3-1

Short of my last-year's apartment four blocks from Fenway, the west coast has definitely been the right place to watch the Red Sox-Yankees series. Late games!! Friday got rained out (massively disappointing), Saturday went to the wee hours, and last night, we didn't start to make dinner until after 10:30. Everyone in Boston must be so sleepy!

There was an article in the Boston Globe around this time last year on the weird semi-religious tics that Red Sox fans develop this time of the season. Apparently, there was some group of people who jabbed each other with forks every time Damon came up to bat because it had happened once accidently right before he hit a home run. There were countless examples of what to say, what not to say, knocking on wood, who sat where, etc. I love it. The best part is that there's no way to keep yourself from doing it. Kevin and I were bribing the Red Sox with drinks: they bat well when offered red jello shots, but crack up on blue. David Ortiz hit his game-winning run after I mixed buttery nipples using the last of the Boston-bought butterscotch schnapps in Kevin's MIT martini glasses.

I'm just glad that they have at least one more game... I'm not ready for the season to be over.