Go Sox - But Make It Quick

The Red Sox are in the World Series (I guess Canada and the
US are "the world" by Major League Baseball's standards).

Somehow, and believe me, this is rare -- the games are
not scheduled on the same night as any gig of mine. Well,
any PAYING gig. This means there will be no last-minute
cancellation when the venue owner suddenly wakes up
on the day and thinks, "Hey, everyone is going to want to
watch the television. . . why should I pay a band? I think
I'll call them and cancel."

The only snag will be if the series goes to seven games. I
volunteered to help out at a "jam" that my brother is
running. Of course, if there's a big final game of the
baseball season on television. . . nobody is going to be there
and he ought to call and cancel me! It won't piss me off
since it's a freebie and I'd want to watch the game anyway.
Personally, I'd prefer it be over before then, but the
beer companies who advertise during the games feel
otherwise.

Whenever a team gets into the playoffs, there are
suddenly all these "fan" interviews in the streets
around the ballpark. Lots of people are camped (literally,
in tents) outside Fenway Park in Boston, waiting
for tickets for the series to go on sale.

I love it when they start up with the "appeal of the
players to the female fans" angle. You see an
endless parade of women saying "so-and-so is
SO hot!!", etc. What I want to know is, what woman
REALLY wants a guy who spits about twice a minute??
I mean. . . REALLY??? You don't think these guys
are disgusting little boys who never had to grow up?
Hmm. I don't get it. I've always wanted to get one
of those little hand-held counting devices that are
used to keep track of admission, etc., and find out
exactly how many times we have to watch grown
men spit during any given baseball broadcast.

But, I'd probably get some kind of repetitive-stress
injury in the process. So, forget it.

Mrs. L says the appeal is probably the multi-million
dollar salaries, not the guy himself. Which explains
why she picked me.

Right. Well, at least I don't spit.

Anyway. . . go Sox. . . get it over in six, please.
Thanks.