This has without a doubt been the most up and down, most conflicting 7 days of my life. I've been in the gutter. I've had my head in the clouds. And everything in between.
I drank a lot. Ratty hat got tossed around a lot, only to get dusted off and put back on. I sang Don't Stop Believin' with my best friends and a pretty girl. I felt anger. I felt happiness. I felt depression. I felt proud.
Last Tuesday, the Sox went into the Metrodome with a 2.5 game lead. I knew they could win at least once. But I wanted two out of three. I wanted to see them clinch the division in person this past weekend. But they were swept in one of the most painful series in Sox history. Beatdown in the opener. Silenced in the second game. Took a 6-1 lead in the finale, only to gag it away on a walk-off hit.
Thursday was not a proud night for me. I got turned down for a job I really wanted. It affected my thinking on a day I had two tests. I knew I didn't do well on one.
Then the Sox completed getting swept. I drank a lot that night. Drank until I vomited. Passed out. And somehow made it to my morning classes.
Had tix for the Friday and Saturday Sox/Indians games. I didn't want to go. The Sox were in second place, and the Twins were looking at a clinching party against the Royals while the Sox had to face the Indians and Cliff Lee on Sunday. I was heartbroken, mad, and hungover.
But I was convinced to go. I sucked it up and went. Got to the game, and the night was off to a promising start. The Royals jumped out to a big lead on the Twins, and after a shaky start the Sox took an early lead on the Indians. The crowd was electric. But Danks fell apart. The bullpen couldn't stop the bleeding. We stayed until the bitter end, and they rallied, but fell short.
Saturday was more of the same. Got to the park and saw the Twins were losing late. Vazquez was looking sharp early. With every pitch I glanced back to check on the Twins score. And when they officially lost, the crowd erupted. This was their chance. Surely they would flip the switch. Or not. Javy imploded. A crushing six-run inning for Cleveland. We didn't even stay for the rally. By the time I watched the end on tv, I was already half in the bag.
The night on the city improved my mood. Three old friends acting like fools. Drank too much, spent too much, and somehow lost a baseball hat along the way? Couldn't see the dart board. Somehow got numbers from three girls.
Sunday was painful. The hangover hurt. I didn't even care what the Sox did that day. Win or lose, whatever. They Royals had given them the division and they didn't want it. But of course I got sucked in. Like always. They held off the Indians, getting an incredible pitching performance from Buehrle. Got the clutch hitting they've been missing for days, forcing the Monday make-up with Detroit.
I was nervous all day today. Pink Floyd borrowed Buehrle's balls and pitched his heart out. But Freddy Garcia was awesome. Kept the Sox bats quiet all day. And when Pink tossed a slow roller into the outfield, giving the Tigers a 2-1 lead, my heart sank.
But in true Sox fashion, they tie it without getting a hit. And then Alexei came through at the most clutch moment, crushing a grand slam to give them a 6-2 lead. And the bullpen came through at the end. They live another day.
My emotions went from the gutter to the clouds over the span of seven days. The day of days is tomorrow. 6:30p.m. And I'll be in front of the tv, Ratty Sox hat and Ozzie throwback on. Even though I'll be a nervous wreck all day, I can't wait.
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