"Daddy's priorities are all screwed up...but I've got mine straight."Last night something occurred that I never thought would happen.
I went to bed at 10:30.
When the Red Sox were on.
Playing the Yankees.
In a close game.
Sure, in the course of my 29 years of fandom, I might have missed the occasional west coast game against the A's in the middle of the summer, or left a blow-out against the Rangers early, but I never left in the middle of a close Red-Sox Yankee game unless it involved some other sporting event, severe physical distress, or some life altering event.
In 1999, during the ALCS I was in the hospital for one of the Red Sox/Yankee games. I'd just had surgery, I was hopped up on various drugs, and I insisted on staying awake for the whole game, even as the nurses insisted I needed rest and even after I threw-up in my hat.
I'm a die-hard. And yet, last night I didn't even consider staying up to watch the whole game. Dice-K was working at a snails pace, every count went to 3-2, and I decided by the 4th inning that once Natalie nodded off, I'd do the same.
But I was worried.
I knew I wouldn't sleep. Knew I'd be kept awake by thoughts of the game. I'd toss and turn and eventually surrender to the call of rivalry and late-inning drama and fist-pump inducing strikeouts. Instead I surrendered to that demon pragmatism.
Somewhere, in the depths of my mind, a new little angel Josh voice, devoted to his daughter and to not being a zombie the next day, beat up the incumbent little Josh voice, devoted to following the Red Sox through thick and thin. It was an insurgent candidacy my brain didn't see coming.
I was asleep in a matter of minutes and I only woke when Natalie cried at 3:45. I sat up and, to the horror of the bruised and battered incumbent voice, didn't immediately rush to the computer to check the box score. I rubbed my eyes, stared at the clock, told Sara to go back to sleep, and retrieved Natalie from her crib. She quickly drifted back to sleep in my arms and at that calm and serene moment I heard a tiny and frail voice calling out from the recesses of my Cerebellum. I cradled Natalie, grabbed the remote, and turned on ESPN. The Red Sox had triumphed despite my abandonment...
I laid Natalie back in her crib and both voices sighed contentedly.
I went to bed at 10:30.
When the Red Sox were on.
Playing the Yankees.
In a close game.
Sure, in the course of my 29 years of fandom, I might have missed the occasional west coast game against the A's in the middle of the summer, or left a blow-out against the Rangers early, but I never left in the middle of a close Red-Sox Yankee game unless it involved some other sporting event, severe physical distress, or some life altering event.
In 1999, during the ALCS I was in the hospital for one of the Red Sox/Yankee games. I'd just had surgery, I was hopped up on various drugs, and I insisted on staying awake for the whole game, even as the nurses insisted I needed rest and even after I threw-up in my hat.
I'm a die-hard. And yet, last night I didn't even consider staying up to watch the whole game. Dice-K was working at a snails pace, every count went to 3-2, and I decided by the 4th inning that once Natalie nodded off, I'd do the same.
But I was worried.
I knew I wouldn't sleep. Knew I'd be kept awake by thoughts of the game. I'd toss and turn and eventually surrender to the call of rivalry and late-inning drama and fist-pump inducing strikeouts. Instead I surrendered to that demon pragmatism.
Somewhere, in the depths of my mind, a new little angel Josh voice, devoted to his daughter and to not being a zombie the next day, beat up the incumbent little Josh voice, devoted to following the Red Sox through thick and thin. It was an insurgent candidacy my brain didn't see coming.
I was asleep in a matter of minutes and I only woke when Natalie cried at 3:45. I sat up and, to the horror of the bruised and battered incumbent voice, didn't immediately rush to the computer to check the box score. I rubbed my eyes, stared at the clock, told Sara to go back to sleep, and retrieved Natalie from her crib. She quickly drifted back to sleep in my arms and at that calm and serene moment I heard a tiny and frail voice calling out from the recesses of my Cerebellum. I cradled Natalie, grabbed the remote, and turned on ESPN. The Red Sox had triumphed despite my abandonment...
I laid Natalie back in her crib and both voices sighed contentedly.
2 comments:
Ah, yes - the demon pragmatism. I know her well. She is a seductive siren wench, clearly able to quash even the most rabid Red Sox fan. The only force she is unable to quell is the unwavering love and stubborn commitment that a certain young woman has for her horse. Ha!! C'est le vie!!!!
TRAITOR!!
Kidding. But I can at least try to invoke some guilt. I'll send Shirley to revoke your Red Sox Nation patch. I believe I lost mine when I moved to FL.
Post a Comment