"Hell may have no fury like a woman scorned but heaven hath no sweetness like a sports fan vindicated." - Samcat

Friday, February 18, 2005

Them's Fightin' Words!

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(photo from Boston.com)

David Wells on A-Rod:

“I remember reading the press conference or something when he went there. [to New York] He said: ‘When we.’ He said a ‘we’ in his comment about like he’s won three of four rings with them and he hadn’t, and that kind of disturbed me. He shouldn’t put himself in that category. You’ve got to earn it. It’s like he’s been there the whole time.”

I read this on the T this morning, albeit half asleep and drooling in my coffee (you all have Beth and endless one-upmanship on the part of Joaquin Phoenix and Tom Brady to blame for that) and so help me, I thought, “Boomer, you just might fit in here, after all.”

The man has been a member of the Red Sox in an official capacity for one day and he’s already badmouthing a Yankee. Cheers. I still don’t know about the whole Wells thing seeing as how I’ve spent the better part of my life actively hating the man. But, and I say this with more than slight trepidation, if he keeps up the attitude and pitches like he can, especially against the Yankees, I might just let bygones be bygones.

I would, however, prefer that he wore sleeves.

Randy Johnson about the Red Sox:

“I haven’t done anything to them. So they’ll be mad at me if I pitch well against them? Bring it on then.”

Oh, Randy. We’ll forgive you the asinine comment because you’re new here. But come on, man, you’re a reasonably smart guy. You were, if we remember correctly, partially responsible for vanquishing said Yankees on a November night in Arizona a few years ago. And I believe, if my hops-riddled mind is not playing tricks on me, that when your purple-outfitted Diamondbacks came to Boston the following year for an interleague series, you were feted as though you were a local son simply for beating those pinstriped princesses. So this rivalry thing isn’t new to you. Or at least, it shouldn’t be.

He says he knows what he’s gotten himself into. He says he’s up for the challenge. He says he’s ready to win. Okay, have at it, big fella. Jayson Stark doesn’t think you know what you’re in for. He thinks you perhaps might not be familiar with this type of pressure. Let’s leave it to the immortal Billy Joel, shall we?

But you will come to a place
Where the only thing you feel
Are loaded guns in your face
And you'll have to deal with

Hey, the Joelster’s a New Yorker. Maybe he understands.

Oh, Randy. Personally, I would love to see your 6 foot 10 frame crumble under said pressure but I’ve a sneaking suspicion you’re too good for that. Maybe it’ll just mess with your head a bit. Let’s hope there are no roving cameramen in the way.

Some people claim that they don’t like the fact that the players on the Sox and the Yankees appear not to like each other. They say it makes for antagonistic baseball. Me? I freakin’ love it. Much more disturbing to me was watching Jeter slide hard into second and then practically whip out his wallet to share snapshots of his nieces and nephews with Nomar. That shit is upsetting. These teams used to hate each other. There was no love lost between Carlton Fisk and Thurmon Munson. And the games were better for it. Baseball has a tendency to be a gentlemanly, pastoral, “Boys of Summer” type game played in summer twilight with fireflies and gospel choirs humming quietly in the background. I’ll take some fireworks. Some death metal. Some bench-clearing if that’s what it takes to stoke the fires.

Perhaps the whole A-Rod saga is what we needed to get this blood feud started again. Perhaps Varitek’s mitt sammich to Slappy’s overly moisturized face is what it took. Perhaps it was Gary Sheffield’s comments that the Red Sox were a “walking disaster.” To which Johnny Damon replied in true self-deprecating, idiots, fashion, “Give us a little credit. We’re a total disaster.” Whatever it was, I, for one, am happy for it.

No pussyfooting around with the rings. In fact, I would pay real, negotiable American dollars, of which I do not have many, to watch the entire ceremony play out as Red has so brilliantly outlined over here. Real money, people. Let’s make it happen. Let’s then capture the looks on A-Rod’s and the freshly minted Unit’s faces as the pressure mounts and the weight becomes realized. Let’s make it a Kodak moment, splash it across billboards all over the entire six-state New England region and sell postcards featuring “The Slap” and “The Steal.” Greetings from Boston, indeed. Let’s get the blood boiling, people. The season starts soon.

Bring. It. On.