Basegirl

Movin' on up

2010-04-05T09:13:00.005-04:00

Hey guys. It's me. Remember me? Anyway, I promised I'd be back up for Opening Day and there I am, over at my new Wordpress account at:

http://basegirl.wordpress.com/

Eventually - like in a month or so - I'll set it up (or rather HJ will because he's the fancy techy one), so that Basegirl on Blogger automatically redirects to the new site. But for the time being, I'll leave it to you to update your links and what not. You're smart people, I know you can do it.

So come join me at the new home, won't you? And pardon the look of the place until I get a handle on things. In my brain, it's still 1998, internet-wise, so it may take a few weeks to get things looking pretty over there.

As always, thanks for reading. You guys are the best readers a girl could ask for. Oh, and Go Sox!

Under Construction

2010-03-10T10:14:00.002-05:00

Please forgive the lack of posts around here lately. I haven't gone anywhere, promise. I'm in the process of migrating this blog over to a Wordpress format and there are plenty of formatting issues I still need to work out.

But never fear, I will return shortly. I hope to have everything up and running on the new URL by Opening Day. As always, thanks for reading and when I've finally finished the migration (I need to stop watching Planet Earth), I'll let you all know.

~Kristen

Miller Time

2010-02-21T22:15:00.005-05:00

(Photo from ESPN.com)

A few disjointed thoughts immediately upon watching Team USA defeat Team Canada 5-3 in tonight's game.

First, I get that this wasn't a medal game and that's fine and all, but that was surprising. I'd never go so far as to say that Team Canada was taking anything for granted but I'd venture that no one expected that. Of course, it's not like Team USA is a bunch of no names, they're all NHL players who make millions of dollars and have tens of millions of fans worldwide. Let's not pretend that this is a pond hockey team from Billerica taking on the big, bad Canadians. That said, nice work, boys. You done us proud.

MIKE ERUZIONE!

Sorry, can't help it.

Also, Ryan Miller looks like he should be hanging out in Central Square and bumming cigarettes in front of the Middle East rather than standing on his head in goal for Team USA during the Olympics. I was mostly hoping they'd let the poor boy sit down immediately after the game instead of insisting on interviewing him and expecting him to form a cohesive thought other than, "Seriously? I need a drink. And a nap. And a chiropractor." But he done good. Of course, my heart wants to see Tim Thomas in goal but I surely understand the reasons and I'm proud of my team.

Team USA is now undefeated and with this loss coupled with their just barely eking out a shootout win over Switzerland the other day, Canada is looking anything but bulletproof. Plus, the Russians have lost to Slovakia and don't have the swagger they once did. And the US is playing like they do not care to be thought of as underdogs or also rans, thank you very much. And I don't know about you, but I like my hockey teams with a bit of attitude.

So this is the beginning. They haven't proven anything tonight. But it's a good start. Nice work, boys.

Oh, Canada (shakes head)

2010-02-14T09:09:00.003-05:00

(Photo from Deadspin)

I have several questions about Vancouver's shall we say, lackluster opening ceremonies on Friday night (and into Saturday morning because, damn, Canada, it's not like any of us need to sleep or anything.)

For instance, I'm fine with First Nations and giving tribute to your ancestors and all that. Really, that's cool. I can get with that. I can even get with a giant glowing statue of a bear because, while it's not quite as awesome as the Alaskan ice bear or the other Alaskan ice bear. Or the Alaskan ice bear turned fighter pilot (seriously, watch those videos. You will thank me), I can get with some ursine imagery.

But slam poetry? Come on, Canada, you can do better. It's not bad enough that we had to listen to Bob Costas proclaiming Canada a warlike nation before the actual ceremonies got underway, but then we had to listen to a Canadian slam poet telling us that Canada is not a joke, thank you very much and respect us, dammit. I mean please. If that's okay with you.

Because the thing is, I totally respect Canada. It's lovely and every time I've been the people have been nothing but friendly and welcoming and wonderful. But if your Prime Minister needs to hold a press conference to tell the Canadian people to not be afraid to be loud and boisterous while cheering for their athletes (essentially: "Don't be scared of the obnoxious and batshit Americans"), then come on, Canada. It's something you shouldn't have to be told. We're all for politeness and we do appreciate you hosting the world for this Olympics party but Canada, I have to tell you to grow a pair.

We like you, Canada, we do. Many of us have threatened to move there time and time again and we certainly do appreciate the influx of your hockey players. But stand up for yourself, dammit. And stop being so polite.

Buck up, little camper. We all like you just fine.

That said, my primary question about the opening ceremonies, other than it often resembled a second grade talent show where everyone who wanted to tap dance or spin plates got a chance, was that the organizers totally blew it when it came to lighting the cauldron. No, I don't mean the technical malfunction, that can happen to anyone. I mean the actual manner of lighting it. Because what's awesomer than a flaming arrow shot into the cauldron by an Olympic archer like in 1992 in Barcelona? What's cooler than a scrolling screen of fire like 2008 in Beijing?

A flaming slap shot, obviously!

Dudes, Wayne Gretzky was RIGHT THERE. He was holding the fire even! No one thought to give that man a stick and a flaming puck and have him launch the Olympic flame into that cauldron to light the torch for the next two weeks? No one realized that not only would that be incredibly Canadian but also totally badass and it would make everyone forget about the slam poetry and the odd Riverdancing and the children wearing Christmas lights? Come on, Canada, I expected more from you.

Victory tastes like Jambalaya

2010-02-07T22:53:00.004-05:00

(Photo from Boston.com)

Beth, a family friend who is really more like family and who has lived in New Orleans for the past ten years called me with about six minutes left in the fourth quarter.

"I had to call someone who understands because I needed to talk to a football fan and oh my god, we might actually win this and I don't know what to do and I'm freaking out and holy shit this is awesome and I think I might die!"

I asked her where her boyfriend, Kevin, a life-long New Orleans resident was.

"He had to put himself in time out because he was afraid he was going to hurt himself or someone else because he can't take this because OH MY GOD WE MIGHT WIN THE SUPER BOWL!"

"I will tell you two things," I said. "One, when a Manning is involved, don't celebrate until the very last second because they have a way of stealing all your fun and ruining everything and 2) go party. Enjoy this one. And tell New Orleans I said congratulations."

Because it's true, I can't remember being happier for a team that isn't actually my home team, um, ever. And the airwaves and interwebs are sure to be flooded with "Saints Save New Orleans" stories for the next year now, but you know what? I'm fine with that. We all know that a football team can't save a city on its own, but it has been a long, hard five years for the Big Easy and she deserves this party. I mean, think about it. The team who calls the Superdome it's home - the same building that served as a tomb for so many people five years ago - has won the Super Bowl and brought a lot of joy to that city. And maybe I'm a giant sap and am too easily swayed by these kinds of stories, but I've always been a sucker for the healing power of a common interest, sports included. New Orleanians are special, resilient, unique people. And they should enjoy this as much as they can. They've spent the past five years earning a moment in the sun and they deserve it.

So congratulations, Who Dat Nation. New England would like to shake your hand.

“Who dat say dey gonna beat dem Saints?”

2010-02-07T15:37:00.004-05:00

This week's NESN piece in which I explore, with the help of two of my very favorite New Orleanians/New Englanders, just why, exactly, we should all be rooting for the Saints.

Look, even I understand that sports is only sports and no game is capable of saving the world. But sometimes, it really does mean more. I'll leave it to Ryan to make that point for me:

"I tend to think that the Saints reflect the recovery that has been happening in New Orleans. We are fighting not to get back to where we are, but to what we can and should be. The city is by no means perfect: the city government is often inept, crime is rampant, poverty in some areas is crushing, and flagrant inequalities rarely are questioned on a large scale.

The same, in a much lighter way, goes for the Saints. It often seems they underachieve. This year, however, we have an offense that can trounce anyone in the league, a quarterback with better accuracy than an Olympic archer; yet, when a starter on defense goes down, it’s immediately noticeable, and folks like Jason Campbell look like ’07 Brady and the team is losing to the Buccaneers at home. Yet, criticize our rebuilding or our team, tell us we’re failing or don’t deserve to rebuild, tell us our team is overrated. Where are we? Fighting. We’re fighting for home, and many of us are back or working with neighbors to get our communities back; then we’re gonna work to get even better. In the past the Saints fought to have a winning record; now they are fighting for the Super Bowl crown. We’re winning, bit by bit. We say “Who dat say dey gonna beat dem Saints?” but, the connection between team and town is so strong that we can easily ask “Who dat say dey gonna keep us down?” And even when we’re 3-13, we know the answer: no one. New Orleans right now has the potential to be a theatre for great, positive social change. The Saints, within the confines of the NFL, mirror that."

What he said. And Geaux Saints!

Geaux Saints!

2010-01-25T09:24:00.005-05:00

(Photo from Washington Post)

Well good job, New Orleans. Well done. Those of us in New England certainly know what it's like to celebrate a kicker's heroics and it couldn't have happened to a better team. Now, I think I can speak for most New Englanders and Patriots fans when I say, please march into Miami and beat the stuffing out of Peyton Manning and his band of prancing ponies.

HJ, who looked so sad and bereft in his Jets jersey yesterday, and who is normally so measured and rational about these things (I know, right? So weird), responded to my question about how he felt about the Super Bowl with, "I hope Drew Brees annihilates the stupid Colts." Which is something we can totally agree on. He also had great fun using my new gift from Chrissy, the world's best shark mittens, to work out some residual angst. "I'm Peyton Manning. La la la. CHOMP!" And who among us doesn't love that idea?

In reality, this is likely the matchup the NFL wanted since it pits the two teams who have performed the best all season against each other. And that's fine and dandy and all, but the thought of Peyton Manning being within spitting distance of another Super Bowl turns my stomach. I mean, I've walked past the Manning house in the Garden District in New Orleans. There was a Colts flag flying outside (this was before they were acknowledging Eli as one of their own). Think Papa Manning is going to feel conflicted about this? I'm sure I'm not the first to bring that up and I certainly won't be the last. Odds are there will be thousands upon thousands of articles written about that in the coming weeks and I might just find myself a nice rock to crawl under to get away from it all. Because the fact that the Mannings are all over both sides of this Super Bowl means more Manning coverage which is just fantastic. ESPN is about thisclose to starting an All Manning, All The Time Network. I may have to go into sensory deprivation to keep from destroying HJ's very expensive television.

The flip side of this, of course, is the Brett Favre storyline. Because it's ever so fitting that his career ended (maybe), for the second time on a game-sealing interception in an NFC championship game but homeboy is running out of teams with whom to attempt to win a Super Bowl. Though, as Chrissy pointed out, "The Bears would probably take him next year if he wants to keep being an asshole." She's probably right.

Here's what I wonder though, about Old Man Favre. Everyone keeps talking about his quest to win a Super Bowl as though he's never done it before when in fact, he has. His 1997 Packers team beat the Patriots 35-21 at the Superdome and some of us remember that, Brett. So it's not like he's been playing for nigh on seventy years now without a shot at a championship and I don't know why we've been talking all season like this was his last, best shot. So if he really does retire (again), I think he can go back to selling Wranglers and big screen TVs at Sears and not be thinking about the Lombardi trophy that got away because he already has one. Which is one more than most people have. What I'm saying is, the Brett Favre Pity Train is leaving the station.

The Saints, however, could do with a Super Bowl. And while I agree that if they were to win a few short weeks before Mardi Gras, it's entirely possible the whole city will remain drunk for a good seven to eight months, I can't really think of a city that deserves a therapeutic victory parade more. And any opportunity to turn the Colts into the national bad guy is one I plan to embrace wholeheartedly. My point being, go Saints!

Who do you play for?

2010-01-15T09:55:00.002-05:00

(Photo from On Frozen Blog)

You guys might not know this about me, but I am a total sucker for true-life, inspirational sports stories. Like the kind that Disney would reject as too schmaltzy (except, they, um, usually don't). The Rookie, Rudy, Friday Night Lights, all of that stuff. I eat it up. Maybe it's because I'm an easy mark and I always want to believe in the scrappy underdog but I can't help it, those kinds of movies usually have me crying myself dehydrated. The worst (or best) among them, though, is Miracle. I am telling you, that movie hit me where I live. Could be because I grew up a hockey fan, or that as a New Englander, the accents had a way of making me homesick when I wasn't far from home. Or that Kurt Russell and the boys playing his team did such a good job of getting a normally level-headed, politically considerate person to stand up and chant "USA! USA! USA!" by so convincingly villainizing the Russians. I don't remember the original Miracle on Ice as I was, um, less than four months old at the time, but man, I could watch that movie every day and never get sick of it.

This is all by way of saying the Olympics are starting soon! And with them, men's ice hockey. Which is, in a word, AWESOME. I wrote a preview piece for NESN today about the primary players in the games. And while it's unlikely that we'll get another Miracle situation simply because we're letting professionals play in the games, that doesn't mean I'm not excited about it. To whit, a conversation I had with Chrissy yesterday:

Me: We have to watch Olympic hockey this year because the NHL has not agreed to participate beyond the 2010 games. So they might be back to amateurs after this.

Chrissy: BUT THEN WE CAN HAVE MIRACLE AGAIN.

Me: True. Although, do we hate the Russians now? We don't, right? I mean, who else could we beat that would be as satisfactory? I don't think the Taliban fields a hockey team.

Chrissy: It's true. It's hard.

Me: Well, Zdeno Chara is playing for Slovakia. I don't know why but that makes me happy. I might secretly root for Slovakia.

And then we proceeded to shout Miracle quotes at each other for the better part of two hours.

As you do.

"Frozen" being the operative word

2010-01-13T09:04:00.002-05:00

(Giant foam fingers make everything awesome)

The good gentlemen over at Stadium Journey have already done a review of our beloved Fenway Park. But what is it like when a 98-year-old baseball park hosts a hockey game? Well, I'll tell you! Thanks to Chrissy and her BU connections, she scored us seats for Frozen Fenway, the game between BU and BC last Friday evening. Yours truly reviewed the experience and rated how the park stacked up for Stadium Journey.

Have a look and let us know what you think! And if you're one of the many shirtless and intoxicated gentlemen we saw that evening, could you kindly let me know if your nipples have thawed?

Great Googly Moogly

2010-01-11T09:49:00.003-05:00

(Photo from Boston.com)

I don't know how you guys feel about it but I'm perfectly willing to blame yesterday's travesty on Bill Belichick's choice of headwear. Because it's really hard to look fearsome or intimidating while sporting a pom pom hat. It's just fact. The hoodie, as always, was a nice touch but the man is supposed to be a robot, impenetrable to cold, heat or human emotion. A kicky chapeau is not really the rallying cry we're looking for here, Bill. Maybe next time, wear a hard hat.

As I explained to HJ this morning while moping around the apartment and trying to release the tension that's been residing between my shoulder blades for a week, it's one thing if your team loses a game that they played well and hard. It's one thing if they are merely outplayed or outcoached. It's one thing if the other team just has one more play in them. In any of those cases, you can at least go into the off-season confident in the fact that your team put it's best foot forward and it just wasn't enough. But yesterday wasn't like that. It wasn't like that at all. Yesterday, the Patriots were hapless, hopeless and, at times, downright embarassing. Which is not to take anything away from the Ravens who capitalized on every mistake the Patriots made. Which were many. In fact, the Ravens were playing like the Patriots of old. Which, in addition to angering me, made me wonder what had happened to our defensive-minded football team. The one who used to turn an opponent's weaknesses against them and forced them to make mistakes. Because that is certainly not the team we have now.

And yes, Wes Welker was hurt and he was brought out for inspirational talks prior to the game, looking for all the world like Tiny Tim on his crutches. But you know what? It didn't work. And I'm sure it wasn't for lack of trying on Welker's part but there's only so much an injured slot receiver can do. And while I wouldn't have put it past Welker to drammatically toss aside his crutches, rip open his jacket to reveal his familiar #83 jersey and take the field in a gutsy and heartrending show of scrappiness, I'm not even sure that could have saved the Patriots. They just did not have it in them.

For his part, I hope that Julian Edelmen's mom taped the game as her son appeared to be the only player on the field even trying yesterday and he deserves his own highlight reel. But he's the only one.

After the game, I got an email from Greta in Baltimore, "Hi, Muffin," she said, "I'm really sorry it had to go down like that. We can still make Old Bay Bloody Marys and curse the name of the Irsay family next week, right?" To which I replied, "Dude? Take those fuckers DOWN." Because at this point, I will root for anyone who plays Indianapolis. And if there's anyone who hates the Colts more than the Patriots, it's the Ravens. So the enemy of the enemy is my friend and all that. Plus, early in the game yesterday they cut to commercial and it starred - surprise, surprise - Peyton Manning and I yelled, "This has nothing to do with you! Take your goofy forehead and hillbilly face and go away until next week!" My point being, I clearly have some unresolved issues with Peyton Manning and if Ray Lewis wants to take care of that for me, that'd be delightful.

Look, I'd be lying if I said that I thought the Patriots were going all the way this year and that this season would finally redeem the 2007 Super Bowl loss. I never really felt that way. All season something just seemed off. The timing wasn't right or there were undisclosed injuries or questionable coaching moves. Perhaps Randy and Tommy are still working on getting back in synch after missing last season together. Perhaps some of them have lost a step. Perhaps Billiam really is getting a bit too big for his britches and needs to hire himself some coordinators STAT so as to take away some of the coaching autonomy which is clearly not good for him. At the very least, he needs someone to choose better hats.

At this point, we're not left with much. Who knows how long Welker's recovery will take or what shape the team will take next year? And as Brady's genetically-bred miracle children aren't quite big enough yet to run a slant route, we'll have to wait a big longer for the kids to go into the family business. For now, I guess we'll just have to watch the rest of the playoffs and root for Baltimore. Or don't. Or start watching hockey. Or basketball. Or take up knitting. Whatever we do, it'll take a while to get this bad taste out of our mouths.

Razor Sharp

2010-01-06T15:57:00.002-05:00

(Photo from Stadium Journey)

Look, the playoffs haven't started yet, Wes Welker's leg fell off and Theo Epstein keeps changing his mind about the players he wants on the Red Sox so often that it kind of feels like the team is being general managed by one of those giant Bingo cage ball wheel thingies. So instead of wondering who's going to be playing left field for the Sox this coming season (maybe you, maybe me, maybe my cat), and what's going to happen to the Patriots when they can't slant route to Welker (::shudder::), I've decided to throw a little something different your way.

