Finally, I'm okay. Yesterday was not so good. Intellectually, I knew that it was time to let Manny Ramirez go. I spent all day trying to come to terms with the inevitable. I wrote a little tribute to him to help with the grief. I braced myself as well as I could. Then the news came down and it still managed to be a sickening blow.
Today, mostly, didn't go well either. The mere thought of Manny not being in left field made me teary-eyed. I read The Dugout at work this morning and was pretty close to sobbing. When I got home from work, Michael was playing some baseball video game and when the Manny character came up to bat? Waterworks.
I was pretty reluctant to watch his presser this evening. But I did it and it made things better. Happy Manny is back and I love Happy Manny. Manny is alright, so I can be alright. Regardless of how Lou Merloni thinks I should feel, I loved Manny. I spent so much time defending, protecting, and trying my damnedest to encourage him through the television screen, that he was like my baby. If Manny's good, then I can deal with it. Then I saw the photo. And somehow, the idea of Manny in high-socks made being better/able-to-deal morph into actually being okay.
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