Holla!

That's right kids, it's nearly hockey season. I can't be the only one who's excited, can I? Even if your excitement is based solely on the fact that the Bruins couldn't POSSIBLY suck more than they did last season, well, that's something, ain't it?

Also? HANNU IS BACK! Along with Tim Thomas, Toivonen returns to mind the net for the B's. I'm excited because, dudes, I love me some Hannu. He played reigning Calder Cup winner Andrew "dull as a rusty razor" Raycroft right outta a job last season. But, as if I needed more of a reason to love the dude, apparently he's taking uniform inspiration this season from French-Canadian goalie Denis Lemieux from the film "Slap Shot." I believe you all know how I feel about "Slap Shot." According to the Bruins press release:

//You see Hannu is wearing a replica of the fictional goalie's mask, and his pads are colored to look like the old leather pads worn by fashionable keepers into the late 1980's.

Taking a queue from the famous movie and hoping to play off the Bruins vintage third jerseys, which are made to look like the B's 1966-67 sweater, Toivonen is sure to cut quite the profile this year as he skates onto TD Banknorth Garden ice.//

AWESOME.

I mean, none of us knows how the season is going to play out for the Bruins. They could suck mightily or they could...suck slightly less mightily. I'm willing to lay bets only on Zdeno Chara skating clean over someone at some point because 7 feet tall with skates on is not be be trifled with. But aside from that, who knows? That said, might as well have a little fun with our hockey, eh? Bring on the season!

Many Happy Returns Doesn't Quite Seem Appropriate

I would ask what I missed but I am 100% certain that I don't want to know. Look, just because I decided to quit life for a few days and behave like an irresponsible teenager (albeit one with a legal right to drink alcohol), does not mean that the Red Sox and Patriots were free to do the same. Kee-rist. Some things have to stay the same around here and when I come back to a smoking crater of suck, it's nearly enough to get me to turn that Zipcar right around again and head for parts unknown.

I cannot leave those jerks alone for one, single, solitary second.

So I shall focus on the good things that happened when I was gone. All two of them:

Thing one: David Ortiz set the single season Red Sox home run record. This apparently happened on Thursday while I was at a concert as The Rick called me to yell at me because I wasn't at my post. To make it up to him, and to Papi, Amy told the rock star about it on Friday. We are spreading the good word, people. David Ortiz deserves that much.

Thing two: Laurence Maroney, in addition to being a freakin' kickass running back, is also evidently a capable receiver. Who knew? The only problem with this is that since we have no actual receiving corps to speak of, he might be forced to catch the ball more than originally planned. Which poses an issue of another sort considering that now Corey Dillon is apparently hurt. And there we go with the bad things again.

Man, the Patriots are supposed to be the good child too.

I understand that sports can't always be sunshine and bunnies and roses on mountaintops. But it'd be nice to return to everyday life without seeing that things had been shot completely to hell. Although, I suppose if we're speaking karmically, I'm in for a little suck on the part of my sports teams. But they best rest assured, from here on out, I WILL BE WATCHING. And they best make me proud. Or at the very least, I don't want to have to don the paper bag.

Off Behaving Irresponsibly

Back Monday, (allegedly).

Does everyone know their place on the bail phone tree?

Does "RB" Stand for "Robot?"

(photo from Boston.com)

Corey Dillon gets down with his bad self.

So this alleged running game of ours? It can stay. What are the odds that Laurence Maroney jerseys are flying off the shelves?

Not that it wasn't interesting. Because it was, unecessarily so. A 24-0 halftime lead shouldn't end in a relative nailbiter but hey, we're New England, our sports teams don't do things the easy way around here.

Although whoever said that the Patriots need to finish tackles that they start (I believe it was Rodney Harrison), was absolutely correct. You must sit on the ball carrier until he cries for mercy, gentlemen. He must be all the way down. And he must take a while to get up. However, this was the second game in a row without an unecessary roughness penalty against Mr. Harrison. What's that all about? It's almost not a real football game unless Rodney crushes someone's will to live. And we were playing the Jets, quarterbacked by the owner of, in my opinion, the most punchable face in the NFL. You're telling me that Rodney didn't want a piece of that? I won't believe you.

Now, before I continue, allow me to delve just a bit more into this "punchable" Chad Pennington thing. Some may argue that the most punchable face in the NFL belongs to Peyton Manning, or Mike Vanderjadt or perhaps Terrell Owens. But personally, I'd much rather release a haymaker in Pennington's direction. Because while those other guys surely annoy the piss out of me on a regular basis, at least they're, you know, good. Pennington thinks he's good. He's gone so far as to chastise the New York media for being too negative in reporting on the Jets and his performances in particular. But I'm not buying it. He's one of those QBs that the NFL keeps trying to convince me is spectacular (like Culpepper or Plummer or Bledsoe) and I'm just not seeing it. Plus, he's a smug little bastard. Come on, you're telling me you don't want to punch this guy? He looks like, when he's not playing football, he's captaining the sailboat that his daddy bought him while wearing a pink, popped collar polo shirt and a sweater knotted over his shoulder. All he's missing is a roman numeral in his name.