You all may remember a while back when I brought Stadium Journey to your attention when they'd posted their Fenway review. Well, now they've got one of Gillette up and it's a good read. Having only been to one professional football game in my twenty-nine years on this earth (I'd turn in my Pats fan card but I am not made of money, people), I didn't experience most of the awesomeness that the writer tells us about. Of course, the game I saw happened in mid-December during a snow storm and the Patriots beat the visiting Jets which is always delightful. The snowstorm was part of the fun. As was watching Pats fans throw snowballs at Chad Pennington on the Jets' sideline. But aside from the game and some pregame tailgaiting in, I believe, a Camry, there wasn't all that much going on. Granted, that was nearly five years ago at this point and since then, Patriot Place has been constructed.

While I question whether a stadium built so obviously in the suburbs of a major city can have the same charm and effect of one built in the center of things (the writer mentions Baltimore's M&T Bank Stadium and some place in Indianapolis that I will not dignify with a mention), I think there is something to be said for letting the elements in which they certainly do at Gillette. Look, I'm from New England. It gets cold here. I deal with it. So can visiting football teams. Real teams, I'm sorry, don't play in domes. It's football. You sack up and deal.

Anyway, take a gander at Jack Harver's review of Gillette Stadium and let me know your thoughts on the place. What's the best thing about it? What's the worst? What have your experiences at Patriots games been like? Really, people, until Theo gives me a notarized list of players for the upcoming season, I need to find something else to focus on. Why not the Gillette lighthouse?

Ouch

2010-01-04T10:28:00.007-05:00

(Photo from Boston.com)

If it's all the same to you, I'm going to go ahead and blame Bernard Pollard for this most recent string of Patriots' misfortune. I realize that Pollard was nowhere near Welker when his knee went kablooey and rather fell on him afterwards but it's way easier to blame him than to direct my ire at the turf. So from now on, any Patriots injuries will be blamed on Bernard Pollard. If I so much as bang my shin on my coffee table while getting up to get a drink during a Patriots game, I'm blaming it on Pollard. Apparently, Pollard feels terrible about being involved with the Brady injury last September and the aftermath of the Welker injury. And that's great and all, but you'll forgive me if my sympathy doesn't lie with Pollard and his bruised feelings. I trust you all understand.

I can't be the only one whose excitement over winning the division and making the playoffs was squashed when Welker pulled up and grabbed his knee, can I? Because I'm also sure I'm not the only one who's noticed that the difference in the team this year when they're playing well and when they're not is Welker. There is nothing that pisses off opposing fans so much as the slant route to Welker because, for some reason, no one can ever seem to stop it. And while Julian Edelman will do his very best Welker impression, there's no substitute for the real thing.

What I'm saying is, I'm worried, guys. I'm real worried. Especially since Ray Lewis and Ed Reed are salivating over the opportunity to eat Tom Brady whole next week. And the longer this team goes without making up for 2007 (and doesn't it sort of feel like that's what they're always going to be trying to do?), the more painful that loss becomes. None of this is helped along by the fact that it's time for the "Decade's Best" lists and no one can resist the urge to shove that David Tyree catch down our throats every chance they get. Personally, I've stood up and left the room so many times when it comes on that I'm pretty sure HJ thinks I have ants in my pants. What can I say? I can't watch it.

Now, it's true that the Pats could surprise everyone and go further in the playoffs than anyone expects. If we've learned anything about them over the course of the last ten years, it's that they can certainly surprise you. But I suspect this time, it might take a little more than they have.

New knight in town

2009-12-15T09:32:00.006-05:00

(Photo by Kevork Djansezian/Getty Images North America)

Okay, okay, I'll admit it. The best piece of news from the whole weekend in baseball shenanigans that just went down was the fact that the Yankees didn't manage to snatch Roy Halladay. And I really hate being "that" fan who is less concerned with the maneuverings of her own team than she is with keeping people away from the Yankees but it's gotten to a point where I'm starting to see the viewpoints of the rest of the baseball-loving country and I'm wondering if there should be some sort of embargo on big name free agents going to Boston OR New York. Because poor, little Kansas City is over there all "Um, guys? We have the Cy Young winner. So, you can, you know, come play here and...it will be fun? Also there's barbecue."

Plus, that would prevent any ramping up of the Red Sox/Yankees rivalry which, frankly, doesn't really need any help. I went on a rather uncharitable rant in the car on the way to New York on Friday about how if I hear one more Yankee fan claim that the Yankees "need" Roy Halladay, I'm going to throw the mother of all temper tantrums and take my ball and go home. HJ very kindly did not throw me out of the moving vehicle.

But apparently, the point is moot since Philadelphia is turning itself into it's own baseball powerhouse and we might have something else to worry about.

And then there's John Lackey. Who is ours now. Which is good, in the sense that good pitchers are always good things to have. But I wonder if I have to backpedal now as I've certainly spent an inordinate amount of time making fun of John Lackey over the years. Then I remember that I still call Josh Beckett "Fathead" and so really, I don't do backpedaling. Which is why I still claim that Lackey looks like one of the knights who say "Ni!" If he performs well, that'll morph into something affectionate. If he doesn't, well, I might start making jokes about flesh wounds. I'm just saying. Prepare thyself. Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition.

Who are these guys?

2009-12-07T09:40:00.002-05:00

(Photo from Yahoo! Sports)

No, seriously, who are these people wearing throwback uniforms and masquerading as my football team? Because I know they can't be the same guys who smacked down Tennessee 59-0 earlier this season because THAT team does not let Miami win on a last-minute field goal after an end zone interception because THAT team is better than that. THAT team also plays defense. Something THIS team most certainly does not.

I realize we're spoiled here in New England and we've become used to winning more often than not. But the thing is, I'm convinced the Patriots are a better football team than what they're showing right now. Apparently even Rodney Harrison claimed that he didn't recognize this team to which I have two things to say: 1) ME NEITHER WHO ARE THESE IMPOSTERS? And 2) want to come back, Rodney? We'll take you back. Promise.

'Cause look, no offense to Chad Henne or anything but there is only supposed to be one super good Michigan quarterback and his name rhymes with Bom Trady. And I don't know if Belichick is either suffering from some PTSD Indianapolis game flashbacks or if he's trying to prove his point with the constantly going for it on fourth down but I feel like the coaching has been really uneven this season and that is NEVER something I would have imagined myself saying ever about a Bill Belichick-coached Patriots team.

It's more frustrating than not, I think because even if this team makes the playoffs, the team, as it's playing now, certainly isn't getting very far. I can't see this current team making it past the first round. And that makes me sad because in New England, we are STILL gnashing our teeth over the Lost Super Bowl of Aught Seven and we are STILL waiting for vengeance. And every year we aren't winning, is another year where that thorn in our side twists a little deeper. It feels like unfinished business is what and we're practical people here in New England. We like to finish what we start.

What this all feels like to me is some sort of hellish waiting game. Like we're just sitting around, feeling helpless about the prospects for the future with this football team, either in the here and now - like next week - or more long term. And there's really nothing for us to do but eat chips and buffalo wings. It's slightly better than waiting in line at the RMV. But only because of the buffalo wings.

Belated Thanks

2009-11-27T10:59:00.003-05:00

(Photo from Boston.com)

I trust you'll all forgive me for taking this long to post either a) the Jets/Patriots game recap or b) a Happy Thanksgiving wish to all of you lovely people but I promise I have a good excuse. You see, the swine. The swine is what happened. First if afflicted HJ who spiked a shockingly high fever and then passed it on to me and we spent the past four days alternating between the couch and the bed and moaning and hallucinating commercials wherein Peyton Manning and Justin Timberlake played ping pong and spoke Mandarin (that was a hallucination, right?)

We emerged from our sickness comas just long enough to watch the Patriots take down the Jets in delightful fashion (well, delightful for me, not so much for HJ), and to see Wes Welker act as a god amongst men. And then we went right back to coughing and napping. But Wes Welker, man, Wes Welker. Which, actually, is a nice segueway into things I'm thankful for:

- slant routes to Wes Welker
- Mark Sanchez's rookie mistakes
- the turkey, brisket AND lamb HJ's mom and sister cooked for yesterday's festivities (we were not short on food here, people)
- the fact that I have ANOTHER Thanksgiving dinner planned tomorrow with my family
- being blessed with the sanity to stay as far away from any retail outlets today as possible
- that I no longer work in retail
- HJ's sister's very, very cute Wheaton puppy
- Bill Belichick's impressive collection of hoodies
- Tamaflu
- sick days
- irish car bomb cupcakes (really)
- family and friends
- Shark Week
- healthy new wee people both recent and upcoming for family and friends
- you guys
- Rankin Bass Christmas specials
- Monday Night Football

I think that about covers it. I do sincerely hope you all continue to have a restful break and that you remembered to pack your stretchy pants. And that you all enjoyed watching Eli Manning get embarrassed last night as much as I did.

The Longest Two Yards

2009-11-18T09:36:00.002-05:00

(Photo from Yahoo! Sports)

It's been a few days. We've all calmed down a little. Nothing in my fancy new apartment is in danger of my destructive wrath anymore so...maybe we can talk about it a little. Maybe?

Here's the thing: I'm not going to excoriate Bill Belichick. I will not second-guess or verbally flay or make fun of his hoodie. (Besides, he was wearing the fancy prime time navy blue sweatshirt on Sunday night). And I don't think it's because I'm an unapologetic Belichick sycophant. I think it's because a true understanding of football and the strategy involved dictates that sometimes, you play the numbers. And sometimes, in so doing, you lose. There is no hard and fast rule about "If you do A, then B will happen," in football. Unless it's "if you let the Browns play professional football, they will find a way to embarrass themselves" but that's another issue for another day. My point is, I kind of, sort of appreciate the gusty call. Because if you've ever watched a football game with me, you know the number of times I implore a team to "Go for it!" on fourth down is roughly equivalent to the number of mentions of just what, exactly, Brett Favre is up to these days. Meaning, I say it a lot. Especially in short yardage situations. I hate punting. Punting bores me. Punting feels like defeat.

And yes, I realize that not getting the fourth down resulted in actual defeat but not, you know, immediately. I respect a coach essentially telling his team "I believe you can get two yards and if you can't, I believe the defense can stop them." It didn't work out and believe me, I am not happy about that. Instead of going straight to bed, I worked out my frustration by washing dishes and cleaning the kitchen (a rather industrious and productive use of angry energy, I'll grant you), but still.

There are questions regarding the spot and the fact that the Patriots were out of timeouts and so couldn't challenge it and I have my own feelings on that which I'll keep silent because the last thing I want is the internet raining down all it's "Coltz 4 EVA" nauseating bullshit on me but suffice it to say, I remain dubious.

That said, I don't suppose any of us should be surprised by Belichick's decision nor his subsequent refusal to apologize. The very reason we like the guy so much in New England is exactly the reason the rest of the league hates him. He's kind of an asshole. He's pretty much an unapologetic, football-scheming robot. He takes in information and yardage and statistics and spits out some play-calling decisions, never once letting emotion or personal feelings come into the process. So it shouldn't surprise any of us that when he made the decision to go for it on Sunday night, he did so based purely on the numbers. He was concerned with two yards and the statistical probability of Kevin Faulk gaining those two yards. He was not concerned with the emotional well-being of the New England fans or the fact that my new neighbors may have called the police when they heard screaming coming from Apt. E. And he certainly wasn't concerned with buying me a new coffee table. After all, he wasn't the one who nearly destroyed it.

That up there, by the way, was the rational side of my brain attempting to talk myself calmly through this process and find a way to accept a loss in a game we absolutely should have won. The other side of my brain? The part responsible for nearly going on a destructive rampage from which no remote stayed unhurled and no couch cushion remained untorn? That side of my brain is begging, imploring even the rest of the league to find a way to beat Peyton Manning. Because I will not be able to take it if the freakin' Colts go undefeated. I absolutely will not. Because rational thoughts and "it's just football" realizations aside, I am probably not a big enough person to accept that. Hey, we all have flaws.

There is nothing better...

2009-11-09T11:32:00.002-05:00

(Photo from Boston.com)

...than making Joey Porter shut up. It's positively delightful. After his semi-cryptic rambling last week about not liking the Patriots and the Patriots not liking him and default Division winners or some nonsense, well, basically, shut up, Joey. Forever.

Also, Randy Moss making beautiful one-handed catches makes even a November day seem like springtime. I mean, that's why it was 70 degrees, right? The Tom and Randy show? That's what I thought.

Myself, I was in Manhattan at a sports bar watching the game with a Ravens fan and two Steelers fans (who were free to eat wings as the Steelers don't play until Monday Night Football this evening), and a football neophyte who enjoyed nothing so much as the touchdown dances and aforementioned Buffalo wings. However, upon leaving, I did shake the hand of the gentleman at the bar wearing the Tom Brady jersey and told him it's nice to see Pats fans represented in New York as I suspect that doesn't happen so much, especially considering the Super Bowl that never happened a couple years back. Jen asked if I knew him. "Well, he was wearing a Tom Brady jersey so...kind of."

We gotta stick together, you see?

Additionally? Wes Welker, I love you. The end.

So THAT happened...

2009-11-05T10:51:00.005-05:00

(Photo from Yahoo! Sports)

The Yankees apparently misunderstood what I REALLY wanted for my birthday and instead decided to win the World Series yesterday. Three minutes before midnight by my clock. So, on the same day, I turned almost 30 and was subjected to watching the Yankees win the World Series. Though, to be fair, I also had several birthday margaritas in me at this point so can't I just pretend that the whole thing was a tequila-induced hallucination? I'd like to.

This might prove difficult as I head to NYC this weekend for some birthday weekend celebrations. Something tells me Yankees fans will be just a teensy bit vocal. This, in all likelihood, is what iPods are for. Also, alcohol. Also? Heroin.

I am trying to be gracious about this because, against all odds, I seem to have amassed a group of Yankee fans whom I actually quite like. And while I care not a whit for their team or their whole "Now it's home" nonsense in regards to the World Series trophy because, I'm sorry, but you didn't INVENT baseball - I do think my friends are lovely people and it's nice when people you like are happy. Also, HJ is very patient with me when I stomp around the apartment and throw pillows and Wii remotes at his expensive HD television when the Patriots do something stupid because I KNOW how he feels about Tom Brady, so I suppose I owe it to him to allow him to be happy about this without being bitchy about it. Or at least, that is my mantra. Plus he got me an awesome birthday present AND he comes by his fanhood honestly and didn't just adopt the Yankees because he wanted to follow a winner. Also, he trekked all the way to DC to watch me run a marathon and didn't even think twice about hugging me afterwards when I probably smelled worse than the inside of a football locker room after a September game in a heat wave. So I stayed up so that when his team won, he'd have someone to hug because all his like-minded Yankee fan people were in New York, including his dad who was AT THE GAME. I sort of feel like people shouldn't have to celebrate their championships alone, regardless of their team. I've experienced what it's like to create our own makeshift families because of the teams we follow and I think that extends to everyone, regardless of rooting interest. Perhaps I am going soft but I like to think this is all making me a better person, right?

ANYWAY, now it's officially football season. For real and for serious now. Or hockey season, should that be your thing. And it should be. Because hockey is awesome. But no one listens to me.

Hey! Look! A cool thing!

2009-10-28T17:48:00.002-04:00

(Photo from Stadium Journey)

Considering that it's no longer, you know, baseball season per se here in New England, it's understandable that you might be jonesing for some baseball-y goodness devoid of talk about A-Rod's sudden resurgence and his subsequent role as New York's baseball messiah. It's also possible that the rain and wind and seriously, was that snow last week? and other insane weather may have you dreaming of warmer temperatures and longer days. Perhaps you're even thinking of taking a baseball-centric trip next year. Or perhaps you're just looking for the best burrito outside Landshark Stadium. In any case, Stadium Journey is worth your time.

Full disclosure: I share an apartment with one of the founders. And he is, in point of fact, a New York sports fan. But that little hiccup aside shouldn't keep you from checking out the site. It's actually a very cool site with reviews of professional stadiums and the surrounding areas where the writers rate everything from sight lines to value to historic importance of the stadium. Jonah and Dan's reviews of our very own Fenway can be found here.

The eventual plan for the site will prove extremely useful for visitors to any city featuring a sports team - professional or otherwise - as they've got big ideas for message boards and user-generated content. Like say you're going to Phoenix for work and you feel like taking in a Coyotes game while you're there (provided Wayne Gretzky has his way and they keep a hockey team in the completely ridiculous location of Phoneix, Arizona), and you want to book a hotel nearby. The idea is the site will be able to help with that. And also with recommendations for good food, good bars and perhaps even a good deal on that hard-to-find Coyotes bobblehead. The SJ boys are also very open to ideas and want to hear from you. The Stadium Journey Facebook page is here. It's entirely possible that they have a Twitter account too but I'm old and now assume that Twitter is something professional athletes use to snipe at each other with poorly constructed insults.

Semi-personal plug though it may be, we've got to do something to get through the winter. And the Patriots only play once a week. Might as well read about how the hot dogs in Chicago stack up to the pierogis in Pittsburgh.

I run the marathon til the very last mile*

2009-10-27T11:00:00.003-04:00

(Photo by Greta)

The thing is, when you finish a marathon, you get a giant silver medal with an eagle and like a globe and stuff being all hooray for you, and also America! Also? Maybe the coolest part? You get a space blanket. And a Marine gives both of those things to you. Which is pretty cool because Marines? Are fairly awesome. They're also unfailingly polite and tireless because they worked all the water/Powerade stops along the way and always said "You're welcome, Ma'am" when I thanked them for the water. Plus, I mean, they spent the entire day getting half-empty cups of Berry Blast Powerade tossed at them by sweaty and cranky runners. Those marines are no joke.

A bit sadistic, perhaps, as they put the last .2 miles of the course UP A HILL but at that point I was so over being in pain and being tired that I sprinted across the finish line, just to show them. Because if you think I wasn't running across the finish line of the marathon, well, you just don't know me at all.

And even if I'm walking like a zombie today and am seriously questioning the sanity of anyone who chooses to do this kind of thing, I wouldn't change the experience for anything. Mostly because I raised a lot of money for a great cause that means a lot to me, and because I have the best, most supportive cheering section anyone could ask for. I mean, Harlan and Greta drew a sign with a picture of a shark chasing someone that said, "Run! Shark!" to inspire me. Perhaps you have to be me to know exactly how awesome that is, but it really was the best thing ever and even if it's hard to run while you're laughing, it sure helped. Not to mention my parents who provided me with champagne and a bathtub full of ice immediately following the race. Then there were my co-runners, Katherine, Kristin and Doug, all finishers and all total super stars. All people whom I could not have done this without. When we all retired to a nearby sports bar after the race to enjoy some previously-taboo alcoholic beverages and the restorative powers of buffalo wings, I couldn't have asked for better company.

And finally, there were you guys, and all the incredibly generous donations you made to the Alzheimer's Association. I am so proud and humbled to have such wonderful people supporting me. I initially did this as a way to honor my Memere but as I was running, I realized that I was also doing it for you guys, as a way to validate all your support. I can't ever thank you enough. Also, even though I know Memere would be proud of me in that way that only bragging grandmothers can, she also would have asked me what was wrong with taking a car. So thank you guys, thank you for everything.

