
"You messed up, dood."
The hotdogs
were cheaper.
It seemed
so logical at the time.
By the time
Sox Blogette met me at the Lower Depths last
night, Charlie
Zink had already retired the side in the top of the first. I had half a
beer left. Rather than book it on over to Yawkey Way and pay four bucks for a
Fenway Frank, we figured we’d just stay put, order another quick round, watch
the bottom of the inning on TV, and avail ourselves of the Depths’ dollar hotdog
deal.