When the Red Sox are in the playoffs, I become mentally and emotionally unstable for the duration of their run … or, you know … even more mentally and emotionally unstable. (This has been documented previously.) And, thanks to their unprecedentedly spectacular September collapse, I’ve been forced to commence my insane postseason behavior before the postseason even starts.
There are many things I must do in order to influence the outcome of the game. Things like donning various Red Sox apparel and trinkets, and replacing with a commemorative 2004 World Series Champions plaque (a gift, by the way; I’m crazy, but I’m not “Hey-let’s-blow-$200-on-a-wall-hanging!” crazy) the framed photo that normally hangs over the television set, and holding in a particular way with my left hand during any critical moment in the game the crystal that hangs around my neck while simultaneously covering with each of the five fingers on my right hand five of the ventilation holes atop my Red Sox baseball cap. For starters.
Why are you looking at me like that?
Well, at least I’m not passing my psychosis on to my children.