The other day I had a client meeting at 5:00pm — yes, on a Saturday, because business sleeps for no one, or so my boss tells me. Anyway, of all places in the world the client wants to meet at the bar at the Red Robin in Foxboro. So I sat in my car, listening on the radio as the Sox failed to plate a run in the bottom of the ninth, then checked my watch until the zero hour and headed into the restaurant (after only briefly considering calling the client to tell him I fell ill so as to avoid missing extra innings).
When I got inside, every TV in the joint was turned to the soccer match. Disgusted, I greeted the client, then asked the bartender, “Where the f#$k are we, Chile? The Sox are in extras so please put one of these goddam TVs on that shit, pronto.” And he did. And the next hour was spent feigning interest in the client and nervously checking the TV as Aceves kept the Sox in the game despite Papelbon’s best efforts to mess up my Saturday.
By the time Drew knocked in Crawford to win the game in the bottom of the 14th, I was well-sloshed and already likely cost our company the account (Hey, if the client doesn’t know well enough to shut his trap during a potential Sox rally then he deserved that quick whack to the stones).
So for those of you keeping score at home: that’s four Ks and one mammoth, redemption-ifying walk-off single for JD, four hits for Carl “How You Like Me Now” Crawford, a second-straight win for the Sox and a Sunday afternoon of hangover and resume-sharpening for me.
Oh and f$%k Giambi.
