Friday Night Lights What a night. Two-for-two.

Two wins for my teams. Two victories over teams that, in some circles, are almost univerally loathed. Two teams that rank below U.S. Steel, the bubonic plague, and repetitive kicks to the groin.

Defending World Champion Red Sox (check!) 5, 26 time something Yankees 3. No. 18 ranked MU women's soccer 4, No. 5 and defending national champion Notre Dame 1. (In the effort of full disclosure, I root for Notre Dame football now that Charlie Weis is there. Never before, though.)
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Last year, when the Sox made their improbable ALCS comeback, me and the boys in New Rochelle held vigil all four nights. Same clothes. Same spots. Same food (Domino's bacon pizza). At the time, I had the magic red cast and used it's powers in times of late-inning heroics.

This year, I'm in MKE. DB is in God's Country. Only Malls and Dyzzy remain in New Roc City, but not in 549 - the place to be when it all happened from games 4-7.

So this morning, I seriously mulled going to the ER and asking them to place a red cast on my arm, despite the fact that it wasn't broken. That's why I pay 68 bucks a month for health insurance.

I called the boys. They were ready. Malls was ready with the shots of Jack Daniels. Dyzz had his same outfit cooking. I ordered up a Domino's with bacon (actually, I did the 555 deal and had three pies ordered, as it is a three-game series.). Last year, I rocked the red Johnny Damon t-shirt. But now that red is a bad color around work (see also, Wisconsin, University of), I went with the "Red Sox - Greatest Comeback in Playoff History" shirt. I thought it apropos.

Last year, my man Jeffy called me from the Thurbers Avenue curve. I was in the car, headed down Lincoln Ave. towards 5th in New Roc. I had just heard "Don't Stop Believin'" by Journey on the radio. Prophetic at the time, I thought. I answered Jeff's call.

He was calling to tell me that he was stuck in traffic, behind a red jeep with the license plate "JohnnyD 18". Don't Stop Believin' was also on the radio then. Two cars, two states, two radio stations. Same karma.

Tonight, I got in the car and "Manic Monday" was on. If you believe in this b.s. like I do - my notion of iPod karma and random music and songs you hear in relation to real-life shite going on - then you'd think that all-time great by the Bangles would not bode well for the Sox.

I switched the channel quickly. "Bad, Bad Leroy Brown" by Jim Croce. He's from the South Side of Chicago. But the song is about the big, bad southsider getting cut down. The White Sox are playing the Indians. Another bad sign - we don't need the only part of the Southsiders' not bloody to be the soles of their feet. Switch.

"Don't worry...about a thing...cuz every little thing is gonna be alright..."

Thanks Bob. I needed that.

Like Rem Dawg says about the local potion..."Good call."

Onto tomorrow. One.  ¶ 11:27 PM