…and paid handsomely for the privilege. Giants got smacked 9-5 and looked sloppy doing it. Then the Bosox blew the lead in the ninth and ended up losing on a suicide squeeze in the 12th.
And I am sitting here at one AM with a considerably lighter pocket, a really sore throat from yelling the loud funny words, and a sour stomach from mass consumption of cured meats and peanuts. And I haven’t done my homework.
Wah.
But I got to meet Dontrelle’s Willis’s mom, and she was very nice. And Ugueth Urbina’s lovely wife is very hot and they have an adorable little girl.
I was also at the A’s game, and I agree that it was an absolutley amazing game… there were so many tense situations, so many 2-outs-and-2-men-on innings, an amazing game-saving fielding play in the top of the 12th…
Continuing their Biblical geas, the Sox lay down and exposed their soft white underbellies today, losing 5-1. Thank Christ I passed on those tix; I merely listened to the slaughter on the radio. I felt yesterday was a must-win if the Sox had any chance at all, and it seems that I was right.
I hate being right about the Sox. Sigh.
And Zenster? Cram it.
Oh yeah, I forgot to mention, to all them folks who say that yesterday’s game was a “classic,” there’s no doubt. But viewed from the other side, it’s a perfect example that the Sox are not content to just lose when it matters, they have to torture us while they are doing it.
As they say in Boston, “They killed my granddad, they killed my dad and now they’re coming after me.”
I’d like to thank MLB for starting that Oakland game at 10 pm, which sent even a night owl like myself to bed after Rincon gave up the homer to make it 4-3.
So would I, since by starting it at 7pm (what’s up East Coast Bias) I was able to attend the game (never mind that I’ll wish for the rest of my life that I hadn’t).
And to those of you knocking Kim, pay more attention.
It isn’t the pitcher. It’s the uniform. The only question is whether they lose now, lose in the ALCS, or lose in the World Series. Kim has no control over the certain doom that faces his hapless team. It wouldn’t matter if he was Bob Gibson. He is merely a pawn in a river of inevitability that will end up, as sure as sure can be, in one more year of losing in Fenway Park.