I'm not upset that as I type this the Red Sox are losing 6-1 to the Yankees. We have an 11 game lead and a deficit that large is not made up over 1 night. I am calm, cool, and collected.
I am also full of crap: I HATE losing to the Yankees no matter what the standings are. I want maiming, destruction, carnage, and bloodshed whenever they play. That said, I realize that the odds of the Sox going 17-1 to the Yankees over the course of the season were a tad long. Wake not having any feel for the knuckleball did not help. I've said it before, I love Wake: he just gives me ulcers when he pitches, because he can look lights out one minute and like a single A pitcher the next. Such is the life of a knuckleball pitcher: I have full confidence he will bounce back strong this weekend vs. Texas.
Tonight, I feel like a prisoner about to bust out: I turn 37 this week, and as a combination birthday/Mothers Day present, my saint of a Mother is keeping the 3 apples of my eye, light of my life, and reasons for my pre-senior citizen high blood pressure for the night. The whole, entire, blessed night: meaning not to return until Saturday afternoon. Don't get me wrong: I absolutely ADORE my children: Dad just needs some "serenity now" is all.
So I look forward to a night of adult conversation, quietness, and romance with my beautiful wife.
I wonder if Angie considers Red Sox vs. Rangers as romantic?
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