*with apologies to the Beastie Boys

(More pictures to come as they're uploaded)

Hooray for You!

2009-10-19T08:28:00.003-04:00

(Picture from http://tennisnoise.wordpress.com)

Andy Roddick is telling you all how awesome you are. Do you know how awesome you are? I'll tell you. You are $4991.24 amount of awesome. That's a lot of awesome. A whole lot of awesome. Perhaps even a metric ton of awesome. (I know the counter says $4716.24 but there are a couple checks waiting to clear so ignore that.)

$4991.24!

Either you people are the greatest thing since Cocoa Puffs and you love to support a good cause or you want to see me suffer for several miles. Either way, the end result is the same. Lots of moola for Alzheimer's research. Either way, you're all my heroes.

So thank you, thank you, THANK YOU to all of you who've donated. When I set the goal of $5,000 months and months ago, I thought perhaps it was too ambitious. I should know better than to ever doubt you guys. You've never let me down before.

Now, there's still time to donate, should you want to, and no one says I can't surpass my goal. But I wanted to make sure I took the time to update and thank you all. Sunday's marathon won't be easy, but I figure that at every mile marker, I'll just tell myself, "There's another $190.84 for Alzheimer's research from my ass-kicking people" and then I'll just...keep...going. Spurned on, of course, by my world-class cheering section. And also possibly by some Marines. (I'm only human, people).

But really, thank you all for all your support in this. It takes special people to listen to what I want to do and not be all, "Girl, you crazy," so for that, I am supremely grateful. Now, on to DC!

All Smiles

2009-10-18T21:42:00.004-04:00

(Photo from Yahoo! Sports)

I'm with these charming gentlemen above, it's all smiles in New England after that game. Something about the early snow and the throwback uniforms (which I had not previously been in favor of because there's really no need for nostalgia about an era in which the Patriots were known around the league as the "Patsies" despite the enduring awesomeness of the Pat Patriot logo), made it seem like, I don't know, Christmas or something. Randy Moss and Tom Brady certainly seemed to think so. And the elfin Wes Welker even got in on the fun.

Of course, since it's nigh impossible to just enjoy a football game nowadays if you're a Patriots fan without someone telling you that your team is a bunch of running up the score assholes who feast on babies and puppies at halftime, allow me to state that I too, wished Brady had been removed just a smidge earlier because I've no desire to relive what it's like to play a season without my star quarterback. But that said, they did take him out in favor of his backup and I don't think you sit your starter before halftime despite your lead. Especially if said starter lost in overtime last week because he still couldn't manage to get on the same page as his receivers. I mean, you work out the kinks where you can. And if that's at the expense of the Titans (erm, Oilers?), then so be it. If they can't stop the Patriots backup quarterback who is, I don't mind telling you, a gentleman I'm fairly certain was invented this very day, from waltzing into the end zone, well, that's not our problem. If Vince Young wants to throw for negative two yards? I mean, what are they supposed to do, hand back the interception all, "I believe you dropped this?" I don't think so. Also, I think you DO go for it on fourth down when you're up by a gazillion points because if you just kick it, then you're padding your points total. And if you go for it, at least you're giving the opposition a chance to stop you. Of course, since Tennessee is apparently made of marzipan and baking soda, stopping a Pop Warner team from Billerica probably wasn't going to happen but even still.

People disagree with me, but that's how I see it.

Phew. It felt good to get that off my chest.

Anyway, welcome back, Tom Brady! Good to see you, sir. Been a while. About halfway through the game, my brother sent me a text message that read, "I hope you enjoy my time machine. I like 2007." And since I seem to remember a football team of mine that could score points at will, I enjoyed that. And if one more person says the word "hubris" to me, I'm going to destroy a small village. Because it's not like anyone in New England is UNAWARE of what happened the last time they were scoring all these points, but damn, people, we can't enjoy a win? Seriously? Leave us alone for a few minutes, jeez.

Instead, I will just say - as we do it in New England - FLEA FLICKA! That? Was a thing of beauty.

At one point, after that beautiful play before which we'd seen Brady and Randy chatting on the sidelines, I speculated to Chrissy what that conversation must have been like.

Me: "Do you think Randy was all, 'Hey remember when we scored like twelve thousand points a game?' and Brady was all 'vaguely,' and Randy said, 'that was fun, let's do that again,' and Brady said, 'Cool. Flea flicker?' and Randy was like, 'Word."

Chrissy: "You missed a few 'muthafuckas' I think but otherwise, I'd say that's a faithful transcription."

I mean, probably that is exactly what happened, right?

I guess what I'm saying is, 59-0? Word.

A Day to Forget

2009-10-12T09:01:00.001-04:00

(Photo from Yahoo! Sports)

The great thing about being on a plane for yesterday's sporting events, is I can pretend that none of them happened.

So...how was your weekend?

Back on Top

2009-10-05T09:04:00.004-04:00

(Photo from Boston.com)

You'll forgive me if I don't have much to say about the whole Terrell Suggs business or Jared Gaither's injury (which sounds terrible and, of course, I wish him a speedy recovery) because, you see, I didn't get back home until about halfway through the second quarter as I was laboring over a 22-mile training run and hating everything that came after mile 15. And the thing about 22 mile training runs is that they take a long time. And so you're probably not going to be able to be home in time to watch the start of the Patriots game like you'd planned. Which is maybe actually a good thing because the bloodcurdling screams you're sure to unleash when someone heads in the direction of your quarterback's knees are probably enough to get the neighbors to file a complaint.

So what I'm saying is, I'm glad I missed any controversy in that arena.

What I did see, however, when HJ was kind enough to drive me to the bar (so he could watch his Jets and I could get buffalo wings because I am that distinct kind of creature who fuels marathon training not with Gatorade and PowerBars but with buffalo wings and onion rings), is the Patriots fight off a very determined - and I think very good - Baltimore Ravens team. Were it not for a critical case of cement hands by Mark Clayton, the Patriots do not win this game. HJ and I have talked about how everyone has been saying for years that Baltimore is going to be really dangerous when they get themselves an offense. And we just might be living it now.

Greta, because she is from Baltimore and because she is also my best friend, knows that we do not speak during Patriots/Ravens games but she was quick to tell me afterwards that she went out and bought an Ed Reed jersey, which thing I am actually quite proud of because the girl did not grow up watching football and she credits me with making her a fan. Which could either be good or bad, depending on how many times she gets her heart broken. But then, as soon as the game was official and I told her that I really am impressed with her quarterback and his Unibrow of Doom, we went on to hating Rex Ryan and rooting for the demise of the Jets together. But quietly, of course, because HJ did get me those much-needed buffalo wings after all.

All in all, I am glad to see the offense figuring things out. Week 4 seems late in the season for the first Tom Brady to Randy Moss touchdown but we knew they'd get around to it eventually. Likewise, the return of Wes Welker was fantastic to see, if for no other reason than opposing fans HATE the slant route to Welker because no one can seem to figure out how to defend against it. When really I think it's just that they can't commit to defending against it because on any given play, the Pats could go slant to Welker, hand off to Taylor (or Maroney or Faulk or Morris) or long bomb to Moss. Or even Ben Watson who is becoming a personal favorite. They have a lot of weapons, is what I'm saying, and it's hard to defend against them when you don't know which one they're going to employ.

I suppose that's true of every half-decent football team but the fact remains.

As for the Jets, I've been pissy these past few weeks because everyone was fawning all over them and had all but handed Rex Ryan the Lombardi trophy while ignoring the fact that a) they were not the only 3-0 team in the NFL and b) I think there are actually other, better teams out there (like perhaps New Orleans or those aforementioned Ravens). So it was nice to see them humbled by New Orleans. As HJ was quick to point out, the point differential actually falls squarely on the shoulders of one Mr. Mark Sanchez and the Jets defense should be proud of their performance but I did find it interesting that you could pinpoint the exact moment the national media turned against Mark Sanchez. It was after the fumble that led to a recovery by the Saints and subsequent touchdown. That's when the network played their hastily edited video I've decided to call "Mark Has the Dropsies" which included all of his fumbles thus far. You know, in his three previous NFL games.

"Wow," said Dan, watching with us at the bar, "that was quick."

"Do you think they have some intern feverishly editing together two reels, one of Sanchez's good plays and one of his boneheaded plays and they wait to see if he'll be awesome or if he'll suck and then they just have a reel ready to air?"

"Yup," he said, "I think that's exactly what happens."

I shudder to think "poor Mark Sanchez" because, you know, enemies and all, but the fall from grace can be quick and the landing, I have heard, is not soft.

Perhaps Keith Olbermann said it best on the Sunday Night Football pregame show as he wrapped the Jets/Saints highlights. "So the Jets lost which means tomorrow New York papers will call for Ryan to be fired, Sanchez to be benched, the team to be moved to Canada and football to be declared illegal in the United States." Sounds about right. And having been forced to listen to a goodly amount of WFAN (the travails of dating a New York sports fan, you see), I think that's probably exactly what's happening right now.

So, at the end of the day, the Patriots sit at 3-1 with a matchup against Denver looming next weekend. 3-1 is not a bad place to be and given the finesse that'll need to be worked out in re: Brady and his receivers over the subsequent weeks, it's as good a place as any.

Now you've done it

2009-10-01T10:07:00.004-04:00

(Photo from Boston.com)

See? Now you've made daddy angry. You wouldn't like daddy when he's angry. He's liable to trade you or make Other daddy keep you off the playoff roster.

And you know what that means? No goggles and Riverdancing for you.

More like it

2009-09-27T19:49:00.003-04:00

(Photo from Boston.com)

I mean, I know we're all supposed to be declaring Mark Sanchez super dreamy and just handing the Lombardi Trophy to Rex Ryan and all - since obviously, there's no need to even play the rest of the games - but personally, I was pleased to see my football team get their heads out of their asses and win a football game in definitive fashion. Even if it wasn't definitive until after halftime.

Evidently, Brady went all ballistic in the locker room and laid into his receivers - and, according to Tony Dungy who we all know would never lie - also himself. Probably about the dropping and the out-pacing and the poor timing of some of those passes. Also he might've thrown a few Gatorade cups at Joey Galloway to see if he was capable of catching, you know, anything.

And yelling is all well and good and I am certainly pro-Tom Brady showing some emotion, but I think maybe he needs to do some trust falls or something with his receivers so they can start getting that timing down and what have you. Also, Chrissy has suggested that they carry a night light to make the red zone less scary to them since clearly, they are TERRIFIED of it.

The thing is, Matt Ryan - while not a local boy exactly - did go to BC so it's nice to see him doing well. Especially considering the shit show he stepped into down there in Atlanta in the post-Michael Vick era. He's done well and I think that's great. (To say nothing of the fact that he's doing nice things for my fantasy team). But I wasn't at all sad to see him lose today. He seems like a nice boy, he'll get over it.

But in the end, the Patriots won the football game and stand at 2-1. And the defense - much maligned of late, by yours truly as well as everyone else - showed some signs of life. So I'll take it.

Also? Terrell Owens is already acting insane in Buffalo so who had Week 3 in the pool?

Now Kerry Rhodes will never shut up

2009-09-20T16:44:00.003-04:00

(Photo from NFL.com)

The thing is, Randy, you've got to hang onto those. Because don't think I'm not plenty pissed off about this travesty of a football game and the fact that I have to listen to loud-mouthed Jets fans (and players...and coaches) for however long this lasts.

And don't think I don't plan on spreading the blame around to all y'all. Like Randy? I believe we've covered how you need to hang onto those passes, no? And Thomas? Throwing said passes so they are, in fact, catchable would also be helpful. But mostly, Billiam? You do realize that you are not actually Obi Wan Kenobi and therefore no amount of black magic and hand waving is going to make up for the fact that we NOW HAVE NO DEFENSE, RIGHT? I mean, I presume you know this. I presume you didn't just trade away Richard Seymour for Oakland's first round pick in 2011 because you just can't help yourself from fucking over Al Davis (tempting, I know), and because you actually had a plan. Because if you somehow thought that the defense featuring NONE OF THE FOLLOWING: Bruschi, Harrison, Hobbes, Izzo, Vrabel or Seymour was going to stop anyone then I think you may have overestimated your own power.

Now look, Bill. I get it. You're you. I trust you in most things and I'll admit that it's not outside the realm of possibility that you somehow engineered this loss so that you could spend the next few weeks kicking your player's asses up and down the field to keep them from being overconfident. And if that's it, well then...fine, I guess. If it works, more power to you.

But what about me, Billiam? What about all the bullshit I have to listen to? Billiam, I live with a Jets fan. In a very small apartment. (I mean, to his credit, he is very kind and not the kind to make with the rubbing one's face in this kind of thing but still). What am I going to do? You didn't even consider me, did you? And after all I've done for you...

Also, Mark Sanchez is totally going to eclipse Peyton Manning for quarterback to appear in the most commercials per broadcast, isn't he? Greeeeat. Super.

Aaaaaand...exhale

2009-09-14T22:22:00.003-04:00

(Photo from Boston.com)

Um, we, as a country, might want to get on that health care thing soon. Because if the Patriots persist in these kind of last minute, we're going to win, oh wait, no we're not. Oh hang on a second MAYBE OUR KICKER WILL RECOVER A FUMBLE and then we'll do some acrobatics and Ben Watson will catch a touchdown except it's under review but NO wait it IS a touchdown and then we won't make the two-point conversion because that'd be too easy or something and what is with these fifteen-thousand laterals and oh my god is the game over? And we won? REALLY? - then we, as a region, are going to be making multiple trips to the emergency room with cardiac issues and it'd be really nice to know that was covered by our healthcare providers.

I'm looking out for the people is what I'm saying.

I'm also one-hundred and twenty-three percent sure that Tedy Bruschi attempted to rip off his suit coat and tie and rush the field to help the Patriots defense at least four times during the course of the game. And he's probably maybe rethinking this whole retirement thing right now. Especially with Jerod Mayo's injury. Because, sure, why not, right?

Admittedly, when Buffalo went up 24-13, I snapped the TV off, angrily declared that football is a stupid sport anyway and stuck my nose in a book. It's a new thing I'm trying, with the anger management and what not. It wasn't working either. Then Greta texted me to tell me to turn the game back on. And then...that happened. I should have known better. I really, really should have known.

And now, now I'm afraid I need to go lie down.

One of a Kind

2009-09-04T09:44:00.002-04:00

(Man, I'm going to miss that)

NESN.com has my take on Tedy Bruschi's retirement. Except that, of course, I left out the part about all the power ballads I've been listening to - specifically Nilsson's "Without You" and that part of Air Supply's "Making Love out of Nothing At All" when they inexplicably start belting about "making every tackle at the sound of the whistle and making all the stadiums rock." Which, I'm sorry, is kind of awesome.

Also, I've got a daily gig at NESN.com for the time being. A couple posts every day on Red Sox or Red Sox related people. You can find them here (link also on sidebar) and it should update daily.

Further also, I'm still training for that marathon I foolishly decided to run (foolish because I've taken to making like Varitek after long runs and encasing my knee joints in ice), and with committed funds, I'm up to $3400! That's only $1600 short of my goal with just under two months to go. I don't know, kids. I think I might actually make it. If you've already made a donation, you rock and I am eternally grateful. If you haven't yet and you'd like to, the donation link is here or on the sidebar. And if you're just sending along well wishes, that's appreciated too.

So long, old friend

2009-08-31T11:05:00.002-04:00

Well, it was probably only a matter of time. When Mike Vrabel left for Kansas City to keep Matt Cassel company, I worried that Tedy Bruschi simply wouldn't be able to find the strength to keep on keepin' on.

Turns out, Bruschi is retiring after all.

We're going to miss him around these parts, that's for sure. Though something tells me that Bruschi will never be far from Patriots football and I wouldn't be the slightest bit surprised to see him join Belichick's army of be-hoodie'd coaches sometime in the near future.

More later when I have a chance to process and reflect. But for now, be well, Tedy.

No pressure, Tom.

2009-08-21T13:59:00.002-04:00

Switching gears from baseball, this week's NESN.com post tackles (heh, see what I did there?) Tom Brady's recovery, the upcoming Patriots season and what we all want and expect.

Feels Like Football

2009-08-14T09:32:00.006-04:00

(Photo from Boston.com)

"Okay," Chrissy said as we sat down, raised our beers to Tom Brady's surgically-repaired leg and toasted to another football season, "here's the plan: as soon as the ball's snapped and Brady either throws it or hands off, he turns and runs wildly in the opposite direction."

"Away from large men lunging for his knees?" I asked.

"Yes, exactly."

"I endorse this plan."

Because, the thing is, as glad as I am to have Tom Brady and his two functional knees back on the turf, it's going to take a little while to overcome the PTSD effects I'm going to feel every time a 400-lb linebacker comes within three feet of him. I can't imagine what his own mother must feel like since everyone in New England will be holding their breath every time the ball is snapped.

But I assume, eventually, we'll get over it. Because we missed football around these parts. We really, really missed football.

Chrissy is concerned about the Randy and Tommy relationship as she thinks that the pair might need to attend couples counseling to deal with Randy's abandonment issues. But I told her that I think it's like when your husband goes away on a business trip for a long time and when he comes back, you don't sleep well for a few nights because you forgot how your arm goes there and his leg goes there or whatever. Basically, they just need to work out the kinks. Meaning, I don't think Randy was dropping passes on purpose to act out because Brady was throwing touchdowns to Chris Baker.

And then there is that Julian Edelmen fellow who I'd previously never been aware of but who is awfully scampery and fast and, frankly, I enjoy him. He was delightfully excited about everything that happened on the field which is what I believe a fan would act like, if given the chance to play. He also inspired what I'm calling "Game Plan #2" for the season.

"That's how we're going to score half our touchdowns this season," I said. "Kickoff returns. That way, Brady doesn't even have to be on the field."

"I enjoyed the strategy of using a quick-deploying, impenetrable steel wall the second the ball was snapped but this also works," Chrissy replied.

There was some sadness, of course, as there always is at the beginning of a new season. When the list of notable Patriots departures was flashed on the screen, I felt a special twist seeing Mike Vrabel's name up there.

"What I don't understand," Chrissy said, "is why we needed to lose Mike Vrabel."

"Because some one has to be the head cheerleader at Matt Cassel Confidence Camp in Kansas City and put the nice notes with the smiley faces in his lunch box."

"Well that makes sense," she said.

Also, as I mentioned to my mom later on the phone, Cassel is going into an unfamiliar system. It'll help if he has someone that can catch touchdowns. Apparently that's all Mike Vrabel does.

