Part 19: Ma Dukes is rolling with it...so, why can't you?

I'm chalk full of emotions, half-assed with hope, and tangled up in gorilla glue.

Thanks Sox.

I can't dwell on the game and I can't look too much into the fact that I did the following after turning the t.v. off halfway through the top of the eighth: shaved, put away laundry, opened mail, and wrote a to-do list of shit that needs to be tended to before I head out west.

Ah yes, heading back out Californey way. No air races this time- more soap box cars. San Fran and then on to Denver, a nice two-day siesta built in, in between leaving San Fran and heading to snowy Red Rocks for what should be the kind of big blow out most people see only once or twice a year. The kind of blow out that leads to head aches, hangovers, poorly-packed suitcases, and zero to absolutely no regrets.

Sam's email said there's already snow on the ground. I can't get excited about that like some of those Out West dudes like Tom Jim, GTI, or certainly not like the Burmese Python. But just running around Red Rocks for a few days, after running around the greater San Francisco area for a week, is something that does get me excited. These will be the last two Soap Box races we're doing after...shit- just got the final word on the game...is there always a tomorrow?...after a raucous and rowdy Philly soap box that ran smack into Hurricane Cuddle Princess, but no kind of storm strong enough to detour Eagles' chants, supreme drunken debauchery, and lots of good lookin' gals wandering up and down The Wall with that blissful look of a ravaged car wreck mixed with a lackadaisical Sunday morning brunch. Cincy was a much different scene and the hill lacked the built-in drama that The Wall provided. But the weather was killer and the people showed. They avoided the poison ivy for the most part, cheered when they were suppose too, and wrung those damn cowbells when called upon. We truly busted ass and hit the final buzzer after about 21 hours...more specifically at the point when none of us were totally sure how long we had just worked.

A long goddamn time.

But not long enough to stop us from throwing a few back with local folk after. And Cincy people are generally nice people and the area we were in, Mt Adams, had the snow globe feel that makes you feel sublimely just right- soft music played on Main Street as we loaded out the F.O.R.B. area. It all didn't seem real until the music was interrupted by football news...

It was Sunday. We really hadn't slept since Thursday.

40,000 people didn't seem to mind, so we'll bypass any haggling over technicalities, legalities, and any other related miseries.

It happened.

It happened just like the Sox game just happened- a good amount of build up followed by three tense hours of watching people other than you have a damn good time.

I love fall.

I love the Red Sox.

I love my folks.

Yet tonight, I really only love my folks. Those other two bastards are on notice.

I'm looking at you Papi.