Paragliders and conversation
It’s like a drought, really. That’s what North Carolina is like. I mean, not literally. There’s like, flooding and stuff. But you know. Metaphorically.
You know that feeling when you are absolutely parched? You’ve been running. It’s hot out. It’s been awhile. And then the waiter brings you cold water with the crushed ice pellets and a straw and it’s gone in thirty seconds? And you’re ready for more and you just drink and drink and drink and think you’ll be drinking forever? Oh, and the waiter gives you that quirky look?
It’s like that when I meet an actual Red Sox fan. I have so much to say. So much to say. It’s like I’ve taken a vow of silence my whole life and can suddenly talk again. The words, the Lackeyisms. The statistics. The projections. The past. It just pours out of me. Word vomit of my soul. It’s a bit much.
It’s like, in the first five minutes of meeting someone who is clearly a Soxie (clearly), some wire in my brains says, “Lauren, you have two minutes to expell all the Sox feelings you have been holding inside for the past 27 years. Two minutes. And… GO.”
And I go.
Oh, do I go.
Alienating everyone around me.
Even the coversation I am trying to have.
It was like that yesterday. While covering a paragliding competition (I get to go up the paraglider sometimes. Yeah. That’s MY job), I met three people from western Mass. And they might all think I’m crazy.
I’m not sure…
But I believe… I went from talking about the “thrill of flying” to John Lackey’s slackjaw and Bedard and Buchholz’ injury and Lowrie at Pawtuckett and Jacoby’s rise in cred and Pedroia and Youkilis and how Crawford was so-so in my brain and Adrian Gonz walks to first. Oh, and how Marco Scutaro has been messing with my head. Oh. And I might have recited the rotation schedule for the next week. And talked about Asdrublablahblahbel and how irritating his is for my soul. In one breath.
So. Um. Paragliders, I am sorry. Especially to you, Lorenzo. Because I really liked (like) your tattoos.
So. That was me YESTERDAY. Can you imagine how I’m going to be this week? Seriously. The week without a computer starts today folks.
Yeah, the Yankees won today. Whatev.
The real tragedy is you’ll be mostly TooSoxyless for a whole week.
You can delight in knowing that I am on a beach stewing up so much Sox vomit for you all. In the form of witty, witty (and hopefully margarita-drunken) prose.
If I were in Boone today, I would have gone back to the landing zone. Man, paragliders are cool.