Tom, Still Love Ya!

After:  (October)

59 to 0   –In Boston lingo, that’s fifty-freakin’-nine to zeeerohhh!  In the gorgeous snow.  Well, damn, those guys know how to make an old New England girl’s heart go pitter-pat.

Before:  (September)

I won’t go into details of how excruciating today’s Patriots game was.  It’s okay Tom.  I mean, I’m totally ticked off that the game was boooo-ring.  And we lost.  But I forgive you.  Don’t let it happen again.

It’s all about the ball

Man, the second and third quarters were snoozeable—but the first and fourth, well, they are why football keeps winter hot.  The 100-yard TD dash, the Fitgerald sprints that said “I’m making you old boys run for your money today!” and that gorgeous Baryshnikov-worthy, tippey-toe TD catch in the end zone.  Aw, baby!

Add music—lip-synch away, JH, you’re still amazing! and the still-steamy rocker babe Boss—and that is how to end football season.  Damn!

Soxtober

It’s Fall: the crisp air scuttles leaves along sidewalks, sparrows transport construction one twig at a time into abandoned air conditioners, and the Red Sox are up one game in the play-offs.  My eyes are slightly red-rimmed from sitting glued to the television until 1:20 am; my knees ache from two hours of yogi-style bending, and my sleep-deprived brain is is repeating simple words while grasping for sentences.  Yet I feel young and alive, mentally replaying in a fanatic manner the stretched limbs of Jon Lester, pitches rolling off extended fingers, and the side-diving catch of lightning-legged Ellsbury, black eyes riveted to the ball as if to magnetize it to his gloved hand.  Ah, October!

ADDENDUM: Aw, shucks! –Wait’ll next year…