Today I spent 13 hours at the Texas Motor Speedway. Under normal circumstances, it would have been considered a tragedy. A racetrack, the loud whirr of a souped up chevy going faster than it should, and thousands of rednecks in stonewashed denim, mullets, and leather Dale Earnhardt jackets. (By the way, how is it that all of these people can afford leather NASCAR jackets but not a dentist? Has this been researched?) Anyway, today would have ordinarily been something I feared for weeks, but in light of recent events, it was exactly what I needed.

13 hours without a computer. Without Boston Dirt Dogs. Without message boards. Without blogs. Without attitude from holier-than-thou Sox fans who feel the need to tell you how you should feel at all times; who mandate when it's ok to 'give up' and when it's not.

Surrounded by people who consider corn dogs one of the five major food groups, the ALCS was only brought up a handful of times.

#1 - 10:09am
I made the mistake of peeking at the Dallas Morning News' sports section. The first headline I see: "Sox done as Yankees take 2-0 lead"

They're done? Really? If the MLB decided to make the ALCS a best of 3 series, I would have thought it would have been bigger news. Like, front page and shit. Once I mainted my composure, I decided to skim the article. Just for fun.

Big mistake. According to a respected Dallas sports journalist, Pedro choked in Game 2 and is completely to blame for the Sox failure to advance.

At this point I'm gripping the table, knuckles white, trying not to swallow my own tongue.

#2 - 12:30pm
We're at lunch. I'm able to eat and digest food properly for the first time in days. I'm demolishing the chips and salsa, as well as anything else that comes near me. And then...

"Hey Mer, Johnny Damon and I are batting the same in the ALCS right now..."

Silence.

Does anyone want my enchiladas? I'm not so hungry anymore...

#3 - 9pm
I work with a Yankee fan. He's from Connecticut and his entire family are Sox fans, but something went wrong and he roots for the pinstripes. His poor parents! Imagine the guilt of raising a Yankee fan. It's a wonder they can sleep at night. Anyway, despite the questionable roots, he's one of the best Yankee fans I know. He'll never rub in a Yankee victory and he'll always admit when he's scared of the Sox (like last year prior to Game 7 and this year prior to Game 1). Oh, and he'll let me occassionally tease him about a Sox victory, which I appreciate. And so, after a long break from in-depth baseball conversation, we talked at length about the series. And then, just before it's time to head home, he tells me the Sox will win the next two. At Fenway. To tie up the series. He knows it. He fears it.


So here I am, rested, relaxed, and ready for Game 3. I am refreshed. I am torn down a bit, I'll admit, but I am not broken. The Red Sox MO has, all year, been to break you down and then just when you think you can't take anymore, they suck you back in.

The Sox win tomorrow night. Because they must.