A good friend of mine is a stinkin’ Red Sox fan of the worst variety. He’s a converted fan. And it’s all the more galling because he grew up in Jersey and remains a huge Knicks and Jets fan. Hates the Celtics, hates the Pats. But loves the Red Sox. Has a bottle of Schilling Chardonnay in his office. It’s enough to make you sick.
He went to college in Boston and was miserable, not in Boston but with his life. So he started going to Fenway and showing up at that park and caring about the Sox gave him a sense of purpose, saved him when he needed saving.
Part of me still thinks his taste in inexcusable–and I’ll never tire of giving him hell about it– but sometimes we don’t pick our teams with much thought or logic. They find us or we find them.
Anyhow, this particular friend turns 40 today and I’d like to take this moment to wish a happy birthday to his stinkin’ ass.