Losing Vrabel is going to sting. I second Amy's feelings when she said that she'd find herself getting really excited about football season and then she'd be struck with the mental image of Vrabes and Tedy sitting in front of rain-streaked windows and contemplating calling each other and she'd get sad all over again. I'm just saying, there's probably a lot of John Waite's "Missing You" playing in the Bruschi household. Tedy seems like a man who enjoys his slow jams.

That being said, Bill Belichick has never been the kind of guy to dwell in the past. He probably also doesn't acknowledge the 2007 Super Bowl as a thing that happened and he remains laser focused on the immediate future. That being, apparently, berating his newly-titanium'd QB 1 on the sidelines. But I gotta tell you, that picture makes me happy. Because Bill Belichick does not care two whits about Tom Brady's knee. He does not care about his pregnant supermodel wife or his Details magazine cover or whatever shenanigans Matt Light has in store. Bill Belichick cares about the fact that Brady just threw a long interception and he is not happy. And that, my friends, is why we like Bill Belichick.

So football is back and the Pats notched a win in a game that was meaningless in the long run but spoke volumes in our confidence as a fan base. Can't wait for the next one.

Return of the RemDawg

2009-08-14T09:22:00.002-04:00

New NESN.com post in which I suggest that the boys start playing well. You know, for the RemDawg.

A sight for sore eyes

2009-08-13T09:46:00.001-04:00

(Photo from Boston.com)

Ah, Remy. We missed you. Please come back soon to stay.

Fighting Spirit

2009-08-12T09:40:00.002-04:00

(Photo from Boston.com)

Good lord, that is the stuff nightmares are made of. I mean, I totally had a dream last night that I was fishing with someone who got torn apart by a shark but that picture up there is nearly as scary. (Side note: I might need to take a break from the Discovery Channel's programming and subsequent Netflix rentals). But Kevin Youkilis is one angry dude. And it's not pretty.

Though I do applaud the Sox tactic of "We can't seem to hit this pitcher, let's get him thrown out of the game by inciting some kind of benches-clearing brawl and get another, suckier pitcher put in." Very shrewd. Whether or not the beaning was intentional is up for debate. Kevin Youkilis does seem to get hit an awful lot. And part of it, I'm sure, is his stance. That said, eventually, even the most even-tempered guy (which Youkilis, I'm guessing, is not), is going to lose it and want to take someone down with him. I suppose you can't blame the guy.

Plus, and I know some people hate this argument as it's akin to the "fights get the team fired up" philosophy from hockey, but maybe it's what the team needed. Sure, they won on Monday night but they've been decidedly below water for the past week and a half or so and replacing Youkilis with Mike Lowell who belted two home runs might be just what the doctor ordered.

Of course, this prompted a discussion between HJ and I as to which member of the Red Sox you'd least like to piss off. He weighed in with Victor Martinez because "he's like 800 feet tall and he seems generally even-tempered. So when he goes, he goes." I countered with Dustin Pedroia because he's got years and years of little person rage to build upon. HJ scoffed at that, claiming that he thinks Pedroia's all bark and no bite. Which probably means that at some point today, HJ will open the door to find Dustin Pedroia on the doorstep, calling him out into the street to settle this like men.

But also, I don't think you can discount the power of Kevin Youkilis in a baseball brawl. If only because brawls are generally harmless and no one really ends up hurt. There are rare exceptions, of course, but for the most part, they're largely for show. Except I don't think anyone ever told Youkilis that. I mean, look at that face. Does that look like the face of a man who's kidding?

Of course, then there's Tito and Jim Leyland, who I was not all sure wasn't going to incite an old man brawl and start ranting about six-shooters and panty-waits and whatever else it is old men like Jim Leyland talk about. I wouldn't have been at all surprised if he'd attempted to step in himself and throw, oh, I don't know, David Ortiz to the ground. I don't suspect anyone would have been able to toss Leyland quite as easily as Don Zimmer went down.

All that said, in the end, the Red Sox won. And Tazawa didn't collapse into a sobbing heap on the mound. So really, we can consider that a double win. Right on.

Good Boys

2009-08-11T09:16:00.002-04:00

(Photo from Boston.com)

Was that all they needed, you think? Some tough love? Because I could do that all day, every day if that's what's required. Last night's game was a welcome respite in what had become a disconcertingly long losing streak and all of a sudden, I saw flashes of the baseball team that, on occasion, has made me happy, instead of inspiring me to reach for the vodka.

Timely hitting, good-turned-adequate pitching and an ability to recover when things didn't go their way. Now that's my baseball team. Not this sloppy band of miscreants and ragamuffins who just dropped four straight in the Bronx. It's so much more fun for all of us when people are hitting home runs and pitching out of jams then when they're masquerading as the Durham Bulls and discussing how candlesticks always make a nice gift. Though really, if the losing streak had gone any longer, it's entirely possible my NESN columns for the remainder of the season would have verged into similar territory as I discussed what to get the General Manager who has everything (a nice patio barbecue set, clearly), and whether or not we think Jason Varitek has spent more time on the phone with Doug Mirabelli lately, brushing up on his real estate facts as the trade for Victor Martinez has made him a might nervous.

I'm sure Dougie's giving him some excellent tips. Like how a pocket square really adds a professional touch to any business meeting.

Of course, tonight the Sox throw wee, young Tazawa into the mix as this evening's starting pitcher. As if shoving him onto the mound at Yankee Stadium during the 15th inning of a do or die game in his first game in the majors, only so he could give up the walkoff home run to Alex Rodriguez weren't psychologically damaging enough, they're going to see if they can finish the job tonight. Perhaps none of us will be happy until he tears at his uniform, does barrel rolls around the infield and runs screaming into the door in the Green Monster. Wouldn't be the first time. Baptism by fire, indeed.

But maybe he'll surprise us all. Here's hoping. That's the thing about baseball, right? Hope marches endlessly - and often foolishly - on.

Stern Talking To

2009-08-10T09:39:00.003-04:00

(Photo from Yahoo! Sports)

I would hide my face too, Daniel Bard.

Really, you guys? REALLY? You couldn't win one measly ball game? You had four chances. FOUR. Ted Williams once famously said something about how baseball is the only venue in life where someone can fail a third of the time and still be considered great so it's not like the stakes were too high here. But instead you choose to fail ALL OF THE TIME. I'm disgusted.

Look, sometimes I hate it when I'm right. And as my column at NESN.com on Friday indicates, sometimes I'm downright prophetic. I am not proud of it, no how, no way. Do you think it was fun for me, dear Red Sox, to spend the weekend in New York at various functions to be introduced to many people I'd never met before and, upon hearing that I'm a Red Sox fan, they'd do that teeth sucking, intake of breath that translates loosely to "Ooooo, that suuuuuucks." Because that was not fun for me. (This had nothing to do with the people I met, mind you, as they were all charming and delightful, but in a room full of Yankee fans, it was like smelling blood in the water).

Which is somewhat apropos because Shark Week just ended and I would rather watch shark attack simulations and diver's dummies torn apart FOR HOURS AND HOURS than watch John Smoltz get shelled on the mound at Yankee Stadium or Daniel Bard surrendering back to back home runs. Seriously, bring on the carnivorous shark carnage any day. It's less painful to watch.

You know what isn't fun? Listening to the idiots on WFAN dissect Ortiz's press conference and opine in the most blow hard fashion possible that Ortiz is somehow MORE guilty of cheating than A-Rod because at least A-Rod has a compelling story to go with his steroid use. Really, someone actually said that. At which point, HJ, seeing the steam coming out of my ears, switched the station to some nice, calming slow jams, lest I put my fist through the windshield. I mostly try to be reasonable when in enemy territory because I don't want to draw undue attention (or abuse) to myself but I needed a moment after that one. A moment and several strong drinks.

You know who's probably just as disgusted as I am? Josh Beckett. Because with the way Friday's game was pitched, it's really a shame anyone had to lose it (though, obviously, I would have chosen the alternate ending, especially if I'd known how the rest of the weekend was going to shape up). But there is little doubt in my mind that when A-Rod's home run (anyone but him, Universe, really), landed in the seats, Beckett set about the business of destroying whatever water coolers, helmet racks and small children were in his path. And I can't really say I blame him. Had I been in possession of any projectiles at that point, I might've thrown them myself. Who knows, perhaps the Red Sox would like to sign me to pitch for them since NO ONE ELSE SEEMS TO WANT TO DO IT.

Okay, that's not really the problem. Or it's not the sole problem. Everyone is equally at fault here and I'm not the least bit happy about any of it. I'm pretty much at my wit's end with this team. I suspect time outs won't work and Victor Martinez can only do so much. So...what? What do they need? They don't get a respite as the Tigers are in town tonight and Brad Penny, who I swear pitches EVERY DAY takes the mound. I will watch, provided I can find enough alcohol in the house to dull the pain of what may very well become a seven game losing streak. And if it is, well...football preseason begins on Thursday?

Ow, my pride

2009-08-07T11:44:00.001-04:00

(Photo from Yahoo! Sports)

NESN.com has my take on what to expect from this weekend's series and the remainder of the season.

In short, ::whimper::

Stung

2009-08-05T08:08:00.003-04:00

(Photo from Yahoo! Sports)

I liked it so much better when we played the Orioles every day. Really, that was fun. And I must again submit my plea to Major League Baseball that hits can carry over so we can take a few of our 23 from Sunday against the O's and put them to better use last night against the Rays who, tiresomely, insist on being a giant pain in the ass. Again. Some more.

Look, I understand that it's all cute and feel good-y and whatever and gosh darn shucks do people like that Evan Longoria kid and all that but more often than not, I feel like I end up shaking my fist at the sky and yelling "Zobrissssssst!" in the manner of not a few of the patrons of this here blog. Because we are enemies, the Rays and I, and Ben Zobrist just has the most cartoonish name with which to express our comic book-like struggle.

But see, we knew this was going to happen. We knew there was no way we were going back to the status quo this season with the Sox and Yankees beating the crap out of each other until only one was left standing. Not after last season. Not after The Ascension of Tampa. They seem to have gotten a taste of that whole winning thing and they appear hungry for more. (You'll forgive me for the dramatic prose but it's Shark Week and I really can't help it.)

Side note: know what's more fun than watching the Red Sox blow it in extra innings to the Rays when the eventual outcome was all but certain? Watching a show about shark attacks complete with bloody stumps, 911 calls and massive amounts of red food coloring.

So the way I see it, I'm glad Shark Week is lasting for another couple of days - right through the remainder of the Sox/Rays series. That way, in case the carnage on the field gets too difficult to bear, I can turn my attention to the animal kingdom variety and make myself feel marginally better by discussing with anyone who'll care to listen how a ray wouldn't stand a chance against a testosterone-riddled bull shark. Don't think I won't do it.

Making your own fun

2009-07-31T12:52:00.003-04:00

(Lowell's all smiles)

What can I say? I was prolific yesterday. Another NESN.com column detailing all the insane discussions you can have at the ballpark during a game in which the Sox are losing. I call it "making your own fun."

Now, what to make of my belief that this team is very big on home repairs...

My two cents

2009-07-30T20:59:00.004-04:00

Surprise, surprise, I had something to say.

NESN.com has my take.

Mike Lowell is only one man!

2009-07-30T10:01:00.004-04:00

(Photo by Chrissy)

Seriously, you guys. Mike Lowell can't do everything himself. He'll try, sure, because that's just the kind of guy he is. But he can't possibly be expected to take care of everything from RBIs to pitching all by himself. I mean, he has to save some time for proper facial hair care maintenance and upkeep after all. It's a daunting task.

And he'll do what he can to inspire, but I suspect that even Mike Lowell thinks maybe Brad Penny's sort of a lost cause at this point. Look, I thought it was going to rain last night too, Bradley, but I still showed up ready to play. It would have been nice if you'd done the same, sir. We're getting kind of thin on options around these parts and I'd appreciate it if you'd not start the game on the first pitch by putting the Sox in the hole. At least wait until the second pitch. I mean, seriously.

However, may I reiterate how nice it is to attend a Red Sox game and not have to worry about the specter of Julio Lugo ever, ever again? At one point I said to Chrissy, "So I have this theory that no one on the team really liked Lugo. And you know how infielders always turn around and motion to the outfielders and tell them how many outs there are?"

"Sure," she said.

"Well I always wondered if like Jacoby or Jason Bay nodded but in their head they were all 'I know how many outs there are, Julio. I'm paying attention. Gosh.'"

"But Jed Lowrie tells them how many outs there are too," she said.

"True," I answered, "But everyone likes Jed Lowrie. He just wants to help."

"I see your point," she said.

And...yeah, the fact that Lugo isn't on the team anymore is pretty much the best thing that happened at the game last night. What does that tell you?

(A more in-depth recap of the game, er, sort of, in tomorrow's NESN post. Link to follow.)

Jim Rice is most displeased

2009-07-29T08:31:00.002-04:00

(Photo from Yahoo! Sports)

Yes, Nick Green, I'm perplexed too. Apparently not a one of you know how to follow directions. Those directions being "win baseball games" not, as has apparently been understood "lose baseball games on late-inning comebacks by the other team in particularly soul-crushing fashion because you feel like sticking it to Hall of Fame inductee Jim Rice because you're not fond of the loud pocket squares he wears on NESN." Or whyever it was that you lost.

I guess from now on we're going to have to start putting notes on everyone's gloves, cheat sheet style. "Catch ball." "Throw ball." "Hit ball." "Do not lose."

Honestly, boys, baseball is not a complicated game. There are only so many fundamentals to remember. I thought we were past this?

So tonight, tonight you're going to win, correct? Because I have the sweet seats and I am tired. Extremely tired and creaky from all the mountain hiking and marathon training I've been doing and I would like very much if an evening in the cramped Fenway seats ended with a win for my troubles. Wouldn't that be nice? I don't feel like trekking all the way to the ballpark to watch you blow another one, boys. There are certainly better uses of my time. So straighten up and fly right. And perhaps you could tell me at what point I turned into my crotchety grandfather.

And also, you kids get off my lawn!

Now was that so hard?

2009-07-28T09:13:00.002-04:00

(Photo from Boston.com)

This is what I'm talking about. This is what I mean. Timely hitting. Good pitching. Defense when it's needed. That's some good baseball right there. Fundamentals! Who knew? Apparently all it took was me undergoing some penance by sleeping two nights in a sweaty and campfire-scented Mitsubishi Galant because Mother Nature decided to be a right bitch and rain out my camping trip this past weekend. Why it wasn't necessary for, oh, say John Smoltz or Jason Varitek to cram themselves into a late model foreign car while using baked beans as a pillow is beyond me but if that's what it takes...I do it all for you, boys.

Now, can we assume that losing nonsense is behind us? I do so enjoy the winning. I'm really like to continue that for a while. Most especially on Wednesday as I've been gifted some incredibly stellar third base line seats and would really enjoy watching a victory unfold from that vantage point. Also, I mean, it'll be much easier for me to corral Chrissy and keep her from charging the field to attack Mike Lowell if I'm enjoying a victory in the making and not fretting about a potential loss or a further drop in the standings. I'm just saying. Don't you want me to relax, Red Sox? My neck is still wonky from the car's headrest and I think you owe it to me.

And yes, I understand there's quite a leap in logic necessary for me to assume my uncomfortable camping situation had anything to do with the Red Sox fortunes but you know what? We don't do rational around these parts. It's not our way.

But Josh Beckett can't do it all himself, guys. Despite the fact that I'm sure he'd claim otherwise and take the mound in head to toe camo gear with a bowie knife in his teeth, he really can't pitch every day. That means someone's going to have to step up in the in between times. How about you, Clay? Why don't you start it off tonight. Remember that time you pitched a no-hitter? Yeah, me too. How about you bring some of that magic back? I'd really appreciate not being made to sleep in a car again to keep you all in your winning ways. The things I do for this team, honestly...

A strongly-worded letter

2009-07-24T11:43:00.001-04:00

New NESN.com post up proving that sometimes you make your point better in writing using big words and thinly-veiled threats.

Off to the woods of New Hampshire for some camping this weekend. Here's hoping I don't get eaten by bears. Keep an eye on things for me, will you?

At laaaaaaaaaast

2009-07-17T14:03:00.003-04:00

I feel as though Etta James should be singing right now. Yes, that's correct. According to our good friends at NESN, Julio Lugo has been designated for assignment meaning that the Sox have ten days to either trade or release him. That's right, our long national nightmare is over.

Since his signing Lugo has been the bane of my existence, fandom-wise and while I certainly don't take responsibility for his demotion, it doesn't mean I won't delight in it. I'd say we have the dedication and support of readers like you to thank. Perhaps I'm being too hard on the guy but I swear, the phrase "past a diving Lugo" would kill me were it employed in drinking game shenanigans. Plus there's the whole penchant for grounding into double plays.

There was one time I remember specifically because my parents and a few friends were driving back from a Portland Sea Dogs game where we'd watched Theo Epstein scout Clay Buchholz and we were listening to the late innings of the Red Sox game on the radio. Lugo came up in a crucial situation and I swear I could FEEL that he was going to fuck it up. And, predictably, he did. I yelled "GodDAMMIT, Lugo!" really loudly at the radio, waking my mom who was dozing in the passenger's seat. Her scream and subsequent attempt to smack me nearly made my dad careen off the road. My point being, Julio Lugo is clearly a menace to society and my continued well-being and I'm glad that particular chapter in our lives is over.

That said, pretty soon NO ONE is going to want to play shortstop in this town. Maybe the position is cursed?

I'll leave that to you to ponder as we all embark on this lovely, Lugo-less weekend.

Seven Signs of Summer

2009-07-17T12:09:00.003-04:00

(Photo from Boston.com)

You guys? Jed Lowrie just wants to help. Lookit how anxious he is!

New NESN.com post in which I detail all the things we have to look forward to in the second half of the season including but not limited to Jonathan Papelbon's complete break with reality and Dustin Pedroia's bicycle chain necklace. Enjoy!

America's very rapid pastime

2009-07-15T08:38:00.004-04:00

(Photo from NYTimes.com)

I don't know about you, but I'm so used to All-Star games lasting many, many moons or going into extra innings or involving some creative bullpen management using airplane glue and smelling salts that a short game, clocking in at just over two hours and twenty minutes felt very odd to me. Seemed President Obama threw out the ceremonial first pitch and twenty minutes later, we were handing the MVP trophy to Carl Crawford.

Of course, the rapid pace of the game didn't stop me from falling asleep during the later innings due to fatigue and what was, if we're being honest, not a terribly exciting game. And since Fox was playing what sounded to me like the Jurassic Park theme music every time they cut to or back from commercial, it lead to some interesting half dreams on my part. HJ would tell you I'm prone to babbling complete nonsense in my sleep (seriously, he could tell you stories). And apparently last night was no different. Falling asleep on the couch, I believe I told him that I figured out how dinosaurs died out. It had nothing to do with meteors or ice ages but rather that they'd taken to grazing in the outfield at Major League Baseball stadiums and but since the professional groundskeepers were so good at their jobs, the grass wasn't long enough to sustain the dinosaurs so they died out.

