Thursday, October 7

Watch Out New York, the "Idiots" Are a-Comin'

Forgive me just a tad, just a nip, okay then, two fingers of baseball.

Late as it must have been in Massachusetts and elsewhere in America for Red Sox fans last night as we (yeah, what the hell, I'm using the we - I've already fessed I'm a charlatan of a fan, a mere seven-year bandwagon-hopper, so . . . let me be!) pissed all over the Anaheim Angels to go 2-0 up - but as I raised one last boat drink, outside my lounge-room window there were indeed a couple of small boats dinking on by up a dawn-lit Thames. A couple of dawn raiders - city traders - were also up and about, room lights flicking on and off and shadowy bodies sleeking by apartment windows.

Earlier I had found myself in the very strange position of wanting the damn Yankees to win; though my usual chortles were in abundance as they looked to have thrown another game away (to go two down, and thus, to quote a Lou Reed line, you might as well "Stick a fork in their ass, turn 'em over, they're done") I want the Red Sox-Evil Empire Championship Series - because this is the year, this is the year. And David shall slay Goliath on the way to glory. Oh, giddy up.

How did I stay up? Well, excitement would have been enough, but plenty of scotch and plenty of ice are the twin essentials for the immanent, inexorable, almost ineffable yo-yo ride that is the Red Sox in the play-offs. I fucking love it.

(Yeah, apologies. I sense that the whisky's still talkng, too. And do I have a latent S&M streak in me - else why adore, why crave the agony?)

Concomitantly, my Johnny Damon look is coming along pip and dandy. So let's take the opening line of Oasis' wonderful Whatever back to its source - the Rutles: "How sweet to be an idiot . . . "


posted by DD @ 11:38 


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