There's always Tomorrow.

*Picture courtesy of Kelly and www.sittingstill.net*


Once upon a time not that long ago, I thought there were three irreversible truths.

1. Turning 40 wouldn't bother me one bit.

Not quite true. I've been alternating between denial and rage for about 3 months now and tonight on my way home from work I actually thought about buying a Harley Davidson.

2. Trot will eventually, one day, sometime before I die learn how to actually use the toilet everytime he needs to go to the bathroom.

As much as I can tell this will happen sometime in the year 2050. But I'm still holding out hope.

3. There is no way, and the Rock means NO WAY that a pitcher can strike out 8 batters and hit roughly 43 members of the opposing team in the same game.

Yet tonight? This apparently happened. The Commander went from unhittable to BP pitcher in roughly the same time it takes Bill O'Reilly to make a complete dink of himself. One minute he's making Nick Swisher look silly on a cut fastball and before you can blink he's tossing up a breaking ball that doesn't quite break and the rout is on.

Yankees 10, Sox 3 and I'm left hoping two things; Clay Buchholz can work some magic tomorrow and CC hears about an all you can eat special at the Dunkin Donuts on Commonwealth Avenue tomorrow morning and loses his mind.

Whoever created the unbalanced schedule that makes the Red Sox and Yankees play 18/19 times a year instead of the 12/13 that it was before will hopefully be walking North when the next South bound train comes by.

'Cause this almost 40 year old REALLY doesn't appreciate the added drama.