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

Friday, May 18, 2007

The Name is Tek, Varitek

You know, y'all are lucky that I spend as much time as I do talking complete nonsense about the Red Sox and baseball in general. Because it provides me with lots of material to share with you (probably against the better judgment of nearly every psychiatric professional out there) when there are rain delays or the like.

So, along those lines, Marianne and I got talking the other night about the whole re-emergence of Tek this season and how, not only is he hitting quite respectably (.282), but he just LOOKS GOOD. Like, really good. Of course, last year in about August the wheels came off and 'Tek got hurt and the team got cancer and what have you and really, no one looked good. But I think this goes beyond his exfoliating routine or something. Because he just looks healthy, and virile and rawr, baseball! Annette claims that he's just gay for good pitching which is where all the smiles and jokes are coming from. And perhaps that's true. But I think it's something else.

So then we got talking about Mike Lowell and how he's quietly batting .317 and playing stellar defense and just generally being awesome and snarky and awesome and good at baseball and flashing the slow burn smile and have I mentioned awesome? He's just very dashing, that Mike Lowell. (I won't call his defense "sexy" again because the last time I did that, he got all flustered and make like twelve errors in an inning or something). But suffice it to say, Mike Lowell rocks.

So we decided that those two, Tek and Lowell, are up to no damn good. They've formed some kind of partnership and we figured that they spend their off days in other cities dressing in business suits and wearing dark sunglasses and pretending to be international business men, on trips of great importance. Or perhaps Lowell plays the businessman and Tek plays his bodyguard and walks around with a silver briefcase handcuffed to his wrist. This has to happen in other cities, mind you, because there aren't many places in Boston where those two could go without being recognized but they do enjoy the danger of the unknown. Perhaps they pretend to be spies as well, dealing with issues of crucial importance in matters of national security. They probably even have the dark suits and earbuds. Maybe they spend some time riding the Downeaster and moving rapidly from car to car and attaching blinky light thingies to the undersides of seats and such as my obsessive Alias watching has taught me that's what spies do. They probably drink a lot of single malt scotch and martinis too. I peg Lowell as the martini drinker while Tek gets down with the scotch.

This happens, of course, after they're done wine tasting and scrapbooking with my mom.

Perhaps the role-playing is the reason for the resurgence of awesome. Maybe it's just the joy at the friendship of two like-minded dudes who happen to play baseball for a living and, in complete bafflement to them, seem to have women totally enthralled with them. Perhaps they just like wearing suits and looking dashing and saying things like, "The eagle flies at dawn, 10-4, Night Ranger, we're on a go pattern."

And honestly, you might say we're just completely barking mad and pull this shit out of thin air but if Tavarez can admit to a childhood ambition as an adult film star, really, NOTHING is off limits. The problem with that admission, of course, is that when one conjures up a mental image, one can't NOT see it. I think we're onto something here.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go scrub my brain with Clorox.