Stabbed by Foulke!

j/fML

2009-06-19T09:30:00.002-05:00

Hey. What's goin' on? Good. Good to hear. Yeah, me, too. Been good. Guess it has been awhile, huh? Jeez, didn't realize how long it's been. Yeah, I've been busy, too. Oh, I know, hard to find the time. The Sox? Yeah, I've been paying attention. Hardly seen 'em on tv, though. Yeah, not on down here much. Going to see 'em at Nats Park next Wednesday. Yeah, great seats, too. First row behind the Sox bullpen. Should be cool. Yup, going to Baltimore, too. Takin' the kids for the July 1st matinee. Yeah, they're pretty excited about it. Ok, cool. Well, take it easy. Talk to you soon.

In Case You Were Curious...

2008-07-27T17:09:00.002-05:00

Here's an audio slideshow featuring Jamie Leeds, the owner and executive chef of my new restaurant, CommonWealth, discussing lotsa CommonWealth related yadayada...

Rearviewmirror

2008-06-12T11:21:00.003-05:00

As of July 1, Sarah, the kids and I will officially be residents of Virginia once again. The South'll rise again! (As my old dentist used to say...) It is with a dry eye, an un-choked-up throat and much glee that I make this announcement. The Pittsburgh Experiment turned out to be a much less successful one than its cinematic cousin from across the state...ok, maybe it was more successful than that, but not to us...

Here, now, is an unabridged list of the things I will miss about Pittsburgh:

1. Twenty taps and an internet jukebox in every crappy bar.
2. Most of, but not all of, the people at my restaurant, Mio Kitchen and Wine Bar.
3. Double bulls counting on the electronic dart machines, even when they fall out.

Here, now, is an unabridged list of the things I will not miss about Pittsburgh:

1. Everything else.

As of the first week of July, I will become the general manager of yet-to-be-opened CommonWealth (website not fully up yet.) It's a collaboration between Chef Jamie Leeds and my friend, Sandy Lewis, the owners of the very popular Hank's Oyster Bar. We're set to open in mid-August at 14th and Irving NW, in the quickly hip-ifying Columbia Heights neighborhood in DC. I am wicked excited about this place...should be very, very cool. (And to certain of my readers who concern themselves with such things, no, you will not need a tie, and yes, you can probably wear a hat.)

Sarah has landed another one of her wonky government contracting gigs, so she'll be geeking out near Union Station, working with the Department of Justice on some such whatsit-ology. We found a nice three bedroom, two-and-a-half bath townhouse style condo off of N. Van Dorn St in Alexandria, about a mile or so from our old place in Virginia. Finally, after nine long, long months, things are falling back into place.

"I hardly believe, finally the shades...are raised...hey..."

R.I.F.

2008-05-05T09:24:00.003-05:00

If you're like me, and God help you if you are, you have all the trappings of an adult's life, but you feel like an immature kid most days, albeit one carrying a few extra pounds, a few gray hairs and an air of constant exhaustion. You also have the occasional internal difficulty reconciling the, (as Mike McColgan so eloquently put it) "hooligan, castaway, hardcore youth" you used to be with the diaper-changing, no-sleep-getting authority figure you've become. And most of the time when you are at Target or the grocery store or the playground, you look around and see all the dads in pressed khaki shorts and Oakley's perched just so on the brim of their TaylorMade caps, then realize you're wearing a wrinkled Unseen t-shirt and dirty Vans again and that you look more like the teenage kids of those Dockers dads than the dads themselves. Or, as Jim Lindberg, lead singer of Pennywise, puts it, "Just when we realized exactly why we were rebelling against our parents, we became them."

If any of that sounds familiar, then you need to pick up the book "Punk Rock Dad," by the aforementioned Jim Lindberg. This frequently laugh-out-loud hilarious book can serve as both a cautionary tale/new dad primer as well as a trip down memory lane for those of us who already have kids. Countless times while reading this book I found myself nodding and saying, "Oh God, I remember those days..." It's the tale of a forty-something, graying punk rock icon trying to balance the demands of three hyper-active girls with those of three hyper-active, childless bandmates, while trying to prove to us, and himself, that he's not the old fart we, and he, know he's become. It's a poignant ode to the wife and kids he obviously loves, and he tosses in pointers that can help anybody's marriage thrive amidst the chaos created by children. It's brutally honest at times about the stresses, strains and shit stains that come along with raising kids, and unlike so many other "parenting" books, it doesn't sugarcoat many things. The birthing process may be a miracle, but when it comes down to brass tacks, it's a pretty disgusting thing for most guys to witness.

In the book, Jim explores and details the difficulties that come along with being the singer of, as he calls it, "a patently offensive band hell-bent on pissing off 95% of society," while trying to be just another dad at the PTA meeting or weekend youth soccer match. At its core, his message is one of acceptance: accept him despite his profession, just as he accepts other dads' proclivities for pleated pants and boring golf stories. He makes the assertion that kids are the great equalizers, that they can unite people with nothing more in common than parenthood. And he's right; I've seen this happen on many occasions at the park, at parties, at bars, whatever. Guys with little in common can bond over what it's like to still be up at 3am, walking a cranky infant around in a vain attempt to get him back to sleep so dad can collapse into a bed shared by his tired, cranky, not-horny wife for a couple hours before it all starts up again at 6:30am. I may not understand why someone is Republican, or what's so interesting about walking a golf course for five hours or how a man can drink white zinfandel in public, but I understand the elations, let-downs, frustrations and blessings of raising kids.

The other central theme of the book is how to raise independent-thinking children who understand that conformity is not mandatory and that questioning authority is something everyone should do, while at the same time instilling in their kids a sense of discipline and respect for the parents as authority figures. This paradox is something that obviously consumes Jim, as it does many of us raised on the attitudes, platitudes and tenets of punk music. Again, Jim puts it better than I can: "How can the singer of 'Fuck Authority' make his kids pick up their toys and eat their vegetables?" Can it be done without feeling like the world's biggest hypocrite? The answer, of course, is no. But the key, as he puts it, is to pick your battles and just accept that your responsibility to your child trumps your responsibility to your ethos.

This book is not a "my life in Pennywise" story, so childless fans of the band would probably be disappointed. But for punk rock dads, or just your average dad or dad-to-be who can appreciate a funny, touching, honest look at marriage and parenthood, this book is highly recommended. Most of the chapter and subsection titles are taken from punk rock songs, like the chapter entitled "Anarchy in the Pre-K." Also interspersed throughout the book are little quotes or stories from other punk rock dads like Fat Mike, Tony Cadena and Greg Hetson. You don't have to be punk to appreciate this book; you just have to have an open-mind that despite musical, political or fashion differences, all parents have the same responsibilities and struggles. If you can accept that premise, then it's easy to understand how the guy in the dirty, old Vans can swap diaper stories with the guy in the Izod polo, even if he'd rather be slamming him in the pit.

Somethin's Changed Inside of Me...

2008-05-03T11:24:00.004-05:00

As far as I can tell, the last concert Sarah and I went to together was the Bouncing Souls/Street Dogs show at the Black Cat in October, 2006. She was seven months pregnant and, as some of you may remember, this was not a great evening...

So it was a neat little bit of symmetry that our next show together was last night when we saw the Bouncing Souls again, this time at Mr. Small s in Millvale, PA. As you can see if you click the link, the venue is inside of an old church, the main room of the club being the sanctuary, a good sign if music truly is a religion...it was kind of a strange spot, with weird traffic flow through the room and bar areas. Plus, it was hot as balls. One of the hottest venues I've been in since the glory days of the old 9:30 club in DC. And poorly ventilated. And for a church, the accoustics weren't all that great, although my perception of that may be compromised by the fact that we were about six feet from the speakers on the right of the stage, not exactly the sound's focus point, probably. But, we had a great vantage point, and Sarah was out of harm's way.

This was, I think, the 10th time I've seen the Souls, and as I get older, so do they. Last night's set started out very promisingly with "Hopeless Romantic" being a surprise opener followed up quickly with "Say Anything," prompting me to give up the glasses and camera and spend my obligatory two minutes in the pit banging around. That's about all I can do anymore...From there, they said "Hi!" and then hit the chords to "That Song" but that was quickly abbreviated when an over-zealous crowd surfer tried to take the stage, much to security's dismay. The guy got on stage, tried to circle around the Souls' guitar player, The Pete, but was brought down by the bouncer, crashing into Pete and taking him, his guitar and his mic stand into the barricade with him in one big pile. A mess...the band stopped playing as roadies rushed out to rescue Pete and security hustled the offending fan out the side door of the club. After five minutes or so, Pete was back up, tuned up and ready to go. They skipped the rest of "That Song" and launched right into "Cracked," one of Sarah's favorites...she managed to get a little video of it...

We took a bunch of pictures, but none turned out that great...here's a few though...

Here's a half decent shot of Greg and Brian...

Here's the aforementioned, The Pete, sweatin' on guitar...

One of the funnier moments of the show was a ukelele and "spoons-on-the-knee" cover of Sick of It All's "Scratch the Surface," as seen here...

Other songs on the set-list, as far as I can remember in no particular order included, "No Security," "Kate is Great," "Private Radio," "Kids and Heroes," "Kid," "Manthem," "Lean on Sheena," "Midnight Mile," "The Something Special," "The Ballad of Johnny X," "Gone," "East Coast Fuck You," "Sing Along Forever," "The Guest," and a closing accoustic version of "Night on Earth." Of course, amidst all that, they played crowd favorite, "True Believer," by which point, the bouncers had basically given up the barricade. Sarah got a great little video of me on stage, rushing to sing along with Greg, before people in the front row tried to pull me, Greg and the mic into the crowd...I'm the guy with jeans and black t-shirt putting my arm around Greg before disappearing into the crowd...

All in all, it wasn't the best setlist I've heard them do, it wasn't the best venue I've seen them in and it certainly wasn't the best crowd I've been in, either. That said, it was a night out with my wife, without kids and with some really loud music. When I left the show last night I said it was a bit disappointing. But sitting here today, with my ears ringing, my shin bruised and "Say Anything" bouncing around in my head, "I can say, I have no regrets today..."

Cleveland

2008-04-15T10:34:00.012-05:00

I am still cold. But here's some lame pictures that I managed to take before the hypothermia set in...

This picture is so misleading...it looks so nice and warm...the sun was shining, but it was a pretty weak effort; temperature at gametime was like 38 degrees or something. Got down to about 33 I think by the end.

This was my first time at the Ol' Jake, now corporately known as Progressive Field. Nice scoreboard...

Alex Cora near the batting cage; only a couple of Sox took BP. Most of them huddled in small groups in the outfield sun, trying to look ready to shag some flies, but really just trying not to freeze to death.

Here's Tito, walking back to the dugout, telling someone the president is on the move...

You're looking awfully Orsillish today...

Jacoby secretly laughing about Dice's faux hawk...

Jere would call this "The classic Papi batting with Manny on deck shot..."

Top of the 9th, Lugo gets ready to start a rally rather than strangle one with his own two batting glove-clad hands...

Manny touches home after pissing off the Indians' fans yet again...the replay of Manny's dong doesn't do it justice- that was an absolute rocket...

Bottom of the 9th, and Paps says, "Bring it on..." Game over.

All is Not Forgiven

2008-04-10T12:25:00.002-05:00

If I'm Bill Buckner, I pretty much tell all of New England to go fuck itself. That's just me. And if I read one more article or listen to one more talking head mention "forgiveness" and "Buckner" in the same sentence I'm going to set myself on fire. Again, that's just me. But seriously, if you were Billy B, why in the hell would you bother with any of this?

He was mercilessly booed on Opening Day in '87. He received a mixed, but mostly positive, ovation when he came back in '90. By '97 as the hitting coach of Pale Sox, he was an afterthought in Fenway. So why bring him back? Why come back? He didn't owe anybody anything. Did he just need to hear, finally, the ovation that slid under his glove, lo those many Octobers ago? Did 40,000 people just need to clap to make themselves feel better? I don't know. All I know is that the Red Sox front office is shameless in their constant pandering to the lowest common denominator fan. You just know, know it better than you've ever known anything, that when Buckner was invited, the thought process went just like this:

"Let's invite this guy who was a pretty terrific player for a team that almost won the Series, who the media and a small number of completely clueless fans turned into a pariah, let's bring that guy back for "closure" so that all the old wounds, the ones that never really existed except inside the orange, curly-hair covered craniums of the lowest of Boston sports scribes, can be put to rest in a fake outpouring of fake forgiveness for a man who had to move his family cross-country to the wilds of Montana so that his kids could escape the abuse heaped upon them because their father made a physical error in a tied game that had already been squandered by one in-over-his-head rookie, one over the hill career loser, one moronic manager, one overrated catcher, one lead footed, surly left fielder and one blister-prone blowhard. I'll bet that will get us the lead on Sportscenter, huh, Werner?"

Eric Wilbur said it right, in his column yesterday: Buckner wasn't the goat, he was the scapegoat.

Does anyone honestly believe that without the Octobers of '04 and '07 that Mr. Buckner would have ever, in a million-kajillion years, been invited to throw out a first pitch? Never. Yet so many blind sheep believe that on October 27, 2004, he was granted absolution from a sin that wasn't his because a team he said he didn't care about beat another team he didn't care about 18 years after a team he did care about collectively lost at the end of a game he shouldn't still have been in. Do I have that right?

After Tuesday, the media started backtracking from their mission to ruin Steve Bartman's life by suggesting that the Cubs should invite him to Wrigley for a big "cleansing" first pitch. Which, as any one who isn't a complete retard should know, won't happen until the Cubs finally win the Series. And when that happens, I sincerely hope that Steve Bartman tells the Cubs and all of Chicago, really, to go fuck themselves. Because a man, who tried to do what any other fan in the entire world would do, happened to get in the way of a ball that an overrated, cowardly left fielder finally said was uncatchable, he has been scapegoated for the mistakes of the Cubs' middle infield's inability to turn two, Mark Prior's inability to calm down and throw strikes, Dusty Baker's inability to manage a pitching staff, and Kerry Wood's inability to win game 7.

It's just easier to forget all that though, easier to sweep it under the rug to become Chicago's Gedmans, Schiraldis, Stanleys and McNamaras. Someday, when the Cubs are handing out rings and everyone in the stands is saying they never blamed poor Steve and all is forgiven, somebody will climb the steps of the dugout and stroll to the mound to throw out the first pitch. I just hope to hell that for the sake of Steve Bartman's dignity, it isn't him.

The (Fake) Live Opening Day Blog

2008-03-25T10:03:00.003-05:00

5:10am: My son wakes up crying as my wife and I both pretend we don't hear him. She blinks first, I roll back over.

5:40am: I wake up when the wife is going upstairs to shower and put the boy back to bed. I fleetingly remember there's something I wanted to get up for, but roll back over and pretend to sleep some more.

5:45am: I remember what I'm supposed to get up for, but say, "The hell with it...I'll catch it in the third."

5:46am: I get up and go upstairs.

5:47am: The wife tells me I'm crazy, as it pertains to baseball, for the first time this season. I think that sets a new record for earliest accusation of that in a season (or a morning, for that matter.)

5:50am: I am half-asleep on the couch with ESPN2 HD on, curled up under a warm fleece blanket with my Ellsbury shirt on and my cap on the coffee table. Odds of me being awake for the first pitch: 10-1 against.

6:08am: In a stunning upset, I'm upright in the recliner now, still under the blanket, with my cap on for the first pitch.

6:15am: The wife just shakes her head as she passes through the kitchen.

6:20am (or so; really, I'm just making up these times...): I quietly call Dice one of the most overrated pitchers in baseball for the first time this year. The record book will continue to be rewritten as the morning goes on.

6:30am: My daughter wakes up crying. I immediately get her up and ask her if she's ready to put on her new Red Sox cheerleader dress. She immediately says no and curls up on the couch underneath the blanket I've been using. Now my feet are cold and we're down a quick 2-zip.

6:45am: My son wakes up again and, lacking the ability to really say much, puts up little argument when I hustle him into his Red Sox sweatsuit. He seems more into it...I get him some breakfast and finally put some coffee on for me.

7:05am: First attempt at calling my dad's cell phone, forgetting that my parents are in the Catskills for some reason. My mother answers and immediately asks, "What's wrong?" Definitive proof I'm not known as a morning person...

7:15am: First regular season Red Sox text message to Kimmy goes unanswered. She still must be sleeping. I'm sort of jealous.

7:20am: I'm down in the basement now, as the only way to silence my daughter whining over the game was to put on her cartoons and move my base of operations...

8:05am: Manny doubles in two to tie the game as my wife calls right in the middle of the rally...I come upstairs to get reception, go back downstairs and it's 3-2 Sox. Wha happen?

8:15am: My dad calls back, saving me from seeing K-Snyd cough up the lead in Chad Fox-ian fashion...

8:45am: My daughter finally bends to my will and becomes the smallest, blondest cheerleader the Red Sox have never had...I take some obscenely cute pictures of my two Sox-clad kids together which I won't post here for two reasons: 1. My wife would kill me for making our kids potential prey of internet predators and B. You'd probably throw up at how cute they look. Your loss...

9:08am: The first regular season Red Sox test message from Kimmy is received; she's finally up. I send her one of the kid pics; I'm fairly certain she's not an internet-based sexual predator.

9:12am: I'm on my fourth cup of coffee and Brandon Moss jacks one to right...gone! Tie game! My son is forced to high-five me for reasons he neither understands, nor appreciates.

9:25am: Looks like we're going to extras...nice job by Oki...

9:40am: The newly "refocused" Manny somehow manages to slide into second with a two-run double despite signing a month-to-month lease to stay at home plate for awhile after driving the ball to the gap...four ribbies for Manny and he's barely broken a sweat or a dread...

9:50am: My father-in-law asks, "Is this live?" Cause I always get up at quarter to six to watch games on tape delay...

9:58am: Kimmy sends the obligatory, "Only 161 more heart attacks to go..." message as I'm giving my father the recap. Apparently TV has yet to hit the Catskills...

10:01am: How did I used up two battery bars on my cellphone in three hours and sixteen minutes?

11:30am: I finish writing fake live blog. Both kids are napping. I'm going to bed...

Skimming

2008-02-29T12:04:00.003-05:00

I have snow fatigue. It's snowing here for the, and this is a conservative guess, 392nd consecutive day. And we only have maybe four inches on the ground. Even God can't make something amount to anything in Pittsburgh. Honestly, I don't know how people in Buffalo or Syracuse do it. I'm sick of seeing it snow. It's not inconveniencing my life in any way, I just want to see something different. Like maybe the sun. Just a thought.

If you're a non-ten-digit-amputee, cross all your fingers that my wife gets the job she's going after in DC. Right now, the thought of moving back there is my snow shovel at the end of the tunnel. If it doesn't happen, I'll be ok, don't worry about that. But mentally and emotionally, we've sort of put our eggs in that basket, and it'd be nice for something, anything, to go right in Pittsburgh before we leave.

(On a totally unrelated note, have you ever done something you promised yourself you would never, ever do? And then you get a really queasy, sinking feeling in your stomach that you've violated a part of yourself that you held sacred for so long? Well, I have skim milk in my coffee because we were out of 2%. And now I have that sinking, queasy feeling. Then again, maybe the milk's just expired; I didn't think to check the date on it.)

Fighter

2008-02-21T10:10:00.002-05:00

When I was 17, I lost one of my best friends to cancer. So, the news that a fellow Sox blogger, Kaylee from Arizona, has been diagnosed with cancer, has hit me pretty hard. She's just a teenager, and she already went through open-heart surgery last year. She's a tough, spunky kid, and we all know she's gonna get through this. But, in the words of Bono, "If you're the praying kind, then turn this song into a prayer..." Or at least drop her a note of hope and encouragement at her blog where she announced her illness. You can check out her wacky, off-beat Sox blog here. Stop by and wish her well. I'm sure she'd appreciate it.

Truck Day

2008-02-09T11:18:00.000-05:00

Without having looked at any other blogs today, and having no idea how many other Sox bloggers are going to have the same damn image on their site, I offer the following picture, with the following simple commentary: Thank God.

(photo courtesy of Boston Globe-how courteous of them!)

I've never been the "Whoo-hoo! It's truck day!" guy. But for some reason, I'm as whoo-hoo about it as I've ever been. When I saw that on the Globe site today, it actually made me really happy. As I sit here in Butler, PA on February 9, it's about 35 degrees, there's a bunch of wet, soupy snow on the ground, I've been sick with pneumonia and bronchitis for nearly two weeks and I have to go back to work at the restaurant tonight for the first time since January. I'm not really psyched about any of those things, to be completely honest.

Also, over the last few days, I've upgraded The Loss; it's now in my top 5. So, now the list looks like this (fortunately for Isabella Rosselini, I haven't had it laminated yet):

The New Top 5 Worst Sports Losses of My Life

5. Maryland loses to Duke in the 2001 NCAA Final Four after being up 22 in the first half.

4. Red Sox lose Game 6, 1986 World Series, to Mets after, well, you know...

3. Patriots lose 2007 AFC Championship game to Colts after leading 21-3 in the first half.

2. Patriots lose Super Bowl XLII to Giants after playing worst big game ever by anyone.

1. Red Sox lose Game 7, 2003 ALCS , to Yankees after being up 5-2 in the 8th inning.

So, the explanations, in no particular order, about the new and improved (?!) list.

I bumped Duke's "Miracle Minute" because even though it's the worst thing I've ever personally witnessed at a sporting event, it was just a regular season game (albeit, one whose karma was felt mightily during no. 5 on my list.) So that's out. Number five stays on the list, because, honestly, who wants a Top 4 list, and that game did suck a lot.

Obviously, nothing I've seen to this point trumps the Boone game. That whole season is something I'll never forget; I don't think I've ever been as jacked about the Sox for an entire season the way I was that year. I lived and died with every pitch that summer, and to this day, I'm still not sure why that season stands out so much to me, but it does. It was the last pre-pregnancy/pre-kids season, it was the last year I was just a waiter and could take the evening off if I wanted to to watch a game. It was, really, the last summer before I became an adult.

After Nomar finally got on track in game 6, I was so so so very certain that this was finally it. I had to go to the dentist the morning of game 7 and I needed novocaine, so I spent the whole afternoon lying in bed, drooling on my Sox jersey, watching looped ESPN NEWS broadcasts just to see the highlights from the night before. When my wife got home from work, I went to the store, bought three packs of smokes, came home, tried on the cheap cowboy hat my wife bought me at the craft store, but chose to go with the cap I'd worn all through the playoffs. (I'd toyed with the idea of going "Cowboy Up!" with the hat and a custom t-shirt I made that week with all my and my wife's nicknames for the players on it- thanks a pantload, Millar...) So what did I do? I laid out the shirt on the couch, in my spot, with the cowboy hat atop its "head" and I cracked a can of Bud ("Crack open an ice-cold Budweiser- it's game time!" - also note that Bud was the Official Beer of Matty's 2003 Playoff Run) and left it on the coffee table for The Cowboy.

