent at Wrigley. It kills me when they show how upset the fans and the players are.
Paint Monkey: I can�t even imagine what it must be like in Chicago right now�stop showing that old woman crying, I can�t watch that.
Of course, on the positive side of things, the Sox won and as much as my heart goes out to my friends in Chicago, my loyalties do lie with the Red Sox. I lived in Boston for a while after college, and my apartment was right under the big Citgo sign, spitting distance from Fenway. During most of my time there I possessed a blinding animosity for the Sox tailgaters�the ones who parked in all our resident parking spaces, forcing me to drive around and around upon my return from The Job That Will Not Be Named and ultimately giving up and parking in frickin� Brookline and hoofing it back the 20 miles, in the snow, uphill both ways�ok, maybe I�m exaggerating there, but it was really irritating all the same. I would walk past all the loud, drunken Sox fans, in my parking spaces, mumbling under my breath, wishing $20 parking tickets on them and mocking them for their Curse. I don�t know when it happened, but at some point I became a Sox fan, they aren�t my number one team (which I will take this opportunity not to mention, because, well, I don't want the e-mails) but if it�s the Sox vs. anyone else, I�m all about the Sox. Noooo-maaaaar.
There is also the fact that I really don�t like the Yankees, nope I don�t. No, you won�t convince me. No, you won�t. Yes, I know, 80 billion World Series titles, Mickey Mantel, Joe DiMaggio, blah blahhity blah, don�t care. Yes, I respect their history, but it doesn�t really matter, don�t like �em. No, don�t e-mail me.
That said, I�m in a bit of a bind here. Tonight is Game 7 of the ALCS, Sox vs. Yankees (eeee!), Game 7 of one of the longest, most bitter rivalries in baseball. It�s Pedro vs. the Rocket, the 2 pitchers that helped fuel that kick ass brawl in Game 3. This is going to be a great game, and it�s gonna get uuuugly. Enter the bind�I�ve got tickets to attend the Opera tonight, Aida actually. It�s the Opera equivalent of this baseball game and I�m torn. Right now I�m envisioning making it through the first Act, calling Paint Monkey for the score and the Lobster and I bailing before Aida�s father is brought into Egypt as one of the captured Ethiopians. Is that a bad thing?
We Believe!
Go Sox!
�
Wondering:What would happen if the Lobster and I started chanting Noooo-maaaar during the Overture.
Doing:Trying to figure out how to be in 2 places at once.
Wishing:Oh, for this of course.
before - after
Pass me a note
Travel back in time
True Art - June 21, 2004
Car Again, Part the 12th - April 25, 2004
Badger - January 15, 2004
Gorilla-hand guys and skater boys - January 07, 2004
Hellooooo 21st Century! - January 05, 2004
