Am I the only person watching the NESN ALCS replays like I’m seeing this stuff for the first time? During last night’s Game Five repeat, I’m six beers deep when Jeter slaps that goddam three-run double and suddenly the language is flying and fists meet wall and an entire free-range chicken is somehow catapulted out the window [I did slip outside to retrieve it, however].

As the extra innings stack up like cordwood, I’m on the edge of my seat, wondering if Manny’s gonna knock one out or if Kapler’s gonna be the hero in the bottom of the tenth, somehow forgetting that it’s not gonna happen and instead we’re gonna grind out fourteen long ass innings of nail-chewing torment and agonizingly close calls. And nearly four months later, I’m still pissed they didn’t call Ortiz safe on that uglier-than-Charlie-Watts steal of second [And was that not the single most surreal moment of the ALCS? The sight of that oversized body barrel-assing down the baseline looks like something left on David Lynch’s cutting room floor.]

Then, about six hours later, it ends, and as Buck shouts the now-immortal, “Damon is running to the plate… and he can keep on running to New York,” I’m setting fire to the curtains, kicking up the floorboards and hanging my ass out the second floor window. Why? Well, because I’m deeply troubled… and something of a jerk. And because it’s even more fun the second time around.

Tonight, we get the bloody sock, the Bellhorn home run, the slappy-slap, and one of the most nut-crunching bottom of the ninths of the entire series. I start self-medicating at 6:00pm.

In other news, according to, Pedro Martinez has reported to Mets spring training camp nine days early. This nose-to-the-grindstone work ethic has actually inspired me to not only start showing up at the office on time, but also to cut down to just three heroin-stuffed donuts before noon.

People, these are magical times.