It's Saturday night and I've spent the last 4 hours watching Tommy Lee Jones and Robert Duvall in what might be the greatest Western ever told.
All the while I've been checking ESPN.com wondering if Tek had re-signed or if the Sox had traded Mikey Lowell in order to sign Mark Texiera. For a guy who welcomes change about as much as I look forward to hurricane season, this time of year is my version of Gitmo torture.
I HATE the offseason; I sit around obsessing over what the Yankees are going to do and all the while wonder why the Red Sox won't do the same. And every year Theo proves to me he's WAY smarter than I am and always makes the right move.
All that said, it still doesn't help me out when I try to explain to Ang why I've got 14 notebooks worth of scenarios buried in the back yard and why I'm sticking pins in a Hank Stienbrenner voodo doll.
I'm making a mental note to have her watch my pre-2004 dvd's tomorrow just so she sort of gets the idea of where I'm coming from.
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