Off-Season.

I was supposed to go apple picking yesterday. Believe it or not, despite having grown up about a mile away from an apple orchard and living in New England for ten years, I’ve never been. I made apple picking a New Year’s resolution several years in a row when I moved back from New York, determined to enjoy all a New England fall had to offer. Yet things always came up – the weather didn’t cooperate, we were too late in the season, none of my friends and I could coordinate our schedules to find a weekend that worked, etc., etc., etc.

Earlier this week though, one of my friends and I finally pulled our schedules together. We picked a date, an orchard, a meet-up time. The weather forecast was perfect – sunny, mild, lovely. I turned 30 just under a month ago and I was finally – at long last – going apple picking.

Best laid plans.

Twenty four hours ago there was another thing I’d never done in all my years. Attend a Major League Baseball play-off game. At Fenway. With the Sox playing the Angels, fighting to stay alive and continue their climb to the World Series.

You can imagine, as excited as I was about apple picking, what my decision was come Saturday morning when I learned a friend of mine had an extra ticket to Sunday’s game.

I love apples, don’t get me wrong, but this is what they call a no-brainer.

Yesterday dawned sunny and bright and beautiful. Sox gear was donned, a trek over to Fenway park was made, excitement and confidence coursed through the stadium. All was right with the world. Until. Suddenly, it wasn’t.

If you’re a Red Sox fan, you know how this story ends. If you’re not, well, let’s just say I’d rather not talk about it. The final two innings were the most stressful in my life – in fact, I don’t imagine I took more than one breath during the last half hour of that game. The life was sucked out of Fenway the moment the Angels ran out onto the field in celebration; our descent back to Yawkey Way was so quiet you literally could have heard a pin drop. To be blunt, it was awful.

Oh there’s 2010, better days ahead, chin up, BELIVE, and all that. I know. For a girl who made it inside Fenway so many times this season she sort of lost count (13? 14? games?) I should count my blessings, be happy we made it to the playoffs, and move on to bigger and brighter things. And I will.

But today, I’m wallowing. This morning I took down the team schedule from my cubicle wall, avoided the front page of the Globe, and shed a few tears with some of my co-workers.

Another season, over.

At least it’s only five months until April. Maybe I’ve got time to pick some apples between now and then.