I kicked my wife out of the house and sent her to a seminar in Houston for the day (yes, on a Saturday no less). I called around and found a friend of my two sons who is having a birthday party and forced him to invite my two boys (actually not a real friend, but a kid who hangs out with another kid who is in my youngest son's cub scout pack, and in reality, we don't really know him well because he just moved here last year from Oklahoma and the kid having a birthday party is his next door neighbor).
I have duly insured that the entire family will be out of the house to keep from watching a grown man like myself torture himself through nine (count them, NINE) freaking innings. I will eat chicken for lunch. I will wear my lucky underwear and probably nothing else. I will mow the lawn and do some landscaping outside this morning. I will sit in the right side of the couch, clutching my favorite pillow. I will not move unless it's to go to the bathroom during a commercial. I won't listen to a word coming out of Josh Lewin's mouth if he happens to be the Fox broadcaster chosen to call the game (oh please BBG's, can you at least have mercy on me and make Tomm Brennamen the announcer today... PLEASE!). I will hock a loogie every time Michael Barrett comes to bat and scribble his name with the remnants of it on the coffee table. I will cover my eyes when Berkman is running the bases (there is only so much torture a man can take for crying out loud). I will curse, quite possibly all afternoon long, at every injustice I percieve from the umpires. I will curse at just about every Cub player who takes the field today, and double the amount of vitrol at every camera shot of Dusty the Lizzard King. Several items of the breakable kind have been secured for me to break in case of bad karma during the game or the lack of scoring a man from third with less than two outs. The fireplace has a special little altar built in it right now for me to light in case of emergency, like two men on, no one out, and Brad Lidge is trying to hold on for dear life with less than good stuff (sorry, the altar could not be built fast enough last night).
And I will cry after the game... one way or another.
So in short, I don't think I'm doing anything extra special from last year's incredible run to the playoffs from the Astros.
