Of course, I didn't know Bellhorn was going to hit that home run.

Saturday night and it's the first game of the World Series. My beloved Sox host the Cards at Fenway in the biggest, most important baseball game of my lifetime. I literally have a front row seat with my name on it at a local bar, where dozens of fans I've met in the last few weeks await my arrival. I've watched every pitch of every inning of the playoffs, and everything I am and everything I've done says I'm going to be riveted to the TV set. I would have bet my life on it.

Except I didn't see the game. Didn't watch a single pitch actually. Wasn't there for the early lead, or for the late comeback. Didn't even know the score until the game was well over. I just slid my proverbial ticket across the table.

I had to see about a girl.

Which, in this case, meant excitement, and adventure, and really wild things. It meant driving with her to Las Vegas cause she asked me to. It meant trying to sleep on some guy's floor. It meant a party in Sin City and a first kiss in the desert air. It meant the past was past and the future was...

Well, nobody really knows what it means for the future.

But at least for one night, it meant I couldn't even give a shit about a fucking baseball game.

And I know enough to know that that means good things.