Playing The Role of Ike Turner tonight...The Tampa Bay Devil Rays

This was one of the worst days that I've had in recent memory.

Worst than when I broke up with my girlfriend for the second time a couple of months ago. While I could barely get up to go to work that morning...at least I got to see a great movie (Batman Begins) to lift my spirits.

Worse than my return from Atlanta in the beginning of August. I only got into a car accident leaving the hotel parking lot, got lost going to the airport due to bad directions. Lose my work cellphone rushing to catch my plane. Do my best OJ Hertz imitation....Only to find out the flight was delayed by two hours!!

No, Thursday night was much worse. For one, I had a ton of work drama. Because I have a IQ over 10, I'm not going to go into detail on the internet for obvious reasons. Let's just say it wasn't fun.

I thought an escape from the drama was in the offing. I was headed to my Fortress of Solitude, Yankee Stadium. I was sure that despite the problems the Bombers have had with Tampa, that they surely wouldn't add to my agita. They surely brighten my spirits by ending the series on a high note. And go into this weekend's series with Infidel Nation with some momentum.

Instead, the Rays put on their wife-beaters and pummelled us. Ike Turner would have been proud. Mike Tyson would have had Robin Givens flashbacks. Chien Ming Wang tried to battle for five innings. But Mark Hendrickson looked like a 6-10 Greg Maddux circa 1993 for six innings. And when we tried to mount a comeback. We got smacked down again. We lost 7-4...lost the Wild-Card lead to Cleveland and failed to gain a game on the Sux who were shut out by the Angels.

I asked Sinister and Apocalypse, how this could happen. I thought they had Lou under control. They said that they did. Which lead me to this conclusion.....We're Jodie Foster in Taxi Driver and the Rays are Harvey Keitel. Our pimp. Our daddies. And unless Travis Bickle comes to the rescue, there's not a damn thing we can do about it.

You thought that that would be enough misery for a night. Right? Obviously, I must have killed villages of cripple children in a past life. Because someone's getting some serious payback.

It must have been National Retard night at the stadium, because we had ton of them in our section. Yelling at the top of their lungs for no reason at all. Screaming at every Yankee flyball thinking it's a homerun. Screaming Boston Sucks when we're playing Tampa!!

Imagine an entire section of folks like Leo DiCaprio's character in Gilbert Grape and Blair's cousin Gheri from the Facts of Life. That'll give you an idea of how maddening it was watching that debacle of a game. After a absolutely horrible day at work.

And to top it off, they sent us on our unhappy way with the godawful sounds of Liza Minelli!

You'd never know that I was on the wagon. Because I feel like it was backed up several times on head!

I'm going to bed. Hopefully, I'll just die in my sleep.