Here’s the thing. This fairly sweet grove of trees in the Fenway area was my grandfather’s home. Then one day in 1911, these f@#king guys show up with hammers and axes and a couple locomotives filled with tools to knock everything down and build a goddam ballpark. That’s like someone showing up at your house and saying, “This looks like a good place for an Arby’s,” and dropping a three-thousand pound meat slicer on top of your family room. Do you need that shit in your life? Neither did my grandfather. But he brokered a pretty sweet rafter near the pressbox and we’ve been there ever since. As for yesterday’s incident… what can I say? We’re birds of prey. Sometimes shit’s just gonna go down like that. But I hope you can all at least appreciate that we’re big fans of irony in my family. Regardless, rest assured that me and some of my buds from the Justice League (a division of Viacom) are gonna do something nice for the girl when she’s back up on her feet, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s able to spin this into a book deal and a chance to chuck the ceremonial first pitch of the Fenway opener. If you feel that’s not enough, consider that on top of this, because you groundwalkers traffic in retribution, my family will very likely be once and for all evicted from Fenway Park, forced to find safety and shelter somewhere else. So go ahead and have your laugh. Oh, and while you’re at it, go right ahead and laugh at my costume as well. But you should know that I’m about to catch an airstream that should have me at the Rogers Centre in about forty minutes. And I’m not above tipping off Canadian customs about a large contingent of Boston fans who may or may not be worthy of full body cavity searches.