So like Spaz, off we set with our master plan. And where'd we go? To Macky's at 18th and L, where it should be noted, both bartenders were big Yankee fans (but the place was definitely a Sox bar that fall) and, where it should not be forgotten (or forgiven), that I watched the debacles of games 1 and 2 of the Oakland series earlier that month. So why, with such overwelming reasons against this bar, did I convince Kimmy and Jimmy and Gat and Jersey Caitlin to watch the game there? Because I wanted to rub it in the faces of those two Yankee fan bartenders when we won. (I know- I'm a real moron, but that's the last time I've ever selected a Big Game venue for that express reason.)

Yes, Macky's had been my local for a couple years at that point, and they were still pouring the best pint of Guiness in DC then (immaterial that fateful night, as I drank nary a pint but instead slugged about 15 bottles of the aforementioned Official Beer of Matty's 2003 Playoff Run). So it's not like we picked the place out of the phonebook. I was known there, and dammit, after that long season, I wanted to stand there in victory and tell those two bartenders to go get their shineboxes.

When we got home, I threw the shirt and cowboy hat down the garbage chute, drank the warm, flat Bud, wished I had one cigarette left and I cried. For about a week, I told anybody that would listen that I would never watch another baseball game as long as I lived. I lost it, turned in my wings. Even after the Schilling and Foulke trades, even after the A-Rod fiasco, even after Manny on waivers, after all of that, I don't think I knew, really knew, that I'd care about baseball again until March of 2004 when The Wife and I did the Fenway tour on a cold, windy, grey Saturday afternoon when we were up in Boston for the Dropkick Murphys St. Pat's shows. I bought a green Sox cap over at Twins, we did the tour, I touched the Monster and I was ready to engage again. So obviously, that game stays at number one.

Some of you may wonder how the Pats' AFC championship loss to the Colts could trump the '86 series. That's pretty easy. I was ten and a half in October of '86. I was certainly a big Sox fan, but at that point, I enjoyed playing sports more than I enjoyed watching them or following them religiously. I was a baseball card guy, but not an Android's Dungeon kind of card guy. It wasn't until much later that my thirst for Red Sox history really picked up.

Honestly, I didn't see most of game six. I still had a bedtime then, even on a Saturday night. I did have, like millions of other kids probably, a promise from my Dad to wake me up when (there was no "if" for me then...) the Sox were about to win. Which he did. And I remember being very, very sad. But my strongest memory is of my mother's father cursing Buckner, which was incredible because my grandfather never cursed. Over the years, that is what I remember from that series more than anything. That and the fact that my father didn't even watch game 7 on Monday night; he said he already knew who won the game. Consequently, I got to stay up for that one (on a school night!) because there'd be nobody else paying attention to get me out of bed when (still when! still not if!) the Sox were about to win. To this day, I don't know at the time if I was really devastated by that game, or if I was devastated just by hearing everyone else say, "This game was devastating!" I do remember thinking, well, we should still be pretty good next year, not knowing then that the Sox were about to embark on their mini "every two year" plan. So, I'm comfortable leaving this game at number four.

(At this point, it should be said that the distance between number four and number three, in terms of pain, anguish, hurt, confusion, etc. is about fifty million light years, while the distance between number three and number one on our list is about four and a half inches. That is one of the basic failings of a simple Top 5 list; it gives the impression, through it's simple, symetrical form, that each item on the list is equidistant from it's companions, when in reality, those items are, well, often fifty million light years apart. The top 5 list is a dead science, I'd always say, but a useful convention none the less. So we accepted him, and he came to our parties. Anyway.)

The Pats-Colts game. I'll freely admit that after the Sox won the series in '04, and especially after the quick, boring, lethargic playoff exit in '05, my attention to and passion for the Patriots swung wildly out of balance with the same for the Sox. For the rest of '05 and definitely, clearly and without doubt for the entirety of '06, the Patriots were, for the first time in my life, My Number One Team. When the '06 NFL season started, we were still smarting from the horrible Denver game from the previous January. Nine months later, that was still one of the worst reffed games I've ever seen, and really, the only game of consequence whose outcome I've ever pinned on officials. I was PSYCHED for football again. We had so much unfinished business.

And then, the Pats were...ok. 12-4, ok, sure. But that was better than 10-6 the year before. As the season went along, I worried about the receivers, the linebackers, the secondary and the coaching staff. Then we went out and beat San Diego, in San Diego. Then we were up 21-3 in the first half in Indy, and I knew, I mean I KNEW, we were going back to the Super Bowl where'd we play the beatable Bears.

(For those who don't know, one of my best friends, Niki, is from Indy and obviously, this ratchets up the importance of every Pats-Colts game to a ridiculous degree; after all, there is usually a king-size Milky Way riding on those games...)

And then, the defense crumbled. I should have seen it coming. Old, slow linebackers. Second and third string DBs in the game. And yet, all that stood between the Pats and XLI was one damn third and four. And we couldn't get it, and Peyton got the ball back, and I got drunk and left some very nasty messages on Niki's cell phone, for which I apologized later, and profusely at that. At least the Big Ry got the show he'd come over for. I was literally sick to my stomach for three days after that game.

The Boone game is number one, partially due to the shocking suddenness of its ending, like a friend who walks out your front door and is creamed by an oncoming bus. Watching the second half of that Pats-Colts game was like watching Michael Keaton in "My Life." By the end of it, I was just hoping someone would be compassionate enough to shave the stubble of the Pats' defense before they finally died. I'm leaving it at number three. Not without some hesitation, but that's the decision. I think I'll see I'm right on this.

On to number two. I originally said it wasn't in the top five. Which was probably my way of processing it shortly after it ended. Honestly, Sunday night it didn't hit me that hard. I don't think it me hard until about Wednesday, but there are some good reasons for that. They are as follows:

1. As of Super Bowl Sunday, I'd barely been out of bed for a week. I was SICK.
2. I had no energy to prepare my usual big Super Bowl spread of food.
3. I couldn't drink (though I'll cop to the two Harpoons I drank after the game was over, when my wife asked if I needed more medicine; I wryly responded, in my, yeah, I'll say it, sexy sick guy voice, "Yeah...I'll take that Harpoon now...").
4. I couldn't go anywhere, or be with another Pats fan.
5. I had a big fight with my wife that afternoon.
6. I had a big fight with my father-in-law that evening.

So, as you can see, I was in no position even to be watching a game of that magnitude. It is one of the great unfairnesses of my life that THAT GAME was played on THAT DAY. I wasn't ready for it. Turns out, neither were the Pats. We both played that whole day not to lose.

By the time it was over, I couldn't stop coughing, I was exhausted physically and emotionally from all the arguing that day and honestly, part of me was just glad the game was over. I'd hardly paid it any attention until the fourth quarter anyway. Like the Pats, I got exactly what I put into that game, which is to say, nothing, really. Like I said, none of us played to win that day.

By Wednesday or Thursday, when I was feeling a little better, it started to sink in. All of it. The historical import of the game, of the whole season; the knowledge that a mediocre, second-string running back from 1972 still wouldn't shut up, and will probably never come that close again to having to; the fact that I am now a fan of a team that will forever be unfairly (or so I originally thought) labeled one of the biggest chokers of all time (and let's face it, they choked that game away in every possible way); the fact that by losing this one game, unfairly or not, everything this team has accomplished in the last seven years will now be seen by 95% of America as fraudulent; but mostly, it hit me that it was a really, really bad, unexplainable and unforgiveable loss. Not to take anything away from the Giants, really; they made plays. But that was Belichick and Co.'s worst coached game in seven years; we let four interceptions go through our hands; we refused to run our offense for 55 minutes; and, most tragically, we let the Sucky Manning make, possibly, the greatest play in Super Bowl history, thereby handing him an MVP award he had no business holding.

So after I thought about all those things, I moved it up to number two. This game was like a really well made, really spicy chili. It didn't sting at first, but it's gonna burn for a long, long time. I have a feeling this game will eat a lot of people alive for a long, long time. It was the biggest lost opportunity in NFL history, and that counts for something. No matter what the Patriots ever do again for the rest of my life, anytime anybody, anywhere, ever sees a Pats logo ever again, their first thought will be Super Bowl XLII. Like Rene Russo said, years from now, no one will remember who won the U.S. Open, but they'll always remember your 12, Roy...

So, look at that truck again. Maybe now I understand why, today, I'm a "Whoo-Hoo! It's truck day!" kinda guy. For long-suffering Sox fans, the truck has always been the most generic metaphor for the changing of seasons, on both our calenders and in our hearts and minds. It's overt symbolism of "It's finally next year!" was unmistakable and unmistakably cliched and trite for however many years this same picture ran in the papers before 2004. Now, it's symbolism is unnecessary, but the comfort is provides on this cold, snowy Pittsburgh afternoon is very much welcome. It means I won't have to take a cold, windy tour of Gillette Stadium this year.

Detritus

2008-02-04T09:58:00.000-05:00

detritus (d-trts)

1. Loose fragments, such as sand or gravel, that have been worn away from rock.

2. Matter produced by the decay or disintegration of an organic substance.

or

The Top 5 Worst Sports Losses of My Life

5. Maryland loses to Duke's 2001 "Miracle Minute," after being up 90-80 with 61 seconds left.

4. Red Sox lose Game 6, 1986 World Series, to Mets after, well, you know...

3. Maryland loses to Duke in the 2001 NCAA Final Four after being up 22 in the first half.

2. Patriots lose 2007 AFC Championship game to Colts after leading 21-3 in the first half.

1. Red Sox lose Game 7, 2003 ALCS , to Yankees after being up 5-2 in the 8th inning.

Huh, whaddya know? It didn't even crack the top five...

Congratulations to the New York Giants for giving the Patriots the biggest, most physical ass-whipping I've seen in a long time. Since we basically just have hockey now until pitchers and catchers report, I'll give out the Three Stars of last night's embarrassing debacle:

Third Star: The Patriots defense. For the second straight year, the defense needs to make one stop at the most critical juncture of a playoff game and fails. Rodney Harrison and Brandon Merriweather both dropped game sealing INTs. Assante Samuel is out of position on the Giants first TD or else that ball could have been intercepted. On 4th and 1 on the last drive, the linebackers leave two unfilled gaps, one of which Jacobs slides through for the first down. Pierre Woods can't hold onto a fumble despite laying right on top of the ball. NOBODY of the three or four guys around Eli can actually tackle him, despite three people having handfuls of his jersey. Our bend but don't break defense finally broke. Again.

Second Star: Josh McDaniels. The offensive coordinator called his worst game of the year. Not enough quick slants and screens to negate the Giants' pass rush. Too many slow-developing dropbacks. Just an incredibly conservative, stubborn gameplan. Not throwing the ball in Moss's direction for almost an entire half is inexcusable.

First Star: The Patriots offensive line. Considering that three of those guys are going to the Pro Bowl, that was a horrendously embarrassing, unprofessional, sloppy, terrible job by those guys. False starts at bad times (Matt Light, as usual); a total inability to block anybody despite the fact the Giants went with a four man rush most of the night. The number of hits on Brady they gave up to defensive lineman was astounding. Way to not show up guys. Awful.

So now that we've all completely wasted our time the last six months following the biggest sports underachievers of my lifetime, what do we have to look forward to? The complete dismantling, piece by piece, of every shred of dignity the Patriots dynasty ever had. The Spygate thing is gonna blow up again, and this time it's gonna stick. I just have a feeling it's gonna get really ugly before it gets better. I have a feeling that getting through this will be much worse than getting through the 1-15 season. I don't know anything you don't know, but like Han Solo, I have a bad feeling about this. I hope I'm wrong. Like I have been about every other thing about this team this season.

According to the Red Sox website, spring training starts in twelve days, one hour and thirty-five minutes. Thank God for that. As ol' Haywood said, "The sun will rise. The sun will set. And I'll have lunch."

As you were.

It's Like You're Reading my Mind, Man

2008-01-23T01:56:00.000-05:00

So I waited on a guy tonight who, I found out through conversation, had recently moved to Pittsburgh from New York. And I told him that I'd recently moved here from DC and we were chatting about the culture shock of living here. He told me how glad he was to find a really nice restaurant (the one I work at). I asked him where else in Pittsburgh he'd eaten so far, and he said, "I don't know. A few places. I can't believe the food here. I went to someplace the other night and I swear the menus were deep-fried. I asked the waitress for a napkin and she brought me a Monte Cristo sandwich..."

And I knew how he felt. But I told him, and may God strike me dead, "Give it time. It grows on you."

18 and Life to Go

2008-01-21T15:04:00.000-05:00

Well, no going back now. I said a while back that the Pats would go 19-0 and here we are, one win away, one balmy desert night from history. And it's going to happen. I know it, the Pats know it, you know it, hell, the Giants know it. Take the Pats, give the thirteen and let's get to spring training.

There's going to be a lot of journalists, talking heads, "experts" and average Patriots-hating fans who will try to talk themselves into the idea that the Giants will win. They are kidding themselves. That's not to say that the Giants can't win; anything can happen. But they won't win. The Pats have won every kind of game imaginable this year. They have faced nearly every situation possible, except being down by multiple touchdowns. All those late game fourth down plays are paying off now. Never just sitting on the ball late in a blowout is paying off now. Does anybody in their right mind think that, with two weeks to prepare, Billy B and Brady won't be ready for anything and everything the Giants will throw at them? Are there still people out there who doubt the Pats' greatness, who still think that the "aging, slow" defense and our "soft" running game are weaknesses? Have those people even been watching? There is not a situation out there for which this team is unprepared. They've come this far and there is no way in hell they won't complete this perfect season. As for their place in history, as the greatest team ever or whatever, I don't really care. I just want another hat and t-shirt.

I remember at the half of Super Bowl XX, with the Pats down 23-3, Ahmad Rashad came up with a way for the Pats to be winning the game at the half...if Stanley Morgan just catches that goal-line slant...if Eason doesn't fumble...if Don Blackmon catches those two INTs and takes 'em back...if, if, if. And the late Pete Axthelm says something to the effect of, "This is men against boys...if the Pats had twenty points, the Bears would have forty..." I don't think the Giants are that overmatched, but on a certain level, the point holds: no matter what the Giants do, the Pats will be just that much better. I have the utmost confidence in that.

One thing is strange, though. Before the last three Pats Super Bowls, I've been much more excited. Even given the lack of novelty in the Pats playing for the title, there's still something missing, or at least something different. And I'm more nervous about this game then the others. Not because we're unequipped for the challenge, just because of what's riding on this. I imagine some Yankee fans felt this way before game 7 in 2004. As in, if we lose this next game, we'll never hear the end of it. (And I'm not comparing the two in terms of choke-osity...just making a different, but related point...) The Yanks lost that game, and I've made damn sure to do my part to make sure their fans never hear the end of it. And I have no doubt that everywhere the Pats are loathed, which seems to be most everywhere (and especially here in Pittsburgh), plans are being made to let Pats fans never hear the end of it if we lose this next game. That's not something I have any interest in hearing for the rest of my life.

The only chance we ever had of putting "spygate" behind us (at least mostly) was going 19-0. Now we're so close, and I just want it to be over. Not to say that I won't enjoy it, but this time when I'm gasping for air at the end of a Super Bowl, it won't be from jumping around too much. It will be from holding my breath.

Thinking (While Trying to be Nice to Niki)

2008-01-14T11:39:00.000-05:00

So it's the Chargers then. I am ambivalent about this. The Bolts present an easier opponent, I think, than the Colts, especially if it's going to be as cold as they're predicting. But, man, it would've been sweet to watch Peyton hang his overrated head amongst the snow flurries again. Yes, that would've been sweet.

As for my in-depth analysis of the Pats' game? Well, suffice it to say that Maroney is a stud, and I regret calling him inconsequential at my parents' house two weeks ago. Thank you, LoMo for making like Styx and showing me the way...The touchdown to Welker? Maybe Tom's greatest acting job since "Not a Touchdown!" As for the defense, eh, who cares really? I was concerned for about a half hour about the penalties and long plays and such, but really, who cares? They are just not going to lose and it's that simple. If the defense misses the bus to the stadium, I still have the utmost confidence in Tom and Company to just barely outscore the Chargers. So there's my prediction: Defense-less Pats: 174, Chargers, 171. In the words of Carl Wollarski, "Coach [Bellichick] just barely finds a way..."

More importantly: did anybody see or hear the Colts' fans booing this teenage girl during the Punt, Pass & Kick competition yesterday? I can't get the gist of this whole story...was she wearing a Pats jersey? Was that what this was all about? People seem pretty up in arms about it. On one level, it's kind of funny. On another, you know, parent level, it's not. But, if my daughter wanted to wear her Pats jersey (if she wasn't being foiled by all my Steelers-merch-buying-relatives) into the RCA Dome, I would definitely have her prepared to handle the boos she'd surely receive. That's a good lesson for a kid to learn. I remember the first time I wore a Sox jersey into the Toilet I was about 14 or 15, and some 400 pound idiot eating an ice cream sandwich heckled me. I turned around, looked him over, and said, "Just try to leave some ice cream for the rest of us, ok?" Brought the section down...so, it's good to have formative experiences like that. Otherwise, I'd have been upset by the guy that drove past me walking into work in my Pats jersey on Saturday who yelled, "Fuck the Patriots!" out his window. So, thanks fat Yankee fan. Good lookin' out...

As for the Colts themselves, well, you shit the bed again. Badly. But as I'm sure everyone in Cleveland is saying today, that's karma. You laid down and single-handedly changed the fortunes of two possible playoff teams when you didn't play it out versus the Titans. That's a lot more unsportsmanlike and influential than anything the Pats have been accused of. But, the Colts catch very little heat for it, because gosh darn, isn't that Tony Dungy such a nice man? And maybe he is a really nice man, when he's not using every opportunity afforded him to lecture America on its social and moral ills. But you know what? He's not a great football coach. He coddles his team, then wonders why they play soft. He makes bad decisions on the sidelines. He's had three bye weeks and lost at home in the divisional round all three times. All being a nice guy gets you in the NFL is every possible call from every ref in the league. You got your ring, Tony, now walk away. You proudly say there's more to life than coaching football. And you're right, there is. There's more to life than playing football, just as there's more to life than being a football fan. But the NFL is not the place for people who really believe that. The NFL is for people who play hard every week, and don't cheat themselves or their fans. It's certainly not for whiners and rule-changers.

As for the Chargers themselves, no strangers to my wrath and accusations of classless behavior, congratulations. You beat the Colts and the refs with your second-string, basically. I applaud your vim and vigor. I applaud your ability to somehow keep Never Norv-ous's head from exploding, as it should have. You came from behind more times than Ron Jeremy. Now bundle up, because in the words of Bill and Marty, "It's gonna be c-c-c-c-c-c-cold outside..."

Here's 4(+) things I wonder going into AFC Championship week:

1. I wonder if Shawne Merriman is going to get on stage at a pep rally again and guarantee victory...

2. I wonder if John Clayton will ever be whole emotionally after watching the twin loves of his bizarre life choke again...(don't read that if you're just eaten recently...)

3. I wonder how depressing it is for Peyton Manning that this guy is farther in the playoffs than he is...
4. I wonder what Jim Nantz and Phil Simms will do on Sunday? No undefeated old Dolphins to felate, no Peyton and Dungy to rim; jeez, are they gonna have to talk about the game? Are they gonna have to root for the Chargers? Are they gonna be completely phony and obvious about it? Is there some other obscure meaningless Phil Simms record that Tom can break? Is he gonna use complete sentences to explain his Phil-osophy? These are the questions I want answered...

Anyway, I'm also rooting for the Packers on Sunday. I haven't forgotten about Super Bowl XXXI yet, and this time, there's no one-trick pony Arch Bishop Desmond Howard to bail them out...thus begins the interminable wait till Sunday; at least we're the early game!

16-0

2007-12-29T23:21:00.000-05:00

Well. It's done. And it's completely meaningless. Bring on the playoffs. It is the SuperBowl or nothing. Bring it on.

We Go A-Jersey

2007-12-27T10:48:00.000-05:00

As my daughter would say...

Yes, we are off tomorrow to the land of Jersey to see my parents. Hackettstown, to be exact, for those of you who are saying, "Oh yeah? Where in Jersey?"

My daughter is very excited to go see her grandparents. It's all she's been talking about now that she finally got her purple bike, purple helmet, Tigger & Poo book and the three thousand other things Santa brought that are now cluttering our already cluttered in-laws-provided living area. Being unemployed makes it pretty easy to plan "vacations," or as this really is, a long weekend. Leave tomorrow afternoon, come home Monday night. It'll be nice to get out of Pittsburgh, that's for sure.

So I hope you all had a nice Christmas. Ours was, in my opinion, thoroughly exhausting. Eve dinner for, I don't know, 12 people or something. Lots of food, lots of wine, lots of beer. After dinner, my brother-in-law and I had a semi-intoxicated Wii bowling and tennis tournament. Then we tried to play RockStar Games Table Tennis, which was a disaster, as it's hard to concentrate whilst chugging Guinness straight from the can and trash talking. But it is fun...
Christmas day, the kids went nuts with the presents, there was more people, more food, but alas, no more beer, as we'd finished it the night before. Got a sweet Ellsbury t-shirt from my folks, a buncha Dunkies coffee and that was about it. Money from the relatives, which is very appreciated right now, too. My parents got the kids each a cool Sox outfit- sweatsuit for the boy, cheerleader dress for the girl. That now makes two cheerleader outfits for the daughter of a mother that HATES cheerleaders and all that they stand for. I say, HA.

So, this Saturday night, there's a good chance The Wife and I will be heading into NYC. She has some friends there she wants to meet up with, and I'm entertaining the idea of watching the Pats game at Professor Thom's. So, if any of you Thom's regulars are out there, drop me a line and lemme know if you wanna meet up for a beer and some football. First round's on you...

This is Pittsburgh, Not Boston!

2007-12-21T11:21:00.000-05:00

On Wednesday night, I got to watch the Celtics lose a very exciting, and very disappointing, game to the Pistons. Last night, I got to watch the Bruins lose a very exciting, and very disappointing, game to the Penguins. Tonight, I get to watch the Celtics face the Bulls. And on Sunday, I get to watch the Bruins at the Penguins on TV, and then the Pats-Fins game is on at four and we actually get it here. If you're counting, that's five Boston sporting events in five days. So strange...but a good strange.

But wait, Matty! How are you getting to watch all these games? Don't you work in a restaurant? Don't you work at night? Don't you have a job? What, are you an unemployed bum now?

Well, actually, yes.

I was "let go" last Monday, for reasons that still aren't very clear to me.

"We prefer the term 'let go.' We think it sounds better."
"Not to the person being let go it doesn't..."

What was that from? It's escaping me at the moment...
(edit: It just came to me as I was rereading this; it's from the Topher Grace/Dennis Quaid movie "In Good Company." Good flick...)

Anyway, I've had a lot of time to follow Boston sports this week. Not by choice, really, but I won't deny it's been kind of fun.

Things that aren't fun: probably canceling my DC trip due to money; not getting Pogues tickets for DC or Baltimore in March due to money; feeling bad putting gas in my car due to money; feeling like a big loser due to no job and money. Etc.

But, I have two interviews this afternoon, so hopefully by 5pm, I won't be such an unemployed loser. We'll see. Loser, perhaps. But a loser with a job...

