I don’t bitch about work much on here. But damn it! Why does one of our biggest clients have to have a fricking crisis on the first night of the Sox-Yankees ALCS? 30 minutes to game time, and here I sit waiting. Grrrrr.
I’ll bet you are behind this.
I hope you stick yourself with one of those voodoo doll pins. That’d teach ya.
Me and Karl Rove, baby.
I’ll watch it for you, chum!
I’m still fricking here! And it’s fricking 10:15pm! And the Sox are getting no-hit! Someone kill me now!
Er, not any more. 8-5 in the 8th.
I think Tim McCarver is going senile. He’s said the wrong players name on at least 3 occasions tonite.
(He’s been awful for some time now. He just wasn’t senile. Till now. Damn, I wish we could have anyone else doing the game.)
One more inning, we’re still in it! Except for that damned Matsui…………..
Yay. I got home just in time to see Mueller ground into a fricking DP to end it. Life sucks.
I got to hear a bit of it on ESPN radio on the way home. Jon Miller and Joe Morgan are the guys I want to hear calling every game nationally. McCarver sucks.
I’m going to bed. Maybe tomorrow will be a better day. At least they only lost 10-7. Did I mention someone should kill me?
Post game, Shilling spotted wandering the halls outside the visitors’ clubhouse.
“Daddy? Daddy, where are you?”
Kimono-clad Matsui looms out of the shadows. “Here, round eye bastard-san. Go wash my car.”