Ever since God didn’t send Erin Gray to my twelfth birthday party, vaccuum-packed in the spandex outfit she wore each week on Buck Rogers in the 25th Century, I’ve known that you don’t get what you ask for.
That being said, I would really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really like to see Josh Beckett pull a 2007-esque performance out of his ass and knock the Os down a peg.
I can overlook the Erin Gray thing God. Honestly. But please let this thing tonight happen. For us. For Red Sox fans everywhere. For the children.
But mostly, for Marlon Byrd.
