Listen, Friday is Saturday’s surly mistress, inviting you to stay out a bit later, drink a bit more, have that second steak dinner and keep your eyes glued to NESN until Orsillo does his celebratory pantsless lap across Beacon Street. It’s the night all the college chicks are staggering on the green line trolleys and the Theatre District hookers are more likely to give you a discount on that Full Cleveland you’ve been dreaming of. It’s the end of the work week, the start of the weekend, and it basically gives you more time to start contemplating how you can get your ass to Anaheim and back before your boss notices.
Anyway, I’m excited. You should be, too.
Oh, and f@#k Giambi.