One of the great things about living in New York City is the wealth of pizza joints. Anywhere you might be, you have a craving for a slice right out of the oven, you can satisfy it. Even the bad ones are good. Garlic knots craving? Check. Italian ice craving? Check. A plain old slice with tomato sauce and cheese? No problem. Chow down.
But as a Sox fan (and as a pizza lover), this instant gratification is, for at least this week to date (and potentially an entire off-season), a haunting in the guise of gustatory satisfaction. See why after the jump.