red sox jersey.

this evening, i sat on our weathered futon that scrapes along the scratched hardwood floor everytime someone sits down, and i watched the red sox fuck up. i watched these poor saps fuck up as i drank beer after beer and ranted with my father (because sometimes this is what it takes for us to connect).

then, i ate cake, and i watched a tlc documentary on the slaughtering of some middle class family.

i'm still watching it.

boy loved the red sox, especially nixon.

he would call me into the room when he was watching baseball, (because he loved to drag me any distance to make me do something that i didn't want to do) and he would insist that i watch the replays and try to tell him how baseball was not fun to watch.

tonight, i sat by myself with my beer and my remote, and i watched the red sox fuck up (because they always fuck up). i knew he would have dragged me in to watch most of the game anyway, and i figured, well, hope against hope, maybe boy's got a push on nixon's bat tonight.

that, and, i may hate baseball, but i hate the yankees more.