I believe I then declared that I had solved the mystery of the dinosaur's extinction and therefore, science could focus on more important things now like those flying cars and robot maids we were all supposed to have by now.

Seriously. I said all of that.

Which leads me to believe that the All-Star game happening in my head may, in fact, have been slightly more interesting than the one that went down in St. Louis. Aside from Albert Pujols' embarassing error in the first inning in front of his worshipping home town fans and Carl Crawford's bacon-saving catch to keep Jonathan Papelbon from getting all cocky, it was mostly excellent ballplayers doing what excellent ballplayers do best. Except for hitting home runs. That didn't so much happen.

And no matter what you may think of them personally, it was a little weird to have an All-Star game without Alex Rodriguez or David Ortiz or Manny Ramirez. It just felt somehow incomplete. Also, whither Tim Wakefield? I know that he was likely only going to get into the game if it went into extras or if something untoward was happening with the American League but I still really wanted to see Wake pitch. Maybe next year. Maybe he's only getting better.

Despite the relative snooze-fest of the game, I did enjoy President Obama in the booth which added some much needed, you know, competence to the idiocy that usually goes on between Joe Buck and Tim McCarver. And though I don't love the White Sox personally and I think Ozzie Guillen is a complete and total mad man, I appreciate the fact that Obama doesn't pander to the electorate with a generic "Baseball" jersey or a jacket depicting a giant American flag or eagle or some such. The man is a fan of his team and I respect that. I mean, he flat out said that he doesn't root for the Cubs. That takes some stones. That's why he's President. Honestly, I wish he could have stuck around a bit longer - as did Joe Buck as he practically begged him not to leave him alone with McCarver - but I suspect Rahm Emanuel was standing in the corner motioning for him to wrap it up because he was concerned about what prolonged exposure to the idiocy of Tim McCarver would do to the leader of the free world. The man has problems to solve.

Like that dinosaur thing. Someone should get on that.

Insert royalty-themed headline here

2009-07-14T09:15:00.002-04:00

(Photo from Yahoo! Sports)

It's getting to the point where I honestly think the best part of the Home Run Derby is the fact that the camera frequently focuses on the kids of all the players running around on what I can only assume is a Mountain Dew high and acting like, well, like kids. Particularly adorable last night was Prince Fielder's kid who just kept running around willy nilly and falling down for no apparent reason other than the fact that he's, you know, a small child and probably got into Jonathan Papelbon's Pixi-Stix stash sometime before the Derby commenced.

That said, I'm pretty sure ESPN and Major League Baseball as a whole are glad that professional baseball players often produce photogenic and hilarious children (D'Angelo Ortiz obviously being the most adorable in recent memory) as they're occasionally stuck with the task of having to promote Nelson Cruz (who?) in the Home Run Derby. And since no one outside of Josh Hamilton is aware of the existence of Nelson Cruz, well...back to the cute kids running around in the grass it is.

All in all, it was a fairly nondescript Home Run Derby. I mean, good for Prince Fielder and all but it wasn't terribly high on drama. Exciting though hearing about Fielder's vegetarianism is, drama runs a little low now that he's reportedly reconciled with his famous father and Joe Morgan was relegated to talking about...I don't know. I try not to listen to Joe Morgan. I figure I'll live longer that way.

I mean, Nelson Cruz? This wasn't even like last year where the announcers could rehash the Josh Hamilton Redemption Story over and over again and take side bets with each other over how many times they could shoehorn the word "crackhead" into the broadcast without getting slapped with an FCC fine. (Turns out, a whole lot.)

But here's a question I have: Since Carlos Pena replaced Dustin Pedroia in the All-Star Game due to Pedroia wanting to be with his pregnant wife Kelli who is undergoing labor complications, did Pena also replace Petey in the Home Run Derby? What I mean is, did the world miss out on Dustin Pedroia trying to jack home runs over the St. Louis arch while corkscrewing himself into the ground? Because that? Would have been AMAZING. And we are all the poorer for having to miss it. Let's just see what we can do to make sure this happens next year in Anaheim, no? The world needs to see this. Also, if tradition holds, there will be a wee Pedroia roaming around the infield during such an event (yes, I'm aware that 1-year-olds don't so much "roam" as they do "scoot and drool" but allow me this moment of poetic license), and the TV cameras will have something adorable to focus on when someone like Jason Bartlett wins the Home Run Derby.

It's always the nice ones...

2009-07-10T09:47:00.003-04:00

(Wake goes Hollywood)

New NESN.com post up in which I discuss the ways Tim Wakefield is awesome and congratulate him on his first All-Star nod. Not that it hasn't been said but for my money, Tim Wakefield can't be over-appreciated.

Not according to plan

2009-07-10T09:13:00.003-04:00

(Photo from Yahoo! Sports)

Riddle me this one, kids. Does Brad Penny pitch every day or does it just feel like that because seemingly whenever I have time to actually sit in front of the TV and take in an inning or two, Brad Penny's on the mound. Is that what's happening here or is there some sort of space-time continuum vortex thingie that stops time or telescopes it or something (I don't really understand all the Battlestar Galactica terminology), so that only Brad Penny's starts are visible on my TV?

Because, and I don't mind telling you this, I am getting kind of sick of Brad Penny. Especially since we're allegedly trading him? Or not. Or maybe if someone wants him enough? No one tells me anything.

However, despite my mild fatigue with Brad Penny, last night's loss to the Royals wasn't even his fault. The bullpen, in troubling fashion, went all borky and started serving up runs to the Royals. This displeases me. Not least of which because they're, you know, the Royals and while their fans are lovely people and I've heard delectable things about Kansas City barbecue and I really like that they get all attitudinal about calling a "New York strip steak" a "Kansas City strip steak" because, like, why should New York have everything named after it? Just because it thinks it's so great?, I still am not fond of losing to what has been (save for the existence of the Pirates), kind of the punching bag of the AL. I mean, it wasn't even Zack Greinke pitching, which loss I would have been able to stomach better. But I suppose, sometimes, the nerd fights back.

Of course, what I'm really not pleased about is the way in which this loss has dropped the Red Sox into a tie with the Yankees atop the AL East. Because I know we have read this book before and there are a few ways it could end but each of them involves me developing an ulcer, swearing at the television more than is healthy and drawing a line of demarcation down the middle of the couch as HJ and I take in the games from opposite sides of the living room. Not like we didn't know this was coming, but personally, I was hoping the Yankees would continue to have chemistry problems for a bit longer and A-Rod would do something stupid again. Though I suppose there's always time.

::climbs up on soapbox::

2009-07-07T12:49:00.004-04:00

I don't often post links to other sportswriter's pieces because I've always felt that it's a big internet, you know what you like, and you can find it on your own. But every now and then something grabs my attention and I feel like I can't just let it go by. Granted, I realize that by posting something that - at least in this instance - I fundamentally disagree with is just drawing more attention to the piece in question, but I'm also hopeful that it could open the lines of discourse on the subject.

So Jason Whitlock of Fox Sports has gone and written about Serena Williams. And lo, it is not pretty.

Whitlock begins by calling Serena Williams, excuse me, most recently crowned Wimbledon champion Serena Williams, an underachiever. Which is news, I'm sure, to those of us who will never win a single majors tennis title, let alone eleven, as Williams has. But, okay, I can almost see that point. If the argument is that if she worked harder, she could be even greater, I could see what Whitlock was getting at. While I don't necessarily agree because, point 1) unless he trains with her daily, he has no idea how hard she's actually working and, point 2) unlike most athletes out there, Serena has to contend constantly with the very real and ever-present challenge of her own sister - a champion in her own right. That, I'm sure, is pressure.

But here's where Whitlock goes off the rails: "She'd rather eat, half-ass her way through non-major tournaments and complain she's not getting the respect her 11-major-championships résumé demands."

Oh, oh HELL no. We're back here again, are we? We're back at this debate. Despite her 11 major tennis singles titles, 22 major titles in total and two Olympic gold medals, accomplishments which should really speak for themselves to that whole "underacheiver" claim Whitlock makes, Williams is being derided for not being thin enough? Really?

Everyone remembers Anna Kournikova, right? Pretty girl, played tennis reasonably well, dated Enrique Iglesias for a while? Then the tables turned and she started getting slammed for becoming more interested in her modeling career than her middling tennis one. Serena Williams could eat her for breakfast. I find it interesting that while Whitlock is claiming that Williams could be even better at tennis if she'd just eat a little less and care a bit more about her appearance (the athletic equivalent of "she has a great personality"), he doesn't once mention how so many sportswriters (and possibly even himself), railed against Kournikova for being a model first and a tennis player, oh, fifth, maybe. And yet he seems to be advocating that line of "training" for Williams.

I won't argue that he's being sexist for claiming that people like their athletes to look good. That goes without saying, though Whitlock does make the Tom Brady argument for me. I have and will continue to objectify professional athletes from time to time. It's all part of being in the public eye. But to claim that if Serena Williams lost thirty pounds, she'd set every record known to man is pure nonsense. There's a reason she's so powerful. A lot of it comes from that "oversized back pack" as Whitlock so charmingly calls it.

Look, I'm not a tiny girl myself and never will be. And I don't work anywhere near as hard as Serena Williams at my athletic endeavors (presumably Whitlock would also call me an underacheiver for failing to win a singles title by the age of 28), but I can tell you two things I've learned from marathon training. One, the more you run and the more you push it, those of us genetically pre-disposed to carrying our weight in our backsides are not going to see them get any smaller. And two, if you're training for anything, any athletic activity at all, you've gotta EAT. Possibly Whitlock never passed basic nutrition class, I don't know. But unless he's standing next to Williams and weighing her food portions himself, he'd do well to keep his "nutrional" opinions to himself.

Seems it was just a few months ago when all anyone would talk about was Michael Phelp's seemingly inhuman intake of 12,000 calories a day. And all the guy did was win eight gold medals. Surely Whitlock would claim he could have won ten if he'd just cut back on the pancakes.

What about Dan Marino? Widely regarded as one of the best professional football quarterbacks ever but not a single Super Bowl title to show for it. Probably because he just couldn't put down those french fries, eh, Jason?

The fact is that the Williams sisters provide their own litmus test, of sorts. You don't get much closer, genetically, than sisters and the physical difference between Serena and Venus Williams is obvious. Venus is taller and more sveltly built while Serena is heavily muscled and four inches shorter. But only one of them has a killer power serve. Hint: it's not Venus.

The tendency in a situation like this is to go on the attack and start picking on Whitlock's less than Adonis-like body. (And some of the Jezebel commentors surely have that taken care of). But that does no one any good. I also suspect he thinks he's beaten us to the punch by claiming that he's "fulfilling his destiny" because "sportswriters are supposed to be plump and lazy." But in actuality, he's proven exactly how lazy he is by resorting to a tired old cliche masquerading as an intelligent sports article.

And that, I think, is the tragedy here. Serena Williams is going to be fine. If anything, she seems perfectly happy in her championship-style body and good for her. Whitlock also claims that she's too interested in pursuing interests outside of tennis and that she's "happy to be photographed on dates with pro athletes and proud to serve as a role model for women with oversized back packs." Yes, how DARE she? As to her outside interests? Good for her. In addition to the things she no doubt does for fun, she's also actively involved in charities, to say nothing of the way she's helped raise the profile of tennis in the inner cities and among African-Americans, especially African-American women. She's using her "celebrity" that Whitlock derides to many good ends. And if she decided to quit tennis tomorrow? That is her right. She owes us NOTHING.

What we - and by "we" I mean not only the sports-loving public but also journalists like Whitlock whom, without athletes like Williams would find themselves out of a job right quick - owe Serena Williams, is some respect. She's certainly earned it.

The prodigal son returns

2009-07-07T09:16:00.003-04:00

(Photo from Boston.com)

Because, come on, we totally know how to throw down a tribute in this town.

Look at the face on the woman in the bottom right. Like a proud mother. Which is actually how much of New England felt about Nomar for a long time. He was ours. We made him. We watched him spray line drives and perform his idiosyncratic batting glove and toe tapping routine in the batter's box night after night after night. And while there aren't many of us that would trade the, erm, trade of Nomar and the subsequent World Series championship, I suspect there will always be a little part of us that wishes he could have been here for it.

I have to wonder how it feels for Nomar to be playing alongside Orlando Cabrera now, the man who replaced him in the Sox infield for said championship. Maybe they don't talk about it. Or maybe, as I hope happens, O-Cab occasionally mentions what a folk legend Nomar was and still is in Boston. I feel like he should know that.

Nomar always endeared himself to me personally by seeming to have such a complete and reverent grasp of baseball history and it's place in the larger whole. He befriended Ted Williams (which, despite Williams' legendary status, could not have been easy considering he was also a notorious curmudgeon), and always seemed to play the game respectfully, knowing that he wasn't the be all and end all and there had been baseball for many years before he started playing and baseball would continue for many years after he was gone. Not every current day player can remember that.

So good on ya, Boston. You done me proud with your tribute. Your playing however? Yikes.

That smarts

2009-07-03T11:44:00.001-04:00

(Aaaaaand...ouch)

New NESN.com post up wherein I discuss how the painful losses keep us humble. And how we use them to fuel vengeance.

Watch out, Eli, is what I'm saying.

Turnabout is Fair Play

2009-07-01T19:13:00.002-04:00

(Photo from Yahoo! Sports)

Okay, someone hold me. I really think we're in the end times. First the Sox blow a 9-run lead in epic fashion last night to the lowly Orioles (love you, Baltimore, mean it), and then today they stage a comeback of their own, giving Baltimore a taste of their own medicine. The whole comeback thing isn't that strange but what is, is who played the role of hero this afternoon. That would be a one Mr. Julio Cesar Lugo, which person, I am sure you are aware, I am really not very fond of. Though, if I do recall correctly, Lugo also authored the winning run in what's become known as the Mother's Day Miracle/Massacre (depending on your side of the story). So I guess what I'm saying is...does Julio Lugo really, really hate Baltimore? Did he perhaps eat some bad crabcakes at Ocean Pride once? Does Old Bay make him retain water? Or is he just fucking with me? I'd put nothing past the guy.

Now while the win is excellent and surely takes some of the sting (though not all) out of last night's pride punch and metaphorical knee to the goob, what is concerning to me is the Sox recent issues with rookie pitchers. We had this problem a few years ago when the Sox were seemingly responsible for inflating the scouting reports of rookie pitchers such that they looked like Cy Young candidates. Other teams never seemed to have this problem when facing the same pitchers. Maybe that's how Carl Pavano happened. Now I understand how familiarity can tip a team off to a pitcher's tendencies and idiosyncrasies and the like, which is why the Sox often handle the likes of Andy Pettitte and Bartolo Colon (pre-Sox version) with relative ease, but the fact that they've apparently resorted to being confused by rookie pitchers again for more than a few innings is slightly disconcerting.

However, I suppose given the outcome of today's game and the fact that the comeback was staged against Baltimore's more talented relievers, I shan't complain. I am slightly concerned about this Lugo thing though and with good reason. Have you been around Boston lately? It's entirely possible the sky is falling.

I'm sorry...what?

2009-06-30T23:48:00.002-04:00

Yeah...no. That was, what we in the business call "unfuckingacceptable." Like a horrible nightmare you can't escape from, that just kept getting worse and worse. And no disrespect to the lovely Greta or any of the other charming Orioles fans I know but...what the shit? That does not happen. I realize this is Birdland and all that but come the fuck on.

Perhaps we have learned our lesson, bullpen, about either assuming rain delays or seeing a 10-1 lead in the seventh, kicking back and opening up the Jaeger tap in the bullpen before all is said and done. HAVE WE NOT? HAVE WE NOT LEARNED THAT LESSON?

Or perhaps we should LEARN HOW TO COUNT OUTS BECAUSE NOW YOU ALL LOOK LIKE A BUNCH OF JACKASSES.

Look what's happened. You've made me yell. I'm yelling now. You see what you've made me do? You haven't given me much cause to yell at you for a while and frankly, I didn't miss it. BUT IT SEEMS YOU DID. YOU MISSED THE YELLING. HAPPY NOW?

And John Smoltz had done so well too. The man is a Hall of Famer, you jerks. Show some respect. Keep this nonsense up and he'll gang up with Tim Wakefield and form a modern day Butch and Sundance and make you all pay. Don't think he won't. It's always the quiet ones.

And Nick, Nick Markakis. I am going to lay it out for you ONE. MORE. TIME. You are to play like an All-Star in 143 games out of the season. During the nineteen you play against the Red Sox, I'd prefer mediocrity to middling performance. I really thought I'd made myself clear. I named my cat after you, dude. It's really the least you can do.

But in the end, this is not on Nick. There are, in fact, a few people I'd like to blame this on and for once, not a single one of them is named Julio Lugo. Mark that down, that's gotta be a first.

Honestly, gentlemen, your mothers must've taught you better than this. Or did you never learn about chickens and the premature counting of same?

/shakes head in disgust and goes off to bed, muttering about how baseball's a stupid game anyway...

Who is man enough to step to this?

2009-06-26T10:48:00.001-04:00

Thought I'd draw your attention to a new NESN.com post about the personalities that fit in so well in the Boston sports scene.

I promise, there's nary a Michael Jackson reference to be found.

Dave Roberts: World's Nicest Man

2009-06-24T14:40:00.004-04:00

Now, of course those of us in Red Sox Nation with dear memories of 2004 are predisposed to loving Dave Roberts. There's little the man could do that would cause us to turn on him. Short of kicking a puppy, insulting my mom and donning a Yankees cap, I'd say the guy's pretty golden around here. (Though my mom is a lovely women and I'm sure she and Mr. Roberts would get along swimmingly as he'd no doubt take a keen interest in all her scrapbooking activities). That said, there's a very clear difference in the NESN booth between Dave Roberts' commentary and that of our other Remy-filler-in-er, Dennis Eckersley.

Take, for instance, last night's game against the Nationals in which Massachusetts Senator and erstwhile Democratic Presidential nominee John Kerry visited the NESN booth. Where Dave Roberts surely made his mother proud and referred to him quite respectfully as "Senator" (treatment far better than I'm sure he frequently receives in Congress), I can only imagine that Eck would have brought up the 2004 election and been all "What was that crap about, huh? Does it cheese you off that you lost to a guy stupider than a roisin bag?" (I may be editorializing a bit as I've got no clue as to Eckersley's political leanings). Where Kerry and Roberts quaintly discussed the Nationals park and how it compares to Fenway, I'm sure Eck would have mentioned something about how it's easier to find a strip joint in DC than it is around Fenway. I mean, I'm guessing.

