In the middle of a pitching performance by Daisuke that reminded me to stock up on TUMS, Rolaids, and Pepto Bismal for the playoffs, I wandered into the toy room and spotted Rakes and Trot in relative quiet.
No sword fighting, no UFC chokeouts, and positively no atomic elbows off the top rope. After watching Daisuke give up 5 walks while throwing 1,265 pitches through 5 innings, I needed some peace.
The mental treadmill I walk every game would make most people either quit watching baseball all together or take up meth as a hobby; on one hand I've got DO and Remy calling the game with their usual aplomb while the other hand is usually dealing with things most mortals wouldn't wish on their worse enemy.
So tonight I was pleasantly surprised when I turned the corner, expecting carnage and havoc, and got two still children kicking back and watching Bill Murray completely bury his legacy in the movie "Garfield".
Which makes me realize how completely insane I am; it's 10:36 p.m., I need sleep like a junkie needs a fix, yet here I sit watching Troy Percival walk Mark Kotsay and thinking it's the greatest thing I've ever seen.
Meanwhile, I've got three kids asleep, a wife watching E News for entertainment, and my focus is on Jason Varitek and praying he hits a 2 run home run into the Monster seats.
I'm not sure how tonight will end. I hope the Red Sox win. I hope Troy Percival's right arm flies into the seats behind 3rd base. I hope.
Whatever happens, I know this.
I've got issues. And I'm not sure a shrink, a doctor, or that chick from "The Soprano's" can help me.
It's September; all that other nonsense can wait.
On the 97th anniversary of his birth.
13 hours ago