Hella Wicked Awesome

I woke up on Sunday with a mission. I was going to be in Boston to watch the Red Sox sweep the World Series. One small problem to overcome: I woke up at Yosemite National Park in California.

• 6:00 am PT (9:00 am ET). Wake up in Curry Village, Yosemite National Park.
• 9:40 am PT (12:40 pm ET). Oakland International Airport. Almost catch a 10:15am non-stop flight to Boston, but thwarted by the long security line.
• 12:05 pm PT (3:05 pm ET). Plane takes off for Dulles. Watch the Eagles beat the Vikings and the Patriots crush the Redskins. Finish reading Into the Wild.
• 5:00 pm PT (8:00 pm ET). Land at Dulles and hop on another plane for Boston. Every passenger is fixated on the game, and the flight is punctuated by spontaneous cheering.
• 7:10 pm PT (10:10 pm ET). Land at Logan after the fifth inning, Red Sox up 2-0. The cab ride home is an adventure. Police near Kenmore Square are blocking the normal routes to my apartment.
• 8:00pm PT (11:00 pm ET). Throw my luggage down and dash back out to the closest bar I can find. My Harpoon is poured just in time for the seventh inning. Red Sox are still up 2-0.
• 9:00pm PT (midnight ET). Jubilation. High fiving and hugging random strangers. We collectively swear to name our first children after Papelbon.

Can’t wait to see Papelbon and Youk’s next dance routine!