Then there was the talk about the Sox ownership group and what it's done for the team and the fan experience over the past few years. "Mr. Henry, Mr. Lucchino and Mr. Werner have done a terrific job," Roberts said. And while that's certainly true, I thought, "Mr. Dave? Jesus, you've got the job already." But it's all part of his charm, surely.

Of course, his love affair with Jacoby Ellsbury is fantastic as I'm sure he sees himself in the "young speedster" as he might call him. But it'll be amusing to see how he keeps his raging mancrush under control. What might be good times, however, is to put Roberts and Eckersley in the booth together some evening and watch the show. I delight in the metaphorical pearl clutching Dave Roberts would surely engage in when Eck calls someone a bozo or challenges the likes of Joba Chamberlain from the booth by taunting "No one likes you anyway!" It would be, in the parlance of Mr. Roberts, splendid.

Fever Dreams

2009-06-19T09:23:00.003-04:00

(I'm sure I looked much more pathetic than this)

New NESN.com post is up wherein I recap the last week of sports happenings as seen through my swine flu haze and fevered hallucinations.

Now I ask you, what's weirder? Flu-induced imaginings or reality? Ask Luis Castillo.

Remember what your mom taught you

2009-06-12T09:55:00.002-04:00

New post up at NESN.com regarding the Sox/Yankees rivalry and how Sox fans should act. In short: be nice.

Sorry there's not much commentary on last night's game, kids. I watched most of it from the fevered depths of swine flu and I'm not sure how much of it was a hallucination.

Lucky 7

2009-06-10T23:39:00.003-04:00

(Photo from Yahoo! Sports)

Speaking of lucky, how lucky am I that I managed to get tickets to this game? Thanks to HJ's friend Rob, also a long time reader of mine. (The same Rob who very seriously asked me, when ascertaining that I was, in fact, the author of this here weblog, "You know he's a Yankees fan, right?") I like to think he was looking out for me.

Regardless, he offered HJ and I tickets to last night's game and we gladly accepted, unaware of the intense cloak and dagger business we'd have to go through to retrieve them. It involved a lunch time super secret drive to the depths of Newton, shimmying down a drain pipe to obtain the tickets contained within, donned sunglasses and wigs and wire transfers to banks in the Cayman Islands. Okay, only part of that is true, but I'll let you decide which part. Rob claims we should consider ourselves lucky to have escaped without an attack by fluffy bunnies or an armada of Volvo-driving suburban moms. Espionage and intrigue indeed.

It all ended up being worth it though (well, for me anyway, I can't speak for HJ who has now seen his beloved Pinstripes go 0 for 7 against the Red Sox thus far this season). That said, he remains an extremely good sport and even bantered with me about such things as why he couldn't see Papelbon's stash of Tonka Trucks in the bullpen from our seat and which Yankee player's names sounded like delicious menu items.

Me: What about Matsui? Could you order a Matsui?

HJ: No, that's not a real thing in a restaurant. What would that even be?

Me: It would be delicious is what.

HJ: Alfredo Aceves is one. But Alfredo is an actual menu item so...

Me: Could you order an Alfredo Matsui?

HJ: Ew. That'd be like octopus in cream sauce.

Me: Oh so now you can tell me what a Matsui is.

This kind of thing is pretty much par for the course.

We both also marveled at the resilience of the human liver on display all around us. Truly astounding that and the examples of douchiness weren't limited to fans of either team as one might expect. Nope, there were Yankee fans in attendance whose seeming only mission was to wank poetic about Derek Jeter (again, some more), and there were Sox fans who couldn't find anything better or more creative to do than to repeat the insipid "Yankees Suck" chant. And here's the thing about that: if you're going to insist on doing it, you might want to do it after the Yankees have done something especially bone-headed, like Nick Swisher's error leading to Pedroia's ground rule double. Or "past a not quite diving because he really doesn't seem that interested A-Rod." You certainly don't want to break it out after Johnny Damon goes yard or Swisher redeems himself with an amazing diving catch. Oh, oh that is when you'd like to reassert that the Yankees do, in fact, suck? Okay then. Sigh.

Look, I realize that it seems that I'm perhaps getting soft on the rivalry or that I'm bagging on my own people here but I think the issue, really, is that the rivalry has gotten a lot less one-sided of late. And we need new blood. Or at the very least, new chants. The Yankees don't suck. Neither do the Red Sox. Admittedly the Sox have owned the Yankees this season, or, in the parlance of 14-year-old Twitter devotees (and, let's be honest, probably Jonathan Papelbon), pwned them. And that I find delightful. But there's certainly enough insanity and rivalry-ness on the field to go around. You want to boo Mark Teixeira? By all means. Go to town. Want to roll your eyes every time someone mentions Jeter's clutchiness or calm eyes? Please, I do too. But seriously, watch the game. It's usually a pretty good one.

Speaking of, guy one section over who spent the entire game wacking a beach ball between sections and who seemed to be suffering from some sort of anger management problem if the force by which he was sending that beach ball aloft was any indication, you missed a pretty good game. Shame, that.

Of course, because it's Yankees/Red Sox, there had to be some drama. Sources at home tell me that the umpiring was shitty all night as in evidence, even from the right field box seats (most of which don't even face the right direction), when the ump badly blew the call at first resulting in Swisher being awarded an infield hit on a bunt. He was, I don't mind telling you, very, very out. So out that no Yankee fans in the area even bothered to put up a fight. The play ended up not mattering (except to Wakefield's pitch count) as Nick Green snared a smoking liner and doubled Swisher off first (perhaps rightly, perhaps it was a make up call), shortly thereafter and HJ began fielding frantic, angry text messages from Sebastian, a mutual friend and Yankee fan now living in Manhattan and listening to the game on the radio. "Tell him he can blame Julio Lugo," I said, "I usually do when things go badly." Because I don't know many things in this life for sure, but I do know that Julio Lugo would not have caught that ball.

Then, of course, there was the drama in Papelbon's ninth. While it wasn't quite the "load the bases then strike three guys out" heart attack I was fearing, things did get a little dicey. Honestly, they righted themselves when I threatened to take away Paps' Tinker Toys unless he finished the job.

"I'm glad the see he responds to threats," HJ said.

While leaving the park, I called my dad to inform him that, despite predictions, neither I nor HJ had killed anyone and no bail money needed to be ponied up. He answered the phone from the depths of sleep.

"Huh, wha? HJ killed someone?" he said groggily.

"No, dad, I'm telling you no one killed anyone. You should be proud."

"Huh, why'd he kill someone? What'd you do?"

"No, he didn't kill anyone. The Sox won 6-5. We're at the game."

"Oh, huh, say the Sox won?"

"Yes, dad, 6-5."

"Oh, oh good. Fell asleep. Hey, make sure HJ doesn't kill anyone, ok?"

"Right, thanks, dad. Will do. Go back to sleep."

I'm telling you people, the life I lead. Honestly. All that said, I'll take a 7-0 season lead on our biggest rivals any day. Even if espionage and intrigue is required to witness it. Hell, for that kind of lead, I'll make like Sydney Bristow in Alias and take the spy games international. Anything for my baseball team.

A thing of beauty

2009-06-10T08:29:00.005-04:00

(Photo from Boston.com)

Man, seems it's been a while since we've posted a photo like that, huh? Maybe it's time again. All I know is, I was at the Cambridge Brewing Company on Saturday night enjoying a delicious adult beverage when Papi hit his second home run of the season in the game against the Rangers. The bar area erupted into spontaneous applause. We just want it so badly for him. I'm willing to bet those same people were clapping last night.

We've been hearing for the past week or so how the Yankees team the Sox would be facing during this series was not the same Yankees team they've smacked around so far this season. Maybe so. Personally, I was in New York for their three straight consecutive walkoffs and I did not relish playing a team that had seemingly found their magic. Maybe they are a different team. But then, they ran into a different Josh Beckett last night too.

This Josh Beckett, in addition to having absolutely no intention of letting any Yankee hitters do any damage whatsoever, also likely was annoyed at Eckersley for his jinxy jinxyness last time out and so was dominant from the beginning.

A.J. Burnett, on the other hand, well...he's growing a nice little Nascar-stache there. So...that's something?

Please, Papi, come back.

2009-06-05T09:16:00.002-04:00

Hi, kids. I've got a new post up on NESN.com where I talk about David Ortiz and what we, as fans owe him. And also why it's so hard to let go...if letting go is required.

I also managed to fit in references to Jon Bon Jovi and Steve Perry. 'Cause I'm special that way.

Dennis Jinx-ersley

2009-06-04T08:16:00.006-04:00

(Photo from Yahoo! Sports)

That game had pretty much everything you wanted in a baseball contest, no? A no-hitter by Beckett taken to the 7th despite some mighty jinxing on Eckersley's part (more on that in a moment), everyone - including David Ortiz(!) - getting in on the hit parade, some excellent defense in service of the then no-hitter, and even a little drama at the end there with the Tigers mounting what was an ultimately fruitless but still a bit nervous-making comeback. Also, the Sox won, which is always good times.

But about Dennis Eckersley...

Sir, are you or are you not a Hall of Fame pitcher? I know you are. I've been to the hallowed halls of Cooperstown and seen your flowing locks cast in bronze for all the baseball-loving world to admire. That fact alone should indicate that you, yourself, were a baseball player, among the world's most superstitious of characters. And you were, as you kept mentioning last night, also a pitcher. Now I realize that you've personally never thrown a no-hitter, but surely you've seen many happen. (Edit: I've been corrected by an anonymous commentor, Dennis, is that you? Eck has in fact thrown a no-hitter. In May 1977. Nevertheless.) As such, you clearly know the protocol of NOT MENTIONING THAT THE PITCHER IS THROWING A NO-HITTER. You cleverly dance around the issue. You say things like "All zeroes through seven frames for Beckett" or "Whole lotta nothing happening for the Detroit offense this evening." You might comment on the pitcher's superstition or how no one is talking to him in the dugout but you CERTAINLY DON'T SAY WHY. And you ABSOLUTELY don't mention the phrase "no-hitter." And if you break protocol and do mention it? You pretend it never happened. You don't say it seemingly thirty more times. The fans know what's going on. We're smart people. Trust me, we're paying attention.

Now, I realize that sometimes it's difficult. Especially for someone like Eck who is prone to verbal tidal waves. Especially when you disagree vehemently with something happening on the field. Like Gerald Laird's attempt last night to break up the no-hitter with a bunt bid. Cheap, Eck thought and I happen to agree. I also greatly enjoyed Eck's disgust and discussion with Orsillo about whether or not Beckett should throw the next pitch over Laird's head. See, Eck is just like us. He gives voice to his prejudices and emotions and is a paranoid homer. And it's delightful. But, Dennis, please, remember that we don't say "no-hitter" around these parts during a game. Not now, not ever.

Retirement of a Badass

2009-06-03T09:25:00.003-04:00

(Photo originally from SI, I believe.)

I realize that outside of New England, Rodney Harrison is pretty much persona non grata. But the thing is, we love the guy around here. Every team has a guy like that. In every sport. There's always someone whom you love, but who you fully admit you wouldn't be able to stand were he on another team, especially that of your rival. I feel that way about Josh Beckett some days. And I'm pretty sure Dustin Pedroia's Napolean-complex would be more annoying and far less endearing were he a Yankee. Also? Bill Belichick. Think he's loved by fans of other teams? Or other teams? Or other coaches? I highly doubt it.

So that's how we feel about Rodney. We take his badassery and we make a thing out of it. We print up "Talk Shit, Get Hit #37" shirts. We wear it like a badge of honor. And Harrison? Well, he just keeps hitting people.

There's obviously contention about Harrison's so-called cleanliness or lack thereof as a player. Some of it warranted. But the fact remains that he is the only player in NFL history to record 30 sacks and 30 interceptions. And he played his ass off for the Patriots when he was here. That, we're going to miss.

Evidently Rodney is going to join NBC's broadcasting team which is just delightful. I imagine him as the NFL's answer to Dennis Eckersley. Spouting off about "cheese" and "junk" and occasionally warranting FCC fines. Plus also, it's not completely out of the question that he'll get so frustrated that he'll strap on a helmet, rush out of the booth and sack someone his own self. Also, Rodney did a stint reffing in NFL Europe, I believe, which is both hilarious and ironic. So he'll surely have something to say about the officiating.

Of course, the NBC gig means he won't start his smooth jazz radio show which thing I totally invented but which I also think would be exceptionally fantastic. Though I suppose there's always time. A girl can dream.

Boston, You're My Home

2009-05-29T11:27:00.001-04:00

(Photo from Trip Advisor)

New NESN.com post up, kids, in which I romanticize about the...well, romance of Fenway Park. Enjoy!

Knockaround Guys

2009-05-28T08:03:00.003-04:00

(Photo from Yahoo! Sports)

So...do you think George Kottaras knows where he is right now? Or did all the wild pitches/passed balls/getting knocked into next Tuesday render him incapable of rational thought? Like, if you asked him how many fingers you were holding up, would he say "yellow?"

Poor George. It's happened to many before you, young man. True, it's not the knuckleball you were forced to tangle with last night and, truth be told, you've done an admirable job of that so far this season. But perhaps no one told you about Matsuzaka's penchant for wildness or his never-ending quest for equality as he doles out walks to the entire ballpark. You couldn't have known.

And then, there was the collision at the plate with Carlos Gomez who, if a recent series between the Twins and Yankees is to be believed, has a bit of a fighty streak in him. You done well, sir, to not only hold onto the ball but to absorb the hit and make the out. We're not certain, but we think we could feel Jason Varitek sitting in the dugout and cringing. He's 37, you know. His veteran bones can't quite take that kind of licking anymore.

That said, 'Tek? Please come back to us. We'll cushion the home plate area with bubble wrap if it'll help. Only don't go away again.

All in all, a frustrating game. Despite Papi's better efforts, Denard Span felt like being a big mean jerk and catching all fly balls hit his way which, really, is just inconsiderate when a guy's trying to get going. But I'm sure Papi wouldn't want anything handed to him anyway. Though, do you suppose it's okay if I give him a hug?

And Jason Bay hit a home run. As that is what Jason Bay does. Our pale little Canadian is steadfast, that's for sure.

Day game today. Beckett goes at 1:10. Perhaps he will have had quite enough of this wild pitch business and will throw nothing but BBs all day. Here's hoping. For us and for Jason Varitek's knees.

Here is what we learned

2009-05-27T09:55:00.002-04:00

(Photo from Bliss-Tree.com)

We learned that if we get home, take Benadryl and then drink half a Negra Modelo, we will pass out completely at 8:35pm, waking up only once when the boyfriend texts something about LeBron getting his shit together. We will then pass out again until roughly 7:10 this morning.

This will cause us to miss the Red Sox game entirely. Checking box scores this morning, we will realize that we didn't miss much.

We will vow to do better.

We will also vow not to mix allergy medicine and alcohol again. You know, maybe.

Doing better and demanding more.

2009-05-22T15:35:00.003-04:00

The new issue of InSite Magazine is out and I've got a new column. Somewhat uncharacteristically serious for me but I think that we often forget the impact and influence sports and athletes have on us as a culture. And the media (self included if we're using the broadest possible definition of the term), have a responsibility to demand more.

Check it out.

Are you not entertained?

2009-05-22T08:51:00.005-04:00

New post on NESN.com is up, kids. Wherein I discuss the favorite cinematic distractions of our favorite Red Sox players. Come on, you just know Pedroia is off somewhere pounding bloody slabs of beef a la Rocky. You didn't need me to tell you.

As George Michael once famously, said, you gotta have faith.

2009-05-21T09:25:00.003-04:00

(Photo from Boston.com)

See, Papi? We knew you could do it. Never doubted you for a second. Okay, perhaps that's not 100% accurate but I'd state confidently that most of us knew you had that in you somewhere. But we were worried. And while a curtain call after the first home run of the season might seem excessive and a little, you know, much to some people, it was an acknowledgment that, "Wow, been a while, huh? Good to get that monkey off our backs." Now let's move on.

And perhaps I'm not quite as hardened and cynical as I thought as the Fenway crowd's reaction to Ortiz's blast last night had me all choked up. That's what happens when a fan base truly loves a player. You want them to do well. You will for them to do well. And when they do, it's excellent.

Also excellent was the home run derby the Red Sox decided to play last night against young Mr. Cecil. It wasn't quite the same as the night a few years ago when the Sox went back-to-back-to-back-to-back off the Yankees Chase Wright and where, if you looked closely enough, you could actually pinpoint the moment his soul left his body, but it was similar in terms of the amount of mercy they showed. Read: none. And Captain 'Tek with the hitting! 37-year-old can't hit catcher my ass. That'll show 'em.

So tonight, it's Game Three against those worrisome Blue Jays from yonder North. I'm sure Kevin Millar has something delightful on tap for the finale, possibly involving some questionable tonsorial decisions or a barnyard animal or two. One never knows...

Lovefest for Wakefield

2009-05-20T09:41:00.003-04:00

(Photo from Boston.com)

Awww, there's a smile. Who's our cream puff? We love ya, Timmy, you know we do. You do know that, right? Despite the whole "trading away of your personal catcher, no, wait, he's back, actually we think we'll just let him retire and become a realtor in Michigan" thing, right? Doesn't mean we love you any less.

You're Mr. Reliable. Mr. Steady-As-She-Goes. Mr. Dependable. You're Tim Wakefield, practically a synonym for steadfast stoicism in this town. That young fellow George seems to be taking to you rather well too, I'd say. Not that there's anyone around these parts who wouldn't personally strap on the tools of ignorance to give it a go should you need a personal catcher in his stead. And this is even after witnessing what trying to harness the knuckleball can do to the likes of 'Tek during 2004's ALCS Game Five, colloquially known as the never ending passed ball-a-thon. But we love you, Wake, so for you, we'd happily chase errant knuckleballs all over the infield.

Why the lovefest, you may ask? Could be last night's masterful eight innings against the division leading (?) Blue Jays. Save one Kevin Millar home run (and you can hardly fault the guy, he does know you well), it was a virtuoso performance. Could just be that it finally, finally, finally feels like springtime and I was able to watch the game with all the windows in my apartment wide open. Could be that with the Celtics and Bruins eliminated from contention, the Red Sox are back to being the only show in town and, same as it ever was, we've got Timmy Wake to count on. Whatever it is, consider this era of good feelings out in full force.

Bradley Wayne Penny? You are obliged to keep it going, sir.

Healthy Competition

2009-05-15T12:54:00.005-04:00

New NESN.com post is up, kids, wherein I offer some suggestions for promotions our four respective professional sports teams can do to stake their claim on their portion of the fan base. A good problem to have, surely.

But then, who wouldn't want to attend "Dennis Eckersley High Cheese Night?" No one I care to know, that's for sure.

