I might not have what it takes to be a full-season baseball fan. I’ve been listening to the games at my desk, and there we were, game three of the season, and I felt sick to my stomach. The Red Sox had already lost the first two games to the Evil Empire, and they were doing well, tied for the third game, until Timlin blew it in the eighth (not that I have anything bad to say about nailing Jeter in the head). Sure, Rivera completely fell apart in the ninth, handing us the win on a five-run silver platter, but for a while there, I was sure I was gonna throw up.
I’m hoping this angst is only because it’s the Yankees, ’cause there’s no way I can do that every game, otherwise I’ll be a basket case by May (and probably a major stockholder in Tums).
On the bright side, I don’t think I’ll ever be afraid of Rivera ever again.
I wonder if the boss will let me take Monday off to watch the boys get their World Series rings?