This is my average morning:

  1. Make a coffee
  2. Sit on my porch with said coffee
  3. Roll a cigi and light it and sip said coffee
  4. Syphon through all the Red Sox and MLB articles and read them all, even those unrelated to Boston (in Summer, that is), and through those on Boston.com and NESN.com

Now, seeing as I read and write so much, how have I not just written about the Red Sox on here? Don’t answer, it’s rhetorical. Over the Australian Winter, I listen to almost every game online. (Yes, I am a Red Sox Nation citizen. I have a card and a t-shirt and a decal. What?). They start at 9am, so I’m up to listen. Unfortunately, the performance of my beloved BoSox dictates my day’s mood. The highs and lows that result are magnified when we play the Evil Empire.

I’m passionate but I’m not a preacher. I pray at the Altar of the Splendid Splinter yet I’m not an evangelist. If you’re not into baseball, you’ll walk away from me knowing I am and that I’m a HUGE Red Sox fan. I won’t try to convert you but I will despise you if you like the Yankees. (Often, at work, when I see some muppet wearing a Yankees hat or jacket, I finger my lighter, holding back everything that makes me want to light them on fire. Fuck I hate them. Grrrr!)(And what irks me about half as much as that are cats that wear Boston hats and know nothing about them). I know almost everything there is to know from over the last 3 years, for someone not living in America, of course. My old man, Dr. Phil—he looks exceedingly like the good doc—decided it was time to get Foxtel. Boston won the World Series in ’07, so they were the most played team on ESPN and FoxSports. And I fell in love.

Barracking for Boston is a full-time thing. You can’t half-arse it, which, I surmise, is because of the Rivalry and because of the Curse and because of the Theo-Tito tenure of excellence, minus the ugly, fat, fried chicken saga. No matter what year it is, Boston’s expected to win. Shit went wrong last year, and worst in 2010, but February is just two months away and April a mere four. Not long until we redeem ourselves. We have a new manager (Bobby V.); a new general manager (Ben Cherington, aka Theo 2.0); and we’ll have a new closer, right fielder, and other assorted pitchers. It’s looking up 2012!

So, anyways, the posts I post in this post category—”Red Sox”—will be my opinions on what the shit is going on with the Red Sox. Most people who stumble across this (regular readers; that is, if I can even call anyone regular; I have no idea) won’t be down, probably. So, hopefully, some BoSox fan will read and then read my other business and find it interesting. Or someone might read my regular words and read some BoSox banter and find a new love. Who knows? The world is our oyster, but it’s a shit oyster. No pearls and it tastes shit. I hate oysters, which sucks when part your family live in an oyster farming town. Muskeen.

Go Red Sox. Wicked haaaaaarrrrrrrddddddd!

SDH

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