Anyone know where I can get my hands on some horse tranquilizers?

Red Sox and Yankees. Game 7 tonight. Apocalypse now. Three nights ago, the Sox were left for dead. The Saturday night slaughter at Fenway Park made the original Boston Massacre look like a tea party. I woke up Sunday morning feeling like I’d been mugged. I had a screening that night, so I would mercifully miss the dismal end, the Red Sox being swept by the Yankees in four. Such a great season, such a shitty ending.

I came home that night, turned on the TV, and the Sox had just taken a 3-2 lead and Fox was playing “It Ain’t Over ‘Til It’s Over.” Ten minutes later, they had coughed up the lead. I turned off the TV and went to bed. In the morning, I checked the Boston Globe website and found out they were still alive on Ortiz’s 12th inning homer.

So, Game 5 Monday night. Actually, Monday afternoon when it started, but what’s 6 hours and 14 innings between bitter enemies? It was certainly the greatest baseball game I’ve ever seen, and when it was over, the Red Sox were improbably still alive.

Game 6 last night was so packed with drama, so overflowing with subplots and twists, it was like every season of Survivor packed into one night. Schilling on the mound with his bloody ankle, Bellhorn the Goat hitting the three-run homer that almost wasn’t, A-Rod’s bush-league interference play, SWAT teams on the field, that final strike-out that forced the impossible: Game 7 tonight. One game for all the marbles. The chance to turn the $190 million Yankees into the biggest chokers of all time and the 2004 Red Sox into legendary curse-breakers.

There’s not enough beer in the world for tonight’s game.