2004-10-17 - 1:26 a.m.

You can�t tell casual observers at a party (and they all are) watching a Sox postseason game versus the Yankees, down two games to none, that if they lose this game they�re done.

You can�t say that. You can�t take a few seconds out and explain that.

I have a shooting pain up from my wrist to my elbow from punching a nice soft spot in the futon mattress.

This is later.

Oh yeah, I guess I�m kinda back in the loop when it comes to getting invited to parties. That feels nice--I hope I didn�t blow it.

Dog. A dog the size of a lion made me very, very sick.

What do you do when you sneeze because of allergies? The kind of sneeze that WILL NOT make anybody sick? I get really angry (especially at work, less especially on the T because you can�t help it) when someone who is sick puts me in jeopardy of getting sick myself.

Seriously. My sneezes aren�t going to make somebody allergic to animals, but do I make a big announcement to the other guests, at the expense of the host feeling bad for making me sneeze?

Best course of action? LEAVING. My problem, mine to deal with. It�s true, and I believe in it.

So the Roommate and I left when Game 3 was still in the Sox� grasp. We bar-shopped for a while, settling in at the Gallway, where my dad used to take me when I was a kid.

If you want to watch the Sox turn around a near-century of Yankee dominance, head to no place other than a bar crammed with Boston Irish-Catholics Democrats who have sat at the same stools since Cheers was on, and probably before.

We let a few runs slip by us there, and then the 39 and its 93 bus stops before Copley, and a cab home, home, home, where I promised the Roommate the score would be different.

She was the first to turn on the TV, 17-6, New York.

We watched the rest of the ballgame--19-8, New York.

Can I just say one thing?

I hate the Yankees on about twenty-five different levels, which is a record for me when it comes to levels.

I hate them so much that getting specific about the reason why I hate them would do a disservice to the twenty-four other reasons why I hate them.

Let me just say this--I�d still rather be a Sox fan than a Yanks fan. Would you rather be the guy at the party that does allright for himself (or the girl who does the same), or the guy/girl who eats all the shrimp and goes home all smug, and everyone noticed?

Would you rather be a good worker who keeps getting passed over for promotions, or be that person�s boss and have no soul?

Would you rather be the person who offers up a seat on the train to an elderly or handicapped person, or an asshole?

What�s better--hope or smugness?

I don�t care if everyone is sick of Boston getting beaten by New York. It doesn�t matter to me. As long as there�s a person remaining who cares about baseball, that is.

If Francona has an ounce of anything available to him, he�d consider ordering his pitchers to throw at every Yankee batter they face. Of course he shouldn�t actually do it, but I�ll feel better if the notion at least crossed his mind and he decided not to.

There IS NO NEXT YEAR this year. The Sox better win four games in a row.

Considering all of the taxing OCD rituals I've put myself through in their corner, in the name of victory, it'd be nice if they could reward me with at least one.