And yes, before you say it, I'm sure there are plenty of people who want to punch Tom Brady too. But Tom Brady is actually quite awesome at the football thing. And also I love him and he's better than you. So nyah!

So, who else predicted that that last field goal was gonna be blocked? The way things were going, you could just feel it. Poor New Kicker. It really wasn't his fault. I'm gonna have to agree with Amy and say that I want a jersey that says "New Kicker" on the back.

Oh, and Tedy. God, I love me some Tedy Bruschi. Please don't ever leave me again. And use that cast to knock around some QBs. Pennington or otherwise.

And for those of you who are interested, I believe the tally on Manning-related or Manning-adjacent commercials sits somewhere around 7,536. Uncle. Enough already.

Talk Amongst Yourselves

Look, I don't have anything to say about the MVP race. I don't read whatever the hell the papers are trying to tell me because I'd prefer to make up my own mind. Also? I can't stand that smug bastard who plays shortstop for the Yankees so I'd just rather not talk about it.

Baseball has been rather uninspiring of late so owing to that and some real life obligations/vision quests (heh), updates may be a bit sporadic for a short time. But rest assured, I'm not dead. And I've only been arrested if you find yourself getting a phone call asking for money for bail as part of the phone tree I've put in place.

Talk amongst yourselves.

A Series of Letters Concerning Yesterday's Football Contests

(All photos from Boston.com)

Dear Patriots Running Game:

<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

Love,
Kristen

*******

Dear Offensive Line:

Tom Brady does not belong ass-backwards on the ground. Knock it off and sack up.

Kthnx,
Kristen

*******

Dear Laurence Maroney:

I think we're going to get along just fine.

Heart,
Patriots Fans

*******

Dear Troy Brown:

Don't ever leave me.

All my love,
Tom Brady

*******

Dear Deion:

Wide receivers? We don't NEED no stinkin' wide receivers!

Sucka,
Kevin Faulk

*******

Dear Defense:

Thanks for showing up. Finally.

Pats fans

*******

Dear New Kicker Guy:

Don't worry, we hardly remember that other guy anyway. Promise.

Love,
New England

*******

Dear Richard Seymour:

I created a dance creatively titled the "Richard Seymour Was Involved In A Key Defensive Play" Dance. There's a lot of spinning involved. I'm kinda dizzy. But don't worry, I didn't throw up on your jersey. Yet.

Kisses,
Kristen

*******

Dear JP Losman,

Just throw it away. Don't take the safety. Throw it away. They're going to find you and it's going to be ugly. Trust me. I know. I've been there.

Regards,
Peyton Manning

*******

Dear Team:

What the shit was that? You think you're gonna be able to pull that shit with the Jets next week? Don't think so. You better get on the fucking stick, boys. This isn't pre-season anymore. Don't make me cut you.

Signed,
Bill

*******

It's the best I could do after dry-heaving my way through the game, urbanzing the shit out of my Willie McGinest jersey with the aide of some medical tape and a black Sharpie to make it a Junior Seau jersey, drinking entirely too many beers in succession, creating new dances for touchdowns, field goals and stellar defensive plays and being subjected to approximately 4,874 commercials involving one, two or three members of the Manning family. From now on, I want certain games declared Manning-Free Zones. I've had enough.

Also, Golden Boy Matt Leinart has apparently knocked someone up. Who had September 10th in the pool? And she's a USC basketball player too. So, to overuse what is surely the most popular joke regarding Leinart's situation, even though both of them are Trojans, neither one of them understand the concept. Right, like I wasn't already going to hell.

Other games I paid attention to for obvious or stupid reasons:
Tampa Bay? Ouch.
Denver: It doesn't bode well if Jim Nantz says, following your game, "If you're relying on Jake Plummer to save your season, you're fucked." (I'm paraphrasing).
Manning Bowl: I actually said, out loud, in front of witnesses, "Come on, Eli!" I hate myself. But I hate the Mannings more.

Now, who's excited about football season?

I'll Take Option "C"

As we all know, the NFL season kicks off tonight. (Heh, "kicks off." See what I did there?)

Also, if you didn't know that the season starts tonight, I'd ask you kindly to put down the Krazy Glue and back away from the computer because how the hell did you get here?

Anyway, the season, she starts tonight. With a matchup between the Miami Dolphins and the Pittsburgh Steelers (minus Baby Ben because he go esplody). Apparently there's to be all kinds of country music shenanigans as well. Ew. (Sorry, Amanda!). But what I want to know is, in a match-up between Division Rival-Miami and Team I Just Don't Like, No, Sir, Not At All-Pittsburgh, is it too soon for me to start rooting for Team Rogue Meteorite? Because I demand an Option C. I demand a "none of the above."

