On the DL
List me as day-to-day. Having to work with the flu is robbing me of energy for many other things. Such as watching the Red Sox lose to the Colorado Rockies, which is probably a good thing.
Last night I watched the boys gasp for air out there in the Mile-High City (Manny, in particular, looked as though he was about to burst a blood vessel) for about three innings, long enough to see them trail by one, lead by two, then trail by one again.
I don't know if this happens to anyone else, but one of the chief signs I'm ill is that I just don't care. Normally, I might be pissed off, or angst-filled, or overjoyed, or fascinated at what's going on around me--so rarely am I simply indifferent that it's a symptom, not a mood.
Well, last night I was indifferent with a vengeance. It was a miserable game from the beginning. Every Boston player was huffing and puffing, and they all ran as though they were under water, whether it was around the bases or over the outfield grass. And I just didn't have it in me to be frustrated.
I still don't, although I am vaguely, feverishly aware that losing to a team with a 21-41 record, even while it feels like you're sucking air through a straw, is a deep shame.
Wake me when it's over.