Ahem. Sorry. I don't actually care all that much, it's just that my grandfather went to his grave never seeing the Sox win a World Series and my dad was afraid that he might die before it happened and well, not that I want my daddy to die, but I do want him to be happy, so...I hope the Red Sox win.
I called Bobito to congratulate him on being a Red Sox fan and when Big Al, my brother picked up the phone, I could hear quite a party going on. Everyone was drunk and real happy.
I don't recall what it was like at our house when the Sox made it to the World Series in '86, but I do recall the atmosphere when Bill Buckner missed that grounder and the Mets won. Yup. I do remember.
For years we used the name 'Bill Buckner' as a euphanism for 'complete and total fuck-head'. We also turned it into a verb. In our house, to do a 'Buckner' was to screw the pooch in such a royally horrible way that babies would burst into tears at the sight of you and villagers would shun you. Ahh. The memories.
My apartment is really getting out of hand. I need to clean it before it rises up and smites me. Sooo, I guess then I'll be spending my weekend at the laundromat. Tragic.
Yipes. Look at the time, will you? I should go catch 40 winks before I have to drag my lazy ass out of bed and show up at work. Bah.