As for the aforementioned Boston sports teams, I offer the following humble one-line analysis of each team:

Celtics: Get Rajon some help at the point and let House shoot more...
Bruins: 'Punch Crosby in his pimply little face!"
Pats: Blow out the Dolphins so Kim leaves funny comments about really old Dolphins.

As for the rest of the weekend, I think we're taking the kids to see Santa at the mall tomorrow. You know, because it shouldn't be crowded the Saturday before Christmas...somehow we've been remiss in getting this done already, as somebody "didn't realize that taking the kids for pictures with Santa was a tradition." How in the hell did I get married and end up the sentimental one? What were the chances of that happening before it actually happened? A quintajillion-to-one? Anyway, we'll brave the public commerce place tomorrow so that traditions remain just that. Should make for some good people watching at least. Imagine what last-minute, frantic Pittsburghers must look like! Imagine how harried and beaten down the seasonal retail help will look! I'd laugh louder, but hey...at least they have a job.

If Anthony Smith Says It, It Must be True

2007-12-06T02:20:00.000-05:00

Well, this might be just what the Patriots needed. I'm not sure that was the best course of action for Mr. Anthony Smith to take...

Hey, speaking of Anthony Smith...has anybody even ever heard of this guy? I follow football pretty avidly, I live in Pittsburgh, I read the papers and I've never, ever heard of this guy. Which begs the question: Who the fuck is Anthony Smith?

Hold on a moment while I go find out...

Oh, jeez. My bad. At first I thought this guy must really be somebody. You know, to guarantee a victory over an unbeaten team. Like he has some idea what he's talking about. That maybe he'd actually played against us before and knew something the rest of us didn't know. I had no idea he was a goddamn undrafted, second-year backup who's only playing because somebody I have heard of is hurt. What does this guy know about winning? His teams were 17-30 when he was at Syracuse. This is the guy guaranteeing that the Steelers beat the Patriots? Seriously? Is that even bulletin board material when a guy who was in high school when we beat the Rams in the Super Bowl runs his mouth? Well here's a guarantee: by the end of the week Coach Bill will have the Pats' receivers believing this guy is the second coming of Ronnie Lott and that their entire existence and manhood is on the line in this epic battle of tested, veteran, pass-catching talent versus I'm sorry, what was your name again?

BECAUSE WE'VE NEVER HEARD OF YOU!

Good news for you though, Mr. Anthony Smith: you'll be a household name after Sunday afternoon. As in, "Randy Moss/Wes Welker/Jabar Gafney/Donte Stallworth/Ben Watson/(insert anybody here, really) gets behind Anthony Smith again! And it's another big gain for the Pats!"

P.s. If you play for the Steelers and you are not Anthony Smith, please don't beat him up. I really want him to play on Sunday...

Knew This Was Coming...

2007-12-04T08:50:00.000-05:00

Is this any surprise? I love the part from Derrick Mason. He has such a leg to stand on with this, since, you know, he tackled about four guys near the goal line to set up his buddy for that hail mary catch and didn't get called for offensive pass interference. Let me be clear on this: the refs were terrible last night. I thought they missed about three defensive holdings on the Ravens, one Balty facemask, and a couple illegal contact calls in the first three quarters. I don't want to sound too much like the Colts, but our receivers were getting mugged down field all night. Then, the laundry started flying. At the most critical point of the game. So, sorry, Baltimore, but as #12 said, "It evens out."

None of that excuses Bart Scott's ridiculous, and hilarious, double personal foul, whipping the first flag into the stands and basically costing his team, probably, at least 25-30 yards in field position on that last drive. Our kick coverage was terrible last night; I'll bet Billick would have liked to see Figurs get a chance to return one more to set up that last Ravens drive. When teams self-destruct with penalties and dumb timeouts, why can't they just accept the fact that the lights got too bright and the moment got too big? Why isn't anyone pointing the finger at Kyle Boller for chucking a horrendous INT? Why isn't anyone calling out Ed Reed for sloppily carrying the ball on his INT runback, leading to Kevin "Stabbed by" Faulk's (thanks, Jere) awesome, Troy Brown-esque tackle/forced fumble? Why isn't anyone laying the blame on the Ravens DBs for getting greedy and laying all over the Pats receivers, just assuming the calls weren't gonna come? Why can't the Ravens accept the fact that they gave us a hell of a shot, a damn near knockout punch, and we got up? Again...God, quit crying already.

Fuck. Me.

2007-12-03T23:55:00.000-05:00

I was just gonna respond to Jere's last 15 comments in the comments section of the last post, but here I am. Barely. That game just took about six years off my life. Again, we probably deserve to lose, for the second week in a row, but win. I don't even know what to think. Our defense for three quarters looked abso-fucking-positively-hein-ass-ous, but came up huge in the fourth quarter. The weird penalties (though they finally got one right on the 4th and 5 defensive holding- I'd been screaming for that penalty all night. The Ravens got away with so much holding all night. And how in the hell does Derrick Mason not get called for pass interference on that hail mary? He took out four guys!), the dropped INTs all over the field, all the late penalties on us (including the false start that was the best thing to happen to us on that last drive.) That was like a playoff game in bizarro-world. Crazy intense, the crowd looked jacked up all night, a kick-off from the opponent's 35 yard line, I mean, Jesus, what didn't that game have?

So five Yuengling's later, I'm gonna go eat some ice cream. There's snow on the ground, it's December, and I'm gonna go house some B&J Coffee Heath Bar Crunch. Makes as much sense as anything else I've seen tonight...

P.s. I'm glad Don Shula was there to see that. I just hope he figures out how to walk with Tony Kornheiser's head jammed up his asshole...

Ignoring the Small Black Edible Bird

2007-11-25T00:46:00.000-05:00

Ok. I agree with some of the concerns/jokes that have been voiced to me regarding the aggressive tenor of my last post. (No, I don't.) One old friend likened it to a suicide-esque note left by trench coat wearing, high school Pats fan. Another called that post "The Football Diaries." So, I agree that perhaps its tone was a little over-the-top, but it got people talking. What I've done is going to be puzzled over and studied and followed... forever. Ok, just kidding about that last part. (No, I'm not.) Not that anyone got it anyway...

Seriously, though, I have begun to wonder how all the Sox fans in NYC do it...I've been a Pats fan in Pittsburgh for barely two months and man, it sucks. Old ladies at the grocery store will "accidentally" bang their cart into yours just because you have a Brady jersey on in the fifth week of the season. People will flip you off from behind in traffic because you have a Pats sticker in your window. As soon as people find out your a Pats fan, there's a whole change in their tone, demeanor, body language, etc. Women clutch their purses tighter when you walk by with a Flying Elvis on your cap. And everybody is so unoriginal. I've had this conversation, exactly this same conversation, about 150 times since I got here:

Them: "So, if you don't like them Stillers, who do you like?"
Me: "Ummm...actually, the Patriots..."
Them: "Serious? Shit, are you videotaping this whole conversation?"
Me: (silence)
Me: (rolls eyes)
Me: (instantly wonders how closely they're related to their wife)
Me: (starts to think about saying something like, "Yeah, I am. Just like I videotaped you having sex with your sister...")
Me: (starts to think that'd be a pretty crass, and possibly dangerous, thing for me to say)
Me: (wonders about the irony of me stereotyping them while they are stereotyping my football team)
Me: (wonders if this person staring dumbly at me knows what "irony" means)
Them: "Yeah! You probably are!"

So that conversation is getting pretty old, that's my point. And I start to think that they treat me the same way I used to treat Yankees fans. With disdain, mixed with a tinge of jealousy at their success. The Steelers, in their last three really meaningful games against the Pats, are 0-3. They hate our dominance, our ubiquitous media presence, our pretty boy superstar, our increasingly brazen and obnoxious fans, the whole shebang. Sound familiar? So from that angle, I get why some idiot announcers, writers, etc. have begun referring to the Pats as the Yankees of the NFL. (No, I don't.) I think it's a pretty baseless accusation for the most part, and see little similarity in the two teams/fanbases, but I do understand why some people might think that. After reading my last post, I'd hate me, too. (No, I wouldn't.)

So, I stand by the sentiments of my last post. Actually I stand by the bombast and exaggeration and parody of a crazy sports nut. (It wasn't parody.) I am an obnoxious sports fan. Ask my wife. Ask Big Ry about obnoxious. (He'd know.) And it's not just the winning. I've always been an obnoxious sports fan. It's just something I take way too seriously. I'm obnoxious about the Sox, Pats and Maryland basketball. I can't be rationale about it, and believe me, I've tried. I don't beat my wife when we lose, but I've been known to throw things, yell and scream, curse, spew comments in questionable taste about a person's gender, sexuality or possible Germanic relationship to the pee-hole. I'm not as superstitious as I used to be, but now I'm just superstitious about not being superstitious because I worry that by being superstitious I will fuck up the game. As my wife is forever prone to say, it's just a game. And it is. I get that. (I don't.)

Nobody likes their integrity, or that of something or someone they care deeply about, questioned. It makes you mad. And you say dumb things, and rant and rave like an idiot about something that's just a game. (It's not.) This isn't black vs. white, Arab vs. Jew, color-blind people vs. color, etc. It's Steelers vs. Patriots. Everybody just needs to calm down a notch. (I do.) That said, Fuck you, Pittsburgh. (Fuck you, Pittsburgh.)

Drugs and Kittens

2007-11-21T12:28:00.000-05:00

To the rest of the NFL and its fans:

The Patriots are not going to lose this year. They will finish the season unbeaten. Not a mark in the "L" column shall besmirch their fine name. Nary a competitor this year will walk off the gridiron with a smile upon his mud-speckled face. None's tally of points shall best that of our beloved, Flying Elvis-clad footballers. Say it as modern or old-timey as you want to, the fact remains thus: The Pats are goin' 19-0, yo.

Fate and karma and superstition be damned, I'm gonna enjoy this ride. I'm gonna tell anybody who will listen that this team ain't losing. I refuse to hide behind the cloak of sportsmanship or the guise of sports-fan-prudence on this one. I'm gonna squawk long and loud and most forcefully to those who said the Patriots' prior championships are tainted, and I'm going to root for the Pats to mercilessly and metaphorically sweep the leg of anyone who dares cross their path, either by choice or by NFL-mandated scheduling. I want to beat everybody by 50 points, not shake their hands and tell the papers later that they were the softest team we've played yet. I want Brady and Moss to own the record books and I want Coach Bill to hoist the Super Bowl trophy in his hands, turn to Phil Simms and Jim Nantz, and say, "This one's for you, you sanctimonius, Colts-ass-kissing, sons-a-bitches...this one's for all of you..."

In the words of The Beltones, "I wanna pay back all you jealous souls, and when I'm done you motherfuckers will all be through, yeah..." I want all this to happen to reward all the hypocritical teams, fans, announcers, journalists, pundits and talking heads who beat the Pats down for the videotaping while refusing to acknowledge that every team in the league cheats in some way. Dome teams pipe in noise, some teams set financial rewards for hurting opponents, some teams steal signals, some teams are steroid factories, somewhere, some way, everyone is doing something to get ahead. We got caught; the rest of you are lucky you didn't. And yet you still jumped on us, throwing fire from your igloos (I'm sick of "the people in glass houses..." bit). Well, I'm sick of listening to all of you, and everybody like you. I want the Pats to go 19-0 and grind the rest of the league into submission under the tips of our detachable cleats.

Just for the rest of this season, I'm gonna be the asshole Pats fan you don't want to meet in a bar. I'm gonna be that guy (except to my wife on December 8, 9 and 10). I'm the guy telling everybody that will listen that Chris Hanson, through 10 games, DOESN'T HAVE ENOUGH PUNTS TO QUALIFY ON THE LEAGUE LEADER BOARD. That's the stat of the day, and I've got a million more like them. I moved to Pittsburgh and I plan to make myself the most insufferable bastard my Steeler-fan co-workers have ever seen. I want them to tell their significant others, when they get home at the end of the day, about the most obnoxious fan they've ever met. Only then will they understand what I, and every Pats fan I know, has had to deal with since that story broke. Then, as Ian once said, "We'll look back and laugh." Laughing season starts February 4.

Ok. Whew. I've had that rant in me for a few months now, so it's nice to let it out. Have a nice Thanksgiving everybody!

Penguins and Polarbears

2007-10-30T11:24:00.000-05:00

This is the first entry in a series of mini essays I plan to write as I think back over the last five-and-a-half amazing years in Boston sports...

The 2004 team was more exciting, more dramatic, more over the top, more everything really. I probably feel that way because of what they did, but I just remember that being a really electric August, September and October. That's a team, a time, and a feeling that will never be matched. It's like hearing a song you love performed live for the first time. That song will never, ever sound the same to you again, as long as you ever hear it. You will hear that song in the mall twenty years from now, and you'll know it's the album version, but in your head, you're back in the pit screaming along to it for the first time with the band all over again. That's the 2001 Pats and the 2004 Sox for me. Those songs will never sound the same ever again.

And yet, those are songs that you never get tired of hearing. That's why the Pats other two Super Bowls and this year's Series are so great. They're like the megahit songs that the band gets tired of playing, so for awhile they've stubbornly refused to include them in the setlist. Then, out of the blue, they decide to play that song again, live and loud and fast, and you go just as crazy as you did the first time you heard it in person. It's not "new," but it's still pretty fucking exciting. You even think for a moment it sounds better than the first time you heard it. But you actually appreciate it more now, because you know how much better it makes the show. You hear notes you didn't hear before. You watch the drummer's technique instead of the crowdsurfers. You take it all in, because last time's memories are more blurry abstracts than focused photographs. You want to remember it more this time, because as you know, they don't play this song at every show.

So Different...

2007-10-29T01:42:00.000-05:00

Well, I'm still at work, waiting for these two jackasses to finish cleaning the exhaust hood system in the restaurant. Now that I've had a couple hours to reflect on the Sox winning it all AGAIN!!! I just feel lonely.

Part of what makes being a Sox fan so great is the instant camraderie you feel with every Sox fan you meet. Every time I was in DC, Ireland, Pittsburgh, wherever, as soon as you see those two red socks on a hat, you just kind of nod. It's like a gang sign almost. We're in this together. I feel you, brother.

Experiencing the 2004 Series win, with all my closest friends and family around me was amazing. Experiencing the 2007 Series win, by myself, well, it's not the same. I'm a jump-around-huggin'-high-fivin'-going-crazy-where-are-the-shots-I'll-be-home-at-5am kinda guy. That's just me. It's tough to be that guy when you're the only Sox fan in the room.

I Told You I'd Save Something Special For Post # 200...

2007-10-28T23:41:00.000-05:00

The Boston Red Sox are the 2007 World Series Champions.

Mike Lowell is the 2007 World Series Champion MVP.

I love this team. I hate that I ever doubt them, but I guess old habits die hard. To those of you who keep the faith more than me, thank you. You lead the way down a road that gets easier to follow every day. This is a team in every sense of the word, and I think that all of us who talk about the Sox every day make a pretty good team, too. So thank you to all of you who read my pessimistic ramblings. You make it all worthwhile, even if I'm the only Sox fan I know in Pittsburgh.

Sleep tight everyone!

Bring on the Colts!

Lifelines

2007-10-28T22:20:00.000-05:00

update

2007-10-28T21:46:00.000-05:00

10:46PM
Is it striking anybody else as eerie that in '04 we swept the Angels, won the last three games (plus) of a seven game series, took a three games to none lead and a 3-0 lead into the seventh inning of game 4? This is sounding familiar to the rest of you, right?

10:48PM
Ok, never mind. It's 3-1. I'll shut up now.

Enjoy It For Me...

2007-10-28T14:27:00.000-05:00

To all the diehards out there:

Please enjoy the Red Sox game tonight. Drink lots of beer, and for cryin' out loud, someone raise a Jameson's for me. I am at work, and will be until probably 12:30am. So barring an extra-inning game, or a really long one at least combined with a little luck, I will most likely hear the end of tonight's game, win or lose, on the radio, in our office, by myself. Just like some old guy in a home in Florida or something. So please, drink a lot, set something on fire, punch a Yankees fan in the neck; just do something. And when you're doing it, spare a thought for ol' MattySox. He'd really appreciate it.

Thanks a bunch,

MattySox

I Listen So You Don't Have To...

2007-10-26T02:02:00.000-05:00

I'm sure nobody else was listening to ESPN radio at 2:40am, so you probably missed this...and granted, I didn't actually see the Holladay pick off with my own eyes, just heard the call on the radio, but this very bitter caller from San Diego cracked me up:

"Ok...let's talk about that pick off play...I think Holladay got closer to first on that than he did to home plate in the one-game playoff against the Padres..."

And without having seen ol' Matty H get picked off in Game 2, I have no doubt that that guy speaks the truth...

Whooooooah! We're Halfway There!

2007-10-25T23:18:00.000-05:00

Take Papelbon's hand, and we'll make it I swear...

Seriously.

Schill=Awesome. Oki=More Awesome. Paps=Most Awesome.

It's been a little hard for me to keep up with the games via Gameday, and ESPN radio while at work the last two nights, but I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. There is a certain drama that the radio provides that TV can't. Hearing Jon Miller freak out when Holladay got picked off was super sweet, and I can't imagine it was more dramatic on TV. Kudos, and I can't believe I'm saying this, to Jon Miller for hitting some nice notes during the key moments of the first two games. Still too much nonsense from him and Joe Morgan, who's been at his Sox-doubting, NL-ass-kissing most gruesome thus far. But, as I said, I'll take it. Better than just catching highlights on Sportscenter later...

Off to Denver we go and here's to hoping we've seen the last of Fenway until we raise another banner on a sunny April afternoon...

Far Behind

2007-10-22T01:00:00.000-05:00

You can take your "Dirty Water." I'll let you have your "Sweet Caroline." I'll even spot you your "Shipping Up To Boston." The official song of the American League pennant winning Red Sox, for me, is "Far Behind" by the almighty, never-been-better, Social Distortion. The song is off of their new greatest hits record, and I've heard it at least once every day going to or from work during the ALCS. When I left work tonight, I was listening to the post-game stuff on 1250am, ESPN radio here in Pittsburgh. Finally, as I got closer to Butler, the signal faded and I switched to 105.9, the X, and sure as shit, that song was just starting. So, before some personal messages to those near and dear to me, I dedicate the following second verse and chorus of "Far Behind" to the Indians, with undying gratitude to the Red Sox for making this my new favorite song....

So I'm pulling up the weeds, I'm taking stock
You talk the talk but can't walk the walk
Your narcissistic ways have got the best of you...
I'm leaving you to sink, in all your glory
For you and me, it's the end of the story
Get out of my way
I've got better things to do

I'm leaving you, far behind
I'm leaving you, far behind
Stop wasting all my time
I'm leaving you far behind!
Yeah!

To Kim, I miss you more at times like this you'll ever know; Thanks for the texts and enjoy the series...

To Micky Finn, I hope I see the Ebbitt sooner than later!

To my wife, I can't promise I won't wake up the kids and huddle them on my lap if victory is imminent...

To Jere, who was there, I am a jealous, happy bastard...

To Joan, if you're still checking in, sometimes the road to victory goes all the way from Hopkinton and Brockton to DC and the Burgh...keep dropping them R's!

To anyone who ever reads this blog, I hope your faith is stronger than mine is sometimes...keep reading and keep believing...

And finally, to the Red Sox...Fuck "Rock-tober"! Let's go Sox-Tober!!!

O-Face

2007-10-21T09:41:00.000-05:00

Oh, Kim, we are very, very alive...

Oh, Josh, I hope we don't need you tonight...

Oh, Curt, you did it again...

Oh, Tito, stick with Jacoby...

Oh, JD, $14mil for 5 ribbies seems reasonable now...

Oh, Ebbitt, get a whisky ready for ol' Matty...

Oh, why do I have to work tonight?!

Go Sox!

Simple Answers

2007-10-20T09:22:00.000-05:00

Yes, Kim, we are alive...

Yes, Josh, I take back everything I said last season...

Yes, Curt, I believe in you this one more time...

Yes, Tito, take Coco out of the lineup...

Yes, JD, you still suck...

No, Ebbitt, we're not done by a longshot...

"So Who Cares?"

2007-10-18T08:54:00.000-05:00

So, like, are the Red Sox done yet, or what? Am I the only one who doesn't think this feels like '04 at all? I don't feel as hopeless as I did before game 4 in '04, but that's only because we won the Series that season. If we hadn't won it then, I would have disappeared into a deep, dark abyss after Tuesday's game faster than Manny can make a complete ass of himself on national tv (was I the only one who was waiting for Joe Buck to pull out the ol' Randy Moss ass-on-the-goalpost reaction after Manny's homer? "This is disgusting! We can't even show that again!" Probably...)

Remember the whole "How will winning a World Series change Red Sox fans?" nonsense? I didn't think it had changed me. And maybe it hasn't, but I'm not nearly as sick to my stomach about being down 3-1 as you'd think. Maybe it's because I've barely seen any of the playoffs so I'm not really locked in to the series, or maybe because I'm so worried about finding a daytime sitter for the kids, or maybe it's because I'm nervous/anxious about the house we're buying. I don't know. But this feels different. After game 3 in '04, I felt as bleak and hollow as sports had ever made me feel. There was a fatalistic pall over my apartment that Sunday leading up to game 4. Maybe playing someone who's not the Yankees makes it feel just that little bit less like life and death. Or maybe it's just realizing that, ya know what? The Indians are a pretty fucking good baseball team. And despite our being tied for the most wins in baseball, we have too many holes, all of which are being exposed now.

Let's face it- these were our shortcomings throughout the season: inconsistent starting pitching after Beckett; inconsistent bullpenning after Paps and Oki; inconsistent and often nonexistent production from the 6-9 spots in the lineup; a stubborn, "players' manager" with no sense of urgency or willingness to "panic." Well guess what we've seen in games 2-4? All of the above. So really, none of this is a surprise to me. Now granted, during any given span of the regular season, all of those issues rarely synced up, so it was easier to hide them as flaws. When the 'pen struggled, the offense picked it up. When starters couldn't find the sixth inning, the 'pen was lights out and somebody would get a key hit. When the bats were quiet, the pitchers did their thing. Now, not so much. Our patience at the plate is being exploited now that Tribe pitchers realize strike one is virtually free. And by the time our hitters adjust, it's too late and they're too anxious (Mike Lowell in the ninth of game 4 being a huge example).

So here we sit, with our $9mil shortstop doing nothing in the nine-hole, our $14mil extra-base-hit-less right fielder relegated to platoon duty and our all-D/no-hit center fielder sinking like a stone. Oh, and our $103mil pitcher getting 14 outs. Not to pile on what Shaugnessy said this morning, but man, that's a lot of dead weight. Amidst all this, there's no way to get Jacoby a start, or Alex Cora, or someone, anyone who actually plays like they care? I'd rather lose with those guys than the boulders we've been tying around our waists. Tito says that to not be loyal to the guys that got you here is cheating the players. Well last time I checked, the players don't pay you, Terry. The team does, and the fans do. It's about time somebody worries about not cheating US.

