Boycotting The World Series -- The Game 1 Live Blog

I told you on Sunday night that I was boycotting the World Series Game 1, so I decided to share with the public both my reasons why and my methods for boycotting Red Sox v. Rockies in the Fall Classic. First off:

THE REASONS

1- 8:23 start times. These games just start way too late for someone whose alarm clock kicks on at 4:55 am. Seriously, Allan, couldn't your league start their games at a time that makes it possible for folks in Eastern Daylight Time to go to bed at a reasonable hour? Even the frigging NHL starts their playoff games at 7:00 ET. For shame, Allan, your playoff scheduling has been bested by Gary freaking Bettman. Think about that.

2- Too painful. I just can't look at this series without thinking about what might have been, especially granted the NL's Quad-A status in 2007. I stand by my sentiment that the Indians would've romped over Colorado, even if they'd won in seven over Boston.

3- Not very compelling. I think Boston pretty much 100% outclassses the Rockies here. My official pick is Red Sox in 4, by the way, because after Beckett annihilates the Rockies tonight, Colorado is gonna fold like the WUSA. I don't expect it to be highly riveting baseball.

THE LIVE BLOG:

7:45 PM -- I clicked over to the XBox 360 in hopes that my download of the Guitar Hero III demo that I started at 4:30 would be done. Guess again; 49%. Looks like I won't be practicing up on Even Flow to pass the time tonight.

8:05 PM -- I can hear the pregame in the other room. You see, my roommate is a big baseball fan with no cheering interest in these playoffs (he's a White Sox fan from Chicago) so he just wants to enjoy October baseball. I can't in good conscience deny him this very reasonable request so I have relocated base camp to my bedroom, which is sans cable.

8:10 PM -- My dad calls me. I answer the phone by berating him for letting me be born a Cleveland fan. "Why couldn't you and mom have moved to Chicago or Miami or somewhere that has teams that wins championships? Jesus!" (NB: JTBI made that joke first with his dad on Sunday, I just couldn't resist tonight.)

8:23 PM -- And we're underway. I think. I'm only guessing right now because I can't hear the game. Due to my burning hatred of Joe Buck and Tim McCarver that was born many years ago, I don't even want to listen to their copyright protected accounts and descriptions of Game 1, so I put on Forty Licks and turn up Street Fighting Man to a reasonable volume and continue to troll teh intarwebs.

8:40 PM -- This is immensely boring. I can sorta hear Fenway rocking from in here and I kinda want to go see what's going on, but I won't. I need to stick to my guns on this one. I boycotted the entire 2000 World Series and it's pretty much worked out-- no New York team has won a World Series (or any other world title) since. By this train of thought, this could put a nice little jinx on Boston and Denver, which would please me greatly.

8:52 PM -- Phone call from one of the other commissioners in my fantasy football league. He tells me it's 3-1 Boston, I tell him I could give a shit. The big league controversy this week is over rent-a-player trades. In our league two owners want to swap Jason Elam and Keith Bulluck for week 8 then return the players to their original squads in week 9. I am strongly opposed to this because I think rent-a-player deals are bullshit and should be against the rules. I am apparently the only member of our tri-commissioner panel who feels this way so the rent-a-player deals are all going to get league approval. Because my esteemed-yet-misguided compatriots have made this decision, I will soon show them the error of their ways by renting Tom Brady to a team one of them is playing a few weeks down the line when I'm playing a league also-ran. Rent-a-player... what hogwash.

9:15 PM -- I'm thirsty and need a drink, so I head to the kitchen for a pop. On my way there I see my roommate (inexplicably) laying on the floor and watching Nick GaS, which is currently airing a block of GUTS. I ask him if Game 1 is at commercial, his response is, "I don't know, it's really brutal to watch, Colorado is totally outgunned." Side note -- Nick GaS is BY FAR the best channel to have on digital cable when you're drinking; there is nothing quite like watching Legends of the Hidden Temple when you're wasted. A close second in this category is VH1 Classic, because it's like you're playing russian roulette with your beer; you never know when Whitney Houston's "I Wanna Dance With Somebody" video is gonna come on and make you burst out laughing mid-sip, causing a genuine spit-take.

9:30 PM -- I am to understand that it's now 4-1 Boston. I am not surprised to hear this. I'm getting a little bored with "How I Met Your Mother" trivia on Facebook, so I head over to Wikipedia to check out the finalized track listing for Guitar Hero III and it looks absolutely epic. I may have peed my pants a little when I saw that the encore on level 7 is "Pride and Joy." I had a similar reaction seeing Metallica's "One" in the final tier of regular songs, as well. You can be damn sure I put in a pre-order for that sumbitch already.

9:55 PM -- My roommate is once again watching GUTS on Nick GaS when he calls me in to witness the GUTS equivalent to armageddon: three girl participants. Now I don't mean to be sexist here--okay maybe I do--but girls just could never hang on GUTS with the guys their own age. Very rarely you might see a gender-based upset when a puffy little nerdy guy (these kids were always, without fail, on the blue team) would lose to an enormous girl you were positive became a lacrosse goalie with a size-50 ass who listened to Indigo Girls in high school, but the girl still only finished in second place behind the average-sized dude who was the red player. Occasionally I've seen two girls and one dude on GUTS and the guy mops up 100% of the time... but three girls? Christ, I'd almost rather watch the Rockies flail around against the BoSox' Racist Ace-est. Almost.

10:01 PM -- My roommate is going to bed, he's seen enough of the Rockies getting dominated by Beckett, so I'm relocating back to the living room so I can watch some DVR'ed shows.

10:02 PM -- The GH3 demo I started at 4:30 is now 62% done. At this rate I'm going to be able to play the full version when UPS delivers it next week before this goddamn demo downloads. I digress, time for Curb Your Enthusiasm on the DVR.

10:15 PM -- Not ironic: anything Tim McCarver has referred to as ironic tonight; almost ironic: my DVR acted like it was about to crap out in the middle of this week's Curb; completely ironic: every time Bob Davie criticizes a coach for mis-managing the clock on national TV.

10:27 PM -- HO. LY. SHIT. Possibly the funniest Curb to date. It's already right up there with my personal favorite, "The Doll" from season 2, where Larry is pitching the Julia Louis-Dreyfus show to ABC. "You got long-ass balls!" Larry David is a freaking genius. Also, Lucy Lawless got way hot.

10:30 PM -- Phone call from my other fantasy football co-commissioner on this rent-a-player nonsense. I concede, knowing that the other two commishes won't revisit the idea of banning player rentals until the offseason. Whatever.

10:55 PM -- While ironing out the details on fairly regulating player rentals, the other commish informs me that it is now 12-1 Boston in the 5th. Two thoughts on this: 1- I had a feeling that would happen; 2- it's only the fifth inning at 11 PM EDT?!?

11:00 PM -- GH3 demo download at 75%. I am officially becoming slightly obsessed with this game.

11:17 PM -- My phone pretty much has died, and I've gotten so bored that I've resorted to re-reading SeanBaby's NES Page for the 13,000th time. Seven years after first finding this site, I am still laughing at it like I was Dane Cook and I just told a joke that I thought was really funny.

11:20 PM -- Okay, I've had enough. I'm gonna take some NyQuil and go pass out. I can only hope this written transcript of my boycott will influence you, too, to ignore this year's Fall Classic in favor of something--ANYTHING--better. Good night, friends.