ALCS Game 7 Diary

8:30 PM:
A few notes-
*First off, Happy Birthday Mickey Mantle! We love you still.
*What a game between Houston & St. Louis. The Astros had to rely on the impressive arm of closer Brad Lidge for far too long. I think the Cards managed to wear them down just enough that they might have bought themselves Game 7, too.
*Could you imagine Joe Buck hitting on a black girl? Try it. It's impossible. He is whiter than the kid from Powder. Not that there's anything wrong with being white, quite the contrary. It's just that this guy's idea of "game" is probably "Stratego."
*Thankfully, we're ready to play. WTF took so long? I was starting to wonder if I would be a colostomy bag saddled grandfather before Brownie threw the first pitch.

8:35 P.M.
Well, everything, according to Charley Steiner, is "...breaking right for Boston." That's why you know it won't last. See, if Boston wins, I expect Jesus to descend from the heavens later tonight, seated on a cloud with two gorgeous Asian twins on either side of him, one of them holding a winning lottery ticket in an envelope with my Confirmation name on it.

8:40 P.M.
After the unbelivable relay throw out by Matsui & Jeter, Brown throws a warm wet turd at David Ortiz. This guy could show up with Bin Laden's head on a pike, I still wouldn't call him Papi. My old man is throwing a shit fit. Somehow, I've seen this movie before.

8:54 P.M.
It's not that Lowe looks good, it's that the Yankees look totally out of sorts. Things look as bad as I've ever seen them right now. How the hell will Brown pitch in a World Series if this is the crap he's throwing in Game 7? Top of the batting order looks utterly lost. I hear lots of Sox fans in the crowd, too. Still, I've got plenty of hope. It's early.

9:00 P.M.
Torre needs to pull Kevin Brown NOW.

9:22 P.M.
Blogger was down for maintenance, just in time for me to miss out on an expletive-laced tirade at the heretofore useless Javier Vasquez. First pitch Grand Salami for Head Idiot Johnny Damon. Suddenly, my rectum hurts. Still, it's early and these are the Red Sox.

9:24 P.M.
Sure sign of a rough night at my house. I asked my old man if we've even gotten a hit yet and he replied: "NO MAN, WE AIN'T GOT SHIT!" Glad I'm not asking if the mortgage is due.

9:30 P.M.
I can just hear them up in the Boss' suite at the Stadium right now: "Mr. Steinbrenner, your respirator is ready."

9:45 P.M.
Finally. A run.

9:54 P.M.
My prediction is now shit. Seemingly, much like the Yankee season. Hopefully, we have seen the last of Kevin Brown and Javier Vasquez in Yankee uniforms. Their performances have been utterly disgraceful.

10:10 P.M.
After witnessing 9/11 firsthand, I put nothing out of the realm of possibility. But this is tough. No, things look real, real bad. I've just been diagnosed with excessive disbelief. I'm going to lapse into a brief coma now.

10:34 P.M.
I'm about ready to concede this one. Let me say congrats to the Sox. I've run into plenty of Sox fans, not one of whom has EVER been as diplomatic. You might have won tonite, but remember, it's not the title. You'll still have St. Louis or Houston to get by before you can start talking the shit we all know you will. Regardless, nothing will change the fact that Boston and her hometown Red Sox will always suck their dead great-grandmother's dick. Try not to get too many people killed when you drunken rapist frat-boy queens start rioting tonight. Gosh. I feel better already.