Dudes, being a Red Sox fan is like being a member of the KISS Army. Yes, you get up and shake your ass for Destroyer and Alive!, but you’re also gonna have to endure an Unmasked or Music From The Elder every once in a while. So I could bang my head against a wall and start barking that Godot will show up before the Sox’ offense does. But really, what’s the point? I spent far too many nights in 2004 rolling my eyeballs across the carpet, only to find a pot of Kapler and Leskanic at the end of the rainbow. So I’m just going to embrace the fact that barring sneaky Russian missile attack, alien invasion, or the return of Andy Kaufman, The Red Sox are going to make the playoffs. Yes, we’re going to have October baseball in Boston, easing us through the sudden chill in the air and the constant rejections from local college chicks. They’ll be stringing red, white and blue bunting along the Fenway baselines. One of more of the Aerosmith guys will be dusted off for National Anthem duty. There’ll be four o’clock starts and bad excuses to get out of work and “special playoff sections” in the local papers and guys selling “2007 AL East Champions” T-shirts on every street corner. There’ll be playoff rosters to calculate, non-Remy announcers to hate on, windows to punch, fingernails to chew, cheap beer to swill and significant others that we need to put on ice for just a few weeks, until we can work all this madness out of our systems.

Because you don’t want to be around us when we’re watching the Sox in the playoffs. Trust us.

(And, yes, in case you were wondering, today’s post is in fact a blatant attempt to undo the karmic turmoil I’ve felt since mentioning Papel-Bot giving up a grand-slam in yesterday’s post, and seeing one unfold during last night’s game.)