Hello, my name is Kason and I'll be your pitcher this evening.

So...the Kason and Jason Show. Who'da guessed it, huh? I mean, the whole Jason Varitek coming up with two outs and the bases loaded and NOT striking out on a high fastball is really quite something. But that combined with someone who calls himself "Kason" pitching quite well indeed against the Braves - who are no slouch of a team - and getting himself a win in his call up is a possible sign that the apocalypse is nigh.

But I will take it. I am not complaining. No, sirs. I won't even complain about Brendan Donnelly wearing his "hating fun" goggles today and necessitating Javier Lopez heroics. Because, in the end, it didn't matter a bit.

Perhaps it was a long night for Tim Hudson at Crossroads last night?

So, go Mets? Honestly, at this point, I don't even know what to think of the Yankees and what keeps happening to them. I caught a small moment of a Brian Cashman interview on XM today and the man soundly utterly defeated. Not that he doesn't always sound roughly four seconds away from a complete and total nervous breakdown that'll have him running naked through the Bronx with a Santa Claus hat on his head and singing songs from Rent, but he sounded positively distraught. Last night, Yankee Call-up #264B, Darrell Rasner fell prey to the Yankee Injury Jinx when a comebacker to the mound fractured his finger. I mean, honestly, what is going on there? I'm not complaining, mind you, but I think Marianne might be right when she said that Mystique and Aura have been replaced by Karma. And Karma's a bitch.

Of course, that has me completely terrified. Because things are not supposed to be this easy. We're supposed to have a struggle on our hands. We're supposed to scratch and grab and claw for wins and a foothold in the division. We're supposed to drink too much and have indigestion and lose sleep and throw things.

It's like this: I don't know if y'all have ever seen the episode of Sex and the City where Carrie starts having panic attacks because her relationship with Aidan appears perfect and stress free, but it's kind of like that. She's not used to the perfection and the effortless nature of things. She's used to drama and tears and heartache. Sounds like a typical Red Sox season to me.

Maybe a better analogy is that I feel like I'm out for a nice cruise, enjoying the water and the sunshine and the breeze and then, all of a sudden a great white leaps out of the water and lands on my boat, causing mayhem and chaos.

Or perhaps I watch too much TV.

It's like Beth said, a world championship three years ago - while amazing and wonderful and fantastic - doesn't undo 86 years of classical conditioning. And she's right, we're waiting for the other shoe to drop. Maybe it's the Beckett thing. Maybe it's not. But I know only that this placidity and awesome baseball is INCREDIBLY nerve-wracking.

However, for the time being, I shall try my best to enjoy it. Because this is baseball, and it's supposed to be fun.

Now, I'm off to cheer on the Mets and create the latest installment of my new favorite TV show, Mike Lowell: Super Spy.