As evidenced by one of my commenters a few days ago, who compared my Red Sox symptoms to someone in the final stages of hypothermia--feeling warm, sleepy and without complaints--I have either found my Zen with the Red Sox this season or have slipped totally off the deep end into catatonia.
But I'm awake right now. Something has jarred me from the sleepy daze of rationalization over the last few days, and my torque-level has risen to its high water mark of the season as of this moment, Friday morning, waiting for the first of five freakin' games against the Yankees in four days. I swear, right now it feels like this entire region is just going to sink into the Atlantic ocean. The buzz in the air--everywhere--is palpable. It's so pervasive, this subconscious hiss of excitement and apprehension, that it feels like somewhere, Osama bin Laden is out right now getting some snacks for the cave tonight.
It is freakin' on, people.
Part of what's revived my baseball insanity, I think, has been the conversations I've had with people lately about this series. I saw Red at the ballpark Tuesday night, and he told me he's going to be front and center today, and all weekend.
"I can't be anywhere else and know that's going on," is what he said.
I keep remembering that.
Then I spoke with Edward, most of the time the voice of calm above all else...and he was suprisingly vitriolic (though he told me later he was in a gloomy mood in general at the time, and feeling everything pile up).
"Just sucks...that, on paper, the Yankees should be in 4th place by now, but they always find a way," he said. "We've found a way exactly one effin time."
Whoa. If even Edward is fired up, perhaps it's time to re-evaluate my own stance a bit.
But it's also just the circumstances of this particular series. Like I said in my post about Tuesday's game, it's one thing to lose to the Tigers. It's another thing entirely to lose to the (newly resurgent) Yankees. Doesn't matter the standings or the playoff implications of the series (although in this case they are huge)--beating the Yankees is the principle of the thing. I may have slipped into a strange limbo this season, but I'd have to be dead not to have my juices flowing today.
Symptoms include: dry mouth, upset stomach, heart palpitations, irritability, anxiety, difficulty concentrating, and, as is mandatory in Apocalyptic Baseball, an inability to distance myself from the outcome of the game. As in, forgetting that the Red Sox losing will not actually hurt me. I'm already in that place, as evidenced by the conversation I had with Iain today.
"The Yankees looked terrible last night," he mentioned.
"I don't want to even acknowledge that for fear of jinx," I said (although for anyone wondering at home, I can mention it right now since it's Iain saying it, not me. I hope. Probably).
"Oh," Iain said. "You're in full Red Sox mode."
It's kind of good to be back, actually.
P.S. As long as we're all wallowing in Red Sox obsession, enjoy this gem from YouTube: