"Forever in debt to your priceless advice..." (Photo via Texas Gal)
Seriously, I do not even believe what my phone told me the final score was last night. No way. No way have the Sox dropped three in a row at home to two of the worst teams in the American League. No way did Javier Vasquez come into our house and dominate last night. Nope. I'm sure the Sox put up 14 hits to eke out those two runs, too. But I don't even want to know.
I caught a little bit of the game last night hanging out at a friend's house, but have been not paying attention as much as possible these last few days. Wednesday night when things started to look bad against the Royals, I put in my Chappelle's Show season 2 DVDs and just watched that. I needed something to cheer me up, dammit.
So maybe this makes me a bad fan. Perhaps I should be dressed in my best and prepared to go down as a gentleman, to quote a famous line; maybe I should be forcing myself through a combination of Calvinist self-reproach and a sense of deeply ingrained baseball duty to be watching every wretched pitch of these losses. But you know what? Right now, I just can't.
We've had worse seasons, to be sure. Things could still turn around. But right now the thought of this turning into a replay of last year, or worse, of 1978 like so many have been predicting all along, is really more than I care to deal with on top of everything else going on over here at Casa de Beth, included but not limited to trying to plan my wedding while dealing with the various vagaries of employment that enrich all our adult lives. No. I flat out refuse at this moment to stomach that kind of gut-punch from the Red Sox. I just don't have the mental resources.
So in the meantime, I'm just continuing the pattern of ignoring the games and instead using my free time to look up amusing / interesting things about the players off the field, such as yesterday's Mike Lowell droolfest picture.
And so long story short, yesterday, I came across this gem of a website while aimlessly Googling.
I figure it's one of two things: it's really him, which would just...just read the page, and you'll know what I mean. Or it's not really him, which means that there's another baseball fan somewhere out there that I really, really need to meet.