I just found out the Street Dogs are playing in Pittsburgh tonight. I'd almost rather see that than watch the game, but we're broke, and I'm tired and in no condition for a night in the pit. So I'll watch the game, of course, but I'm not ashamed to admit that if it's looking bleak, I'm not gonna ruin a night off by letting myself get depressed over a baseball game. I'll put on a movie with the Punkymom and pick up tomorrow's paper. If the news is good, then great. If not, then "who cares?" as Manny said yesterday. Just wait till next year. If he doesn't care, then fuck it. Why should I?

And he'll ask, "Dad, was it always like this?"

2007-10-08T22:52:00.000-05:00

So going to the top of the ninth inning of tonight's Indians-Yankees game, my wife, who had gone to bed a little earlier, brought my son out to the TV room because he had woken up and didn't seem ready to go back to sleep. So he and I snuggled under a blanket on the couch, while my Red Sox hat sat on the shelf next to the sofa. As the game quickly made its way into the bottom of the ninth, my son climbed across me and grabbed my hat (something he and his sister both love to play with) and tried to put it on my head. So he and I sat there, him in his pajamas and I in my cap, preparing the Yankees for a long winter's nap. No, seriously, we sat there and watched as Jeter was retired, then Abreu went deep (my son seemed much less worried than I was), then A-Rod flied out and finally, sweetly and unartistically, Posada flailed at strike three in the dirt and the Yankees were once again eliminated in the first round, their biggest bats having long since gone quiet in this not even close series, while their biggest arms, save Pettitte, proved ineffective as expected. I took my son back to our room, gave him to my wife and came upstairs to put up the obligatory "Yankees Lose!" post, all the while remembering how my dad got me out of bed to watch the Sox win the series in 1986, and how I've always wondered how I'd handle a similar situation with my own kids. And while it wasn't my intention to have my son watch the Yankees fail yet again, and while he'll no doubt never remember any of it, part of me wishes he would. I think he'd appreciate it some day.

I Guess This is Growing Up

2007-10-07T22:58:00.000-05:00

Remember how excited I was to watch a "whole" Red Sox game? Yeah, well, not so much. Thanks to both my exhaustion and the super comfortable recliners in my in-laws sunroom, I think I fell asleep about three times during the game. Some fan, huh? I did see Manny and Papi do their thing early, dozed off during the first two runs in the eighth, but caught the rest of the piling on and then the eventual pile on. Good times, man. That was about as calm as I've ever been during a Sox playoff game. We've got so much else on our minds right now, and I'm getting used to this later work schedule and we were out all morning looking at

THE HOUSE WE'RE GOING TO BUY!

We think we've found it. It's, as the Punkymom said, "[our] dream house." More details to follow, cause I don't really want to jinx it. Suffice it to say, we have a preliminary deal done but we need to finalize all the details. But it's pretty sweet...

Anyway, wasn't ever really stressed about this Angels series. I don't know if that's because I've had so little time to devote to worrying about anything regarding the Red Sox or if I just knew that we own them. Either way, I haven't really lost a moment's sleep over this series. And you know what, I'm not sure I will over the next series either. It's not a lack of caring, or a sense of arrogance that's leading me to say that. Maybe it's just a sense of perspective. Pretty annoying this time of year, but what can you do? I just can't be as single-minded about any one thing, like the Sox, as I used to be. And yes, you can remind me that I said all this when I'm pulling my hair out and trying on six different caps in the thirteenth inning of a 1-1 ALCS game six...But until then, I swear I'll be cool...

And, oh yeah, these guys are pretty good, too...

Anti-Anaheimlich

2007-10-07T09:30:00.000-05:00

I finally get to watch a whole Red Sox playoff game today! Yay, me. After only seeing an inning and a half of the series so far, I get to watch it in all its (hopefully) clinching pig-pile glory this afternoon.

I will tell you this: I guess the Red Sox Empire extends its tentacles even into Pittsburgh. I say that because when Manuel put on his Papi costume on Friday night, the cheers were loud and long at the bar across the street from my new restaurant. Plus, awesomely enough, there was a guy in a Yankees cap behind us who my new Sox pal, and executive sous chef, Danielle was taunting mercilessly during breaks in the action. And he just stood there and took it. Because when your season comes down to a bug-covered Fat Jub-Jub, really, what is there to say? So, today, let's make the weird scenario of four first-round sweeps happen. Then we can all relax till the middle of the week. Ok?

Overwelmity

2007-10-04T09:13:00.001-05:00

My new restaurant doesn't have a tv. So, consequently, on my first day at work at my new job, the Red Sox, naturally, were playing their first playoff game. Duh. Fortunately, they did fine without me watching, and I, too, did fine, presumably without them watching. But we've got each other's backs, believe that...

Actually, I haven't even seen any highlights yet, I've just read all the coverage in the Globe. And please, somebody fill me in: why did CHB hate the Monday Rally so much? He's been knocking it for days...Saw Jere's pics from it, read the article, sounded like the same old, same old. Dr. Charles needs a few new numbers in the rolodex, obviously, but jeez, Dan, lighten up. Was he mad that nobody asked him to speak at it? "Remember, Red Sox Nation, the curse of the Angels isn't over until a ball doesn't bounce off of Dave Henderson's glove and over the wall in Anaheim...that's the only way the Curse of the Autry-bino can be lifted..." Yeah, too bad, Dan, that Tony Armas hurt his ankle...that Hendu thing didn't work out so good...

Anyway, I won't see game two tomorrow night, but I will be home to see game three on Sunday. Hopefully that's all the Sox'll need, although I'm also off Monday for a possible game four, and heaven help us if it goes this far, I'm off next Wednesday for a possible game five. Although that's where it gets tricky, since I'm holding a pair of tix for a possible Indians-Yanks game five at the Jake next Wednesday, which I only bought on the slimmy chance that the Indians would be playing the Sox with home field advantage. But what I'm hoping for is for the Sox and whoever to win in no more than four, giving me a refund on my Indians tix, and allowing me that Wednesday free to go the Pens-Canadiens game that night with my brother-in-law. But whatever. If there's a game five at the Jake, I'll be there to root against the Yankees. Unless the Sox are in a game five, then I'll stay home and watch it. We'll see. I'm getting ahead of myself again.

I Moved to Pittsburgh and All the Red Sox Got Was This Lousy Divsion Title

2007-09-29T14:31:00.000-05:00

Greetings from the home of the gayest mascot in the history of sports (except for Queerus Maximus, the mascot of the Rome Gladiators, the Yankees of their day). And how about that guy with the yellow checked shirt and the hard hat, huh? Buh-dum-dum.

Seriously, I am now a resident of the Keystone State, which I think is a red state, as if I care about such things. Will post more later, after we get milk shakes at Eat and Park. Oh, and the first song I heard on WDVE as I approached Pittsburgh was "Crazy Train." Ah, I'm home.

Up and Down Haiku

2007-09-26T09:19:00.001-05:00

Magic number: three.
Last day at work with many
friends. Sad wins today.

Quicky

2007-09-22T21:57:00.001-05:00

Dear Terry Francona,

I know I make fun of you a lot. I hope you forgive me. But I have one small request. Can you still try to win the division, please? Thanks.

MattySox

Vote for Pedroia!

2007-09-20T11:48:00.001-05:00

Have you ever wanted to wear a crappy t-shirt thought up by me? Well, this is your lucky day! How awesome would you look in this shirt? Only you and your most honest friends can answer that, but I think you'd look goooood...

I don't even like "Napolean Dynamite," but this just seemed like it needed to be done. If you agree, you can get your very own shirt here. I spent all spring giving Dustin crap. This is the least I could do...

(Update: I guess I should've checked. Turns out there's a company called Zazzle.com selling a very similar shirt that was created by some company called Wicked Awesome tees or some such. Their's has a 15 on the back and their logo. So I'm not the original guy I never thought I was. Either way, MY shirt is still for sale for those who want to buy it without the creator makin' a penny on it. Or at least until I get sued or slapped with a cease and desist order. Whichever comes first.)

Low

2007-09-20T08:33:00.001-05:00

The magic number to get into playoffs is three. Whoop-de-fucking-doo. Is anybody else excited about just getting into the playoffs? When this season finally goes up in flames in the, I'm guessing, ALDS, am I the only one that would take some little measure of comfort from the fact that we had won the division? Finally? Am I crazy? I understand the meaninglessness of a division title without winning beyond that. Afterall, we've all been slagging the Yankees for doing that every year of this millenium. But still. I just want to finish ahead of them.

Obviously, I want the Sox to go a lot farther than that. Call me pessimistic, an unbeliever, an unwashed member of the negative talk radio masses, whatever you want. Just don't call me naive. This season, once so promising, has such a negative vibe to it now. It feels like last year. Inconsistent starting pitching, big injuries, underachieving free agents, imploding bullpen, wishy-washy indecisive management. The only difference is we had a huge lead in the division (Ha! Remember that?) Didn't the Yankees just sweep Toronto? And now we've been swept by those same Blue Jays? Did I just imagine that? Is there anybody who really thinks that's meaningless?

What exactly is a team's responsibility to its fans? To get to the postseason? To win as many games as possible? To win a division title? Obviously, the ultimate responsibility is to win the World Series. But what of the goals along the way? A baseball season is a really long haul for everybody- the players, coaches and fans. This Red Sox team makes the season even longer, at least to me, because I don't get the feeling it's being run to win every day. I think it's run to win enough to get to October and hope everything lines up there for one good streak. Should that be enough to satisfy me as a fan, as someone who, even in a very limited capacity, spends money that helps fund the operations of the team? Or instead, for my contributions to the team, both emotional and financial, am I owed more than that? I think I deserve to know that the team I seem to care more about than the team seemingly cares about itself at times is doing everything it can to win as many games as possible.

Now, if we're lifting the Series trophy at the end of October, am I gonna care that we finished second to the Yankees again? That we had to go out to Anaheim (again) for the first two playoff games? No, probably not. Maybe a little after the hullabaloo of winning dies down. Then I might say, "Still woulda been nice to win the division..." But it won't really matter.

But am I gonna be pissed as hell if we're in a 2-0 hole before we ever get to play a postseason game at Fenway? Fuck yeah. If we don't get our heads out of our asses now and start winning some games, we're gonna be hitting the road. And all you statheads out there can roll out all the numbers you want showing that the home-team advantage is overrated and all that. And maybe the numbers support that. But here's a little something I believe about the players- they usually don't know the numbers as well as Joe Fan. They obsess about trying to hit a Scott Kazmir slider; we obsess over home and away splits and the last five year's combined win-loss records of road underdogs playing afternoon games on grass. I really believe that players, at least those with a discernible pulse who care (and that certainly eliminates about a third of our starting lineup), need every psychological edge they can get. Does playing at Fenway give the players an edge? The offensive stats point to yes, the pitching stats point to no. But overall, we've won more games at Fenway than away from it. Sometimes people make baseball too complicated. Call me a simpleton, but I want to play more games where we've won more games.

If you don't understand the disconnect between rooting for your team, and being realistic about your team, please don't give me a hard time about my pessimism. I love the Red Sox more than anything in my life besides my family. I WANT them to do well, to win the World Series again. If you're the sort of fan that does well with blind faith, then good for you. I'm not. I enjoy my cynicism. Two-thousand and four did nothing to discourage me from keeping my guard up. That's how I operate as a fan. That doesn't make me less of a fan than the guy who says, "I always believed! I never lost faith...even after going down three games to none, I knew we'd do it..." Bullshit. He hoped we'd do it, but he didn't know we'd do it. And that's where I'm at. I hope we win the World Series, but I don't know that we will. I'm not even sure we'll get there. Guardedly optimistic, I remain. Just not foolishly naive.

Terry

2007-09-19T16:01:00.000-05:00

Just got off the phone with Terry Francona, and here's tonight's starting lineup:

1. Julio Lugo, shortstop
2. Eric Gagne, goalie
3. Coco Crisp, DH
4. Dustin Pedroia, second base
5. David Ortiz, first base
6. Mike Lowell, right field
7. Jacoby Ellsbury, center field
8. Kevin Cash, catcher
9. Brandon Moss, left field

When I asked Tito about some of the more obvious eccentricities of the lineup, this was his explanation:

"Since Gagne, and I just found this out about fifteen minutes ago, is Canadian, I decided maybe he'd be a better goaltender than a pitcher; I think it plays more to his strengths, and I'm just trying to put guys in a position where they have the best chance at success. Ortiz, I'm giving him some time at first, because that makes it look like I'm trying to keep him sharp in the field in case we make it to the Series. Which we won't, but this makes it look like a real possibility to the guys, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell 'em what I really think. Tek needs a day off, and Mikey's been looking real sharp shagging flies in the outfield during BP and he said he's kinda sick of third base. I was gonna give him a day off, but Hinske doesn't feel that his goatee is up for tonight's game, so you know, I'm just trying to put out the best lineup I can. Also, are you sure it's 'Jacoby?' I thought it was 'Jacob.' Huh. What a weird first name."

When I mentioned that no one is penciled in at third, he said, "Well, Julio's got great range at short, and let's face it, you don't need an extra guy over there when balls are flying into the gaps and over the wall all night...I know Buch's goin' tonight, and he's been real solid for us, but we'll just see how it plays out. If need be, maybe we can move Gagne over there. It'll be tough for him to start the 5-4-3 with the blocker pad on his throwing hand, but I think we'll be fine."

As for me, I'm just pissed Lugo is leading off. I thought we were past that...

Do-do-do, do-da-do-do-da-do

2007-09-18T14:08:00.000-05:00

If you don't have a two and a half year old of your very own, I say, "Go get one!" There is no other creature in the world that feels the important and unexplainable need to wear a Steinbrenner backpack, containing roughly, oh, 30 Pez dispensers, around for the whole afternoon. But, MattyKid1.0 does, so here she is, in a manner that will not alarm the Punkymom into thinking our child will be stalked in an internet-related manner...

On a related note, here's a blurry picture of a mailbox painted to look like R2D2. It's located outside of the McPherson Square metro station near the intersection of 14 & Eye Sts NW.

On a completely unrelated note, here's a picture of me drinking beer in 2005 in Seattle. (And I just realized I'm wearing that same shirt as I type this...)

Finally, here's a sweet picture the Punkymom took inside the ruins of Killmallock Castle in Killmallock, County Cork, Ireland...
Of course, the purpose of all of the above is to take your mind off the fact that, despite what all the "optimistic" bloggers out there say, the Red Sox are on the 5:48 to second place...And do you know what I just realized? (Serendipitous blog moment alert...)
All these pictures tell the future! (Overdramatic blog moment alert...) We'll soon be chasing the evil empire, the Sox are mailing it in, it's causing me to drink and our season is collapsing into ruins! Help us Obi-Jon-Lester! You're our only hope...

Matty to America: "Please Shut up Now"

2007-09-17T09:38:00.000-05:00

I'll be the umpteen-millionth person to say it: that game last night should have been videotaped. Because the Patriots completely, utterly, undoubtedly, unequivocally and decisively DEMOLISHED the wannabe-Super Bowl-contender Chargers. It was as strong an ass-kicking statement one great team has wrecked on another supposedly great team in quite some time. The San Diego Times-Union called it "humbling." Matty called it "freaking awesome."

In attendance at the MattySox condo last evening were the Punkymom, the Mattymom, the venerable "Jets Suck" Kimmy, the Brownie Jimmy, Niki the Colt and The Big Ry. Bang-ass chili, cornbread, brownies and cake were consumed by all, as well as much beer and the two smallest gin and tonics known to man. We had the Pats game on in the living room, and I had the Sox game on in the bedroom. We called it "The Panic Room," although the Pats left little to panic about, nor much reason to escape the living room. Turns out the Sox created all the panic in the bedroom.

Well, not panic so much as great concern. I hate losing to anybody, especially the Yankees, and especially when, once again, Terry Gump fails to utilize our bullpen in the manner in which I see fit. The last Yankees' series, I felt that in games one and two, Beckett and Matsusaka were left in an inning too long. And I feel like Curt was left in a couple hitters too long last night. I still don't get why we put this great 'pen together, but leave it in the hands of a manager who can't commit to using it the way it's intended. Was Terry still nervous because of Friday night? I don't know. But Curt made a horrible pitch (which he, characteristically, admitted to after the game) and Jeter hit one of his typically Jeter opposite field cheap bloops into the second row of the Monster seats. Right, Jere? I made the joke in the bottom of the 9th that Sox-Yankees games have a real scripted, WWF feel to them. Then lo and behold, we get back to within one, we load the bases, and, Oh My God! Big Papi is striding to the plate. Seriously, that didn't feel scripted to anyone else? Unfortunately, all the writers must live in New York.

The Sox loss dampened my excitement over the Pats game for, oh, about one minute. The Pats needed to win their game a whole hell of a lot more than the Sox needed to win theirs. Now, thankfully, I don't have to listen to a week's worth of people saying we can't win without cameras. Whatever edge they may have given, we sure didn't need it last night. The Patriots were awesome, and I hope that all the people who were riding them into the ground all week were watching. The rest of America can shut up and move on now. The Pats have, and now they can keep moving on. Any team between Foxboro and Glendale, Arizona had better watch out. For the rest of us, roll tape. This looks like a season worth keeping.

Takin' Lumps

2007-09-12T12:45:00.000-05:00

So I guess the 2000 Patriots were the 1991 Barry Bonds? A steady diet of illicit videotape "cream and clear" just happened to pump us into three-time Super Bowl champions? This whole story is fucking ridiculous, and so embarrassing to me, and every Patriots fan out there. One stupid, arrogant, reckless decision has stained everything this team worked so hard for, and everything its fans waited so long for.

I've written on a number of occasions about the "institutional arrogance" of the Patriots, but man, this is so over the top. At the end of the day I don't really care if Belichick fucked his Giants secretary, or whether he pushed a camera guy, or whether he's just an irascible, pseudo-mad-genius, prone to blowhardity and vanilla bean blandness. Because, really, that just makes him look like a jerk. Now, though, anybody that's ever worn Pat Patriot, or the Flying Elvis, will be subjected to skepticism and derision. And what comeback do we have?

Are we all positive that NO against-the-rules maneuvers were used to help us win three Super Bowls by a combined nine points? I'm sure the Pats aren't the only team to use less than proper methods to get an edge, just as I'm sure Barry Bonds has a couple hundred colleagues as guilty as he is. But they've got the biggest bulls-eyes on them because they're the highest profile examples of their kind. Now we know how all the San Francisco Giants fans have felt these last few years when their star has been tarnished by UNPROVEN allegations. Well, they've got something on us, then, because apparently the NFL can prove these allegations.

Just the other day I was watching the Super Bowl 36 dvd, and I got chills again just watching Brady and company launch that final, historic field goal drive against the Rams. How can I ever watch that again without wondering if we knew something we shouldn't have? Do I think that this "espionage" is the main ingredient in our success the last few years? Hell no. I still think we've got some of the best coaches and players in the league, and I think the incredibly hard, dedicated work they do is responsible for a minimum 99% of their success. That said, I liked it a whole lot more when I knew for sure it accounted for 100%.

Let's Go Patriots!

2007-09-09T09:43:00.001-05:00

15

2007-09-08T11:50:00.000-05:00

As usual, I saw bits and pieces of the game at work, but did glance up in time to see Daniel Cabrera going crazy...What's with these done-nothing hacks thinking they're Bob Gibson? First fat Jub-Jub, now this guy? Throwing at Dustin "That Pitcher Sucks!" Pedroia...I love what DP said after the game, wishing Cabrera had stayed in because he's 9-15 and Dustin wanted to line another hit up the middle off of him. Seriously, I'll say it again: How could I have ever doubted Dustin Pedroia? He is on the verge of taking a spot in the Matty's Favorite Red Sox Player Hall of Fame...

One additional note on Thursday night's Red Sox outing, and I can't state this clearly enough: The Big Ry was there with us, if only in spirit and drooping eyelids by the sixth inning. Sorry to leave you out, buddy...

Now, on to the Pats...The Brady jersey is on, as I currently type this, continuing my tradition of wearing my jersey the day before and the day of the game. The Punkymom and I will be out at, most likely, the Lucky Bar tomorrow so that she can watch her beloved, albeit cheapshot artist, Steelers most likely beat the Browns and so that I can watch something that gives me pleasure second only to the Yankees losing to the Sox. That, of course, is watching the Jets lose to the Patriots. No Harrison, no Seymour, no problem. I am super psyched to see what our recharged passing game can do. Remember- if Brady goes deep to Moss on the first play from scrimmage, you heard it hear first. One sidenote- if you're the gambling kind, I won't be mad if you take the Jets and the six and a half points...kind of a weird line. The Jets are at home, and we are without two defensive starters, so the line seems a tad large. That said, I still think we'll win by 21. That's the kind of asshole I am...

Here's to hoping the next post title is "13"...

16

2007-09-07T07:42:00.000-05:00

Well that was sweet. A fine final game (for now) at Camden Yards. It took us almost two hours to get to Balty from Alexandria, but we found a street spot(!) just a couple blocks from the stadium- nice job, Ronnie. We hit the Wharf Rat for a few or three beers then got to our seats by the bottom of the first, after the lightening quick top of the frame. Our seats were actually too good, or so we joked after both Millar and Coco's shots went about three rows behind us. We had to sit behind a family of Yankee fans in town to visit their Bernie Williams-shirt wearing daughter or some such, but they were ok. We made fun of Bernie's age and jazz cd and the Yankee's division deficit and other stuff...

Definitely a weird game. Wake had nothing, but the O's starter is, I think, mentally retarded. I hope that's not doing a disservice to mentally retarded people...How do you throw to the wrong base TWICE in one inning? It was amusing to watch the three Oriole fans there just throw their hands up in frustration and resignation. It was like watching Jose Oquendo just walk away from the Suppan baserunning debacle in '04, Game 3. Humorous to say the least. This game had everything- a few good defensive plays, homers, The Patented JD Drew Rally Kill, Double-H setting a fire then putting it out with a little help from the Doctor, Coco's huge jump in the ninth and Tek's clutch, pinch-hit single. Then Paps was just lights out to close it. Eleven pitches. A thing of beauty. And considering that the game featured thirteen runs, twenty hits and ten pitchers, it moved by at a pretty brisk clip, coming in at only three and a quarter hours. We were home by midnight.

So it's six and a half with 21 to play. Can everybody relax a little and just enjoy these last three weeks?

The Camden Retrospective- A Long, Alcohol-Soaked Story

2007-09-06T08:14:00.000-05:00

The idea of moving to Pittsburgh is making me very nostalgic for some of the things I'll miss about living here. I suppose that's completely normal, but it is strange how certain things are hitting me every day. Like when I saw my friends Ben and Esther the other day. They're two people I've known for six years, hung out with a lot for two, and have seen infrequently for the last four. But when I saw them in the restaurant last Saturday night, I thought, "Jeez...will I ever see these people again?" So that's the sort of cheesy, nostalgic vibe I've been carrying around, seeing random things and wondering, "Will I ever see this again?"

Well, tonight I'll be at one of my favorite places on earth, for what will most likely be the last time for awhile. It's a place I've been probably 50-60 times, with lots of different people over the last 12-13 years. It's Oriole Park at Camden Yards, and I'm going to miss the hell out of not being only 45 minutes away from it.

