Two different pairs of Sox, and other discombobulations
I got back from my second madcap day of pro baseball a little while ago. More on that in a minute. I must first comment on the complete lack of respect (to say nothing about lack of lawful driving) given an AMR ambulance, lights flashing, siren burping, trying to make the turn onto Dwight off Worthington a few minutes ago. Those guys have the right of way when they're on a revenue run. ALWAYS. Someone you know, someone you love, could be in the back of one of those. If you continue to drive with your head up your ass, you could be as well. Let's review. Lights and siren mean what? Speed up and cut off so you can try to make green lights all the way through downtown? Four drivers responded that way. Get off my streets before you kill someone. And Mitt, give a little money back to the cities for traffic enforcement, m'kay? You'll get it back in fines... you'll love it. Trust me.

Okay, now where was I? Either on the Masspike or at Fenway Park, seems like. I overdid it a little bit. I'll never follow a night game with a day game again without booking a place to stay overnight. It's not that far of a drive (by midwestern standards, that is... New Englanders seem to think anything over 20 miles away is a vacation), but it's far enough when you do two round trips in under 24 hours. But whee, it was fun.

The games were easy sellouts, so I wasn't surrounded by empty seats. On the plus side, having people around me hid the fact that I went by myself and therefore something must be wrong with me (I get that a lot, when I go places where I'm expected to be part of a larger social group, and I can feel the stares on the back of my neck). On the minus side, people assumed I was "with" the people seated next to me. And that wasn't a good thing, especially today, for seated next to me were two of the most obnoxious little boys I'd ever seen at a public event. They had the run of the place, they were foul mouthed and pushy, they fought each other, they were kicking the seats in front of them. After about four innings of stoically putting up with it, a woman in front of us finally turned around, glared at me and said, "If you can't tell them to stop it, I will!"

"Go right ahead, they're not my kids. And I wish they'd stop it too."

"They're not?" Shocked, were we?

"No. There'd be no problem if they were."

At that, the kids mother made a half-assed effort at restraining her monsters, glaring at us all the while because we embarassed her into it, not because she felt her kids needed any discipline or anything. It lasted about two minutes. If anything, they were energized into even worse behavior. Augh!

The games were great. As I mentioned in a prior post, I was there this weekend representin' for the White Sox, my birthright. I've transplanted here and have grown to like the Red Sox, and I have gone to Fenway a few times to cheer them to victories against neutral third parties, call Jason Veritek "Tek," sing "Sweet Caroline" in the eighth inning to try to jumpstart a rally and all that. But it's September 15th. Chicago's in first place (albeit in the AL Comedy Central division). That hardly ever happens anymore. Remember what happened in 1967 (I wasn't quite three years old then, but I know the story well). The pennant almost certainly in hand the last week of the season, Chicago goes on to choke against Washington and KC, the worst teams in the American League, handing Boston the World Series berth. We gifted you then. Not our fault you blew it. You owe us one now.

And you gave us two. Actually, we earned them, improbable as it seems. Now, the White Sox are gone, having won the series here, and Boston isn't as bad off for the losses as they should be. Both the Yankees and the Mariners lost today. It's a wash. I can get back on the bandwagon now. I can cheer for both teams again, for a couple more weeks at least. That's pretty much as it should be in my world, if not in yours.

I will now admit, walking back to Kenmore Station after today's game, I felt a bit beat down. I felt more like an impostor cheering for the team for which I have deeper roots. I might be ready to come around. Or my bonds to Chicago might be fading away. After all, I haven't lived there for almost 20 years now. Either way, keep working on me.

I killed some time up along Tremont Street waiting for the train back to Framingham (parked n' rode today, trying to take a bit of the edge off all that driving). Not much open on Sunday evening, so I went onto the Common, sat and watched the beautiful people frolic in the twilight. That is, until the bolt hit me between the eyes... older dude sitting alone on a park bench. Hey Aqualung! And I jumped up like the seat was on fire or something, and fairly ran back to South Station. Man, this sucks. I do not want to become something I know, deep down, I'm not... and I don't want to be taken for such. And I feel humbled and apologetic most everywhere I go. Something always reminds me, sooner or later, that I've lost the right to freely partake of life just because I'm by myself. It has... connotations.

There now... I'm depressed and tired at 2AM. Well done indeed. 1:58:51 AM    comment []trackback []