I Hope It Rains And You Lose

I may be dropping Spanish. There are, you see, eight Tuesdays of class, five of which are cursed with home games.

Now, I know driving to Kenmore Square where my class is on a night when the Red Sox have a game a couple of blocks away is going to be a pain in the ass. I anticipate unholy hordes of drunks piling into and out of their cars for miles around. But I expect that to mainly take place NEAR GAME TIME, not so much two hours beforehand. And so it was that I came to drive very slowly for TWO HOURS in a train of aforementioned drunkenly weaving hordes desperately searching for a parking space, as far away as a 45 minute walk away from where I was going at 5pm tonight. I did not find a parking space. Not ever. To pass the time, I composed a modest proposal whereby everyone wishing to drive to a Red Sox game who doesn't live more than an hour away by car would be taxed, preferably in the form of having to kill one of their loved ones for the privilege (and I mean personally - no hired guns or arranged "accidents" - something really hands on.) I believe they have a similar system in London.

And lo! I see I am not alone - I was just trying to look up the London system, but this is even better. Now excuse me, I've got to go lobby for this to pass. In the suburbs. The far, outlying suburbs, too far away for even the drunkest idiots to park and try to walk to the game from. And I bet when I get there they'll still be there, parking in front of a fire hydrant and stumbling south, towards Fenway, which is deceptively visible from very, very far away.