Last night the White Sox beat the Astros 7-5 in the third game of the 2005 world series. The game lasted 14 innings and something like 5 hours, 40 minutes. It was over sometime after 2am, Eastern time. And although I didn't see the first three.5 innings, I did see the last eleven. Minus half of the 8th, when I was in transit to the ER.
See, it all started when my washing machine broke, over 2 weeks ago. Being the lazy bums we are, my roommates and I didn't think too much about it until we started running out of clean clothing. E2 called the Sears guy, who came on Friday at 2:25pm and refused to wait 5 minutes for E2 to come home. So that was a bust. I mentioned our predicament to a few handy people I know, who made suggestions, and one even offered to come take a look at it on Sunday. C. looked, consulted a website and a hardware person, and decided on Monday that he knew what the problem was, and offered to come over Tuesday to fix it.
Tuesday C. came with the appropriate part and we set to work. The front panel flipped up, the case came off, and we were looking at a tub with some parts underneath it. The pump is in front, connected to the motor, and behind the motor was the broken part. With some effort, we disconnected the pump and the motor and looked at the broken part, intact and functioning properly. Hmm. With a great deal more effort, we got the motor back on. (I'm writing "we", but really, C. did all the work, I just handed him tools and held parts out of the way.) It was at this point, I noticed his hand was bleeding. A lot. I took him upstairs, cleaned out his wound, and applied triple antibiotic and a knee band-aid.
We took another look at the washer. The pump wasn't turning, and it looked like it should. We removed the pipes (realizing too late that this would cause water to come pouring out), he poked something in the pump input, and pulled out a sock. Voila! Problem solved! We reassembled the thing, plugged it in, and tried it out. It worked! And C. was still bleeding. Like, dripping with blood.
By this time, L. and E2 had come home and celebrated in the sock extraction, and they helped C. re-bandage his wound, this time with a fair amount of gauze and medical tape that L. had bought to tape the bottom of her shoes (to make them slippery for dancing). After cleaning up our project, I offered C. a beer and dinner. We ate, then we all sat down to check out the game.
Inning 4 was exciting: the Astros were up 3-0, and then hit a homer. They still had a chance in this series. In inning 5, the White Sox racked up 5 runs, and two innings later the Astros changed pitchers. Around the start of the 8th, I got up and noticed that C. was bleeding again. The gauze was bright red, and when he pulled up his sleeve, so was his entire forearm. And there was a spot about 6 inches across on his jeans.
After another cleaning, we decided a trip to the ER was preferable to waking up in a pool of blood... or not waking up in a pool of blood. I made L. and E2 come along, since I'd never been to an ER before. We checked in, registered, etc. The best part of that was when the nurse asked him to rate the pain on a scale of 0 to 10. He said, "Zero. . . . Point five." Tough guy, eh?
After that, it was mostly waiting. The Astros had an 8th inning rally, tying the game at 5-5, where it stayed until the top of the 14th, when C. went to get 4 stitches and the Sox relief pitcher #9 hit a two run homer, only his second homer of the season. And we went home.