Because, did you hear? Sports Illustrated is picking the Dolphins to win the division and eventually meet Carolina in the Super Bowl. Where Carolina will win. Two things. Thing the first: I am nearly positive that this is like the fifteenth straight year that SI has chosen Carolina as the eventual Super Bowl winner. Evidently they'll just keep picking them until they're right. And thing the second: Someone at Sports Illustrated loves them some teal and aqua. Because they are letting 12-year-old girls wearing leggings and putting Lisa Frank dolphin stickers all over their Trapper Keepers pick the Super Bowl teams now. Wow.

But none of that matters at the moment because...FOOTBALL! Real, live, fancy, hot, sweaty football! In a matter of hours. Thank god.

Kason Gabbard is a Real Boy!

(photo from Yahoo! Sports)

I am going to say this very slowly so we all understand it. The Red Sox won a 1-0 game pitched by Kason Gabbard. Yeah, that's not a typo. 1-0. Against the White Sox. Defending World Series Champion White Sox if you want to get technical about it. With Kason Gabbard pitching? Who? Exactly.

Now, I know I've made mention of that fact that I'm actually capable of controlling the world with my mind, but this is starting to get ridiculous. I said yesterday, in this very space, "I suppose anything can happen. He could be the second coming of Cy Young." Clearly, I don't even know my own powers.

So here's what I propose: For the rest of the season, no one with an actual name is allowed to pitch for this team. No "Josh," no "Curt," no "Matt" (heh, right), no "Mike" and no "Jonathan." From now on, only people with made up names can pitch. We can re-christen them if need be, but no pitchers with names that don't cause standardized test scorers to weep will be allowed. After all, Kason Gabbard is an anagram for, among other things, "A Bag Drank SOB" and "A Barb Sank Dog." So I'll be taking suggestions for the rest of the pitching staff to get this campaign off the ground. Just imagine what we can do with a Toots O'Conran and a Timeddy Briggs. Big things, people, I see big things.

Also? Alex Gonzalez. Sole RBI. Damn straight.* By the way, Alex Gonzalez is an anagram for "A Ax Gel Nozzle. " Did someone say "gel nozzle?" That can only mean one thing: Mike Vrabel. And Mike Vrabel means football. 'Bout damn time.

*Edit: Check that. It was Coco with the sole RBI. I think I just wanted it to be Gonzalez because that would have irritated Marianne more. Heh.

Right Back Where We Started From

(photo from Yahoo! Sports)

I don't know why, but in my head, Carlos Pena is a tiny, wee, little baby baseball player. But this is not true. He's older than me. He's a big boy. And he can hit big boy home runs. I do think it's kind of cool that I was at Fenway a little over a week ago for the Futures at Fenway doubleheader when he hit a 2-run home run that ended up being the game winner and now he's hitting walk-offs, Papi style. I mean, I'm not as happy as Carlos Pena, but come on, who is?

I would also like to mention that I'm completely terrified of the fact that in the last week, the Red Sox have won two games that Julian Tavarez has started. And Tavarez has pitched exceptionally well. Because if one of the Gas Can Twins who is, technically, a reliever, has been our most reliable starter of late, we're clearly heading down a slope of madness and tears. Not that I won't give Tavarez credit, because that's impressive. But I'm also going to be looking over my shoulder for the plague of locusts and the fire falling from the sky.

I'm almost anxious to see what happens next. Almost.

Of course, tonight someone with the alleged name of "Kason Gabbard" takes the mound so...I suppose anything can happen. He could be the second coming of Cy Young or he could pitch like someone who's nurse screwed up on his birth certificate and drunkenly scribbled in "Kason" instead of an actual name. I guess we'll just have to wait and see.

The good news, however, is that Trot, Wily Mo, Manny, Tek and Gonzalez returned to the lineup. Trot promptly got drilled, Wily Mo promptly struck out, Manny promptly got a standing ovation, Tek promptly popped out to short and Gonzalez promptly made some sexy defensive plays and provoked Amy and I to bring about the return of Nickelback mojo, much to Marianne's chagrin. Neverthelss, it's great to see these guys back. Although I was slightly dismayed not to see them wrapped in bubble wrap and packing tape. Because, if you'd been around to see my complete break with reality on Friday night, (only halted when Marianne force-fed me a mug of tequila), you would understand that another injury on the Red Sox will be enough to send me COMPLETELY over the edge. It won't be pretty.

In completely unfunny news, we should all be pulling for Jon Lester. It's a horrible thing when we're jerked back to reality when something like this happens and we realize that baseball, as much as it consumes us, is just a game. So learn what you can, do what you can, and support Lester as he deals with this. Some things are bigger than baseball.