God save the King of New Orleans

I totally forgot to mention that I ended up going to my best-friend's wedding a couple of weeks ago in Boston.

He didn't talk to me the whole ride from his place to the church. There was this look of contempt all over his face. If one looked very closely they could read his lips as they muttered ever so lightly. "I hate each and every one of you." It's not that he actualy hates us, but the circumstance that we put him in was pretty predictable. First off, my buddy is the last of all his friends to get married. He was the last swinging bachelor from amongst us all. He stood in all our weddings, glaring about like Vince Vaughn did in wedding crashers. He even could recite the gospel readings from heart, and he isn't even Catholic. Still, the good-hearted man felt the pressure mounting when his last friend got engaged almost 3 years ago.

That's when the call came out. It was like a distress signal sent to headquarters letting them know there was a ship lost out in sea. My buddy told me he was engaged to be married. When? No one had the slightest clue. That is why I threw the biggest fit when he told me last year that he was getting married in the first week of October.

"Are you crazy? What have you been drinking? "
"She wants a fall wedding. That's the only time we can get the hotel."
"The Red Sox could be in the playoffs. What are we going to do?"

That was the scenario that played out for us that weekend as the Red Sox were playing the White Sox at home down 2 games. Needing a win to spark another miracle comeback we all sat around the church the night of Game 3 getting our assignments for the Batan Death March...I mean wedding ceremony that would take place the next day at the same time a possible Game 4 would start.

Another one of the groomsmen walks into the chapel. "What's the score?"
"Ah, 4-2 dah badhh guys," in a thick wicked Boston accent.
"What da' f***?" remarked another groomsmen.
"Whatda expect when it's just Manny and Papi hitting da' ball."
"Let's get this thing over with so I can see the game," another groomsmen laments.

After the rehearsal we sped violent to the dinner reception. Luck for us it was at a bar/restaurant. The last two innings 3 groomsmen and the groom stood there watching our hopes for a dramatic comeback splash by the torrent freakin White Sox.

"Atleast it's over. We don't have to worry about it tomorrow at the wedding," a groomsmen belted.
"It's just too much," the groom cried out after the last out.
"I've invested way too much time into this team to just quit. I just can't take it. Let's start drinking."

Some people say we invest too much time and energy into meaningless games. Get outta here with that crap. I love the Red Sox and I love the Saints. I will never give up on them even when they suck. That's why when someone tells me the Saints are moving to San Antonio. I just scream back, "I've invested way too much time and energy into that damn team to give up on them now." There my team forever. Unless they change there name to the San Antonio Gaylords and wear Rainbow colored outfits. Then that's it. Still they are my team. So if I win that 340 million powerball, I am buying the Saints and keeping them in New Orleans. Shit, we'll play games at Muss Bertolino playground it we have too. Nobody is going to stop me either.

Otherwise it was a great wedding, typical east coast fall wedding. Rained the entire time. My best friend got married, and became the last of the remaining soldiers to be captured alive. And as for me I have reestablish my love of for the teams with little to no hope.