How I learned to stop worrying & love the Sox

My First Home Opener, and ‘We’ Won

So I spent my debut night among the barbarians who call themselves ‘Sox’ fans. You might have seen them parading around - they claim to belong to something called ‘Red Sox Nation.’ It’s this major corporate industrial complex to which they mindlessly subscribe.

But even after all the stupidity I witnessed last night - from at least two dozen Sox vs. Yanks spats to the sleaze in front of me who only shut up when she was ruthlessly ramming her tongue down her boyfriend’s throat - I think this could be fun.

Sure - I felt like Eddie Murphy at the St. John’s game in Coming to America for most of the night (Yes! Yes! In the face!). But by the end I was beginning to figure things out. This is child’s play - literally - in a few weeks I’ll be able to engage in dummy talk with the best of them.

Just one thing though: I’m not going to be able to get over the fact that shitheads insist on calling every play from the bleachers out in right field. Surely they don’t really think they can see better than the umpires (or is it referees?). Or maybe they do; after all, this is one dumb herd.