Camden Yards is, for my money, still the best stadium in baseball. Granted, I haven't been to all of them, but I've been to enough of them over the years to have a real appreciation for it. PNC Park comes close, but I don't have near the memories there that I do of Camden Yards. It is nearly the perfect ball park. Easily accessible downtown location? Check. Lots of bars in the neighborhood for pre- and post-game revelry? Check. Beautiful views from nearly every seat in the stadium? Check. Cool downtown background? Check. Good food and beer selections? Check. Friendly staff? Check. Relatively cheap tickets? Check.

When Camden opened, it was touted as a retro park for it's old-school red brick construction, assymetrical dimensions and natural grass field. Now, it's retro because it's an older stadium where the highest ticket price is still "only" $55, I think. And if you need the VIP action, most club level seats top out at $40, and the club at Camden is great- sweet bars, loungy areas for rain delays, the sweet Guinness/Harp cart behind section 248, the way the usher at the bottom of the escalator looks at your ticket and says in an old-timey voice, "Yes, sir! Club Level...up the escalator, sir!" that makes you feel like a big shot.

When I was in college, I dated a couple native Marylanders who were born and raised O's fans, and I also had more disposable income then, so from '96-'98, I probably saw 40 games at The Yard. It was just something to do on a day off; weekend afternoon games were the best, especially when LightRail used to run late on the weekends. You could catch a morning train from Union Station in DC, catch a game, go barhop till late and catch a train back. Now, with no late train service back to DC, some of the fun of making a whole day of it is gone. But it's still a great time. Even though I don't get there nearly as much as I used to, I still look forward to the same things: a pint of the cask-conditioned Best Bitter at the Wharf Rat, my sausage from one of the great street vendors outside on Howard Street, the walk through the crowd on Eutaw Street after entering by the Babe Ruth statue (which I always flip off), finding your seats and realizing, once again, there's not a bad seat in the house (except for way back in Terrace level, where you lose fly balls above the upperdeck overhang), the Maryland Microbrew cart and a cold Clipper City Gold or Degroen's Marzen.

So, some highlights, lowlights and anecdotes from the ballpark I've been to more than any other...

I don't remember exactly what my first game there was. The first game I really remember, although the memories are pretty hazy, is an O's-Yanks game in probably August of '95, with my old friend Loren Keldsen. I remember it being brutally hot, and we'd been drinking Captain and Cokes in the parking lot for awhile before the game. About the seventh inning, I was feeling awful, we were arguing with some Yankee fan dicks way up in the upper deck on the third base line, and I think Loren might have puked into a nacho tray. I have no idea who won the game.

I think '96 was the season I saw the most games there, probably about 20, most with a rabid O's fan chick I was dating who would argue till she was blue in the face with anybody who denied the greatness/hotness/non-gayness of Brady Anderson. But the three biggest games I saw there that year were with my dad. We were there on Labor Day afternoon for Cal's 2,129th consecutive game and we walked around to Eutaw Street at the top of the 5th and stood under those big numbers they kept changing on the warehouse. That was pretty cool.

We were also there for the first game of the ALDS against the Indians (who we were still mad at for sweeping away the Sox in '95). The aforementioned not great/not hot/probably gay Brady Anderson led off the the O's first with another one of his juice-aided homers (that was the year he hit 50), BJ Surhoff cranked two, and Bobby Bonilla hit a grand slam.

And we were there for game four of the ALCS against the Yankees. The thing I really remember from that, aside from Daryl Strawberry's 93-minute circling of the bases after a moonshot homer in the 8th, was the walk from the Inner Harbor to the stadium. It was a Saturday night, and I think we'd eaten at the Uno's at the Harborplace. As we were walking down Pratt Street towards Camden, we saw/heard a commotion up the block. As we got closer we saw about ten of Baltimore's finest breaking up what appeared to be a pretty big fight between opposing fans. One Oriole fan was in handcuffs and yelling, repeatedly, "Fuck the Yankees!" It turned out to be a guy named Shane I worked with at Bennigan's; we stopped and I said, "Shane, what the hell are you doing?" And he said, in a real "Duh!" tone of voice, "Kicking some Yankee ass!" We laughed, wished him luck and started to walk away, but then he called out, "Hey Matty- call work- tell 'em I'll probably miss my lunch shift tomorrow..." Turns out he did; he didn't get out of Baltimore lockup till Monday morning.

On April 26, 1997, I was sitting down in the left field lower boxes when Robby Alomar hit three home runs to help beat the Red Sox 14-5. Later that summer I was at a game in July with a girl named Martha who got annihilated and wandered off during an argument. Took me about four innings to wander the stadium and find her- she was in Bambino's Pub in the Warehouse, knocking back more shots; should've thought to look there first.

In '99, I had a streak of five consecutive games I went to that featured a rain delay. It wasn't until '01 that the legendary Tim Wakefield streak started- ten Sox-O's games in a row I saw there featured Wakefield. The streak lasted into '05. Turns out Wake's pitching tonight-seems appropriate.

In '02, I took my wife there for her first Sox-O's game. We went with our friends, Rita and Declan. We got some sweet box seats near the Sox dugout from some guy in the Scalp Free zone (one of Camden's best features) and I got some terrific pics of Nomar back when he was still a happy guy. That was the legendary "Danny the Beer Man" game, which I've mentioned on this blog several times. That was also the night I kept yelling at Manny until he gave me the double Manny Point during a pitching change.

In 'o3 we went with Rita and Declan again, sat right behind the Sox dugout, and got Todd Jones to throw us Bazooka gum and sunflower seeds during yet another rain delay. My friend Kim was there too, with Jimmy C. I remember Kim using an upside down nacho tray to keep her shiny coat dry as we scurried for cover and realized that a rain delay in the seventh would keep the bars in the stadium open longer.

In '04, my wife, my brother and I were at The Yard on July 29, again to see Wakefield pitch, in a game that got rained out before it became official. It turned out to be the last time Nomar actually played on the field for the Red Sox. He didn't play the next night in Minnesota, then was traded on Saturday to the Cubs.

By '05, we had my daughter, so the games were fewer and farther between. On April 21, my dad and I saw Matt Clement (!) blank the O's 1-0. That game was the nightcap of our two-game/two-city double dip, as we'd seen the Braves beat the Nationals, 2-1, at RFK that afternoon. In August that summer, there was the ill-fated attempt to take my wife and six-month old daughter to a Sunday afternoon Sox-O's tilt with my cousin Mary and her boyfriend, who were living in Baltimore at the time. Turned out to be in the high 90's, and our seats in section 76 turned out to be too hot for the wife and kid. The crowd turned out to be too loud for my daughter, as well. When Trot went deep in the second over the out of town scoreboard, the roar from the partisan Sox crowd scared the crap out of her and she started crying. We left shortly after and listened to the Sox lose on the radio on the way home.

Last year I only got to two games- one with Essam the Mad Moroccan on April 9 (God, retrosheet has been handy for this), which turned out to be a 4-1 Sox win behind the pitching of Wake (again) and some rookie named Papelbon. That game was the closest I ever came to getting a foul ball at Camden Yards. We were in the first row of section 248, and Ortiz fouled a ball back at great speed that hit the facade of the club level right below my feet. Later that spring, on May 16, The Gatman and I sat in great seats in Section 14, five rows off the field and I got Ortiz to acknowledge my incessant yelling at him with a double point of his own. Schilling coughed up a 4-1 lead in the fifth, but was bailed out by RBI singles in the sixth by Mark Loretta and Big Papi. Papelbon saved that one, too. That game was also memorable because it featured the legendary diary, with the "My dad spends too long in the bathroom" entry that had me and Gat in stitches for about two innings. You can read the original version of that story in the comments here at Jere's place.

That was the last game I was at in Baltimore, until tonight. While I've been typing this, my tickets arrived from Stubhub (finally). Four beautiful orange tickets, in Section 78, row DD, seats 5-8. Left field lower boxes, one of my favorite spots in the stadium. Good fans, good view, always a chance at a homer. It was where a friend of mine heckled Jay Gibbons mercilessly by calling him "Gingerkid!" for nine innings. Good spot, good times. I also love the first few rows of Upper Boxes 326-334, up high behind home plate- one of the best views of the stadium and the skyline behind it.

After tonight, the next time I see the Sox in person will most likely be next season at the Jake in Cleveland. That's the closest AL city to Pittsburgh. Fortunately, my brother-in-law, Micah, lives there, so we're already planning a quick trip out there next summer to see him and catch a couple Sox games. I've never been to Jacob's Field, so that'll be cool. And I'm sure, at some point, I'll make it back to Baltimore and Camden Yards again. But for now, I'm just looking forward to tonight- my hot sausage, a cold beer, about 20,000 other Red Sox fans and over a decade of great memories.

17

2007-09-04T21:50:00.000-05:00

I've always loved "the magic number." To me, it's always been one of the coolest stats in baseball. Baseball is a game without a clock, without a deadline, and yet, as the season winds down, there's the magic number, just there, just ticking along to an endgame some love and most dread. It's really the only "clock" that baseball has. Simple math tells us that, at some point for every team but one in each division, there comes a point in the season where all the impossible dreaming is simply rendered impossible- the dreaded mathematical elimination. The games may go on a few more weeks for those teams, but all they can do is play the mythical spoiler. Earl Weaver used to relish the spoiler role; to an eliminated team, nothing beats knocking out some other hope-filled team and its fans. It was his own little sweet revenge. That's why I hope the Orioles beat Tampa Bay Wednesday night. Their magic number to be mathematically eliminated from the division title is two. If we win and they win on Wednesday, then a Sox win on Thursday, when I'm there, eliminates the Orioles. Sweet revenge for those years in the 70's when the O's broke my dad's heart late in so many fruitless seasons.

At some point, and I feel the Red Sox are almost there, the magic number is the glorious, long-awaited light at the end of the long, dark, 162 game tunnel. The promised land, the goal from the first day a pitcher slings it to a catcher when most of us are still slinging snow from our driveways. To the chasers, and Lord knows how familiar we are with this role, the magic number becomes four walls, claustrophobically, methodically closing in on you, until finally, all light is extinguished, all hope is lost. The last thing you hear is the sad, plaintive cry, "Wait till next year..." That's the thing about the magic number- it doesn't matter how much you win, if the team you are chasing keeps winning, too. It's not completely your own destiny to control. There's a helplessness to watching your team's late season winning streak equaled by your hated rival; nothing you can do at that point is good enough. That's what's so depressing about it- even your own perfection is useless when reflected back at you in that mirror.

So here we sit, longing for a combination of Sox wins and Yankees losses that equals 17. And here I sit, hoping that somewhere tonight, right now, some Yankees fan is starting to sense the walls closing in. I hope they pick up their paper tomorrow and see how their team blew out Seattle tonight, then see that we won also. Fruitless. I know they are improving their chances of making the playoffs, but I also know that it will kill them to finish second to us at anything. Maybe we will see them again on some crisp October evening, and maybe we won't. But for now, I hope they're at least getting a little short of breath. It's getting darker, the walls are moving closer, all the time.

18

2007-09-04T07:15:00.000-05:00

After dinner, I checked the score and saw that it was 10-1 Sox. "Oh jeez," I said. "Finally some run support for Dice. Even one of his patent-pending, signature Dice innings can't screw this one up..." Then I popped a beer and we watched "Zodiac" on demand. (Which was pretty good; the whole thing had a really wet, claustrophobic, creepy quality to it, and some pretty good performances by Mark Ruffalo and Jake Gyllenhal.) Anyway, after the movie, I checked the score just to see what the blowout final score was and man, was I surprised: 13-10. My first thought was, "Am I glad I missed this one?" I'm not sure if I could have watched that game and not lost my mind and or woken up the kids...I'm sure some of you out there have shorter fingernails this morning.

I can't remember the last "elite" pitcher who could so quickly let an inning get away from him...He's almost Lowe-ian in that regard. He has innings that you can almost feel getting ready to run away from him. He's unpredictable and inconsistent, and that makes me nervous come October. I know that he's leading the team in quality starts, but man, what a misleading stat. I think the Sox should make every effort down the stretch to rest him an extra day whenever possible. Use some of the young guns to spot him a day off or two. At this point of the season, energy-wise, he seems to be in way over his head.

It looks like Wakefield will be ready to go on Thursday night, resurrecting my old "If Matty's at Camden, it's gotta be Wake" streak...I've missed him the last couple times I've gone, after seeing him something like nine straight games at Camden Yards. If anyone out there is going to the game on Thursday, drop me a line and we'll meet for a pint at the Wharf Rat before the game. I'm just thankful I won't be there on Saturday- that sounds pretty rough... My favorite part is how this guy says they are taking back their own stadium "if only for one night" and "if only temporarily." He understands the futility of trying to resist the influx of Red Sox fans and bandwagoneers. How did Caple and USA Today and all the other RSN bashers miss this guy? He's the poster child for all the whiny, over-matched and shouted down fans of all the pathetic teams whose organizations can't provide an on-field product good enough to elicit the sort of support that doesn't require a conscientious effort to reclaim your own stadium from a traveling band of ruffians decked out in red and blue. Rest assured that when I'm at the Yard on Thursday, and somebody's wife or girlfriend "initiates an activity that calls for taunting," my comebacks won't "be more mellow." Awrighty, hon?

19

2007-09-03T16:20:00.001-05:00

I saw bits and pieces of the no-no on the tv at work, without even realizing that Clay had the no-no going...went back to the office about 9:30 for a minute, checked gameday, and saw he had the zeros working. My old friends Ben and Esther walked into the bar right before the start of the 9th...I knew that was a good sign, since Ben and I blew up DC after the Pats won their first Super Bowl...I said to Ben, "Something's going on here...I can't say what..." and Ben immediately understood; he just wanted to know who "wasn't" doing anything...the last hook to Mar-cock-is was devastating...then went back into the office a little later and watched the 9th on MLB.com with Don and Jerry on the call...I got the feeling Don had been rehearsing that call in his head since about the 6th inning. I thought he nailed it. I also loved Joe West's delayed, emphatic strike 3 call- well played, sir.

Yesterday's game I managed to watch bits and pieces of inside the toddler tornado that was my daughter's friend's second birthday party. Not easy to follow the pace of the game surrounded by running, yelling, smelly, messy kids ages 6 months to 5 years old. Left the game at 3-2 to walk down to the beach so the kids could go swim in the Chesapeake. Called my old man later to find out the score; I already knew the Yanks had lost, so a fine day it turned out to be.

Followed the Yank's score today while watching the Nats-Marlins game on TV...Wily Mo went deep, which always chaps my ass to see. The Yanks were down 7-1 in the 8th when we left to take the kids to the park. There was an old guy with a Mass. accent there with his grandkids who saw me and my daughter's Sox hats and asked me if I knew what happened in the Yankees game...I told him what I knew and he said, "That's good ta heah..." So I knew that was a good omen when I got home and checked the final. Six and a half and rising, as Jere says. Hope he's right.

I'm disappointed the game tonight's not on ESPN or something; they've got college football! Since when did colleges play primetime games on Monday night? Weird. Oh well; maybe I'll listen to some of it on the MLB radio thing while I'm making dinner for me and the Punkymom. Hope everybody had a good Labor Day...Here we go seven games...

The Other Side of StubHub

2007-09-01T11:56:00.000-05:00

The whole StubHub issue has been covered fairly recently on some other sites, and frankly, I don't have a real strong opinion either way about the "black" market for event tickets. I've bought from, and sold to, both SH and ebay; sometimes for a great deal, sometimes to make money, sometimes to overpay for something I really wanted to see.

Is it frustrating to get shut out of a concert at the 9:30 club and then see a third of the tickets for the show on ebay? Yeah, of course. So I applaud bands, like Smashing Pumpkins did, and like Bad Religion is doing for their fall tour, for doing a will-call only, non-transferable sale where the buyer has to pick up the tickets and go directly into the venue. That's really the only way to prevent scalping. I also don't think that's a viable solution for a 48,000 person event like, say, next Thursday's Sox-O's game at Camden Yards. And that's where Stubhub comes in...

Through the O's directly, the best seats available were right field box seats, near the right field corner, about 25-30 rows off the field for $40/ticket plus the extra charges. Well, I'll be at the game, three rows off the field in section 78, right behind the left field wall, home run territory, hopefully right behind Manny, or at least close enough to yell "Prettyboy!" at Markakis all night, for $18/ticket, all charges included. I bought them through Stubhub; these are face value, at least $25/ticket. So I win. And that's my point: occasionally, you can win with these sites. Like the time I was in the first row on the field just past first base at PNC Park with tickets I bought from ebay for five bucks under face per ticket. Savvy fans can actually *gasp* exploit these sites for their own personal gain! And not by overselling- you can do it by underbuying!

Call now, and I'll rush you the details explaining my proven, good seat getting system...Remember, you can't steal awesome seats to a Sox game unless you make the call...

Seriously, though, SH and ebay are like any other commercial, capitalist-based form of commerce. There will always be those willing to pay top dollar for something an unscrupulous person has the balls to sell for twenty times face value. And the rest of us can complain about that all we want, but the fact of the matter is, when I'm holding a home run ball I caught off the bat of Dr. Doubles, or Youk, or whoever, I won't really give a shit about the nefarious business practices of Stubhub. Instead, I'll be pitying the poor schlub Orioles season ticket holder that sold his tickets for half of face value and I'll be glad I live in a country where I can take advantage of that guy with nothing more than a few mouse clicks.

Is it hypocritical to complain about all the U2 tickets being on SH ten minutes after Verizon Center sold out, then turning around and buying Sox tickets from the same business? Yeah, probably a little. But I'm okay with that. Like Roger McGuinn said, to everything, there is a season, a baseball season under heaven. And heaven to me is saving seven bucks off face to see one last Sox game at Camden Yards before I move to Pittsburgh. So viva capitalism. It's only a game...

5

2007-08-30T23:17:00.000-05:00

The Sox only needed to win one, and came away empty handed. Today's game was definitely awful, no doubt about it, but it was not the disaster it will be portrayed as in the papers tomorrow. Ok, maybe it was, but it's not catastrophic. Not even close. If any of us had the choice of going into September with a five game lead, I'm sure we'd have jumped at the chance. We're still in good shape, in theory.

What does concern me, though, is how lackadaisical and punchless this lineup has become. I know everyone is making a big deal about the expanding roster, but really, is there much pop on the way? Right now, with Manny and Crazy Red on the shelf, our lack of depth is really being exposed. That concerns me, too. We got three pretty decent starts from Dice, Becks and Schill. I think Tito really screwed up the first two games by letting those guys get into the seventh innings. What's the point of having "the best bullpen in baseball" and then letting tiring starters get in over their heads? When we got Gagne, everybody in the organization said, basically, now these are six-inning games. So what happened to that? All three of these games were pretty winnable, and we got Grady'd in two of them.

Random side question: At what point does Theo get some heat for some, in my opinion, pretty poor decisions? We're paying Lugo and Drew what, $23 million combined? I guess Coco was the best we could do at the time, but he's been maddeningly inconsistent and frustrating, too. There's a startling lack of late inning pinch-hitting and defensive options available as well, considering our fairly monstrous payroll. I'm not a fan who's satisfied resting on the ever-fading laurels of 2004; I want to win really bad every year. At what point does Theo's grace period start to fade? I know we have the best record in baseball, and we're set up well in the standings. Maybe I'm just being selfish. I just have some, I think, legitimate concerns about how well we're really put together for a deep October run.

Had a fun time listening to the game on EEI today, and getting in on the chat over at Joy Of Sox. I've never gotten in on one of those game threads over there before, and it was pretty entertaining. I wish some of the chatters would ditch the "I'm a better Sox fan than you" routine, and I wish there were less comments of a personally attacking nature, but all in all, it was a great way to release stress during a stressful game. Good times. And thanks to Jere for the email updates after I left for work...

With the O's coming to Fenway, it seems like a great time to get back on track. No Bedard on Saturday; maybe we can catch a break or two before this thing is done...

Update link thingy: If you haven't read this, you must. Fucking Awesome...How did I ever doubt that guy?

5or7

2007-08-30T09:51:00.000-05:00

Do I think the Yankees will catch us and win the division? No. Do I think they're better than us right now? I have no idea. Do I want to see them in the playoffs? Hell no. Am I frustrated as hell with the Sox right now? Hell yes.

After last weekend, I think everybody thought they had it figured out. We absolutely smoked the White Sox; but then again, they're so bad right now that Ozzie is screaming, cursing and begging for Double-A call-ups to replace the shitty players playing shittier he has now. So I'm not sure what that means. And the Yankees lose three out of four to the Tigers, getting embarrassed in the finale. And now, the Yanks beat us two straight, Anaheim sweeps the Mariners, and Detroit can't beat Cleveland. Who the hell knows what all this means? Is this why "they play the games on the field?"

I do know this, though- anytime the top or middle of the order gets a rally going for the Sox, it will be short-lived. Crisp/Hinske/Lugo does not a long inning make. When Coco wakes up in the morning, does he step out of bed into an 0-2 count? And Drew...I don't even know where to begin. He went on and on to Cafardo in the Globe today about how he's back on track and finding his stroke, and yada yada and all I know is that in two games, with men on base, he's feebly struck out on check swings at the most critical moments of games. No wonder he's been hated everywhere he's been. He seems to have the most selfish at-bats; like Cafardo's article said, if it's not perfect, he won't swing. Well, with runners on base in a one-run game, at least take a rip at something for God's sake. If I have to watch him kill one more rally with a confused, weak ass at bat I will be forced to jab a pen in my eye until the spurting blood has completely covered my TV screen.

So now, we trust Schilling, who's given up at least five runs in all of his starts against New York this year, and we get to watch the Yanks lug their .372 average against Schill into the Stadium for what is, to them, the biggest game of their season so far. As much as I enjoyed leading the division by 14.5 games, a lead like that does seem to rob the boys of any sense of urgency. This feels like old times- they're playing to win and we're playing not to lose. I'm not panicking, and I'm not even very worried, but damn, it'd make me feel a lot better to hear some enthusiasm and energy on RKO today...so Let's Go Sox- a win today would be weddy nice.

Pitt is Fixed

2007-08-28T16:18:00.000-05:00

So we're moving the headquarters of SBF to the greater Pittsburgh area as of October 1. Yes, me, a die-hard, black & gold hating, Steelers bashing Pats fan will be calling the home of the crackback block and signature QB-knee-taker-outer-maneuver my home.
Right in the middle of football season. Nice one, Matty.

Speaking of Foulke, I was watching the end of '04 ALCS game 6 today, and man, looking back at it now, the bottom of the ninth sure seems fixed...The two walks, one of which involved a terribly blown missed strike call, the two baserunners, the strikeouts, especially of former Red Sock Tony Clark to end it, just after midnight, just so Joe Buck could gravely state, "It's just gone past midnight here in the east..." Looking back on it now, was there ever a question that series wasn't getting to a seventh game? Am I being too jaded here? Look at that series:

Game 1: Yanks jump out to big lead, silencing big mouth injured expensive free agent pitcher, but just as the casual fan is ready to call it a night and turn off the tube, BAM! Big Red Sox rally...but alas, it falls short.

Game 2: The straight game, so that three years later people can point to it and go, "No, that series wasn't fixed by FOX- I mean, look at game two for God's sake- very boring game...nothing fishy..."

