I would gladly follow Mike Lowell around with a La-Z-Boy, but then... you already knew that.
Yeah, I stayed up for the whole thing, sure it would be over any minute, when my husband (the Red Sox fan since childhood, the one who got me interested in this stuff a few years ago when I was not into sports) went to bed at midnight. Oy.
I kept thinking we're going to get a run in, this inning! OK, then, this inning!
And my son and I kept calling Saunders "You schmendrik!" after he hit Pedroia early on. He will forever more be The Schmendrik to us.
Oh I've got the Playoff Stomach and bad. Also, K-Rod makes me nauseous in all situations (let's call it passionate dislike, "hate" is such an ugly word), so seeing him scrape by doesn't please me, not one little bit.
K Rod gives you all sides of the spectrum-you're a little bit in awe of how he does it without his arm coming off at the shoulder, and you're a little bit "will somebody line one back through the box at this guy, just for the way he looks so stupid following through", and you're a little bit "it's all good-we own this chump", and you're a little bit "there are 8 guys out there with gloves, too", and you're a little bit "even if he stops us, they'll probably put in Jered Weaver or someone like that".
And then you fall asleep, coming to at 5am, flipping to ESPN for the crawl and engaging in that sickening wait for the score, and squinting at it to be sure you see it right, and then seeing "W-Weaver" and getting mad at yourself for falling asleep.
Game Four tonight. Let's rock this town, turn it inside out.
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