Nomar a Yankee? Roger Clemens a Red Sox? Both of these rumors have been started--and simply picturing the future they foretell is enough to make my face begin to melt off my skull.
Can you imagine, Fenway Park, 2006, the Rocket on the mound, and in response to a fidgety figure in away greys taking the batter's box, the taunting chant begins: "NOOOOOO-MAAAAAAHHHHH....NOOOOOO-MAHHHHH..."
If that vision hasn't made you wake up screaming, drenched in a cold sweat, at least two or three nights so far this month, check with your family physician, you may actually be dead.
Hearing Red Sox rumors / news this month has reminded me of the first time I saw The Boat Scene in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (the 1971 original, of course, you heathens). Right around the part where the centipede crawls up the sleeping child's nose in the background and the psychadelic lights are flashing and Gene Wilder is hollering nonsensically while his eyes bulge out of his head and he's wearing a top hat and leaning on a cane for completely no reason and you start to wonder, Why are they doing this? More importantly, why am I watching this?
But it keeps going...
There's no earthly way of knowing
which direction we are going.
There's no knowing
where we're rowing,
or which way the river's flowing...
Is it raining?
Is it snowing?
Is a hurricane a-blowing?
Not a speck of light is showing...
so the danger must be growing...
Are the fires of hell a-glowing?
Is the grisly reaper mowing?
The danger must be growing,
for the rowers are still rowing
and they're certainly not showing
any signs that they are slowing...
It keeps going, and I'm still trying to decide how to handle it. Scream and flail? Or sit back and try to absorb the ride?