Red Sox Nation's illegal immigrant

While Evil Twin #2 and her boyfriend travel around Southeas Asia, I visited my own foreign land: Red Sox Nation. It is true that I do have a card claiming that I am a member; a vestige of a friendship long past. But quite frankly a lot of times the other Red Sox citizens' antics annoy me, like my next door neighbor who kept shouting out his window last night. Perhaps that is why I never felt like I fit in, plus the fact that I am a Giants fan and you can see all the problems with this so-called citizenship.

On Thursday night, I went to the game. Yes, sometimes luck is very strange. I ask the Universe that I graduate, instead I get tickets to the World Series. Priority one: wear an appropriate outfit. I choose a long sleeve red shirt, white undershirt. white fleece vest, blue jeans, Red Sox hat, and one extra fleece jacket just in case. Priority two: try to sneak out of lab. Sadly, was caught by my boss who made weird comments about how I was lucky in life but not in science. huh? Priority three: make sure I am not carrying any illegal fire arms, knives, numchucks, etc..

Fenway was chaotic. Uniformed police officers were everywhere. People were trying to get to the gates, as vendors shouted in their ears. I would avert my eyes away from the italian sausage cart, I was all about the Fenway Frank that night. Beer sales were being tightly monitored that night so I decided for a Coke instead. Our seats were in the bleachers on the upper part between center and right field. I liked the view from that angle. Let's be honest ladies: Ellsbury has a cute butt.

I was happy as a clam up with my food and drink watching the game. I high-fived the people around me. I cheered when the Fenway cops hauled away three drunks guys who yelled obcenities at Rockies. The whole experience was exhilarating.

But somewhere around the 7th inning, I started getting sleepy and cold. Those of you have been in the bleacher section of Fenway know that there seems to be a special wind that swirls around back there. Normally, in the summer it just blows peanut shells in your eyes, but in late October it sucks away any ounce of body heat you have. It is this chill that seperates true citizens of Red Sox Nation from its poser citizens. I contemplated going home. Instead I was instructed to sit my ass down. The game was 2 to 1 and there was no way I was to leave. No way.

Don't get me wrong, I am glad I stayed and I was grateful to get the opportunity to witness this event, but it did make me realize my status as a transplant. To rectify that this Monday morning, I will say "Wahoo. Red Sox are World Series winners. Oh yeah and Yankees Suck."