There are a million people writing great things on the Internet today about last night. I'm going to tell a story: I was sitting in a bar in Boston --- I think it was the Beacon Hill Pub --- a year or two after I got out of college, maybe 2001. It was a late afternoon in August, and I was with a bunch of buddies, just hanging out. The bar was almost empty, and everyone there was watching the Red Sox game. It was a pretty standard mostly-empty-bar baseball crowd. Two patrons in particular, however, stuck out. The first was a man who must have been about 60. He was sitting alone at the end of the bar, wearing a red sweatshirt, and quietly muttering "fuck the Yankees" over and over again while he drank his beer. (Note: the Red Sox were not playing the Yankees on the TV).
On last night
On last night
On last night
There are a million people writing great things on the Internet today about last night. I'm going to tell a story: I was sitting in a bar in Boston --- I think it was the Beacon Hill Pub --- a year or two after I got out of college, maybe 2001. It was a late afternoon in August, and I was with a bunch of buddies, just hanging out. The bar was almost empty, and everyone there was watching the Red Sox game. It was a pretty standard mostly-empty-bar baseball crowd. Two patrons in particular, however, stuck out. The first was a man who must have been about 60. He was sitting alone at the end of the bar, wearing a red sweatshirt, and quietly muttering "fuck the Yankees" over and over again while he drank his beer. (Note: the Red Sox were not playing the Yankees on the TV).