Last night's voodoo worked, but we had to sweat it out. I thought I'd up the ante today and really strike at the heart of the Sox, so to speak.
We are also planning on following the ritual I performed on back on September 18, when the Yankees pounded the sox 14-4.
bq. I scoured the neighborhood for fallen branches. When I gathered one for every member of the Red Sox, I laid them out in my backyard and recited an old incantation I learned from the cousin of a friend of a friend in fifth grade, who swore she knew how to maim people using just her thoughts. I then - following specific directions obtained from the How to Keep the Red Sox Curse Alive handbook - painted the sticks red, coated them with lighter fluid and set them on fire. This set off a chain reaction of events that eventually destroyed our shed, my neighbor's swingset and killed seventeen squirrels, but, hey, it was worth it. Mmmm....squirrel kabobs, medium well.
It worked so nice, gotta try it twice. I have nothing against killing squirrels in the spirit of the baseball playoffs. Besides, they would have ended up as road pizza at some point, anyhow. Which isn't half as tasty as squirrel kabobs. My neighbors, on the other hand...well, they're Met fans, so who cares?
I've decided that it won't hurt to also hold the Ramirez doll aloft, poking it with heated pins while singing the Zombie's Time of the Season
: What's your name, who's your daddy....
[Alternately, there's another plan that calls for a bottle of Jack Daniels to be swallowed in one swift gulp after the game in the event of a Yankee loss. This way, you can claim that a nasty hangover precludes you from talking about the game]