— We were all at Molly’s Pub in West Yarmouth. Watching the game. For the most part, it was one-two-three innings. We thought: “Damn, we’re gonna be home by 9.” Jean declared, “This is the most boring baseball game ever.” Then came the wacko Keystone Cops play which we had to see 5 times to really understand what was going on … Then we had to discuss it to ourselves, drawing small diagrams on our napkins: “Okay … so the catcher missed the ball … ” And the play finally ended with Johnny Damon getting clocked in the head on his way home (and he barely flinched!) Awesome. I don’t think even the players knew what the hell was going on in the middle of that play.<\/p>\n
— Bases loaded. Jean says, sarcastically, “Grrrreat. We load the bases for John Olerud.” And of course … 2 seconds later, all hell broke loose<\/a>. It was great – we were in a bar filled with Sox freaks, most with Irish accents … and we couldn’t get enough of the replay. Every time the entire bar saw the replay, we cheered all over again, as though it was the first time we saw it. Olerud!! A cross between Jimmy Stewart and Frank Perdue.<\/p>\n — Laughing HYSTERICALLY about the random shot after Olerud’s grand slam, of the fan in the stands manically waving an ENORMOUS American flag. Like the kind of flag that should be on a pole outside a post office. We were crying with laughter. Like: “buddy … uhm … this isn’t the Olympics … this is an American sport … and … er …” It was just so cute, and he was waving it FEVERISHLY.<\/p>\n — At one point last night, my brother said, in a moment of shock and awe, the word “Jeepers.” He said it COMPLETELY seriously, and it was the only logical response to the moment. “Jeepers!” But we couldn’t stop laughing afterwards – I said, “Who the hell says ‘Jeepers’ anymore??” Then – as Siobhan and I were leaving the bar, there was a group of smokers standing outside – and as we passed, one of the women in the group said about something, in an exasperated voice: “Jeepers <\/i>Creepers!” hahahahahaha<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" — We were all at Molly’s Pub in West Yarmouth. Watching the game. For the most part, it was one-two-three innings. We thought: “Damn, we’re gonna be home by 9.” Jean declared, “This is the most boring baseball game ever.” … Continue reading