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

Monday, March 03, 2008

Dance, Dance Revolution!

(Photo from Boston.com)

Amy sent me the above picture yesterday and I opened the email while I was doing that Sunday morning, lazing around on one's couch thing and I laughed and then wrote back to her, "Who made that? Was it Sam?" because it NEVER OCCURRED TO ME THAT IT MIGHT NOT BE A PHOTOSHOP. I never even considered that it might be a real picture. Which, given Papelbon's dancing fool history, might've been a silly assumption. But it's not like people haven't been spending all their free time since October Photoshopping Paps' head onto everything from Russell Crowe's "Gladiator" physique to Michael Flatley's waxed-chest Lord of the Dance.

I guess, according to Paps, we should all be expecting some impressive solo sparkly glove and fedora jobs soon. Michael Jackson videos were apparently his dancing inspiration, you see. Which scares me for a few reasons. One of which is that that's one of those things we would have made up. And another is that I'm not lying when I say that Amy and I spent a fair amount of time at the gym on Saturday "playing basketball" which, of course means "attempting to remember choreography from the 'Thriller' video." And I feel like anything that one has in common with Jonathan Papelbon is one step closer to the nuthouse.

"Gosh," I said, "he sure is special."

Amy responded, "If, in 15 years, there is a tell-all biography, none of the information will surprise me. Closeted transvestite with a speed habit? Yeah, probably. Eats Play-Doh before every game? Sure."

"It's getting to the point," I said, "where it surprises me when he does something normal. 'Jonathan Papelbon had a turkey sandwich and orange soda for lunch.' WHAT?!? Freak."

"Dude, I know."

And this isn't even touching on Dustin Pedroia. Pedroia is the kind of person, we decided, who, when he realizes he's not going to be good at something, makes the biggest, loudest show out of it he possibly can. Because if he's going to be made fun of, it's going to be on his own terms. Which I respect, because I am totally like that. Which is why when I sing along to songs, I do it very loudly and painfully to those around me. I really commit, is what I'm saying. Probably Dustin and I would get along. We could have some road trip sing-a-longs. Some capers, perhaps. I'd get him a stack of phone books and we'd take off down the road singing along to some Air Supply and really committing to it, you know?

I think I just ripped off a Jack Kerouac novel though I remember there being a distinct lack of Air Supply in On the Road and if you ask me, the book is the poorer for it.

Of course, Mike Lowell had to show everyone how it's done for he is Mike Lowell: Professional. He also felt bound to point out that salsa is much more difficult than meringue which is what his teammates had been doing and I, for one, am not going to argue with him. Because if there's one thing I'm even worse at than singing? It's dancing. I know only that Mike Lowell appeared to have stolen something from Dougie's "Miami Leisure Nights" collection as he was swathed in yards and yards of South Beach-type fabric. I'm hoping this was a thematic thing and Lowell hasn't taken to dressing like a Cuban night club owner. Personally, I'm a fan of the suited, Secret Service Agent look.

As for the game, well, apparently Craig Hansen still has some things to work on. Those being "pitching the baseball" and "throwing strikes." Good thing it's still early. The hotly contested Mayor's Cup will have to wait another day.

Oh, and one more thing. Bruins. Shhhhh. That's all I'm gonna say.