I keep waiting for someone to pinch me or smack me across the face with a crowbar and say, "Wake up, Nate. It's time to resume your life. Put down that dream beer and come here. Your son shit his diaper. This is real time, baby."
There's been an odd transference during the 2007 baseball season. All of a sudden, the Red Sox are becoming the Yankees with their engorged payroll, clutch hitting, and newfound winning ways; while reciprocally, the Yankees have become the Red Sox, a.k.a. the perennial losers of professional sports (yes, Cubbies fans, that's includes your team). So wake me up. This must be a dream.
I'm not sure what to make of last night's game. The die-hard in me wants to dismiss the 13-1 drubbing as a fluke, a matter of The Rockies shaking off the rust. But during the course of the game, I experienced a strange and eerie sense of confidence in The Red Sox, something as alien to me as partying with Republicans. Am I justified in feeling confident? Is this, indeed, the case? Are The Red Sox that good? Or are The Rockies that bad? I suppose I'll find out in a little over two hours.
In the meantime, for those of you who may have missed it, Steve Almond---a Boston-area writer and one of my favorite short story craftsmen---wrote an op-ed in The Boston Globe today that pretty much nails down Red Sox fans and calls us, rightfully, to task.
Ah, yes, Mr. Almond, in the words of Tom Waits, "You must be reading my mail."