Even if you’re going to try to stir your New England clam chowder with a wrist brace on, you should at least think about taking the brace off before you try to clean up the mess you’re going to make when you spill the stuff all over the stove top. That’s today’s cooking tip, but there’s more here than meets the eye.

Before I get to that, though, let me warn you that stirring without the brace is asking for trouble. Or rather, pain. It’s asking for pain, which is the reason I’ve made instant pudding only that one time since this affliction started, uh, afflicting me.

The main reason (and really, the only legitimate reason) that I was eating soup at all tonight was because my stomach has been giving fits all day. I don’t think any more details than that are needed, except to say I spent a lot of time groaning. Out loud. To myself.

The reason the soup of choice was chowder was that I didn’t really have a choice. The only other canned soup (and believe me, I wasn’t up to cooking anything from scratch tonight) in the cupboard was tomato soup (which would have been okay; I like tomato soup, but at this point it reminded me of something I didn’t want to be reminded of; again, enough details).

Anyway, it was the fourth inning when I put the chowder on the stove. And it was the fifth when I remembered to turn the burner on, so I didn’t get around to eating anything until the sixth. By then I was getting a little light-headed and mildly delirious (as you can probably tell).

What I was thinking was, the New England Patriots (that’s a football team) have won a record 21 games in a row, the Boston Red Sox are just about to complete a sweep for their first World Series win since 1918, and John Kerry is going to sweep to victory next Tuesday. (Even the Bruins will be tied for first place all season, wink wink. And didn’t Boston use to have a basketball team?) So how better to celebrate than with a hot bowl of New England clam chowder? I mean, really?

It’s a good thing the Red Sox won tonight, or I might have been accused of jinxing them. Because every true baseball fan knows that my eating habits have the power to perpetuate a curse that began in 1918. There have been premature celebrations before, you know. Sometimes you have to climb as high as possible before the fickle finger of fate flicks you back down to the ground. Something went horribly right this time, as far as Red Sox fans are concerned.