From Sunday night’s Yanks-Sox game at Fenway Park, to which a friend was good enough to invite me. That is, of course, Derek Jeter at the plate.

Tragically, the Sox won, and the endurance of that injustice required true zen on my part. Not to mention the quiet tolerance of being surrounded by tens of thousands of bloodthirsty, thuggish, semi-literate Sox fans.

(One of whom, seated behind me, repeatedly suggested that Boston pitcher Jon Lester—man, he’s good—hit various Yankee batters in the head. Stay classy, Boston!)

And here was another injustice: Fenway Park stopped selling beer halfway through the fifth inning. (Apparently Sox management knows their fans.) As I was desperately seeking a tall cold one, I bumped into two other Yankees fans in search of the same liquid respite, and we shared a few moments of bafflement together. “What kind of p***y town is this?” said one, and we agreed that Boston was, in fact, lacking in manliness.

On the other hand, Fenway Park, Yanks-Sox, seats between home and first, a cool summer night, in the heat of a pennant race…. You can’t ask for more than that!

All right, that’s not true. I could ask for a Yankees sweep. But I will settle for two out of three at Fenway. And the race, as Jerry used to say, is on!