honky cracker: Give Me the Ball There's stillness in the air today. It's kind of like that Buffy episode where the demon thingys had stolen everyone's voice and no one could speak. Or like in Dark City, when those demon thingys stop time to kidnap people and steal their organs or whatever they do.
It's kind of like being in a dream, or a nightmare, and you know you're dreaming but there's nothing you can do to wake up.
I can't do anything right today.
I'm not a superstitious man generally. But I get superstitious around this time of year when the Sox are in the playoffs. I have this thing about sidewalk cracks. I can't step on one. (Probably part of that whole "break your mother's back" thing. I love my mother. I don't want to break her back.) I have to step over each crack with whatever foot I deem the correct one. I usually decide which foot is the correct one about two to three steps before I cross it. If I'm not on pace to step over it with the correct foot, I shuffle my walk so that I do. I look like a shuffling fool.
Today I saw a penny tails-side up in a sidewalk crack. Tails-up pennies are bad luck anyways. Plus it was in a crack.
I flicked a cigarette butt into a sidewalk crack today. I thought the world was going to end.
Lately, when I'm in the men's room, I have to use one specific sink to wash my hands, squirt five squirts of soap from the dispenser into my hands, and wash with warm water. Today some guy was peeing in the urinal next to that sink, so I had to use the other one.
Oh, and I just misspelled the word "superstitious" a few paragraphs back. And oops, I did it again. Right there.
That said, I am confident that were I on the playoff roster, I could throw seven shutout innings for the Sox tonight.
If I were to replace the injured Johnny Damon batting leadoff and in centerfield, I am confident that I would go 2-4 with a single, a double, and a walk along with a stolen base and at least one run scored. I look good in baseball pants.
