How will we celebrate our win tomorrow, guys? I’m thinking light appetizers or something.
So. We’re winning tomorrow.
I have decided.
Going to happen.
and THAT, Soxies, is how you get things DONE.
I have had a lot of time to think about this.
Thanks to a town council meeting I had to cover for four hours…
I have had a LOT of time to think about this.
And there really is NO WAY we can lose tomorrow.
BECAUSE I DO NOT WANT TO LOSE.
I am not losing. Losing is for losers and I AM A WINNER. It is officially written on my mirror. WITH LIPSTICK. That’s right. IN WRITING. EXPENSIVE, DEPARTMENT STORE LIPSTICK. I’m not taking any chances on this cheap, Covergirl shit.
So, now that I have made this decision, I feel better. And you should too.
I mean, it would be nice if you guys would make this decision with me, but it really doesn’t matter. Because I’ve decided. I don’t need your input, really. It’s only a pretend democracy. You know. Like America.
I kind of wish I had made this decision last week. Because, I can’t tell you how good it feels. Knowing that we’re going to be okay. KNOWING that we’re going to win tomorrow. I mean, I’ll probably still watch. You know. So I can golf clap or something. Really, the game is a lot less exciting now that I KNOW the outcome. But that’s a price I’ll have to pay. See, today, while councilmembers were talking and data bases and architectural plans were blurring together on my computer and the clock was ticking and the numbers started to swirl… I had this little psychic chat with Kevin Youkilis. It was like he rose from the cheap carpet in a mist. A magic mist. Arose in a misty semblance of his televised self.
“Hello,” he said. “I am the great Kevin Youkilis. Your wish is my desire.”
(I’m paraphrasing. It took mystical K-Youk a really long time to get to this point. And there was this neat sailor dance…)
“Hello, Kevin Youkilis. Could you do me a solid and put a post-it or something in the locker room with the word ‘win’ on it?”
(I might have gushed with a little more immaturity than this quote implies.)
“Of course. Anything for you.”
“And, in case they can’t read or speak English or are too egotistical (ahem, Lackey) to look at anything other than a mirror in a locker room, could you read it out loud?”
“Of course. Anything for you.”
And then the town attorney gave me this really weird look. Which was weird in itself because it’s not like I actually drooled ON anybody.
But then. Just then. I knew. I KNEW it was going to be alright. It’s like that moment, the one you’re supposed to get right before you die? Of peace and finality and comfortable understanding? Perhaps that’s the wrong situation to compare this to…
But then I thought about this thing my guidance counselor told me when I was eleven.
“Of course you can be a fish doctor, Lauren. You can be anything you set your mind to.”
Anything I set my mind to, people. And I set my mind on being a WINNER.
And being a fish doctor! Ohwow. I just remembered that. I would be the best fish doctor. It could still happen. I ate catfish the other day, so it’s a dream in progress.
So, in conclusion, everyone can stop freaking out and making ledge jumping references. Because it’s all okay now, see. I’ve worked it out. YOU ARE WELCOME.
You guys should, I don’t know, give me a prize or something for being so smart. I take personal checks. Oh, and expensive cheese. And those soda crackers you find in the organic section of the grocery store.
Yes, I saw the Tampa score. Their paltry run count is of little relevance or interest to me. The more runs they score, the suckier it will feel when they fall on their faces. Their IDIOTic faces. That are partially bearded. With stupid haircuts. And stupid names with stupid JD initials and stupid websites that say stupid things on them.