Game 3: The gut-punching, at home blow out, sending our heroes to the brink...How Humiliating! How Horrible! How Obvious! I've seen batting practice pitchers fool more guys than Arroyo that night...didn't even look good...

Game 4: Mariano Rivera can't find the plate against Millar? Come on...Him blowing the save allowed FOX to play up another angle for the johnny-come-latelys and casual fans: that Mariano Rivera has blown 99% of his save opportunities against the Sox over the years. Incorrect of course, but Dramatic, yes! And that straight fastball he threw to Mueller? Pshaw...

Game 5: The Epic...probably played on the level, much like game 2. Just an anomaly. Although there were certainly things you could point to that were fishy...Ortiz stealing, lots of first pitch swinging by both teams in the later innings, an ever widening then shrinking strike zone...but a great game nonetheless...

Game 6: We discussed some of it above, but also the unprecedented TWO umpire conferences, the perfect positioning of the fan in the all black hoody who was the target, and clear background, for Mark Bellhorn's three-run homer. Gave Bellhorn something to zero in on, and made the shot look great on instant replay at home and in the booth, thereby allowing McCarver to, for once, make the right call. And the riot police ON THE FIELD? I'd forgotten all about that...what a stroke of genius...what better way to underscore The War that is Sox-Yanks than to actually require a troop deployment to finish the game. FOX News was definitely in on this one..."See, this is what Bagdhad is like now that we've 'won' the war! Just baseball, all the time! Nothing to worry about! Good job, W!" No explanation for the Slappy play- A-Rod's just a douche.

Game 7: Due to liability issues, i.e. thousands upon thousands of Sox fans having heart attacks and aneurysms then suing, FOX had to make this one a blowout from the get-go; once the Sox raced out to their big lead, and middle America started getting ready to switch to the local news, BAM! Pedro inexplicably comes in, though he started just two nights before, and re-electrifies Yankee Stadium, reeling back in the guy with the remote in his hand...Not to worry, though, FOX will make sure this is THE BIGGEST CHOKE IN THE HISTORY OF WORLD. Thanks, FOX! Good lookin' out...

And no, I don't really believe any of that. Well, ok, maybe a little of it. Either way, we're 8 up with 31 to play, and I don't think even FOX can do a damn thing about it.

Goodbye, Goodbye, Hello!

2007-08-22T01:25:00.000-05:00

Three thoughts from today:

I read somewhere that one of Michael Vick's lawyers said something to the effect of (and I'm paraphrasing here, but this should sound familiar to anybody that has read the Vick news from the last few days), "He's a father, and a son, and a human; I think people have lost sight of that."

Actually, we haven't. I didn't even know he was a father till I read that quote in umpteen different stories today. And it made the whole thing a lot more sad to me. I've read all these quotes from Falcons fans, and others as well, that lament the tarnished image he now presents to "young sports fans." But it made me really sad, and really mad, to find out he was a father. It's bad enough that thousands of parents around the country have to explain to their kids why he's going to jail. To me, though, how does he explain to his own kids why he's going away? I have no idea how old his kid/s are, but I pray to God they are too young to need an explanation. And if they aren't, then I damn well hope he tells them the truth about what a barbaric, sadistic fuck their father is/was. And I hope he helps them realize what an awful life he's led. Personally, I'm not a fan of dogs, but this story almost made me throw up my toast and coffee when I first read the details of the brutality of this case. I'll be the first to say he was an incredibly overrated quarterback in the NFL, but I'll also say that I hope he uses this experience to teach kids something, anything, from this. God help you, Michael Vick. You need it.
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To my buddy Ryan from the Old Ebbitt- may you enjoy moving into enemy territory in NYC. You and your beautiful wife are moving to the land of the asshole, but may you find sanctuary at Professor Thom's- look up the Mighty Quinn, and live happily ever after. I'll see you around...
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Thank you, Garrett Anderson, and your 10 RBIs. Six in hand with thirty-six to play sounds mighty good to me.

To Have and Have Not...Not that I Mean to Bragg

2007-08-17T01:14:00.000-05:00

I really wanted to make my 165th post really special, so I waited over two months until I had some really important, meaningful things to say...

Here's how I've spent my summer vacation...

I have not seen more than five or six Sox games on TV.

I have not seen the Sox in person.

I have been to one more Pirates game in person, Father's Day, than any other baseball game.

I have worked a lot.

I have listened to a guest in my restaurant allege that our valets had siphoned gas from her car.

I have regaled many the listener with the tale of how some guy in my expensive restaurant got ricchochet-pooped-on by a homeless man who snuck into our nicely-appointed restrooms.

I have told many people that Michael Vick's lawyers were planning to use the "Them dogs is lying!" defense if his case goes to trial.

I have been hoping that Michael Vick's case goes to trial so that they can bury that inhumane bastard of bastards.

I have been having a love-hate affair with the Orioles.

I have not seen any good concerts.

I have been simultaneously looking forward to, and dreading, our eventual, but not definite, move to Pittsburgh.

I have enjoyed, but probably couldn't really afford, the Kona-crusted NY Strip steak at Capital Grille twice.

I have beaten my wife approximately 5-6 times at Pop Culture Edition Trivial Pursuit, no matter if she plays the roaming gnome piece or the KISS boot.

I have watched my kids grow up beyond my wildest dreams.

I have fallen even more in love with my wife, if that's even possible.

I have drunk too much beer.

I have updated SBF far too infrequently.

I have read all of your blogs and commented not as religiously as always.

I have missed having the time to write about things that make me laugh.

I have gotten a pretty good tan.

I have been secretly rooting for Hung on Top Chef, despite how I always tell my wife that he's a douchebag.

I have been dreading, and lately experiencing, the Yankee comeback I knew would eventually happen.

I have been telling everyone who will listen that if the Pats don't throw a 60-yard fly pattern to Randy Moss on their first play from scrimmage against the Jets in week one then this whole season is a waste of time.

I have been sweating my ass off during the hottest DC summer I can remember.

I have gotten sick of The Big Ry complaining that I don't blog anymore.

I have felt like a hypocrite for suddenly wanting to follow the Celtics again.

I have been wanting to order a Kevin Garnett Celtics jersey since the second they signed him.

I have been wanting a week off without kids.

I have been loving watching my kids fall in love with the swimming pool.

I have been putting off this post forever because I felt like I'd had a boring summer.

Ketchup

2007-05-29T13:19:00.000-05:00

I'm not jinxing it, am I? The Sox have been doing pretty well without me commenting on their games...

Thirteen and a half is a big number. New York is imploding. Torre and Cashman are on the fast lane to the short bus to Firedsville- population? Them. So am I the only one who is still nervous? I don't even remember '78, and still, I keep thinking that if the Yanks start hitting, they can carry that big ERA around and still win 95 games. Of course, we're on pace to win 113 games. But still. Maybe it's just me.

Quick catch-up- I have left the wine sales job and am back with my old restaurant company, this time with DC Coast. (Sorry, Jere & Rick Vaughn- no hats in there either...) Consequently, I haven't had a lot of extra time on my hands like the last few months. Plus, my parents came down this past weekend to see the kids...I did hear Trot's ovation last night on the ol' radio on the internet thingy, but otherwise, I've been pretty out of touch except for daily box scores and standings checks...

I'll try to be around more often. Also, RIP Marquise Hill- not a Patriot for long, but a Patriot nonetheless.

Harry Potter and the Hamster

2007-05-11T21:29:00.000-05:00

A list of eight people, in no particular order, who sucked in tonight's game against the Lord Baltimorts...

1. Wily Mo Pena. Ok. I lied. Obviously Willie goes in a very particular order on this list. Watching him play the outfield is like watching an epileptic hamster off his meds and on the bottle try to navigate a butter-slicked running wheel that's been set on fire.

2. Third Base Umpire Guy. You know why he's on this list. He, on the other hand, would probably look at this blog and tell you it's a reuben sandwich. That's apparently how closely he pays attention to anything.

3. Home Plate Umpire Guy. The strike zone ends at the knees, not the calves. Check the rule book.

4. Buck Martinez. Or should I say Buck MAR-tinez. If you saw the MASN broadcast, you know what I mean. Right, David OR-tiz?

5. Gary Thorne. From calling Willie Mo, "Carlos Pena" (not that Willie's one pitch first at-bat gave Thorne any time to correct himself) to about a half dozen factual inaccuracies, many involving stats currently being displayed by his employer on my tv, well, let's say he didn't redeem himself any in my book.

6. The Fenway fans. Waves are not good luck charms. They should not be started, nor participated in so gleefully, down 5-2. You just look like idiots. Also, to the folks in the Kap row who left with two down in the ninth, you suck. And to the four idiots who raced down from row four to take the abandoned row one seats, you suck, too. Don't be so greedy.

7. Any Red Sox player batting with the bases loaded. And Julio Lugo all the time. Not my favorite by any means.

8. Miguel Tejada. He Jeter-ized two liners at short. Pulling your legs up to your waist does not fool me into thinking you're Ozzie Smith when I can clearly see that the ball is never more than six inches over your head. You're not gonna win a gold glove doing that; the guy you learned it from will steal that gold glove.

A list of people who didn't suck in tonight's game...

1. My wife. For toughing out seven innings on the couch with a Harry Potter book paying no attention to the game at all, while suffering through the second day of a brutal case of hives, then finally asking me upon hearing Dustin Pedroia's name in the fifth inning, "You hate that guy, right?" Which was quickly followed up by Seizure the Wonder Hamster missing that sinking liner in right, causing me to grit my teeth and say, "No, I hate that guy."

2. Dusting Pedroia. Sparkling defense tonight. If he keeps doing that and can hit .250, you'll start seeing a lot of number 15 shirts around the Fens.

3. Me. I managed to watch the whole game and find time for E! who was showing two consecutive Lindsay Lohan hosted SNL's. Didn't miss a thing except for Lugo getting picked off first after the pitching change, but really, that wasn't my fault. It was during the "Hermione's got boobs" Harry Potter sketch featuring Lohan in a skimpy Gryfindoor uniform.

4. The good folks at Green Flash Brewing Company in Whale's Vagina, California. When the Sox lose games I watch on tv, I like to give credit to anything that made it easier to watch. Tonight, it was GF's West Coast IPA. You stay hoppy, San Diego.

Three Thoughts

2007-05-09T09:04:00.000-05:00

I just read a press release from MASN, the network that broadcasts the Orioles, and they've just hired their new announcing team: Rush Limbaugh will be joined by Michael Richards in the booth, and they're thawing out Jimmy "The Greek" Snyder to be their new sideline guy.

Ok, I just made that up. But seriously, what is the problem with the Orioles' announcers? First there was Thorne-gate. Now, ol' Slip 'n Slidin' Rick Dempsey makes a joke about domestic violence while hosting in the booth the wife of resident Oriole Ginger Kid, Jay Gibbons. The Ginger Mullet's wife was there, by the way, to talk about the charity she represents that raises money for domestic violence awareness and prevention. Nice, Rick. While I appreciate poking fun at The Red-Haired Brady Anderson's anemic batting average, it was still way out of bounds. MASN of course, to remain consistent with their irresponsible journalistic policies, has no intention of punishing Dempsey. It does say something, though, that when Gary Thorne tells a bald-faced lie regarding an on-field issue, it's national news for three days. But Rick Dempsey belittles domestic violence and it's page D24 stuff. Go figure. Either way, if you get MASN, check your facts and your sensitivities at the door.
..........
My two cents on the number 21 Red Sox jersey issue: lots of people are saying the Sox should give the number to some young kid, or give it to Lester or something, but I think the Sox should retire it. Not to hang up with the ol' "1-4-8-27-42" pantheon, but just so nobody else ever has to be associated with Clemens. I mean, what does it say to some hot-shot prospect- "Hey, we love you so much, we're gonna give you the number of the most vilified player to ever wear the B..."? People think giving the number to someone else is a slap in Clemens' fat face. I disagree, because seriously, do you think he'd care? It'd be better for the Sox to just come out and say,
"Since ALL of our fans hate this guy, and will always associate the number 21 with deceit, lying and greed, we've decided to make sure that no one in our organization ever has to be compared with that sort of behavior, simply because they wear his old number. We've decided to retire the number 21, and we will be placing round, number 21 emblems, much like those of the celebrated retired numbers, but smaller, in every urinal throughout Fenway Park. We feel this is the best way to recognize his unique legacy within our organization."
..........
The jarring jolt you may have felt earlier this morning was caused by the Earth ceasing to spin on its axis, as the Boston Globe printed a column from CHB that included a sentiment I actually agree with:

"Didn't we all like Alex Gonzalez and Mark Loretta a whole lot more than Julio Lugo and Dustin Pedroia?"

God help me, but I do agree. I just can't warm up to Lugo, much as I try. Maybe it's the way he unfurled the entire neck of his turtleneck undershirt during the cold start to the season, which turned the two Sox logo on the neck inside out. It just really bugged me, and made him look like a frigid little kid. Come to think of it, Pedroia was bitching about the cold, too, remember? Sissies. God help us all, though, if Rick Dempsey gets to interview Lugo when the O's are in Boston next.

Dempsey: "So, Julio, what do you say to a woman with two black eyes?"
Lugo: "Two black guys? What, is this a racist joke?"
Dempsey: "I guess it could be, I do work for MASN afterall. Gary, back to you in the booth..."
Thorne: "Thanks, Rick. Back to what I was saying to Jim Palmer earlier...everybody knows Big Papi corks his bat. Are all those homers legit? Nah. I mean, Curtis Leskanic told us that a couple years ago, everybody knows it..."

I'm Not Gonna Do What You All Think I'm Gonna Do...

2007-05-07T08:01:00.000-05:00

So, I assume ol' Georgie-Boy took a page from John Henry's book and re-signed Clemens for all "the fans of [the Tri-State area] who love the game and adored him even when he wore a [Red Sox] uniform"?

I know that at least two out of the three of you who read this blog with some frequency are probably waiting for me to drop an atomic bomb on Clemens, Steinbrenner, the Yankees and the Hendricks brothers. Well it's not going to happen. The fact of the matter is that I just can't get that worked up about it. Does adding an almost 45-year-old, five-to-six inning pitcher to a 14-15 ballclub really merit my frothing at the mouth? I don't think so. I'll leave the analysis and breakdown of the NL to AL transition, pitch count averages and ERA to those more qualified to, or interested in, doing it. It's not my area, nor my care.

The last time we faced Roger was on October 16, 2003 and frankly, I doubt he's gotten any better since then. The last thing I wanted was a situation where I had to root against our starting pitcher while rooting for our favorite team. I was dreaming about how many ways we could find to go scoreless through six then come back to win games in the later innings. And now I don't have to worry about such predicaments. And my summer will be better for it.

Making a 44-year-old part-time player the highest paid guy in the game (yes, I know he doesn't get the whole $28mil) is the sort of laughably ludicrous personnel decision that has made an ironclad habit of backfiring in the Bronx since 2001. So I don't know why anybody is worried. This is only the second worst thing that's happened this week. The first was the Yanks firing their inept DOPE, Marty Miller. That guy could've single-handedly saved our season by crippling nearly every effective Yankee player. As it stands now, I expect the Yankees will cripple themselves throughout the year by making desperate, panic-stricken decisions like yesterday's. Hopefully they all won't come with their own seventh inning stretch nonsense like yesterday, cause man, the stretch at the damn Stadium is long enough, what with them parading out every jug-eared, fake Irish bastard they can find to slog through the entire cannon of patriotic songs in their ongoing and ever-increasingly sad attempt to capitalize and profit off of 9/11. They didn't win the Series that year for the people of New York, nor will they this year.

So, no atomic bombs. Maybe some 2,000 pound bunker busters, but no A-bombs. The Yankess are like an aging Hollywood starlet gone to seed who is constantly trying to make the front page again with just one more facelift, just a little more botox and some fake tits. At first, you might think it's an improvement, but then you realize that Roger Clemens just doesn't feel right when you squeeze him. Ewwww.

May Day! May Day!

2007-05-01T09:06:00.000-05:00

Or, what Joe Torre might be shouting into the radio, if the Yankees were a sinking ship. Oh wait...

All premature gloating aside (although I notice that many fellow bloggers are guilty of the same), let's talk about the Patriots for a moment. I'll give the 99% of you who come here looking for grumpy, sarcastic Red Sox analysis a minute to navigate away from the page...for those one percent of you left interested in reading my grumpy, sarcastic Patriots analysis, here we go...

I have nothing grumpy to say. Deciding to embrace the "new" Patriots has been the best decision I've made in awhile. When I called my dad and told him we traded for Randy Moss he said, very disgustedly, "Oh man! C'mon! Randy Moss? Are you kidding me? Randy Moss? That jerk? He's not a Patriots-type player! Randy Moss?" That was probably, verbatim, the reaction of every white, over 50 Pats fan in America. And I'm not sure that reaction doesn't have some merit. To be completely honest, that was basically my first reaction, too. Bear in mind, like I said the other day, this came on the heels of drafting Brandon Merriweather, who, when he's not engaged in NCAA-sanctioned Ultimate Fighting (look for number 19), is, apparently, a hell of a football player, with the occasional character issue. So that, plus trading for Moss, makes it look like that Pats are moving away from their no-stars, team-first philosophy. The CHB certainly thought so in yesterday's Globe, as do a lot of people probably.

Those people are right: This isn't the way the Patriots have worked. But it's the way they should be working. Obviously, their plan of attack has been very successful. But as always happens (see other teams grabbing at the Moneyball brass ring), once a team shows that a certain business model can be successful, other teams start to copy it, sometimes with greater success. The A's have never been able to overcome that hurdle, due to financial limitations. Other teams can scout and sign players as smartly and efficiently as the A's, but ultimately outspend them to bring in marquis players that fit the mold. In the NFL, though, a team can't simply buy their way to the Superbowl. Each team plays on a level playing field, at least financially in terms of salary. It's up to each team to maximize the salary cap in the most efficient, and yes, ruthless way possible. This is where the Pats fell short last year- they finished the season under the cap. I addressed this issue, with some venom, last fall.

After re-reading that post, one sentence jumped out at me: "It's frustrating to be such a passionate fan of a team managed in such a dispassionate manner." Now, in that case, I was speaking more to the decision not to resign long-time stalwarts and fan favorites, but really, the Pats front office handled most of their affairs in a similar "dispassionate manner." Well, this off-season is a departure from the past in the sense that, for once, Coach B and Scott Pioli, and even Ol' White Cuffs/Pink Tie himself, seem to be running this team with loads of passion. They have attacked free agency, trades and the draft like a fantasy owner. "Who's the best linebacker out there? Adalius Thomas? Go get him. We need receivers- get me Wes Welker, Donte Stallworth and Kelly Washington. And oh yeah, get me Moss, too. We're getting old in the secondary. What about that Merriweather kid? What, he stomped on someone, and he carries a gun? Shit, we can fix that..."

It's been ridiculously exciting to watch, because finally the team is openly gunning for a Superbowl ring. They've finally decided that, like the fans, three is not enough. While it was fun watching seemingly undermanned Pats teams overcome the likes of the Rams, Colts and Chargers, in games in which we were given no chance, I can't wait to watch other teams try to deal with us being the heavyweight, the ultimate powerhouse. I've always had tons of confidence in the coaches, and their schemes and plans. Bill Belichick isn't a god in New England for nothing. But the last two years it's become obvious that even his particular genius can't make up for not having enough talent. At some point, you need players capable of executing your masterful gameplan. Well, I think we've got those guys now. Plus, how re-energizing is this to Tom Brady? He must be beside himself. Instead of Reche Caldwell, he's throwing to Randy Moss.

In that post last fall, I complained about the arrogance of Patriots' leaders in believing that the system will always work. Well, we're about to find out if their system can have the same effect on Merriweather and Moss as it did on Corey Dillon. Granted, he didn't have quite the same kind of baggage as those two, but he was widely thought of as a disgruntled, me-first, locker room cancer and all he did when he got into a positive, winning environment was run for 1,700 yards and win a Superbowl. Maybe that's all Moss and Merriweather need- to be surrounded by positive, winning veterans who make it very clear that you play their way, or hit the highway. It is arrogant to think that your system can change the basic personality and behavior of someone. But, I'd rather that sort of arrogance than the kind that thinks you can win with questionable talent.

So far, everyone involved is saying the right things. Moss sounded genuinely humbled to be part of the organization, and the Pats basically told him that he's gone at the first sign of trouble. And Merriweather's just a kid. I think a little tough love from Rodney Harrison and Mike Vrabel and Teddy Bruschi is just what he needs. My only concern is that guys from The U never seem to leave that life behind. Kind of like that old saying that you can take the boy out of The U, but, well you know what I'm saying.

The Pats have always won by assembling a group of blue-collar guys who are willing to sacrifice individual glory for the good of the team. It's easy to get a guy with middle-range skills to buy into that- in that case, team accolades might be easier to attain than personal kudos. But, what if, just what if you could get a supremely talented, but obviously selfish player to buy into the same philosophy? How good could the team be then? Could it work? Dillon was a mini-experiment. This season will be the full-blown clinical trial.

For the record, I think it will work magnificently. We all know how powerful the Flying Elvis Kool-Aid can be. Can it tame Randy Moss? Like Coach B and Scott Pioli, I'd sure as hell wager a fourth-round draft pick that it can. I don't see a down-side here. So Moss is a jerk and doesn't buy into the team? Cut him. He can't be cancer in Foxborough; the veterans won't let him. I'd be more worried about Merriweather, as the Pats used their first round pick on him, a much bigger gamble than using a fourth-round pick on a guy who's willing to cut his salary and take a one-strike-and-your-out contract in the hopes of winning a Superbowl. I don't know about you, but I'll take my chances with a guy like that any day. especially if that guy's as talented as Randy Moss. We've all yelled at him, complained about him, called him a jerk and a prima-donna. Well he's our jerk now, so embrace him. Maybe all Randy Moss ever needed was a big hug.

Off Day, and Some Awards, Too

2007-04-30T08:10:00.000-05:00

Two quotes from Gordon Edes' article about yesterday's Sox-Yanks tilt (italics are mine):

Alex Cora: "We're playing good baseball and we're making a statement..."

Julian Tavarez: "They're (the Yankees are) going to get better, so you've got to take advantage now."

It gives me a feeling of shiawase to read that at least two guys on the team, one seemingly reserved and quiet, the other bombastic, outspoken and hot-tempered, get what I'm trying to say: some games do mean a little more than others. That's exactly what I was trying to say in my post yesterday morning, and it's nice to know that, maybe, I actually know what I'm talking about, if only a little bit. Great bounce back yesterday from Saturday's uninspired performance.

Despite the fact that I have been ripping on Dustin Pedroia for some time now, I do feel kind of bad for him. He really seems to be stressing and forcing himself to get a big hit every time he comes up. If he could just have 120-130 slappy singles and 20-30 doubles, hit around .260, we'd all love him because he has great energy and seems fairly slick in the field. But for now, I think Cora needs to be in the lineup more. He's been an everyday player most of his career, and he has provided such a spark the last week and a half.

