Red Sox!!
Growing up in Boston, I had the twin-fecta of achievements in Fenway Park. I caught a pop foul (on the fly) off the bat of the immortal Mike Benjamin in 1998.
And I was busted for scalping tickets outside Fenway.
The fat guy who scalped about a thousand tickets a day every day outside of the Kenmore Square T station had the cops (who clearly were on the take) hassle me for selling two tickets I’d gotten for free from a friend. Jackass.
But other than the scalping thing, Fenway and the Red Sox hold a key place in my heart. So it is with great joy that I offer congrats to my hometown team for winning the big one. Second time in four years. World Series Champeens.
And congrats to the city Boston itself. After all those years of futility, we deserve this.
Like that perky boobied Cambridge Rindge and Latin hottie I met at the Ratt in the mid 90s, I would take the T to Harvard Square and celebrate loudly over a Sam Adams in the hopes of a late night sloppy makeout near that creepy cemetery with the graves from the 17th Century.
Tip your cup of ‘Train to the Sox, people. To the Sox.
Good night, you princes of Maine. You Kings of New England.
