a nice morning

it didn’t start out so great.

after getting in from new jersey at 0200, i was awakened from a (not-so) sound slumber by multiple cars leaning on their horns. after about five minutes of this, i got up to take a look. there was someone directing traffic, who mostly had it stopped, which people were objecting to. loudly. it’s a friggin’ sunday morning. some free advice: ease up people, or you’ll probably die.

me? i got up and read the paper. it takes about half an hour these days to plow through the globe’s sox coverage, coupled with the usual assortment of other outlets. not that i’m complaining. i don’t have anything intelligent to add about it right now, really, other than to say i’m disoriented by the good fortune, and of the confidence this team inspires in everybody. it’s not without reason, either—they’ve been wholly bad-ass lately. but at the same time, they are still identifiably the red sox—between the infield buying dinner for the people waiting in line for tickets, to the pirates in the bullpen, to the fact that a solid handful of them are plainly just batshit crazy. so no matter how many articles suggest that success has changed everything, i strenuously disagree, and can’t really blame the new fans across the country—they’re a fun team to root for, and i’m fine with being spoiled.

so anyway, thus awakened, i was more than ready to head to the phoenix landing for arsenal-liverpool.

and it just turned into one of those perfect mornings. my bike was perfectly tuned; i pedaled noiselessly, almost effortlessly into the city; got to central square in under half an hour. watched a brilliant match with friends and singing strangers, breakfast and a pint. a pretty girl smiled at me while i unlocked my bike. i sat on the mass. ave bridge watching the sailboats. i barreled up steep back streets on beacon hill to enjoy the blistering speed down, and hit every light through the back bay.

so you know, somewhere there’s another shoe poised to drop.