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Practice what you preach

I told my students not to watch the games this weekend. I told them the games were on too late. I told them this with red socks on, so it’s hard to say how seriously they took me. What I should have told them is good to bed while you still can. Go to sleep before you get to a point where even when the game ends you stay up for hours questioning calls, mostly because you are too afraid to get to the real question.
    They don’t yet understand the seriousness of it yet. They are eight years old. They don’t understand what eighty-six years can do to a person.  Even when the drought ends, there is always the fear another will begin.
    I should have told my students to ask their parents to move to a different city, hell, a different state. Before it’s too late.  As much as I love this dirty water, lately, it feels a little bit poisonous. If nothing else, I hope my students never start listening to sports radio. And I hope they don’t switch from Harry Potter to Shaughnessy.
    Alright, Clay, show us what you got tomorrow.  We’ve seen glimmers of your brilliance. I plan on a red bull and twelve pieces of bacon for breakfast.  Hopefully, I’ll be having the same thing Tuesday morning.

Let the insanity begin...

    Last night I did something very unlike me. I left the game early. Even though we already had the wild card, and essentially all of our starters were no where to be found, I figured, its still Fenway, it’s not raining and Wake and Halladay are pitching.  Still could be a great one to watch.
    By about the sixth inning the stands were relatively clear, Wake was gone, and we pretty much didn’t have a shot in hell of making it back, between our lack of bats and Lowrie’s week throw on third.
    The man sitting beside my said, “this is probably the worst game of baseball I have ever seen.”
    “Yeah, and yet we’re laughing.”
    This is when he said something I truly couldn’t believe.
    “Yeah, but how can you not be happy in Fenway?”
    I envied his light heartedness.  I thought about the times I’ve cried in the ballpark, the times I’ve lost it. And I thought about how the fact that I laughed last night and was able to leave in the 8th. The pre-World Series me would have stayed, watched them lose, blamed it on the fact that I can’t find lucky hat.
    Insanity is gone for baseball. I was looking ahead last night, as was Francona. I wasn’t going to stick around to watch Halladay dominate the minors when hockey starts today. I wasn’t going to waste my tears on Wake yet, because it comes back.
    Every year playoffs hit, and the insanity is back like a plague. I can’t laugh at errors. I can’t laugh at relief I haven’t heard of. In fact, for playoffs I’m lucky when I’m breathing.