Off the Brink

2009-05-15T09:37:00.002-04:00

(Photo from Boston.com)

And just like that, it's all over. Thought they had this one too. I really did. I mean, what's a hockey team doing in Carolina anyway? Especially one with a coach that looks much more like the lead singer of some emo band you've never heard of or perhaps The Proclaimers than the coach of a professional hockey franchise. I mean, honestly.

But pettiness aside, the Bruins have little to be ashamed of. They fought hard and they fought long and overtime in Game 7 is about as far as anyone can expect to be pushed. That said, I wanted to win that one. I really did.

I guess I'll cheer for the Blackhawks now since I have a sense of loyalty to Original Six teams and Detroit won theirs last year. Plus I've always gotten the sense that I'd greatly enjoy Chicago. Guess this means that spring has officially begun here, kids. Winter in Beantown is over.

Good thing we have that baseball team to focus on. Now, what's the matter with David Ortiz?

Get well soon, RemDawg

2009-05-07T11:36:00.005-04:00

(Who else misses this? I know I do.)

I'm in New Orleans until Tuesday, kids. Keep a lid on things without me, okay? In the meantime, my new NESN.com piece is up wherein I detail all the options the Sox have for a temporary replacement for Sox broadcaster Jerry Remy while he continues his recovery from cancer surgery and subsequent pneumonia. Kevin Garnett and Bill Belichick in the booth, anyone?

Get well soon, RemDawg. We love Eck and all but you're our man in the booth. We miss you.

Beware of larcenous Canadians!

2009-05-06T09:30:00.006-04:00

(Photo from Yahoo! Sports)

If there's anything more delightful than the dulcet sounds of Dennis Eckersley's commentary coming from the booth during a game at Yankee Stadium in which the Red Sox are winning, it may be the unexpected and still understated play of everyone's favorite Canadian, Jason Bay. I mean, from the Red Sox side of things, of course. When Bay swiped second late in the game last night, I referred to him as a surprisingly larcenous Canadian while HJ, the Yankee fan boyfriend claimed, "You know those Canadians, always wanting stuff for free. Health care, bases..."

You can't say he doesn't have a sense of humor about these matters.

Then, of course, there's Eckersley. Why NESN has been messing around with the likes of Buck Martinez while our dearly beloved Jerry Remy recovers from pneumonia is beyond me. When they have a gem like Eck in their midst? We could have been listening to this brilliance the whole time? Oh, Dennis, where have you been all our lives?

Now don't get me wrong, I love Remy more than is probably healthy and wish him the speediest of speedy recoveries, but Eckersley is nothing short of a national treasure. The man simply says what he thinks, whatever pops into his head, regardless of appropriateness or tact. It's simply delightful. His assessment of certain Yankee players being scrubs is fantastic such as his comments in re: third base sub Ramiro Pena. "This guy already got his bloop single. He's not a hard out. He has no business hanging in there against someone like Beckett." And his steadfast assertion that Chamberlain drilling Bay was intentional: "That's just bush. That's bush league. You're gonna do that in a one run game? Come on, now, no one in that dugout likes you to begin with."

Basically, Eck says what we're all thinking. And our lives are the richer for it.

Now that I'm writing for NESN.com and Eck and I are technically paid by the same people, Chrissy is angling for an invite to the annual Christmas party (which thing I don't know if it exists). I suspect she just wants an opportunity to touch Eck's flowing locks and bask in the commentary he's sure to deliver on junk ball pitchers and leads off first. In the meantime, I'll do what I can to make sure Eck is a part of our daily baseball lives. Of course, when Remy comes back, we shall embrace him with open hearts, but a little Eck never hurt anyone.

Runaround

2009-05-04T10:01:00.008-04:00

(My sneakers. See how fast they make me look?)

Marathon fundraising update!

That's right, you're getting running updates. To date, I've raised $1,365.40 (the odd numbers owing to some creative friends and their donations of $52.40 - or $2 a mile, and $262 or $10 per). And that's in just over a month of fundraising. I can't begin to thank you all enough. With more than five months to go, I'm over a quarter of the way to my fundraising goal. You people make me proud.

As for the actual training part of this marathon, right now I'm still doing short runs. Inside on the track and progressively more and more outside runs as the weather warms up. Of course, when I run inside, I don't get chased by a very aggressive Pekingese like I did on Saturday. I also don't get lost in the woods while listening to "American Girl" on my iPod and freak myself out by envisioning that I've somehow inadvertently cast myself in a remake of Silence of the Lambs. But if I didn't run outside, I wouldn't have these stories with which to entertain you, now would I?

If you've not yet donated and would like to, you can find my personal donation page here. Link is also on the sidebar. HJ, the graphics wiz boyfriend has created a handy thermometer so you can track my fundraising progress. Or if you'd rather do it the old-fashioned way, Rick and Sue are accepting checks made out to the Alzheimer's Association (email me at snowtackle (at) gmail (dot) com for details).

Once again, I thank you all from the bottom of my heart for your support in this crazy endeavor. I've said it before and I'll say it again but I truly do have the best readers out there. You guys rock!

For shame

2009-05-01T09:15:00.002-04:00

(I feel you, monkey)

One hit? One? I am going to take so much shit from my grandmother.

On the plus side, I've got a new piece on NESN.com wherein I let our dear GM know exactly what's up.

All streaks must end

2009-04-29T07:34:00.004-04:00

(Photo from Yahoo! Sports)

I'm not sure what the question is, but I'm fairly certain that Brad Penny isn't the answer. And then there's Javier Lopez, evidently performing his best rendition of "Mother's Day Massacre with Kevin Millar and Chris Ray in C Minor." I mean one run is not the same as five, but the end result is familiar.

But we really can't get too bent out of shape about this one. Seemingly making up for Monday night's game which took all of twenty minutes, this one stretched on interminably until I called it a night, flipped off the television and figured there was every chance they'd still be playing when I woke up this morning. Last night's game was one that I didn't so much desperately want the Red Sox to win as I did for it to just be over. Maybe that makes me a bad fan. Maybe it just makes me tired. Maybe it just makes me used to the antics of a one Mr. Javier Lopez.

Not that errors can't happen to anyone. They surely do. Our beloved Mike Lowell isn't having himself the best season defensively at third but we forgive him because...he's Mike Lowell. Perhaps in this young season, we'd do best to forgive Lopez as well.

Or...we can blame all of this on Julio Lugo. Seems reasonable, no?

The power of positive...eating?

2009-04-28T07:15:00.003-04:00

(Photo from Yahoo! Sports)

Quite unintentionally I made chicken parm for dinner last night, only to realize as I sat down to eat that Tim Wakefield was pitching and perhaps my dinner was an unconscious tribute to everyone's favorite back-up catcher turned realtor, Doug Mirabelli. And maybe I was trying to channel some patented suave Douginess to get Wake through another stellar outing.

It wasn't until the seventh inning when Wakefield and Cliff Lee were locked in a battle of "anything you can do, I can do better" that I considered it might be working.

You guys? I might not even know my own power.

Of course, everyone's favorite Canadian had something to do with it as well. "You know," Orsillo mused after watching Jason Bay quietly take his seat on the Sox bench following his 9th inning 3-run homer off Kerry Wood, "he just kind of quietly goes about his business doesn't he?"

"He certainly does," Remy agreed.

Because Jason Bay is many things but flashy is not one of them. One gets the impression that were he to make like Jacoby and start swiping bases with any regularity, he'd be made uncomfortable by all the attention. Which is not to say he doesn't deserve it.

"Do you think Jason Bay should have a death metal version of 'O' Canada' as his at-bat music?" I posed to Chrissy a week ago.

"YES" she replied. "What can I do to assist you?"

"We both work at colleges," I told her, "surely some enterprising yound lads with a taste for PBR, some mad skillz on the guitar and the desire to make the world a better place can be convinced to help us."

"What I like about you is how you see the big picture," she replied.

I've no doubt Jason Bay would enjoy that, no? And after last night, he certainly deserves it.

How Sweep It Is!

2009-04-27T07:27:00.002-04:00

(Photo from Yahoo! Sports)

So that was a hell of a thing, no? I speak, of course, of the sweep of the Yankees at the hands of the Sox over the weekend series though really, there are any number of things I could be referring to. Expert pitching by the young'uns, not so expert pitching by the veterans, Mike Lowell/Jason Bay/Kevin Youkilis' tattooing of the ball in dire situations or Jacoby Ellsbury's balls of steel and feat of derring do with that theft of home last night. But really, the whole series was remarkable.

And each game, despite the fact that the first two seemed to morph into one game lasting many weeks, had it's own distinct flavor. Friday night's was the patented Sox walkoff. And because something is up with him this year and he's yet to his his first home run of the season, David Ortiz kindly allowed Youkilis to take the reigns with the dramatic heroics. Of course, Youkilis doesn't get the chance if Jason Bay doesn't act in a way that I can only assume is contrary to his friendly, Canadian nature and welcome Mariano Rivera to the game quite rudely. Oh, Jason Bay, you never cease to delight me.

At one point during the tenth inning of that marathon contest, I turned to my boyfriend and said, "You realize we are going to die here watching this game. It will never end." To which he replied, "Bears are going to eat us." You see, he picked up the lingo quickly. Once the game headed into the 11th inning and each team seemed to be working on their fifteenth pitcher, I remarked, "I sure am glad this game is saving the series for the next two. Good thing we're not blowing through our bullpen tonight."

"At least," he replied, "we know that tomorrow's game is going to be high scoring."

And how. That certainly proved prophetic, no? My father called shortly after the dust had cleared and the Sox had been declared the victors of Game 2 in a 16-11 bloodbath. "Just calling to see if there's much discord around the homestead after that insanity," he wanted to know.

"No," I said, "things are fine here, and we are about the have a lovely dinner with friends. But I would probaby not want to be DeMaso Marte around these parts anytime soon." Because, you see, my boyfriend, being a Yankees fan, has much the same reaction to DeMaso Marte that I used to have to Rudy Seanez. That being a blood-curdling, cover your face and hide the children scream. Warranted, it seems. So I can feel his pain. I've been there is what I'm saying. The flip side of which is, of course, that personally, I'm growing rather fond of Marte. Him and all his friends and their double-digit bullpen ERA. But I do not mind telling you that Jason Varitek's grand slam? Surprised no one so much as yours truly and you all know I've long been a 'Tek apologist. A thousand pardons, Captain, I should never have doubted you.

Then of course, there was yesterday. While Friday's game was fraught with drama and tension and Saturday's day-into-evening slugfest was about nothing so much as seeing how long these two teams could keep trading touchdowns, yesterday's game meandered along with a 1-1 deadlock for five innings where nothing much happened and you're left with the brain-cramping task of trying to make sense of whatever nonsense Joe Morgan is babbling. A fool's errand, surely. So in response, I fell asleep. That is, until just before Ellsbury made like Jackie Robinson with the larceny. "I have never seen that," I exclaimed as my phone blew up with text messages from all over the northeast. Somewhere, from the depths of the couch I heard, "Siiiiiiigh." You see, it's a give and take. However, I enjoyed nothing so much as Terry Francona's reaction to Ellsbury upon returning to the dugout. Tito being so dad-like and all, he hugged Ellsbury who couldn't stop smiling, and did that Italian grandfather, grab the other person's face thing, and looked to say something to the effect of "That was great. Way to go, son. Don't ever do it again." No one seemed more surprised that Tito. With the possible exception of Andy Pettitte.

Steve Phillips, in a rare moment of lucidity and sense - though really anyone seems like a Rhodes Scholar when sharing the booth with Joe Morgan - described every Yankees/Red Sox series as a "war of attrition." Usually one team wins when the other one runs out of arms. There was talk of how, in this young season, the Red Sox seem to have more answers than the Yankees but, you know, they're the Yankees. You can't count them out at any point. They can and will always acquire new players. Though, I did have to wonder out loud, at a team that added Burnett, Sabathia and Teixeira over the off season, "Who else is there?" Clearly, I'd forgotten about the Yankee-Robot Genetic Testing and Research Labs located under the concourse in the new stadium. It's only a matter of time before the robot prototypes are ready. Until then, however, I'll revel in the sweep. Won't you join me?

Rain, rain go away.

2009-04-24T09:53:00.004-04:00

(Photo from msnbc.com)

New NESN post up in which yours truly gives some suggestions for the best way to kill a rain delay. It's not all tarps and Slip 'n Slides, my friends.

Enjoy!

Mon Dieu!

2009-04-22T21:44:00.002-04:00

(Photo from Yahoo! Sports)

Milan Lucic will thank you not to get fighty with him.

Bruins win, you guys. Four games to zero. While the series may have lacked suspense, it surely wasn't wanting for satisfaction. Deeeeelightful!

How's it go again? Oh, that's right, "Bruins, the Bruins what?"

A question for the ages

2009-04-20T13:16:00.003-04:00

Chrissy asks, while watching today's Orioles/Sox Patriots' Day matinee:

"What is scarier? Mike Tyson or Dustin Pedroia after three Red Bulls and a bag of Sour Patch Kids?"

Thoughts?

Three to get ready...

2009-04-20T09:25:00.003-04:00

I use a picture of the fascinating Hideki Okajima because - and I'm not sure if you know this if you haven't been to a game in which Okajima has pitched in the past few years - but the man has the most ridiculous entrance music in baseball and it's been stuck in my head ever since I heard it Friday from the right field bleacher seats.

It's infectious and hilarious and why it isn't the sound of more Bay State ring tones is beyond me. Don't believe me? Have a listen. (You will need headphones lest you scare coworkers).

Pretty amazing, right?

Anyway, Friday's game - which did not begin all that well thanks to Derek Lowe Redux, er, Brad Penny, ended in splendid fashion with the Sox on top 10-8. (Less splendidly for Greta who, decked out in her Orioles gear finest was my seat companion thanks to some free tickets from Joey D. who is pretty much the greatest Yankees-turned-Red Sox fan I could ever hope to know).

Of course, the bleachers at Fenway are never complete without a beer shower which I received in the second inning while moving seats (Row 11, Row 12, they really should mark those things more clearly). The game was not entirely pleasing for either Greta or myself for the first few innings and surely not for both of us at the same time. I must remember to have another talk with Mr. Markakis about the rules set forth in re: his performance against the Red Sox. A grand slam most certainly does not qualify.

However, when Okajima came in in the eighth, Greta and I both dissolved into fits of giggles because how can you not when faced with that kind of aural Japanese insanity? Would you like to hear it again?

By all means.

You're welcome.

The Sox also took care of business on Saturday and Sunday as they are wont to do it appears. You know what they say about water finding it's own level and such. You'll forgive me if I don't have a terrible lot to add about the games as Saturday's was pre-empted by the Bruins Game 2 (Bruins, the Bruins what?) and I spent much time yelling at the television and monitoring the level of my increasing crush on Milan Lucic. (Threat level: severe). I also woke up with a sizable bump on my head this morning the origins of which I am unclear. It's possible I was head-banging in my sleep again but I suspect that perhaps Chrissy is right when she suggests that I might've been living a vicarious hockey game in my sleep and am suffering from post-concussion syndrome. Seems just as likely an explanation as anything else.

You want fries with that?

2009-04-17T09:44:00.002-04:00

(Wouldn't you trust your children to this man?)

New post up on NESN.com, kids. Take a gander, if you so dare. Included therein are suggestions for current Red Sox second careers. Inspired, of course, by Dougie's foray into real estate. What a world we do live in.

(Also, I've added a space on the sidebar with a link to the backlog of NESN.com posts, should you be so inclined.)

In the market?

2009-04-16T09:27:00.003-04:00

(Photo from Coldwell Banker)

You guys? Look what's happened?

Faaaaaaaaaantastic. I'm sure if we all band together, we can put a down payment on a place somewhere, no?

This is...I mean...there's really not much to add here is there? Let's all just bask in the awesome.

Couldn't have (almost) happened to a nicer guy...

2009-04-15T17:44:00.004-04:00

(Photo from Yahoo! Sports)

Well, at least Tim Wakefield won't have to worry about waking up in a cold sweat, years from now, repeating the mantra "Shouldn't have shaken off 'Tek. You never shake off 'Tek." At least there's that. And Young George Kottaras, who took one off the tender bits earlier in the game, wouldn't be completely out of line if he did a little strutting around the clubhouse this afternoon. You know, provided he's physically able.

It's always an issue with no-hitters, how long the pitcher's teammates make them wait before they give them another shot at the mound and a chance to resume the business of sitting people down as fast as they come up. And when the Sox exploded for five runs in the eigth, I did wonder if maybe Wakefield had been sitting for too long. But he is Tim Wakefield, after all. He's the same guy who's been pitching on this team since 1995 and who can, if he's on, give you millions of pitches a night. You know, if he's on. Though, being a knuckleballer, there's less science to that than one might expect. Point being, the wait might not have mattered in the slightest. Though I am fairly sure he didn't mind those additional five runs.

It was a good sign all around, really, since aside from Kevin Youkilis and his Milk Dud head (TM Kevin Millar), the team wasn't hitting it's shoe size lately. The JD Drew bobblehead, you'll be happy to know, is now allowed to face front. For the time being.

Of course, it all goes back to your starting pitcher, and with Matsuzaka going on the DL after last night's disastrous start (the things you miss when you refuse to endure sleep deprivation for April West coast games), our pitching is beginning to look more and more worrisome. Perhaps karma is going to bite me in the ass for laughing about Nick Swisher's stint on the mound for the Yankees a couple of days ago. Things keep going like this, we might have Nick Green pitching in about a week.

Speaking of Green, it's been two games with him as our full time shortstop and it might take another few before I stop asking, every time he's up "Who the hell are you?" Besides someone who's evidently been spending some time perfecting the "taller Wes Welker" look, of course. That said, Green did make the play that, but for a knuckleball that didn't knuckle, would have been referred to as THE play that sealed Wakefield's no-no. You know there's always one.

It's really quite a shame though, when you think about it. Wakefield, by far the longest tenured member of this Red Sox team has seen five managers and countless players come and go. He's lived through the Manny Era, the Nomar Nonsense and the Curt Schilling as Closer Experience. And Grady Little. After the disastrous and heartbreaking ending to the 2003 playoffs, Wakefield walked off the Yankee Stadium mound a loser, having served up the game-winning home run ball to the infamous Aaron Boone. One year later, Wakefield vanquished those same demons on that same mound. Also, he's never snapped and threatened a drunk Doug Mirabelli with Indian burns or stuffed Dustin Pedroia in his locker...that we know of, such restraint clearly demonstrating the patience and long-suffering nature of some kind of latter day baseball saint. Also, the kids seem to like him and no one has yet to discover any human heads in his freezer (it's always the quiet ones) despite the fact that, save today, the Sox often steadfastly refuse to score runs for him.

