CALL ME SNAKE

The Celtics are off until tomorrow, and the Red Sox haven’t played since we last spoke, which leaves me with absolutely nothing to talk about. Nothing, for those who love to “parse,” is short for “not a thing,” which sums it up pretty well. No news may or may not be good news, but it’s definitely nothing, or “not a thing” if you prefer the more longwinded phrasing. I could, of course, talk about Terry Francona, who’s now undergoing tests at Massachusetts General Hospital after experiencing “chest pains,” but I’d rather not go into someone else’s medical condition without an obvious payoff to my legions of readers. Why waste your time? (I don’t need an editor because I’m very hard on myself and am, in all honesty, the toughest editor you can find. If it doesn’t make me laugh–and I’m talking about a real belly laugh, not just a chortle or a guffaw–it won’t make the cut. “This isn’t funny,” I often find myself saying. Or, to put it in other terms, “I’m not laughing.” “Where’s the humor in someone else’s misfortunes?” is another query I put to myself. The point I’m trying to make here is simple: I don’t write unless I have something truly important to say. I’m too busy and–to give you the benefit of the doubt–you are too.)

But maybe there’s something wrong with me. Just because the Celtics or Red Sox have not played doesn’t mean there’s nothing else worth discussing. Perhaps, as many people have suggested, I should establish some sort of “inner life.” That’s an interesting idea, which I just might look into–that is if I ever find a moment where I have nothing of great significance to report on.