The Red Sox are playing The Detroit Tigers tonight. My baseball-addled husband is listening to the game in the other room. I am hiding in here with the computer unsure what to do. I grew up cheering for the Tigers. For my 9th birthday I asked my parents (who are not baseball fans) to take me to a game. I cheered them on in the World Series in 1984 (as in, The Tigers Roar in '84). My childhood is filled with memories of Kirk Gibson and Louuuuu Whitaker and Chet Lemon and Alan Trammel.... But now that I live in Boston, well, I root for the Red Sox...and not just root, I think I've become a true Red Sox fan. The other night, when Mirabelli was up to bat I pleaded with him to please please please hit a home run...and moments later, he did. I told my husband that he had me to thank for that. According to a friend who has spent her life as a member of Red Sox Nation, this psychosis is unique to Red Sox fans. I actually read the sports section of the paper, and have been pontificating on the rise in wins of one-run games. So what's a llama to do when her home team plays her home team?
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