Last night I was giddy like a post-coital teenager watching the Mets come-from-behind to beat the Yankees. The alcohol was flowing and I was more than a little tipsy as my celebration extended into the wee hours of the morning, when I fell into bed like a bag of cement. If I remembered much of anything, I probably wouldn’t hesitate to call it a beautiful evening. Today I woke up confident, and for three hours felt as if nothing could deter the Mets from taking this series. In fact, I was already looking ahead to tomorrow’s potential sweep, brazenly switching channels mid-game to watch RoboCop 2 on the Encore channel.
Then my whole day went right into the motherfucking shitter.
I knew something was wrong when a bitter chill swept across the living room. As I waited to watch Cain’s brain being removed from his body, the Encore channel went black and I lost RoboCop 2. At the time I didn’t notice, but this subtle inconvenience was actually a harbinger of things to come. “Not a problem,” I thought. “The Mets game is drawing to a close and I can enjoy the last inning or two!” Sure, it’d be nice to watch a bloody science fiction movie about a mechanical-cop-with-the-brain-of-a-human during commercial breaks, but I didn’t consider this loss to be of much significance. Unfortunately, the Mets game soon spiraled out of control in the ninth inning and they lost it in extra frames on a cheap hit by some scrub Yankee bench player who probably won’t be on the team next month. What a fucking joke. And I didn’t even get to see the goddamn end of the goddamn movie.
Content not to drink today after last night’s drunken escapades, I now feel like losing myself in a bottle of bourbon and calling it a night. At 5:26pm.
