Ever since I’ve been brought into the Over The Monster family, I’ve had the privilege of writing these little articles in plenty of places: a bedroom, an in-laws house, the john, you name it.
One place I haven’t done so is an entirely different continent. That changes now.
I’m writing this piece on my phone’s notes app in Ireland (which could explain any typos that are sure to follow). I have no clue where in the old country I’ll be when you’re reading this, but I’m typing it on the road from County
Mayo (the home of the 2026 GAA football champions, I’ll have you know) to County Donegal along the Wild Atlantic Way. It’s about noontime, the rain’s coming down, and we miraculously haven’t crashed the rental van while driving on the other side of the road (yet).
What they say about the Guinness here is true, by the way: it really does taste better. It’s smoother and more velvet-y. I’ll have to report back if I find a Dunks, though. Before you ask: yes, of course I brought a Sox hat for the trip. We also met a horse named George. But I digress.
I’ve always wanted to visit Ireland, and this isn’t meant to come off as a complaint, but it’s a strange time for a Red Sox man to be going away off the grid for a few days, isn’t it?
Here we are on the doorstep of the postseason with a winning record already secured. The American League remains wide open for the taking. We could be in for a very memorable few weeks….and yet I have no frame of reference for this week whatsoever.
It’s a bit jarring to be unplugged and away from the team you’ve made a habit of watching basically every night for half a year. I suppose that happens at the end of the season for any Sox fan, sure, but it’s weird to have that feeling while you know that the action’s still going on. To be disassociated when you could previously recall where you were for every other major moment in the season—any of the miraculous comeback wins, Cora’s firing, the trade deadline, you name it—is a big change.
It’s not like a situation where the action’s accessible, either. We’re five hours ahead of Boston as it stands—the games start when we’re hitting the sack after a long day of doing a ton of Irish shit. These fine folks in Ireland don’t know what a NESN is. I can’t really check Twitter unless I’m on wifi, and even then the time difference means that some of y’all may not even be around to catch me up. I can watch highlights, but I still feel detached from what’s actually been happening if I have to rely on them. I don’t feel connected to just highlights, you know what I mean?
It’s nice to unplug; in fact, I should probably do it more often. It’s just a strange feeling to have absolutely nothing to go off of for a few sets of games. Tolle’s immaculate inning the other night? I only heard of it from my dad briefly. That 3-2 loss to the Angels? Only knew about it once I got internet connection on the plane before landing in Shannon. This whole week of games coming up? Won’t have a clue what happens. For a season that could very possibly be one to never forget, I’ll have a stretch where I can’t ever remember what happened! It’s strange!
My dad actually had this sensation happen to him in 1978, but dialed up to 11. He went to Ireland in the middle of August while the Sox were up by double-digit games (he thinks it was 14 games, but I’m not gonna push him to dig deeper because he’s gotta focus on the road here in the old country), and he returned to find the Sox clinging to a mere one-game lead in early September. You probably know the rest of the ‘78 story from there.
The guy REALLY didn’t have any connection to the Sox at that point; Irish newspapers sure as hell weren’t printing MLB scores back in the day. What I’m experiencing now is nowhere near as jarring as popping off of a plane only to learn that a two week lead on the rest of the pack has basically evaporated, but it’ll be interesting to learn what I missed once I’m home… and I sure as hell hope we don’t get a 1978 repeat in 2026.
