My throat is red raw. My hair is on the floor. One of the living room windows has been punched out. There’s a half-eaten turkey sub in the fridge and the other half is churning in my stomach. The neighbors have locked their windows. There are six beer bottles lying in the back yard, right where I flung them. I’m talking to myself again and thrusting my fists into the air for no apparent reason. My knuckles are bruised. My head is still spinning. And the ALCS doesn’t even start until next week.
My name is Red. And I’m a Sox fan. Hi.
The game that looked like it was going to remind us just how cruel October can be morphed into a lesson on just how resilient the 2004 Red Sox are. Now, for the first time in four days, I’m going to sleep. For at least eight straight hours.
And I would recommend that you, my comrades, bank those precious Zs while you can.
Because next week, we will all be restless.
