No Country For Old Young Men

We're in the home stretch, campers. Tomorrow's game won't be for the young and weak, who need their beauty rest; it will be for the strong, those who arise at 6 every day to soak in the life-affirming rays of the sun rather than stay up until 1 or 2 being poisoned by the life-sucking glow of the television. Tomorrow will be a day for the old guys. Let's act appropriately.

I will not be going to Professor Thom's, a bar in Manhattan's East Village, which is throwing a massive "Private Party" at the hour of six because it is not legally allowed to be open at that hour. I am on Thom's mailing list, however, and entered a Red Sox haiku contest to celebrate the opener:

The alarm clock rings
It's 6 and the Sox are on
Praise f*cking Jesus

I actually starred it out on the email. I'm getting better. Though it should be:

The alarm clock rings
It's 6 and the Sox are on
Please pass the sake

14 hours to go.