The Sox are back already, and the season is starting strong. This is a sweet relief for baseball fans around New England, the sighs of contentment can be heard up and down the seaboard. The boys are back, and the curse has been reversed. That's right, the curse is gone, no more bitter disappointments and laments of failure. The slate has been wiped clean, but the remains of that slate seemed to drift northward just a tad. That's right, the curse may be gone, but it didn't disappear, it landed flat on my lap during the final moments of game four of the World Series while I was drinking some Kool-aid and munching on Nachos, stone faced in disbelief.

People often observed me as living a charmed life. Incredible opportunities and experiences seemed to arise often and easily. During this phase, I never took my eyes off of the prize, I worked hard throughout it, making those moments all the more special. Sure, I managed to botch a lot of things with my home improvement ineptitude, but the girls still dug me, so that evened things out a bit. Tit for a tat, they say.

Then this frikking curse hit. The Red Sox, dousing each other in champagne, lifted the spirits of the die-hard supporters, but the wee-willy voodoo vibes of this curse entered my house and searched for me. I 'm not sure where these vibes penetrated my cash vacuuming bunker, because it surely couldn't have been my floor drain, that was clogged, which I would soon find out about just a mere five months later, when my house attempted to set sail down route 302 during a rain storm.

Then I thought; could it have been when I was not there? Perhaps it was while I was writing a check, or when I was at the police station after someone decided to break into my home and steal a bunch of stuff? Yeah, that may have been it. Maybe it was when I was in the trauma unit with a compression fracture to my vertebrae? Hmm. Oh no, perhaps it was when my car was sent back to an incompetent dealer to be fixed SIX times, only to pay a bunch of money and have it not work. That may be it. Or it could have been when I was at a dog radiologist being told it would take just a little over two thousand bucks to get her walking normally. I'm not sure. but hell, but at least the Red Sox won, right?

Hey Pedro, You can take that World Series ring and send it over here, priority mail, STAT. Perhaps I can pawn it at the same place the scumbag(s) decided to go to dump my girlfriend's jewelry. I can take that money to pay for the ten thousand dollar vinyl siding job that needs to be done in a couple of months. Or taxes, which I haven't started yet, because I've been too busy handing over everything I've worked for to complete strangers with company cars and name tags. I'd appreciate it man, good luck this year. You're awesome.

No apologies friends, whatever it takes to get this curse lifted. I won't whine about a thing anymore if it could just leave me, and head back to Boston where it came from. Let me live the American dream. The American dream would be great, but I can't dream, because I don't sleep well due to back pain, burglars, floods, pugs, or car dealers. If I could get these monkeys off of my back, perhaps that dream will be all right. Play ball!