Institutional arrogance- that's what's to blame in this situation, I think. Pedroia has been the hot prospect, touted by Theo and Tito for so long now, protected by them from trades, that they feel like they have to make this work or risk looking stupid. We've seen it with Delcarmen, Hansen and now Pedroia. When you won't trade certain guys at the deadline in a pennant race for a Roy Oswalt-type player, then the guys you're holding on to better produce. In my opinion, we keep rushing guys to the Majors to show the fans, who might have been clamoring for them to be traded for proven commodities, that they are ready for the big show. It does a disservice to the prospect, it hamstrings the big club and it frustrates the fans.

But, as we sit here on an off day, with our Sox at 16-8, the best record in baseball, and four games up on second-place Toronto and six and a half up on the Yankees, I feel pretty good about the team. Not great yet, but pretty good. So, on that note, some April awards...

Biggest Pleasant Surprise
Hideki Okajima- this was sort of like finding out last year that Mike Lowell could still hit 20 homers and drive 40-some doubles. Darkman (wink-wink, Peter) sort of felt like the "throw in" for our Japanese deal, but man, he's been absolutely awesome. After that first-pitch homer in KC, he's been the bee's knees.

Biggest Not Pleasant Surprise
Daisuke Matsusaka- I'm probably in the minority here, but I'm just not that impressed yet. I really thought he'd be nearly unhittable the first time through the league and that it wouldn't be until everyone had seen him once that he might run into trouble. I'm not sure any of us knew he had such glaring control issues out of the stretch. He's had moments of looking awesome, but I think most of us already anticipate the "Dice Inning," as I call it.

Biggest "I'll Prove Matty's an Idiot" Performance
Josh Beckett, obviously- I'll be the first to admit that he's been terrific this year. He's 5-0 with a 2.48 ERA and a WHIP of just over one. He just seems different, too, like he's matured a lot in just one offseason. I'm almost sold...
(Honorable mention to JD Drew, for not making me hate him. Yet.)

Biggest "Matty's Probably Right About Me" Performance
Wily Mo Pena- despite the granny against the Orioles, Wily has been Pedro Cerrano come to life. Why in the world anyone ever throws this guy a fastball is beyond me. At this point, it's not even about the Arroyo trade, because for once, our pitching staff is almost living up to the hype. At this point, it's about the fact that if the ball moves one millimeter off it's straight path to the plate, you better believe a flailing, off-balance, ridiculous swing is sure to follow.

Best Game of the Season
Friday, April 20 vs. New York Yankees- I said it then, and I'll say it again- one of the biggest regular season wins in years. To halt the Yanks' winning streak at Fenway, and to do it by coming from 6-2 down in the eighth against Rivera, well, that was a statement game. By coming back from deficits in the next two games, we showed that it was no fluke. This game laid the foundation for the season to come. Plus, they wore those sweet green jerseys.

Worst Game of the Season
Opening Day vs. Kansas City Royals- I know some might say the 10-3 loss to Toronto, but the Opener was the worst because Schilling looked bad, the bats were quiet and there was a day off the next day. So we all sat around and thought to ourselves, "Man, if Schill can't beat Gil Meche and the Royals in seventy-degree weather on Opening Day, maybe this is gonna be a lonnnnggg season..."

Best Chance to Replace Trot as Matty's Favorite Red Sock
Jonathan Papelbon, I guess- only because I have his player t-shirt now. But it's sort of crappy having a pitcher as your favorite player, although a closer is better than a starter because he can appear in more games. As for the position players, nobody has grabbed me yet. I like the really scrappy, get dirty guys, so I love Cora, but he's not playing enough. If Pedroia ever starts hitting, I could warm to him, believe it or not. Lowell's great, but probably gone after this year.

Worst Chance to Replace Trot as Matty's Favorite Red Sock
Doug Mirabelli- it's irrational; I understand that. But I just can't stand him. I don't know why. He catches Tim-may well, hits the occasional homer, starts the occasional controversy. I should like him but I just can't. I just can't is all, ok?

Pass the Advil

2007-04-29T11:20:00.000-05:00

The Patriots just acquired Randy Moss from the Raiders. This on the heels of drafting a hard-hitting, fast safety, Brandon Merriweather, from The (dreaded) U, best known for, and last seen, stomping the shit out of some guy from Florida International during that infamous brawl last season. I just keep telling myself that the Patriots know what they're doing. Whenever I stop saying that, my head starts to hurt.

Wasted Chances

2007-04-29T09:34:00.000-05:00

I was going to write about yesterday's game immediately after its depressing conclusion, but frankly, I was so mad that I couldn't. Also, I didn't see the need to write a whole venom-laden post that would sound ridiculous and overwrought the next day, a post I'd probably want to remove from the blog. So I decided to wait till today to address it.

That said, I'm still really angry. I know, I know. The Sox weren't going to win all 18 games against the Yankees. We all know that, and anybody who tries to remind me of that is risking a severe neck punch beating, because I hate stupid people who say stupid shit like that. So save it.

That said, man, did we let one get away yesterday. Against a reeling, disheveled, shell-shocked team, we really fucked up. Against a team with a staggeringly tired bullpen, we knocked out their third-rate, double-A starter and put them in a position of needing nine innings of relief. Against an overpriced, posting-fee disappointment (theirs, not ours), we looked listless and feeble. Against a team as back on its heels as we've seen it in the last 12 or 13 years, we couldn't do what really great teams do: we couldn't twist the knife. We let them breathe for a second. Now, with Tavarez going today, there's a very real possibility they take two of three and we leave New York only up 4.5 games.

I know it's only April; but I also know that the last few years when we've started hot and the Yanks have started slow, we've never buried them. Entering yesterday's game, they were ripe for the burying, but nobody stepped up. Not Wake, with his six walks, not Papi snoozing through two straight doubleplay at-bats, not Lowell booting two fairly routine plays (one a tailor-made 5-4-3 twin-killing), not Drew who is an offensive freefall and not Francona who waited too long to start pinch-hitting. Only Coco showed much fight in him, getting tossed for arguing (correctly) that Bruce Froemming's 8th inning strike zone, in the middle of a rally, was a fucking joke. (Thirty-seven years behind the plate is enough, Bruce. You need to hang it up, because not one of those three called strikes caught the plate. But I guess Posada pulled his glove back far enough over the black to fool your tired eyes. Maybe next time, Bruce, concentrate more on the balls and strikes and less on the fact that you're "mic'd up" for a God-awful FOX broadcast.)

It's pretty well-known that I am one of the Sox' toughest critics and a very curmudgeonly fan. So I'm probably being too harsh, or expecting too much. But last year, when we had injury and performance issues, the Yankees came to Fenway and absolutely buried us, left us for dead. That's what good teams do, given the chance. We had our chance this weekend, and, regardless of what happens today, we showed we weren't really up to it. Will we be up to the challenge later in the season when the Yanks are healthier and, presumably, trade-deadline fortified? I don't know, but man, I'd love to be building a bigger lead now, when we have a gift-wrapped opportunity to do so.

I reread parts of "Faithful" a couple weeks ago, and amidst the mediocre three month portion of the 2004 season, Stewart O'Nan keeps insisting that some games are more important than others. They all count the same, wins or losses, but some games just mean more. That game yesterday wasn't just another win or loss. I put a lot of stock in symbolic wins, or statement wins, whatever you want to call them. The first four wins against the Yanks this season told them that no lead is safe, that we'll keep coming no matter what. Yesterday was our chance to make a statement that we'll keep the pressure on all season, that once they fall behind us, there's no catching up. But in the moments in which that message was ready, no voice was found to pass it along. So here we sit, on the verge of losing this series, on the verge of giving them a reason to lift their heads a little, to look over the standings tomorrow and say to themselves, "See, that's not so bad." I don't know about you, but I was hoping they'd be saying to themselves, "Man, we are in serious trouble..." I guess we'll find out today what the Red Sox think they should be saying.

I Should Yell at the Weak More Often

2007-04-27T08:22:00.000-05:00

You will all be happy to know I defended Curt Schilling, bloggers and fans alike, while at the same time, eviscerating Dan Shaughnessy (who wrote a real barn-burner today in the Globe, by the way) and, slightly less so, Gary Thorne, on the Dan Patrick Show yesterday. He finally took my call and after the obligatory "5'10, 170" and the ding, I said that untalented journalists, who are already insecure because they're covering a sport they dreamed about playing, take major exception to stars finding new ways to communicate directly with their fans (like Curt's blog) because that basically renders the journalist irrelevent. I said it was a shame that ego trumps professionalism so routinely in the field of sports journalism and broadcasting. Dan responded by saying that, basically, he has no problem with athletes blogging, or talking directly to fans, but that he does see how that could freak out older, more traditional journalists. Afterwards, I felt kind of dirty for calling a sports talk radio show, but the feeling passed pretty quickly. It's not like I'm Angry Bill or anything. Yet.

One last thought on Thorne-gate, from the unfortunately named Peter Schmuck of the Baltimore Sun...I really liked his column today.

Obviously I didn't get to the game last night, as I'd hoped to do. My apologies for letting Jere down. Although he did run my sweet photo of our TV showing the Wednesday game. Anyway, I didn't even see that much of the game last night, just the first and then the eighth and ninth innings. Call me crazy, but I rather preferred to spend the time cooking dinner for, and eating with, my wife. I did get the game on in time to see the uprising against monosyllabic O's closer, Chris Ray. Having been to Camden Yards many, many times, I can tell you from experience that VERY FEW guys have homered into the visitor's bullpen. That was a hell of a shot by Wily Mo. I've been ripping him privately and publicly for some time now, so it was nice to see him prove me wrong, as most of the guys I rip usually do.

Speaking of, my boy Josh Beckett is 5-0, just as I predicted he'd be. Thank God I've never left that guy for dead, nor suggested that the Red Sox could find better ways to spend $30million. Yup, I'm proud to sit here today and count myself among Josh Beckett's biggest fans. Never doubted him for a moment. Charter fan club member here...(whistling as I walk away quietly, trying not to look like the biggest asshole in the room...)

A Thorne-y Issue. Ha Ha.

2007-04-26T09:18:00.000-05:00

Somehow I missed this whole conversation between Gary Thorne and Jim Palmer. (Click the link to read a great transcript over at Joy of Sox. ) I remember the part where Palmer says the Sox aren't in the business of giving contract extensions to 40-year-olds, then I must have gotten up for beer/talked to wife/heard kid cry/otherwise became distracted before Thorne attributed to Dougie-boy the "fact" that Schilling's famous sock was painted red, not stained with blood.

Let me address a couple points here- first, I'm not a big Dougie fan. Everybody knows this. He seems like a real Douchey McGee (I think maybe it's the stupid Brazilian bikini wax goatee he has- that thing makes me so mad). I can totally see him (in my mind at least) saying something stupid or joking to a reporter to A. fuck with the reporter and B. fuck with a teammate; I can also see him being shady enough to not man up and say, "Yeah, I said it as a joke. Stupid reporters have no sense of humor; sorry, Schill!" Like I said, I have no real knowledge of Doug's character and am basing most of this on my bias against his facial hair grooming and low batting average. Maybe that's why Thorne picked him as his "source;" maybe he figured nobody likes Doug anyway, so it'd be more believable that he's the guy dishing dirt behind others' backs.

As for Thorne, I always thought he was a pretty decent hockey announcer and a moderately interesting, moderately mediocre baseball guy. He never seemed to get all the facts or players straight and never seemed that good at calling action as it quickly happened. That's why it's ironic he was better at hockey, a much faster-paced game. I think the speed of the game covered up his mistakes and didn't leave much time for him to just talk. With baseball, as I remember from his days on ESPN and have been reminded of being in the MASN area, he has a lot more time to try to tell stories, which he's not really good at. Let me rephrase- he's a great story teller; he comes up short, though, when those stories involve real facts- he never seems to get them right. I'm not even sure his knowledge of the game is that great- last night's trivia question asked which three players had hit 40 or more homers in each of the past three years. He guessed A-Rod as one of them, only about the most high profile, most watched, most obsessed over player in the game. EVERYBODY knows he didn't hit 40 last year. Except Gary Thorne. (And seriously, Adam Dunn has hit 40 or more three years running? That can't be right...And also, if I'm producing a game, I give the announcers the answer- I thought the question was to stump the fan at home, not the possibly stupid and easily embarassable announcer.)

But I just can't get myself into the lather that other people are reaching over this for four reasons:

A. I'm not a lawyer and am not fascinated by the slander/libel/whatever aspects of this issue.

B. When it comes to his image, Schilling is the little boy who cried wolf sometimes. That in no way justifies what Thorne said, but Curt knows he provides a lot of ammo to his doubters/detractors/haters.

C. I'm so used to sports reporters or broadcasters not having a good handle on the facts, or having paltry knowledge of the game they're covering or just plain saying something dumb, that what Thorne said neither surprises nor shocks me.

D. I don't really care one way or the other if it was paint. All I care is that we won. I never elevated Schilling onto the pedestal that so many did. Even in victory, I frequently took exception to the fact that, in a world in which our men and women are being sent to their deaths in Iraq and Afghanistan, in a world in which firefighters pull kids out of burning buildings, in a world in which some underpaid person is going to help my kids learn to read, Curt Schilling is not a "hero." He's a guy who, apparently through the awesomeness of modern medicine, went out and did a job for which he is more than fairly compensated. Did I appreciate his efforts? Oh God, yes. Would I have held a grudge against him if he'd said, "Yeah, I probably could've pitched, but I didn't want to risk not being able to walk properly for the rest of life..."? No. That's his decision. Fifteen million dollars does not obligate someone to permanently disfigure them self for the sake of team and Nation.

All that being said, Thorne did fuck up last night. I'm not gonna be one of the people calling for his head, but if he doesn't lead off the telecast (I always think of Harry Caray or Pete van Wieren when I use the word "telecast," like it's only something a "superstation" can provide) with an immediate retraction and apology, well then I will definitely have a bigger problem with it. And he can't bury the retraction on page B-17 either, it needs to be the first thing he says, even before "Good evening! Alongside questionably gay pretty boy, Jim Palmer, I'm Gary Thorne." Well, if he actually said that, I'd wait a minute for the retraction. But you get my point.

Just Call Me Sir Linksalot

2007-04-25T08:04:00.000-05:00

I should give myself about three Big Ry's for updating so infrequently, but I just haven't felt that motivated the last week or so. Not that the weekend wasn't very exciting and satisfying; it just seems that during Yankees' series, there is so much useless blibble-blabble floating online that I didn't feel the need to add to it, especially with more pedestrian "Yay! The Yankees sux" type talk. I really had nothing to add to the proceedings other than vague and most-likely missed Anti-Flag and Charlie Brown Kwanzaa references.

Add to that the fact that I'm wicked tired, and that we've hardly done anything exciting in the last week or so, and well, you get a pretty boring blog, a situation I'm now compounding by adding this boring post about how boring things are. Last Thursday we actually got a babysitter (Big Ry himself, as a matter of fact) and went out for our fourth anniversary. Yay us. Then on Sunday we went to the big ol' Punkymoms BBQ Bash, where I very nearly lost my mind in the presence of more than a few uninteresting adults and very more than a few rampaging tots.

Also, a little baseball team of mine is playing tonight and tomorrow night in Baltimore, but, alas, I shan't be in attendance. For several reasons, not least of which is the games being scheduled so closely to tax day, but honestly, to get from Alexandria to Baltimore on a weekday for a 7pm start would require me to do one of two things: leave at three, get to B-more about three hours early and have to kill a lot of time without being able to kill it at the Rat because I have to drive, or leaving just an hour later at four, and needing at least 2 hours, if not more, to fight rush hour. Then, I wouldn't get home until about 1am. Am I sounding really old, lazy and curmudgeonly here? I feel like it this morning. Besides, I'll get both games on tv. But if you do feel like heading to Camden Yards, there's plenty of good tickets available. Field Boxes by the Sox dugout were still open as of a little bit ago. So go. I don't care, I'll look for you on tv.

Speaking of tv, watch this if you haven't already seen it, or if NBC hasn't taken it down yet. Peyton Manning is still a major league douche, but this is pretty funny nonetheless. And this is great, yet horrifying all at the same time (make sure you watch the one called "Betrayal"). And with that, I think I just set a personal record for most links in post. Finally, I'll leave you with perhaps the most profound question I've heard asked in quite some time, courtesy of some random guy on Bill Simmon's ESPN chat last Friday: During ceremonial first pitch tossings, why does the ceremonial tosser sometimes wear a baseball glove? Now that is the reason Al Gore invented the internet.

That's Just a Bit of Cracker Tricknology...

2007-04-21T22:46:00.000-05:00

Thanks to FOX sports' decision to start their Saturday games at 4pm, I got to see about an inning and a half of the game before going to Georgetown to do a wine tasting. Thanks to T-Mobile, and the weird phone I have that I don't really fully understand, I was able to see a bare-bones version of ESPN's GameCast to follow the game. It's sort of like watching in slow motion. But as the Sox took the lead, then held it, my trusty little phone kept telling me good news. Amazing what the year 2007 can do.

Josh Beckett is 4-0. He put down fifteen out of seventeen after coughing up the four runs in the first two innings. Is it possible that he's learned how to pitch?

I wish I'd seen Papelbon strike out Jeter in the ninth. It's not nearly as dramatic on the screen of a phone as it is watching him swing and miss and shake his head in that "I'm not perfect?" kind of way.

And since I've turned this into a USA Today-Larry King-esque sort of dealy, I'll just say that I'm not really looking forward to Morgan and Miller tomorrow night. But I am looking forward to a sweep. Aren't we all? As Curt would say, it's time for the Yankees to "straight panic, bitches!"

Got the Fuckin' Numbers

2007-04-20T21:40:00.000-05:00

One of the three or four best wins since October 27, 2004. A full four Big Matty's. And it was so subtle and surprising the way it happened, with the sudden rush of production from the bottom of the lineup. All of a sudden, it was 7-6 Red Sox. I know it's an April game, and I don't want to get carried away, but April or not, that was a Bill Simmons Signature Stomach Punch Game for the Yankees. In the only game of the series that (maybe) favored the Yanks pitching-wise, they get exactly what they want from starting pitching, as Pettite fared well. You hand your pen a four run lead. You hand MO(rtal) Rivera a three run lead. You get production from Captain Hayfever (what someone called A-Rod on Simmons' chat today, as in, "He makes a big impact in April and May, but come September and October, you're breathing easy.") You are getting ball and strike calls handed to you left and right(of the plate) all night by Randy "How can I get A-Rod up with a chance to win it?" Marsh. You are riding your own 6-2-deficit-turned-dramatic-win whirlwind. Then BAM! Your indomitable, incomparable, lights-out pitcher has ANOTHER hiccup versus the Red Sox, his 11th blown save against us. AND WE DON'T EVEN USE OUR CLOSER! That is a textbook Stomach Punch Game.

I gave up on Coco. I admit it, and if he's reading, I apologize. That game was a fucking sweet way to spend a Friday night, and I'm glad I hung in the whole way. I called my dad when it was 6-6 because I just knew he'd turned it off when it got to 6-2 Yanks. Sure enough. Then, in the 9th, when Marsh blew yet another 3-2 call, bringing Lip Gloss to the plate with a chance to take the lead, I, for a moment, wished I hadn't called my dad. I would've felt really bad if I'd gotten him to turn off whatever he was watching with my mom just in time to see the Yankees retake the lead. So he got to see what the rest of us got to see: We took their best punch, got up, and knocked them out. On their legend's watch, even. Again.

But I'm Not Dead Yet...

2007-04-12T07:57:00.000-05:00

No, I haven't given up on the site. Between traveling to Pittsburgh for Easter, then getting sick and back to work, I just haven't had time to do much. That will hopefully change this weekend. Plus, I'm enjoying my free MLB Extra Innings preview on digital cable, at least till Sunday, when it ends. I wish I could justify $159, but man, that's a lot of diapers and stuff.

Nine observations from my time away:

1. A 27-degree windchill is inexcusable weather for anybody's opening day, unless Saskatchawan has a new team I'm not aware of. Really lousy, Pittsburgh, really lousy. I didn't even get any good pictures because my hands were too cold to operate my camera phone. That said, the beer stayed cold for a looonnnggg time.

2. I always liked Brendan Donnelly, even when he was with the Angels. Maybe it was the glasses, or the herky-jerky windup, or just his whole attitude. Staring down certified douchebag Jose Guillen at the home opener was awesome. We've been lacking some attitude in middle relief and it's good to see. Also, nice job by Dice-K backing him up last night by drilling Guillen, then throwing under Ichiro's chin. Last year, every time Schill or Beckett tried to throw inside, they'd miss over the plate and somebody would crank it out. Other than that, I'm kind of sick of "Dice-Mania."

3. Last night's performance by young Felix was about as dominating a one-hitter as you'll ever see. Even the walk to Pedroia, I thought the ump missed a strike-call on 2-2. Really, not a very hard hit ball all night. And he just made some guys look horrendous. Crisp's three at-bats were the worst, most uncomfortable looking at-bats I've seen in a long while. On the whole, a really pathetic display. Lots of first-pitch swinging, too. Have we abandoned the whole working the pitch-count thing? Who's the hitting coach? Nomar?

4. Yes, if Josh Beckett keeps this up, I will write a very nice piece about him at some point. But I'm talking like a 9-2 start, ok? So don't get too excited.

5. Papelbon's save Sunday night should pretty much put that whole debate to bed. If you don't want him back there in the 9th, please exit the bus now. You're not wanted here.

6. Too much candy really does make kids super-hyper and unable to sleep for more than an hour at a time. See: Easter Sunday, my in-laws house.

7. Damn, but Tina Cervasio on NESN is fucking stupid. Bring back the Frede! Also, I don't get the whole Hazel Mae thing, either. Just me I guess...

8. Baliseauto.com- you are no Marty's RVs, that I can tell you.

9. If you're ever in the Butler, PA area, I offer this dining suggestion for your enjoyment: Snack 'n Pack. It's a 6-pack carry out joint with a little dining room. Pretty much everything is fried, including, I think, the chairs, cups and napkins. Really great eats. I highly recommend this sampler for two: six Pepperoni Balls, an order each of fried cheese sticks and broccoli bites, and an Italian Wedge to share. A couple beers, served in frosty mason jars, and you're in and out for about $30, plus tip. A must-see in a never-see area.

Reversi

2007-04-05T06:54:00.000-05:00

Another 7-1 game. Fortunately, the Sox were on the right end of this one. Yes, I'll admit Josh Beckett pitched well. No, I didn't enjoy saying that, as my contempt for Mr. Beckett is well known. However, I enter this season with an open mind as pertains to him. If he pitches well, then I will jump on his bandwagon faster than three balls can eat up Mike Lowell. If he doesn't, well, I will be forced to rerun/update/make meaner the post from last summer where I found other things the Sox could've spent $30million on. But for now, here are the scores for last night's game; and remember, these are in no way based in any way on any kind of first hand knowledge of the game.

