For all things Tooks, and some things, er, relating to other people. As well as to other things. You get the picture.

26 October 2007

So on Sunday night I was talking to my mom about mother-son stuff--job, lady, house, dog, hygiene, family gossip, weather. You know. The usual.

We ran through the usual list, and I was sensing the wrap-up coming on. Sure enough: "Ok, honey, I've got to go. My man's up to bat--Big Papi."

Excuse me?

First, my mom is not supposed to have more than a very cursory knowledge of sports. She knows what the names of the Boston teams are in the four major sports, she knows more or less what the championships are called, and she knows to hate the Yankees. So what's with this "my man" and "Big Papi" stuff?

And now she watches the game, too? Or only when her man's up to bat?

And how does my dad fit in to all of this?

It's like blundering into an after-school special, but without the Mormon commercials.

I'm so alone, and no one understands me. Just like a sixth grader.

Feel lost and bewildered with me, but go Sox anyway,



Blogger Kate said...

Anyone can root for Big Papi. It takes real class and taste to root for my man Mike Lowell.

9:42 AM EDT


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