In a letter to his wife—traveling war correspondent, Martha Gellhorn—a lonely, lovesick Ernest Hemingway penned the line, “Since you’ve left, I’ve had hangovers they could name battleships after.”
It’s a deeply romantic yet brooding mindset, a depiction of a man slipping deeper away from himself. Without the center of his universe keeping him centered, all of the rum in Key West can’t right the ship. He’s empty. He’s lost.
It’s a feeling that can’t be faked, but can be shared. After a dark weekend in Boston, the Yankees, like Papa Hemingway, have a tremendous hangover, caught slipping away from who they are.