At 4 o'clock this afternoon, I will be embarking on an adventure I never thought I'd have to endure. A train traveling north to Anaheim will find me sitting next to a friend. This friend was kind enough to invite me as his guest to a game he had bought tickets to months in advance. This friend, you see, is a Boston Red Sox fan. Tonight, I do not travel north to our neighbors as a guest, not as a potential or even closet Angel fan. Tonight, I am a Red Sox fan. I'm sorry. I already called my dad, brother, and high school coach to apologize. I want to apologize to you all, as well.
This be not Allen J. Kha writing an uncomfortable love letter to Wonko, apologizing for his very existence. This is simply me saying, "I know what I'm doing, I'm not proud of it but it's a weak moment. I'm having drinks getting f_____g hammered on jaeger bombs, pretending to be something I'm not and feeling proud of it."
Tonight, I will start conversations about how we'd be in first place if the stupid Padres would hurry up and give us Agonz. How the Padres are playing over their heads and won't be in first place come September and, finally, when I have enough Boston fans listening to my preachy word of baseball righteousness, I will remove a Sox jersey to reveal my Padres attire. One of them will no doubt offer to "red sock me in the eye," or something dumb like that.... But I will be triumphant.
Triumphant like the Padres when they win the 2010 World Series.