These reasons, all of them, are why it would have been especially sweet to see Wake get his no-hitter today. But, being the team-first guy he's always shown himself to be, I'm sure he'll tell us he'll settle for a win and for - hopefully - getting the team back on track. That Wakefield, what a guy, huh?

What I wouldn't give to hear Doug Mirabelli's inevitable voicemail message to him though...

Oof

2009-04-14T09:01:00.003-04:00

(Photo by Yahoo! Sports)

Above, JD Drew does an interpretive dance of the Red Sox play thus far this season.

But, I mean...if we're looking for bright sides here, I guess we can hang our hopes on the fact that at least our first basemen didn't have to pitch an inning, unlike with some other teams I can name? Though honestly, that mostly falls into the realm of black comedy. And there's really nothing that humorous about our wee shortstop's DL stint (he must be so scared! For all he knows, the DL is a place where shortstops go and from whence they never return!), and our pitching staff's shakiness. Also, et tu, Nomar? And, though it may be Red Sox fan suicide to admit this, I find myself growing somewhat fond of Nick Swisher, if only because in addition to being willing to quite literally take one for the team and pitch an inning (scoreless at that!), he's also injecting some much needed life into that bunch of buttoned-up, corporate, no fun having automatons. Don't get me wrong, I'd still appreciate it if they'd continue losing in embarrassing fashion, but at least Swisher's Twitter feed is amusing. (For serious).

The Sox, however, would do well to win one of these days. It's still early days yet, of course as we're in the land of early season 28.00 ERAs (or 0.0 if you're Swisher), and .800 batting averages and reason holds that these things will return to form. But in the meantime, I wouldn't mind a win here and there? What say you, gentlemen?

New Digs

2009-04-10T11:27:00.004-04:00

Yup, so I've got a gig with NESN.com to contribute content to their website. How 'bout that, huh? It's only a matter of time before I bombard them with my pitches for Rain Delay fillers such as "Hangin' with Paps and Papi" and the inevitable "Bill Belichick's What Not To Wear." One step at a time.

Here's the link to today's piece. I'll be popping up over there from time to time. Feel free to leave glowing commentary in the comments section. Thanks, kids.

Mama Said There'd Be Days Like This

2009-04-09T07:32:00.001-04:00

(Photo from Yahoo! Sports)

I can already tell that I'm going to spend the first couple months of the season exclaiming aloud to my empty apartment (or all the dust bunnies in residence therein) "Huh, so-and-so is on such-and such a team now?" Which was last night's reaction to Pat Burrell. The long, long, looooong offseason has somehow erased all this brand new information from my brain and while I apparently have no problem remembering and informing people apropos of absolutely nothing that "Nomar is an A now," I evidently can't remember the players in the division. And despite knowing it happened, I still had a moment of confusion when Carl Crawford hit a fly to right and Don Orsillo exclaimed, "Crawford flies to right, Baldelli comes in and makes the catch." Because...oh right, Baldelli=Red Sox now. Brain synapses must rework themselves. Got it.

It's gonna take some mental adjustment is all I'm saying.

Like with Gabe Kapler, who it's always nice to see. According to Jerry Remy, he ran into Kapler in the weight room (because of course he did), and Kapler was incredibly touched by the Opening Day ovation he got at Fenway. Say what you want about us, but we remember the good guys.

The game last night, however, was slightly less lovely and heartwarming. Lester's control is somewhat worrisome (but, you know, Game 2 and all that), but Kazmir is Kazmir is Kazmir and despite perhaps aging in the Benjamin Button style, the dude is no joke as a pitcher. Neither are most of the members of the Rays' staff. It's looking more and more like last season was not an abberation which is really going to be a pain in the ass come mid-summer and playoff push time.

But here's what I really want to talk about: Manny Delcarmen and Dustin Pedroia's facial hair. For all the world it looks like Delcarmen is posing as one of those Wooly Willy kid's toys but that Pedroia got all greddy-like and stole most of the iron filings for himself. Probably to enhance his epic manliness. But really, I just think it makes Delcarmen look like a hobo and Pedroia resemble a kid who ate his Cocoa Krispies too fast.

Now that that important observation is out of the way, is it just me or does "Zobrist" sound like the name of an intergalactic race of space invaders? All hail Zobrist, invader of Earth? No? Just me then? Okay. The cheese stands alone.

Opening Day: Redux

2009-04-07T20:27:00.002-04:00

(Photo from Boston.com)

That's right, Jason Varitek remains the Captain of my heart. Because on this, Take Two of Opening Day, I arrived home from the gym (where none of the ten TVs were playing the game because I guess business school students think there are other, more important things in this world, which, as you know, is clearly nonsense), flipped on the TV, sat down, and our very own Captain Varitek, sole owner of the Thighs of Freedom, launched one out of the park. Clearly, I can't turn my TV off until October. If he needs me to pay attention to his every movement for the remainder of the season, well, who am I to say no? It's for the team, people.

Personally, I thought this baseball season would never start. A seemingly interminable wait since the Sox were eliminated last year - a wait not helped at all by Tom Brady's absense from our lives all winter - and flipping on the TV today to see real, live "this time it counts!" baseball was certainly a joy to behold. Though it'd been so long that honestly, I won't lie, I came home and did the same thing I've been doing for months now, flipping past channels to find something, anything, when my brain pulled focus and I said out loud (to no one), "Oh yeah, baseball!" Which is when I flipped to NESN. Which is when 'Tek decided to shoot a home run over the right field wall. Which is when life began to make sense again.

Perhaps I'm being hyperbolic as it is, as people have told me, only baseball. But the way I figure it, we've been living in a Beatles song for the past few months and are just now emerging. You know, "it's been a long, cold, lonely winter" and all that? Here comes the sun, indeed.

Of course, this baseball season won't be without it's challenges. 'Tek's power shot today is a nice way to start things off but let's not forget that he has the wee Papelbon to raise and the elder Papelbon to keep away from firearms during game time. And it's really only a matter of time before Dustin Pedroia and Kevin Youkilis fully morph into their characters from The Dugout and start messing with Rocco Baldelli for sport to kill time during rain delays. I've begun to think that Youkilis does these insane things to his facial hair solely so lost bets with Pedroia won't make him look more bizarre.

Then there's Ortiz and Lowell, both of whom are looking to return to form. While I've no doubt that Chrissy has an eye out for any hitches in Lowell's swing or minute changes in his demeanor - trust me, she'd know and she'd report them with breathless haste - someone has to keep an eye on Ortiz. I trust you can all handle it?

Plus, there's always the pitching staff, helmed admirably by Senor Fathead today (all right, two hits warrants an actual name, Joshua), but let us not forget that Mr. Walks-The-Ballpark Matsuzaka will still hold court once every five days and we're not yet certain that young Mr. Kottaras has been given the requisite amount of psychological training to handle catching Wakefield. We certainly can't ask Josh Bard for help since he's almost assuredly developed quite the trust issues when it comes to our Red Sox. But if you can find me a team without some pitching questions at the beginning of the season, I'll call you a liar. Hell, even New Yorkers are lining up to chase CC Sabathia with torches and pitchforks after one disastrous start. Ah, overreaction, it is baseball season after all, isn't it?

On a personal level, this season promises to be interesting in a larger sense as I'm now dating a Yankee fan. (I know, I know, you think you know a person). But call it an exercise in bipartisanship and look forward to the he said/she said commentary that's sure to pop up in this space. And no, he's not one of those jumping in the Hudson after yesterday's Sabathia-Boggle. He really seems quite rational, all evidence and logic to the contrary. But go easy on him. Despite his questionable taste in sports teams, he's really quite lovely. And he finds you all delightful.

I do wonder how he'll react to my constant vigilance in re: Jason Varitek's thighs and the power contained therein though?

Whatdaya say, kids? Wanna play another one tomorrow? Oh let's!

Going the Distance

2009-03-30T11:55:00.006-04:00

(It'll probably look like this in October, except twice as tired).

Hi kids. How's everyone doing? Well? I hope you're well.

Me, well...I'm training to run a marathon. Crazy talk, right? But I'm nothing if not crazy. I assume that's why you all follow my ramblings in this here space.

Anyway, I need your help. I realize it's a terrible time to ask anyone for money...but I'm going to do it anyway. Y'all stepped up big time and made me proud when Kim needed help raising money for the Alzheimer's Memory Walk last year so I'm calling on you again to help me out.

Here's the deal: I'm running the Marine Corps Marathon in Washington, DC on October 25th to raise money for the Alzheimer's Association. Katherine (the lovely lady up there in red) will be running it with me for moral support (and possibly to drag my tired ass across the finish line). My personal goal is to raise $5,000 which works out to just over $190 per mile.

The Alzheimer's Association holds special meaning for me because my Memere, who was one of the most important people in my life, was diagnosed with the disease in 1998 and passed away in 2004. As I said in my fundraising email to family and friends:

Growing up, Memere was a constant figure in my life. She may have been 4-foot-eleven but she was the most fiercely independent women I know and set a wonderful example for everyone she met and cared for. I still miss her terribly and still notice her influence in many things I do. She taught me so much - how to love coffee ice cream and how to nurse a Whiskey Sour among them - but most of all, she was one of the warmest and most generous people around. So in that spirit, I run this marathon for her.

It's not easy divulging something so personal, especially to people who know me solely as the crazy girl who swears at Josh Beckett in print and pontificates on the spy-shenanigans of a one Mr. Mike Lowell, but this is important to me and it's very, very worthwhile.

My personal donation page can be found here. Or, if you'd rather send a check, email me at snowtackle (at) gmail (dot) com and I'll get you that information.

So if you can help, It'd mean the world to me. Regardless, thanks for your support. And thanks always for reading! You guys are the best readers a girl could ask for.

~Kristen

Hell on Wheels

2009-03-24T13:48:00.004-04:00

We apologize for the picture of Alex Rodriguez in his underwear...

The newest issue of InSite is out wherein Amy and I address an open letter to Tony Hawk and raise our concerns about the company he keeps:

See, it’s like this: it’s great that Guitar Hero wants you to be in their commercials and all. And we confess: Guitar Hero totally rocks. But we take issue with your costars in said commercial. And we’ve gotta wonder: Tony, have you paid attention to what’s happened to your Guitar Hero “band-mates” recently?

Attention must be paid.

Goodbye To All That

2009-03-24T09:27:00.004-04:00

(Photo from Boston.com)

Curt Schilling and I have not always gotten along. Given the opportunity I'm sure we'd get into a knock down, drag out fight about politics and the role of religion in society. (During which, I'm sure, he'd cue up footage of his 2004 press conference which, admittedly, made me a little teary, as he bloviates on the healing power of faith). And that is all well and good. Given the celebrity and the platform, I'm not entirely sure I wouldn't shoot my mouth off whenever I felt like it and educate the masses on what I was certain was the best way to run the country or how those of you using pre-chopped garlic are wrong (I feel very strongly about this). But that said, Curt Schilling and me did usually agree on the baseball.

Our common ground, as it were, was found in the fact that when he played for my team (which he did for the past four years though we're not counting last year's aborted attempt at a season), I wanted very badly for him to be successful. He seemed to want that too. We were in agreement.

Oftentimes Schilling takes heat for his pomposity and the way in which he paints his heroics to elevate himself above the team. Perhaps fairly and perhaps not. Baseball is a game that lends itself to heroes and goats and the poetic, bucolic nature of the game has long inspired meandering and epic prose on the men who play this little boy's game for a living. Historically, baseball has been a repository for all our better angels and hidden demons. And that, at least, is something I've long felt that Curt Schilling has understood.

Say what you want about the man - and many have and will - but he was and continues to be a student of the game. He knows the history inside and out (and sure, is well aware of his place in it), but he can certainly never be accused of not caring.

In the same way I'm concerned that when my father eventually retires, he'll have more time to drive the stock boys at Home Depot crazy looking for the exact right kind of pressure-treated decking (I mean, more crazy than he already has), I worry that Schilling will find himself with plenty of free time with which to skewer certain other players and herald those he deems above reproach. But, like I said, the man has been given a platform and he intends to use it. I'd love it if he wouldn't do so speaking on behalf of the Republican party but we don't get to choose these things.

All of that said, mouth and loud opinions aside, Curt Schilling deserves our respect as a ballplayer. In the way that many of us have watched our childhood heroes fall, so has he. (He will be glad to tell you, I am certain, what he thinks about Roger Clemens now). He has had good days and bad days. There was that closer experiment that we find ourselves not wanting to talk about. And yes, there was the bloody sock.

If we try to separate the very Curt Schilling-ness from his playing, the brash, confident and at times arrogant swagger that often chafes, we're not left with much in the way of a ballplayer. In the same way all politicians - even the ones we consider humble and noble - must have a healthy dose of hubris to believe they can and should run for office, ballplayers need some ferocity and some "screw you-ness" as well. Josh Beckett has it. And we love him for it. Curt Schilling has it too. That is part of what made him so successful as a pitcher.

He's built like - as Sam once famously put it - "an egg on stilts." He doesn't have the mean glint that Pedro used to get or the preternatural calm that Mariano Rivera brings. But he often seemed as though he had a will. And that would be all he'd need. He's had his own humbling moments (We do NOT shake off Tek), and has become something of a mentor and cheerleader to the younger members of the staff. And perhaps we have him to thank for that as well. There is no better teacher than experience and surely he has imparted much of that on Beckett, Lester and their ilk.

So while we may not miss Schilling the orator (and that Schilling is surely not going anywhere), I will miss Curt Schilling the big game pitcher. That was truly something special to see. Provided he doesn't pull a Favre or a Clemens on us and this retirement is the real one, Major League Baseball is one big game power pitcher lighter. And we should all miss that.

I think they're just messing with him now...

2009-03-23T17:37:00.003-04:00

More on the Curt Schilling retirement announcement tomorrow. To tide you over, this brilliant observation from Deadspin (including the above photo).

Oh, baseball goodness, you shall be mine again shortly. Yes, you shall be mine.

Honkbal Fever. Catch It!

2009-03-11T12:08:00.003-04:00

(Photo from Yahoo! Sports)

Oh, I've picked a horse in this WBC, my friends. Never one to go all USA, ALL THE WAY! because I like to zig when people expect me to zag, I'm now fully on board the train for Team Netherlands. Because despite the fact that they twice defeated the powerhouse Dominican team to advance in the WBC and to eliminate said Dominicanos, they also refer to Major League Baseball as Honkbal Hoofdklasse, which, I am sorry, is just about the greatest thing I've ever heard. It's quite poetic, actually. So much so that I might have to consider naming my firstborn "Honkbal." Has a certain ring to it, don't you think?

Anyway, despite being a New England fan and all evidence to the contrary, I do appreciate a good underdog story. And there's really none greater currently than the athletes of honkbal taking on the mighty besibol-playing Dominicans and emerging victorious in the World Baseball Classic. That's a true sporting David and Goliath story if ever I've heard one.

Not that I have anything against Team Dominican, mind you. On the contrary, their roster reads like a list of Team Most Likely To Embarrass You In Front Of Your Mom, but sometimes, the greats fall. This isn't really akin to the 2008 Super Bowl and the Giants taking down the steamrolling Patriots because I'm pretty sure the world at large doesn't harbor such ill will towards the Dominican Republic, but it's an upset nevertheless, and a pretty big one at that.

(Also, did you notice how I totally acknowledged both the fact and outcome of the 2008 Super Bowl? This is what's known as growth, my friends.)

But honestly, I cannot, in good conscience, root against a team that so joyfully plays honkbal with childlike wonder and abandon. If you ask me, the world could do with more honkbal. Though I will admit to being a tad bit disappointed to see old friend Julian Tavarez so unceremoniously eliminated from contention. Who knows what batshit nonsense he would have gotten up to had the pressure of international competition gotten to him. Now that I think about it, I wouldn't put it past him to forge a birth certificate and declare himself Dutch so as to continue this tournament. In fact, I almost hope that happens.

Failing that? Honkbal for everyone!

Things we know before we know them

2009-03-09T10:40:00.006-04:00

So you know how we've gotten pretty good around these parts at predicting the personalities of certain players? Like we're pretty sure that Mike Lowell makes fantastic brioche French toast and that Jason Varitek keeps all opposing hitter data in color-coded Trapper Keepers? We just know these things, right? They just make themselves obvious without us needing to be told about them explicitly.

But then there are players like Dustin Pedroia whose loud mouth and epic trash-talking garners headlines all on its own. And it becomes common knowledge that Pedroia is an angry little gnome with a chip the size of Rhode Island on his shoulder. And, you know, it's sort of endearing.

But what makes it even better? Is when the advertisers get in on the deal. Behold, the new MLB 09 The Show commercials. Dustin Pedroia is exactly who we think he is. Now, what I wouldn't give to see Tek claiming he can hit the high fastball...

That's, um, that's one way to go.

2009-03-02T09:33:00.003-05:00

(Photo from the Boston Herald)

So...what? The Patriots realized that the Red Sox were about to start spring training and basketball season was in full swing and, gasp! even the Bruins are doing well and they decided they didn't want to be ignored so, like petulant children they traded one of the team's linebacking leaders (and best model of designer stubble this side of Long Island), and their surprising upstart quarterback to Kansas City for...a second round draft pick? Just one? Were they annoyed that they weren't getting enough attention lately?

Look, while it pains me to admit it, I can kind of understand the Vrabel trade. Now, no one loves Vrabes more than me - with the possible exception of Tedy Bruschi who must be positively apoplectic right now - but a 34-year-old linebacker isn't usually the kind of player who's going to be flying around and separating opposing players from the ball. I mean, yes, it happens sometimes, and possibly with Vrabel more than most, but it's a rarity. Plus he's the exact kind of veteran leadership that Scott Pioli has always loved so it doesn't really surprise me that he'd end up in Kansas City, under Pioli's watchful eye. And I will miss him, surely. The Pats and Chiefs don't face each other next season which means we won't have to be subjected to watching Vrabel jump all over our best beloved Brady but we also won't get the thrill of watching him chest bump Tedy after a positively delightful sack of Roethlisberger or the like. But that, I'm afraid, is the way football goes. The Pats need younger linebackers like Jerrod Mayo and perhaps that's what they'll use their newly acquired draft pick for. One hopes.

The Matt Cassel thing is a bit more concerning. I, for one, would like to know for certain that Tom Brady's robo-leg is going to hold up. They should be doing strength tests and drop pass drills and using that machine they used in Rocky IV to test Drago's punching force. I have barely recovered from watching Brady limp off the field last September, despite Matty C's coming into his own and his growing penchant for the patented Matty C Triple Laser Rocket Reverse. Point being, if Brady suffers another injury, either from pushing himself too hard or because someone decides to take a swan dive into his leg again, it may break me. I'm just saying, a backup would be nice. And while I'm often full of rage and sports-induced agita, I'm not sure I'm cut out for the job.

Also, I wonder if Matty C has managed to control that sweating in press conferences thing.