2005-05-11 - 10:03 p.m.
With my most recent purchase, I have sealed my fate, and with nothing else other than quandry do I wander into this moment, filled utterly with self-doubt and terror. It is my very nature which leads me into such trying times, and I cannot deny that pull, nor can I attempt ignorance. It screams.
In July, I, a Yankee fan, will be in attendance at Fenway, to watch the Red Sox, more than likely, beat the ever loving dookie out of the Bronx Bombers.
While this, in and of itself will be a pain to watch, the over arching problems with such a situation rear their head with greater virilence. I will squat my tush down into the grandstand, just off the third field line, surrounded by insenced members of the Nation, cat calling Jeter and A-Rod as they continue their quest to escape the basement of the AL east, whilst I, quietly disgused in red and white attempt my best "Wicked hard" while praying Hideki has one of his nights and vanquishes the Green Monster snicker-snack with his wooded blade.
Sure enough I have the jersey, and had I two hundred pounds extra, I'd wear it with pride, but seeing as I am a mere one-fourty pounds of futility, I'll have to beg what forces of inflection might serve me, that no New York twang enters my speech, as the littlest twich will render me soaked in beer, beaten to bloody tripe, and stripped likely to the last thread. While I do have some pride in what shower's eyes might see, I need no South Siders to reveal said workings to ESPN on Sunday night.
This then begs the question, how do I hide? Eighteen years in neutral territory - the province of CT does help here - and a slightly Irish look to me does help, but a flinch as Damon busts one over the wall, or Johnson fans the side cand translate to my doom.
Even in my greatest desire to hold onto my appendages, I cannot wear their cap, their jersey, their T-shirt, even their socks...I must go covertly, without defintion into that infield seat.
"Got the tickets off a friend."
"I'm into cricket."
"Who wants to take a swig of my flask every time Mariano Rivera gets a strike out?"
I'm going to Boston to watch a game between the Sox and the Yanks, with a Brooklyn tie.
Maybe it's best I settle my will now.
Carl, you get the archery set.
With that, I drunkly fall to sleep. Hopefully the morn will offer me solace and sobriety. If not...let's go jankees...
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