It's been a cruel waiting period in between games and I've hated every minute of it. I wake up in cold sweats, wet dreams have ruined the sheets, and The Cure's "Friday I'm in Love" on repeat at late hours of the night is enough to safely say that if I continue this for another week, I'll soon be dead.

It's as if the tickets for Friday afternoon's game are taunting me at will-call. Calling me a tubby bitch, and threatening to take my mother out for a nice seafood dinner and never her calling again.

Yes, I'm keenly aware that the first game of the series is on Thursday, but goddammit I have tickets to Friday's game so that's more important in my life. I'll watch Thursday's game from my couch praying that our puppy doesn't shit in my lap (potty training isn't going well).

I have nothing left to do but wait. Wait for the Dodgers to begin to take that final step toward an achievement most of us younger fans haven't had the pleasure in celebrating, or at least vividly remember celebrating -- a World Series. The dream was stolen last year by these same Phillies, and I'd love nothing more than to destroy them as quickly and with as much pain as possible.

The wait continues one more day.