I’m not going to bore you with the details of how my spectacularly derailed life has gone over the last 18 months, because it mostly doesn’t matter. I’m currently sitting on pins and needles waiting to find out if I passed a writing test I took 10 days ago, just that this one could be it, and because I’m a little crazy, I spend six hours a day scrutinizing what was wrong.
Well, for the last week or so, it’s been down to something around 2 hours. Except today. Back to 6.
Every year, I go to spring training. The Florida warmth thaws my soul, and i get to check out what my precious Red Sox are going to put on the field in April. Much was said about they’ll be better than the abortion Bobby Valentine era (though how could it not be) but it’s unlikely they’ll be a contender. I showed up in Clearwater early on a Sunday morning to watch batting practice before a game against the Phillies. Shane Victorino was smacking them out, as was Dustin Pedroia, but who cares it’s spring training
Cliff Lee took the hill for the Phillies and that was pretty much it. Over the next 3 innings, the Red Sox took the future hall of famer behind the shed and repeatedly stole his milk money. I pulled out my phone and texted my Dad “Yo, I don’t think they’re going to be as bad as everyone thought.” My father responded “I know. I told you that a week ago.” That’s my Dad, the best Dad, and the Dad who took me to Fenway for the first time when I was 10 months old. I caught a Yankee game down there, nothing particularly interesting there, drove through central Florida to see a dear friend din West Palm, then flew home hoping father and daughter were right.
The games have always been a distraction. I have a gang of displaced Red Sox fans on Twitter that have made this season so much fun, win or lose. It almost made staying home with my laptop and the games on TV far more enjoyable than going to my Beloved Boston Bar in the West Village.
This run through the playoffs was a ray of light for me. I’m busting my ass every day to do a mind-numbing freelance project, in between surfing the want ads and an occasional interview. But I knew, at night, my funny friends would be on my laptop and the Sox would be on my TV. And that’s what happened last night when the ultimate release for everyone took place, and we all celebrated together.
I’m hoping my new ray of light is a job, or at least a freelance job that doesn’t make me want to kill myself. But all I know is I slept for 10 hours last night. That hasn’t happened since I had the flu. So thanks to my friends, and I can’t wait, good or bad, to do it again next year.