Wednesday, May 3, 2006


For those that missed it the other day, Monday's Red Sox/Yankees game was a perfect example of why I love my boys with all my heart.

I sat on my couch with my son, while he held his nose every time a Yankee would step up to the plate. I'm pretty sure he knows little to nothing about baseball as a whole, but he knows what the Yankees look like and he hates them--just because I do. Every game they play is like a playoff game. There's just magic watching them go at it--watching Doug Mirabelli get an emergency police escort at 100 MPH from the airport to get to the game on time, watching Derek Jeter get faked out and thrown out on a double play, seeing Johnny Damon get booed (no, I wouldn't have booed him).

With the score tied I had to leave to go pick up dinner, so I flipped on the XM station carrying the game (via WEEI in Boston...ah the memories). Bottom of the eighth Mark Loretta tags one up the middle to break the 3-3 tie, and then David "Papi" Ortiz steps up.

I really like listening to baseball games on the radio--for some reason with me it makes it more exciting (and against the Yankees, less nerve-wracking). My arms covered with goosebumps as I could hear the crowd in the background chanting "PA-PI! PA-PI! PA-PI!" He loads the count...crowd's on their hear a crack of a bat and the announcers (clearly Boston fans) go wild as he sails one over the right field wall. And I'm sitting there cheering like an idiot in front of a BBQ restaurant in my car by myself.

I like football. I love watching the Pats in their recent dynasty. But that is nothing compared to the passion I have for those Red Sox. They put tears in my eyes.

I love baseball.

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