This is my third attempt at starting this post. I've been sitting here, lights out, in the glow of the computer screen trying to convey my thoughts about the upcoming ALCS. But I realized, in the middle of writing about how confident I am that this is the year the Sox finally dispose of the Yankees, that I was lying.

I am terrified.

Not of the Yankees themselves, but of history. May the best team win? I wish it were always that simple. The 2003 Boston Red Sox were better. The 2004 Minnesota Twins were better. The Yankees always find a way to win, even when they are outmatched on the field. That's what makes them The Yankees.

Last night I stood in the rain, waiting for a table at my favorite sushi bar, peering through the window of a fancy martini bar at the widescreen plasma TV that was being ignored in the corner. I stood watching, waiting, enjoying the last few moments of the stress-free 24 hours I'd been blessed with since David Ortiz's walkoff homerun. Standing there, praying for any outcome other than the one I knew I'd get, I watched the Yankees win on a wild pitch, or, more accurately, a passed ball. A fucking passed ball.

So here we are again. My heart beats a little bit faster this morning. When I close my eyes at night I see pitching matchups, ERAs, and injury reports. When they open in the morning, I'm wondering if Curt's ankle will hold out. Gone is the giddiness of advancing past the Angels in a dramatic three-game sweep. Gone is the glued-on smile, the skip in my step, the glow of a girl basking in the success of a team that has its followers trained to expect heartbreak. They have all been replaced by the telltale signs of playoffitis. Shaky hands, rapid heartbeat, a stomach tied up in knots, a mind that can not process even the most simple thoughts if they're unrelated to baseball. How much tip should we leave on a $38.57 bill? If I can't use Pedro's ERA to figure it out, then don't bother asking.

And here I am, again, at a standstill. I wish, more than anything, I could write that, beyond the shadow of a doubt, the Sox are going to defeat the Yankees en route to the Word Series. On paper, it's no contest; the Sox are the better team. I think they can win it. No, I know they can win it. But in sports there are no guarantees. A Red Sox fan does not have to be reminded of that.

Given our team's storied history, Red Sox Nation should have the white flag grasped in our collective fist, ready to be raised at any given moment. We should be exhausted, we should be pessimistic. We should remember seasons past and assume the Yankees will, once again, find a way to beat a better team, as they have done time and time again.

But this is the great thing about Red Sox fans. They want the Yankees. Hell, they were practically begging for it last week. As scared as I am for what the next week and a half holds, I'll admit that I wanted the Yankees, too. Some may call it naive, some may say we're fools. Really, it all boils down to this:

We kept the faith.

And hopefully this is the year that we're rewarded.

_______________________

Today's fun NFL trivia:

What do Tony Siragusa, Lisa Guererro, and Melissa Stark have in common?

They all have tits and are equally as worthless on the sidelines of an NFL game.

If you've ever seen 10 minutes of an NFL game on Fox, chances are you are repulsed by the vision of Tony Siragusa on the sidelines. If you've seen even one of his sideline reports, you know he has nothing worthwhile to say but, nonetheless, his mouth is constantly moving. Just when I thought he could not annoy me more, he finds a way to top himself. During today's Cowboys/Giants game, he interrupted the broadcast for this:

"How about them Yankees, baby?"

The man is on the sidelines of an NFL game and that is his contribution? He gets paid for that?

As if I needed another reason to want to see the Yankees lose....