I was wearing all black and talking about hockey season. My house was bad luck. My pub was bad luck. My friend forced me out of both. We got into a cab. The cab was bad luck. The cabbie seemed scared of my commentary on the game and quickly switched the station to NPR.
I paid seven dollars to see a concert so I wouldn’t watch the soon end of baseball season. I spent too much money on PBR knowing I had nice chilled Sierra Nevadas in my fridge at home because I was afraid to be alone. I paid seven dollars to watch the game at the dive bar next to the live show.
Best seven dollars ever spent. Best PBR I have ever drank. Best seventh inning I have ever watched. Best comeback in seventy-nine years. Yes, it happened. Papi finally hit. Drew was the clutch player we know he can be. The champagne was boxed up. And everyone in Boston pinched themselves, but this was real.
And now for the dilemma, how do I watch the game Saturday and attend a New York wedding? Who plans a wedding in the post-season? You would think people would be a little more understanding, but then again, it is a New York wedding. Good thing my Red Sox earrings match my red heels perfectly.
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