The other night, my husband and I were having dinner in a sports bar of sorts. The Red Sox game was on, as it always is in any establishment with a television. The Bosox were playing the Chisox, and after starting with a lead, the Chisox started acting stupid. In the privacy of our booth, I emitted a quietish sound of exasperation, something like “Oh come on!” A man sitting at the bar nearby swiveled his stool around so fast that I thought he might have given himself whiplash, all to find who could be committing such a crime so publicly. “Yeah, that’s right, Buddy,” I said under my breath. My only regret was that I had left my Orioles bucket hat in the car. Dammit! I love to give them a taste of their own medicine. Sadly though, I can’t imagine a day when Fenway is called OPACY North and the stadium is overrun with Orioles fans. So, I just do my small part wherever and whenever I can and take much, great, great pleasure in it! Heeheee.