208.8 miles

Sunday afternoon, while I was hungover from a crew wedding and post-euphoric after a wild Red Sox win vs. New York, a friend credentialed to be at the DNC called up on a whim and asked if I was bored.  Would I like to fly up to Boston?  Although I had to be back in time for work the next morning, I immediately said “Sure!”  We made the 4pm USAir Shuttle (side note: Delta is WAY better), got picked up by my brother, and tooled around town for a bit.  The plan was to hit a bar near Fenway to watch the rubber game at 8pm that night.  However, as I walked near Yawkey Way, a nice-looking guy trying to scalp his tickets offered up some really nice grandstand seats for a hundred bucks.  We jumped at them!  The game was fantastic, and I have reaffirmed my baseball nerdiness.  I should probably be amazed that a rivalry can remain so over-hyped and yet consistently deliver upon it time after time, but I’m really not—it’s the Sox.  I crashed that night around 2:30am, and woke up before 5am to steal my brother’s car and commute to work, in Lower Manhattan.  Sleepy driving should be a professional sport.