In the beginning, was the first inning of this fucking game.
I swear to God, it is nearing midnight and we are in the top. of the seventh. Twenty-one runs have goddamn well scored.
Oops, now it's 22.
We have been telling jokes since 9 pm (the bottom of the second) about how long this game has been going on. Empires have risen and fallen, countries have been conquered, mountains have crumbled into the sea...and still the Yankees and Red Sox are playing.
At the rate we're going, the Tigers will have won the first-ever five-division World Series by the time people are heading home from Fenway after this one. The season will have been decided without us.
Seriously. It's been two outs in the top of the seventh here for what, three years?
In all seriousness, you can hear people being picked up on the NESN microphones just reduced to the guttural grunts and groans of their reptilian brains--because they have been serving beer long enough for many of those who bought tickets as adolescents to have reached legal drinking age.
P.S. It's now...finally...the top of the ninth. Some guy just literally yelled to Keith Foulke, who is still out there on the mound, "It's okay!!"
Or maybe he was yelling that to himself. I don't know.
P.P.S. Bottom of ninth...
Remy (in tone of dread): I think they're gonna tie it up.
Orsillo: That's all that's left to have happen today!!