So I return from my Labor Day extravaganza last night, sunburnt into submission and head wracked with hangover, and I see that the Sox have conjured a 10-1 lead against the Jays. “Spectacular,” I say, knowing full well that the Yankees have already been bested by Seattle and I need a night where I can slather on the aloe and slip into bed before 9:30pm.
As I see from the box score, ugliness ensued from pretty much the moment I slipped into REM sleep. So I’m glad I didn’t have to witness any of that. But I was happy to see that we were able to answer the Jays’ eight-run outburst with three of our own in the bottom of the sixth. And, of course, hold on for the win.
In Yankeeland, they’re getting knocked about by the Ms, facing the possible loss of Clemens for the stretch run, and generally enduring what I like to call The Curse of The Giambi.
But here, it’s all rookie phenoms, no-hitters and a seven-game lead in the standings. Life is good, people. It’s all good.
“Get out, have a beer, and enjoy your day. We’ll take care of everything from here.”