The game only scored this high because it's the first win of the season; still, it is just the Royals, so don't anyone freak out too much. I give it:

That said, I give Mike Lowell:

Three errors? He only made six all last season. And did anyone else see, in the main Globe story about the game, that Pedroia said he covered himself in Vaseline? I know it was cold, but he's not exactly summiting Everest here. He's playing second base in Kansas City in April. I picture him taking the field today as some Redsox-colored version of the little brother in "A Christmas Story." "Pedroia, why didn't you turn two out there?" "Because I can't put my arms down! Waaaaahhhh!!!" Somebody get Dustin another couple layers, huh? Poor guy only weighs about a buck-forty-five. Maybe he can sit in Youk's back pocket between pitches to stay warm.
Alright, kids. It's almost Burgher Time. Try not to miss me too much- I'll try to post throughout the weekend, but I'm not sure how much of a chance I'll get, what with my busy Vaselining schedule to get ready for the 40-degree temps expected at PNC Park on Monday. Oh, and I'll try to get a pic of a real "Pittsburgh Hot" girl at Hi-Tops, too. It's almost like seeing the Beatles in Liverpool...

Ferris Bueller Day

2007-04-04T21:36:00.000-05:00

Thanks to my friend, Chris, who came up with choice seats for today's businessman's special at RFK, I sort of blew off work this afternoon to, you know, enjoy the businessman's special. We started out nine rows behind the first base end of the Marlins' dugout, on the aisle. Chris left in the 6th to get to work, and I moved down to the first row behind the dugout, which was about the best seat I've ever had for a game. Anibal Sanchez and Hanley Ramirez figured prominently in the contest, Sanchez getting the start, looking good early, then leaving in the 6th after giving up a 3-run shot to Ryan Church Lady that got the Nats within two. (Church's "theme" music, when he comes to bat, is "Crazy Train" by Ozzy. I bet every white guy in every major league locker room has a pretty serious Rochambeaux tournament at the beginning of the year to decide who gets to stride to the plate accompanied by that song...) Hanley was on base all day, lacing a triple to the gap, then reaching twice on errors, scoring a couple runs in the process. Then of course he botched a tough chance in the ninth. Miggy Cabrera launched another homer, his second in three days. The Nats ended up coming from two down in the bottom of the ninth to take the game 7-6, with old Orioles failure Jorge Julio blowing the save. It was cool and overcast, and the crowd was announced at not even 19,000, but still, it was real baseball (as close as the bottom of the National League gets, I guess) on a Wednesday afternoon, so I can't really complain. Took some more lousy pictures. Here they are...

An un-zoomed view from our seats. Pretty ritzy.

Teddy Roosevelt and George Washington bringing up the rear of the "President's Race." This is what they do to keep the fans "excited," like the Sausage Race in Mill-e-walk-a, or the Pierogi Race in P-burg. This Teddy never wins apparently. He rapeled down into the stadium on opening day and still lost. I hope he was a better president than he is a bobblehead racer.

This is Anibal Sanchez making the slow walk after giving up Churchy's dong. Even when he takes his hat off, man, his hair looks perfect. Pretty weird. No hat hair whatsoever on that Sanchez.

Ryan Invader Zimmerman about to walk, loading 'em up in the bottom of the ninth. At this point, I was hoping for a walkoff homer, because I've never seen one in person. Alas, it was a Dmitri Young walkoff near foul ball bloop single, that, had it been caught, would've scored the tag-up runner from third anyway, so the left fielder let it drop on the off chance it dropped foul. Which it didn't. Nats win! Here they are literally exploding out of the dugout to make the charge across the diamond to hug Young over by first base. I call that the "'04 Game Fiver Pigpile."

Finally, here's a shot of a very, very, very (you're gonna have to trust me on this one) dejected Hanley Ramirez getting ready to leave Washington and go to some other city to not play for the Red Sox. Bye Hanley! We hardly knew ya...

And not to jinx it or nothing, but I'd say the Sox are well on their way to a two Big Matty night. We'll see.

Turn and Burgh, Baby!

2007-04-04T08:10:00.002-05:00

First of all, Ryan, I'm not 100% in love with your tone, ok? And the Sox are in Balty the 25th & 26th of this fair month.

Alright, moving on. The off day yesterday did absolutely nothing to calm me down over either Schill's Opening Day cryfest, nor over Josh Beckett's impending meltdown today. Fortunately (or not depending on your perspective) the game will be unavailable to these two eyes due to the fact that, as well chronicled here, we lack DirectTV (another reason why I refuse to celebrate Arbor Day- trees- go to Hell!) and because I refused to renew my MLB.tv subscription on the computer. Why, Matty, would you cut off your only chance to watch the Sox on a regular basis? Well, I'll tell you my four reasons:

1. Our computer chair is really uncomfortable and our "office area" is not conducive to making a very comfortable encampment around the computer.

2. Most evenings, my wife is on the computer administrating/chatting/proselytizing/running her Punkymoms.com website.

3. One of my favorite things about MLB.tv when I first got it lo so many years (3?) ago, was the fact that all the commercials were shown. I can put up with a grainy, herky-jerky, freezing up picture if I know that, eventually, there's a Marty's RVs commercial at the end of that technologically inept rainbow. Or Lincoln-Mercury of Raynam, whose wonderful jingle I still get stuck in my head from time to time. Or the sweet Jack-in-the-Box ads when the Sox would play out west. Now? Just silence and ads for MLB.tv, which you already have if you're seeing the ad. Pretty shitty.

4. No choice in announcers. If you can choose home and away feeds for the MLB Radio dealy, why not for the TV part? Doesn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to the announcer choice, either. Sometimes you get the home guys, sometimes the road guys. And believe me, there's a lot of crappy announcers out there.

So I figure your next question is, "How, without a reliable source of game footage, are you going to accurately assign the appropriate number of Matty's or Ry's to each Red Sox game?" The answer is simple- it won't be that accurate or appropriate. Matty's and Ry's will be determined by a BCS-like complicated formula factoring in Sportscenter highlights, other bloggers' comments, reputable and disreputable, reliable or unreliable print and on-line news resources, and my own biases for and against various players on the Red Sox and other teams. This, of course, may present some inherent contrasts within the rating scale. If Sportscenter leads their show with footage of Papi hitting a walk-off off Mo Rivera, then that's probably worth four Matty's. But if JD Drew does it, and Sportscenter runs it fifteen minutes into the broadcast, and I've already fallen asleep and miss the clip, and then find out about by reading the Globe the next morning, who still employ Shaugnessy, well then, that might only be worth three Matty's and maybe even one Ry, because, man, I can't believe Drew is wearing Trot's number.

Nobody has worn 21 since Fat Fuck left, and they just give out Trot's old digit like it's cool? Couldn't they have told him they lost the 7 or something? It's like this- if you wear a number 8 jersey, it's a sweet throwback, a tribute to Yaz. But now, if I wear my number 7 shirt, I don't look like a guy paying tribute to Trot's awesome time in Boston, I look like a guy who can't afford a new shirt. Like everybody who bought a $250 Damon road jersey, then used a magic marker to cross out the "A" and replace it with an "E" after he went to New York. I hate free agency sometimes.

Oh, speaking of players changing hands, I realized that our middle infield could feature not just last year's ROY, Hanley Ramirez of course, but also Freddy Sanchez, last year's batting champ, who we gave up for, basically, Jeff Suppan, who before making a memorable mockery of baserunning, was completely useless for us for three months in '03. Then again, if we'd resigned Orlando Cabrera after '04, like EVERYBODY knows we should have, we could have avoided the Renteria signing, which means we would never have traded him, which means we would have never had Andy Marte, which means we would have never traded him for Coco Crisp, et al. Then everybody's favorite (at least Jere's) favorite Canadian, Adam Stern, might be in center field, and without Beckett's and Lowell's and Crisp's big contracts, we might be primed to make a run at Ichiro, which would mean that we never really needed to sign JD Drew in the first place. Which at the end of nearly every day, will probably be my point.

Remember how Theo keeps saying we have to hold onto our prospects, we have to build for the future? Well, all I know is that we've given up Freddy Sanchez, Anibel Sanchez and Hanley Ramirez in the last three years, as well as Cla Meredith and Josh Bard, who have quietly made themselves into good players. We've gotten back a three-month rental who did nothing, a questionable headcase starter, an aging, slow, but serviceable and likeable third basemen and Mirrabelli again. And we've kept Craig Hansen, Manny Delcarmen and Dustin Pedroia (who becomes wicked dispensable since we'd have last year's batting champ playing 2nd base). Those were the untouchables? Really? And people think I'm crazy to question Theo... like I'm supposed to lay off him because he got lucky when Millar and Mueller had career years in '03, then made two good moves getting rid of Nomar to bring in Cabrera, and getting us Dave Roberts. But then we sign Renteria, who we didn't need because we could have chosen between the slick-fielding, clutch hitting sparkplug shortstop WHO WON A WORLD SERIES WITH US or the hot-shot prospect everyone's been talking about for years. Then to get out from under that mistake, we trade Renteria to Atlanta for Andy Marte, who Theo touts as a superstar third basemen in the making then we immediately trade that ballyhooed prospect to Cleveland, with others, for Coco Crisp (along with David Riske [KC's closer for now] and Josh Bard [(already covered]) who we wouldn't have needed if management hadn't misjudged the open market value of one of the most popular players to wear a Sox uni in the last 20 years, Damon.

So I'll let the SoSHy and Retrosheet folk rip all that nonsense apart. That's fine. There's just been so many mixed signals coming from 4 Yawkey the last few years. We are building for the future, but keeping the wrong prospects. We are in first place in late July but can't spend any money. Then we spend $170 mil on Dice-K and Drew. Meanwhile, we have a AA backup for our .230 hitting catcher, questionable middle infield defense, a lumbering, strikeout prone fourth outfielder who we didn't need, but got anyway, by trading away a "surplus" starting pitcher. It all seems so random, I frequently wonder what the plan is. We basically came into spring training either lacking a fifth starter or a closer. That's inexcusable for a team with a payroll as big as ours. Instead of a $70mil right fielder, maybe there's better ways to spend that money. Unless the Sox had to sign Drew to placate Boras so that they could sign Dice. Then that makes Dice basically a $170mil investment. Either way, I question seriously the direction and wisdom of this front office. Ironically enough, as I was preparing to write this post, what should appear in my email, but a photo of the Red Sox trade deadline war room, as it appeared at 3:55PM last July 31. It was sent to me by the friend of a friend of a drinking buddy of some guy that knows the janitor at 4 Yawkey. Very reputable, this source. Here's the photo:

And finally, speaking of Freddy Sanchez, we'll be leaving tomorrow for Pittsburgh where we'll be spending Easter weekend. I'm not sure how much time I will have to update things here. I think I've done enough damage with this post to last a few days. I've got tix for the Pirates home opener against the Cards on Monday, where Freddy is on the DL and it should be, according to weather.com, 43 degrees and partly sunny at gorgeous PNC Park. Yay baseball.

If You're Keeping Score at Home...

2007-04-02T18:12:00.000-05:00

For the 2007 season, I'm unveiling a new ratings system upon which each Red Sox game will be judged: The Big Matty's and The Big Ry's. Let me explain:

This is a Big Matty
This is a Big Ry

Pretty easy to tell which is good and which is bad, right? So, wins will be judged on a scale of 1-5 Big Matty's and losses on a scale of 1-5 Big Ry's. Because I'm a winner, and Ryan's a loser. That's the basis of the scales. Of course, there will be Half Matty's and Half Ry's given out as needed, and they can sometimes mix. For instance, say the Red Sox won Game 7 of the World Series, but Youkilis suffers a career-ending burn by getting doused with flaming hot nacho cheese while diving into the stands for a pop foul, then that game might get five Big Matty's and two Big Ry's. Get it? Good.

As for the season opener against Kansas City today, I award it.....

3 1/2 Big Ry's

This was Opening Day. The Red Sox shit the bed. Schilling was pounded. Rookies were lacing him like a shoe. Okajima gave up a titanic dong on his first Major League pitch. I was only going to give it 3 Ry's, but once you factor in Lugo's 3 K's, the fact that Tek looked really feeble, Pedroia's baserunning, and, ahem, Hanley Ramirez going about 19-19 with 20 runs scored in DC, well, I added the extra 1/2 Ry. Could've given it four, but don't want to skew the scale. After all, Game 7 of the 2003 ALCS would have been a full 5 Ry's. So, not time to "straight panic" as ol' Schill would say, but not an auspicious beginning. We looked kind of old and slow. Hopefully, things will pick up. Because if we play like we did today regularly, then oh man, we're gonna run out of Ry's.

An Open Letter to a Clueless Owner

2007-04-01T08:33:00.000-05:00

Dear John Henry,

In this article, you end a moderately interesting interview with the Boston Globe's Amalie Benjamin with this little nugget pertaining to a possible Clemens return to Boston...

"But if he comes, it will be for one reason -- it will be for the fans who gave him a standing ovation last time he pitched at Fenway -- the fans of New England who love the game and adored him even when he wore a Yankee uniform."

This proves, once again, at least to me, that this ownership and leadership is completely without an idea as to how real fans think. In the past, you've gone on and on about all the new seating options (which most fans can't afford), you've put the team exclusively on cable (which some fans don't have), you've signed players in a dizzying, random manner at times, then tightened the checkbook just as randomly at other times abandoning players valuable to the team and its fans, and now, you, the principal owner of the team, say that if Clemens is signed, it will be for the fans who "adored him even when he wore a Yankee uniform."

Do you mean the fans who were burned to the core by the deceit and betrayal of someone who played the game as selfishly (and yes, as greatly at times) as anyone who's ever worn the Sox uniform? Do you mean the fans who spend their birthday money to road-trip to Philly, or sit in the cheap seats in Baltimore, or the ones who spend five hours sitting at their computer when Fenway tix go on sale on the off chance they can drop twice the league average price for a ticket to sit, leaning around a pole, staring into dead center field? Do you mean those fans, Mr. Henry? Because I assure you, THOSE FANS HATE ROGER CLEMENS. Do you honestly believe that anyone who calls them self a true fan "adored" anybody who ever wore a Yankee uniform? Does it escape you that ALL of New England was leaping out of their skin in joyous rapture when Clemens was sent to an early shower in Game 7 of the 2003 ALCS? Do you honestly think there was one person who felt badly about that?

Or maybe you mean the "fans" who can afford to sit in the prime seats, the ones who snack on tuna tartare and sip white wine, the "fans" who come late and leave early and are just there because it's "the hottest ticket in town." Do you mean those fans, Mr. Henry? If those are the fans you mean, then just say you're doing this for the corporate sponsors longing for another big name to promote and the long-time season ticket holders who are only there because the same people who died and left them all their money had the good graces to leave them their season tickets, too. Don't for a second pretend that you're doing this for the real fans. It's a typically disingenuous move from the spin-controllers on Yawkey Way to make a patently unpopular decision, while trying to convince people that it's what everyone wants. Believe me, it's not.

So please, Mr. Henry, don't do us any favors. If you really want to do us a favor, tell your overrated whizkid/lapdog of a GM to stop signing overpriced, well-known malcontents like JD Drew and instead start spending the money, the money we were told last season you couldn't afford to spend in the middle of a pennant race, on some middle relief and some quality depth at catcher. But please, sir, do not put me in the position of ever again having to root for Roger Clemens. I love baseball, and I love the Red Sox, but I just can't bring myself to do it. Don't make me try.

Sincerely,
Someone's who's been a Red Sox fan a lot longer than you,

MattySox

Hey, Welcome to Philly- You Suck!

2007-04-01T07:03:00.001-05:00

"Hey Papelbon- you suck! I said, You suck. Hey, I'm talking to you, I said, You Suck. Don't pretend you can't hear me, Papelbon. You suck..."

It would be completely normal to assume that this was your stereotypically loutish, semi-illiterate Philly fan (stereotypes sometimes exist for a reason, people) giving the business to our young, fireballing closer, but not so. This was your stereotypically loutish, semi-illiterate Philly fan giving the business to ME on the patio of the McFadden's Bar at Citizen's Bank Park. I was wearing the Papelbon t-shirt I got for Christmas, and some of Philly's finest took exception to it. So that's what I listened to for five minutes straight. This guy was sitting with three friends, and man, did my buddy, Ryan, and I wish we had a few more with us. Most of the Philly fans we met were pretty cool. They use shorter sentences than I'm used to, and they frequently confuse the "facts" with the "fiction," as did the guy who tried to convice us that Chase Utley and Ryan Howard were a better one-two punch than Manny and Papi and that the Phillies were gonna win the World Series. But, fortunately, I came packing Philly kryptonite. The following exchange was used to great, silencing, tongue-tying effect on multiple assholes:

Him/Her: "....you suck, and hey, did you just pahk ya cah?"
Me: "Yeah, really original...Hey- you live around here?"
Him/Her: "Yeah..."
Me: "Cool, 'cause we're just visiting for the weekend. Where do we go to see the Eagles Super Bowl trophy? Can we go see that somewhere? Your Super Bowl trophy?"
Him/Her: "Uh...................................................................oh, whatever..."

Whatever, indeed. Citizen's Bank Park is ok enough. Not that impressive in any way. The seats are pretty narrow for a new stadium (either that or I've put on more weight than I thought since last season). There isn't a cool downtown view like PNC in the 'Burgh, or Camden Yards or Fenway. It's got your typical red bricky exterior. Inside, it's lots of blue seats and this weird erector-set looking contraption with the Liberty Bell on it that lights up and flashes (probably looks better at night) when a Phillies dude hits a homer. So we got to see that light up when Pat Burrell absolutely crushed/smoked/mashed/destroyed a Matsusaka fastball well into the left-field seats. The light up bell was kind of lame, like a stage prop if Spinal Tap had been from Philly. On the plus side, I had two completely tasty, grilled (that's key) Italian sausages with peppers and onions on a decent roll for an acceptable $5.25/per. The beer selections throughout the concourse looked pretty mundane, but since we were only a few sections over from a big, fake Irish pub right in the stadium, I enjoyed a couple nicely poured pints of Guiness (in a plastic cup, though) before the game, and one with FiNY later in the game. The only weak part is that you can't take a beer bought in the pub back into the stadium proper. As the game was finishing, a band was playing on the pub patio, so you could make an all day sorta thing out of a trip to the Park. Which is good, 'cause there's NOTHING else around the stadium except for two basketball arenas, a football stadium and acres and acres of parking lots. It's a new stadium, but it's done in the '70's/80's "let's put the stadium as far from downtown as we can so parking is easy, getting there is easy and there is absolutely no downtown buzz or energy whatsoever around the stadium. Get in, get out, and spend as little money as possible in our city, please. Thank you, sincerely, your really dumb city planners." Finally, one funny note- upon entering the stadium, everyone is handed a "Fan's Code of Conduct" pamphlet. I don't know if that was because they were playing the Red Sox, or if that's normal. But it was humorous anyway.

So I took a bunch of pictures, most of which look like crap because I was using my camera phone, and I'm not exactly sure how it works properly, so know that going into this little montage. Click on 'em to make 'em gi-normous...

This is the approach from the parking lot to the third base gate. Like I said, red bricky and kinda boring. That's my buddy, Ryan on the right in red t-shirt...

This was the view from our seats. They were pretty decent, albeit narrow, as I said. I wish my camera had a better zoom...

I just thought this usher had really sweet, feathered hair. This was pretty standard for the day. Tangent Alert: I thought there were a lot of physical similarities between Philly folk and Pittsburgh peeps. For instance, all the girls who worked in the McFadden's were what I like to call "Pittsburgh Hot." It's a phrase I coined to describe a girl who was probably pretty average- so-so face, so-so body. Then someone offers her ONE plastic surgery- either have her Picasso-esque face rearranged a little, or get breast implants. Invariably, a "Pittsburgh Hot" girl goes for the implants. You can figure out what the end product looks like. To see "PH" girls in their natural environment, go to a bar calle Hi-Tops next to PNC Park. I think a bottle of Rolling Rock is like $75 there, but nobody seems to care. (Note- the above stereotyping does not apply to my Pittsburgh-born-and-raised wife, who is what I call, "Anywhere Hot.")

This is a blurry shot of Big Papi digging in against some pitcher named "Eaton," which led to a funny exchange between Ryan and I as to whether or not it was Mark Eaton, the 7-footer who used to play for the Utah Jazz. We were pretty sure it wasn't, but after this Eaton gave up six earned runs in three innings, we were also pretty sure Mark Eaton could've done better. Papi took this clown deep to right for a quick one-zip lead.

If you look dead center of this picture, I'm pretty sure that's '80's singing sensation Eddie Money holding the fancy camera. Same hair, at least. See what I mean about Philly? Maybe he and that usher go to the same salon...

This is Varitek about to touch home plate after he took "Don't Call Me Mark" Eaton way back to right. Tek is about to high-five some guy wearing no. 75, so obviously I don't know that guy's name. I think it was Moss, or Scales or something. Look in the Pawtucket media guide, you should be able to find him in there.

I just realized I got no pictures of Dice-K at all. However, this picture of Ryan will suffice, since this is his reaction to Matsuzaka's pitching performance. He walked four batters, skipped two of his first three pitches to the back stop, gave up a shot to Burrell that sounding like a gun went off, and generally looked not as good as $103mil would lead you to believe he is. That said, he covered first base nicely at one point. Very smooth.

This is me. I was giving a really cheesy, two-thumbs up salute to the camera and the Sox' 6-3 lead, to match the really cheesy, two-thumbs up look on my face, but let's just say Ryan isn't winning any photo-journalism Pulitzer's. Neither am I, if you've been following along to this point, actually.

Finally, here's a picture of me and FiNY sharing a pint. She was the only one of the three NYC Sox bloggers I was able to meet up with. Talked to Mighty Quinn on the phone, but never got together. FiNY was supercool, gave a bunch of shit right back to some Philly fans, and didn't get too upset when I asked Ryan if I "needed to crouch down" to have my picture taken with her. It was nice to finally meet someone whose blog I've read for so long. Rock on, FiNY...

All in all, not a bad way to spend a partly sunny, partly warm Saturday afternoon. Got me pretty psyched up for the regular season, which, starts today! Yay baseball.

Strickland's Lament

2007-03-29T08:02:00.000-05:00

My name is Principal Strickland. Marty is shredding "Johnny B. Goode" with Marvin Berry and the Starlighters. I have a pained, confused look on my face and my hands are protectively covering my ears. "I guess you guys aren't quite ready for that," Marty says. "But your kids are gonna love it."

I feel that way when I listen to the radio. Or when I pick up a music magazine. Or when I look at the show listings for the clubs I used to frequent. Who in the hell are these bands? Who signed them? Who actually likes them? Does anybody actually buy the records of these super-hyped, esoteric "next big things?" Or is their obscure fame simply a product of the music biz hype machine constantly selling the cognoscenti the concept of the esoteric "next big thing?" In other words, if nobody knows a real, human Arctic Monkeys fan, then is the band still as good as Rolling Stone says?

This is not a tirade about the music industry or the music press, about their penchant for signing and promoting bands that appeal to the lowest, simplest common denominator or about how the industry takes exciting young bands and whitewashes them into a commercial, publicly acceptable commodity, then judges their success by how neatly they fit into a "drive-time" play list. Believe me, I have endless opinions about that. No, this is about how completely clueless I am when it comes to new music.

A little background: I probably saw 300-400 shows between the ages of 17 and 28. I went everywhere, all the time. Black Cat on Tuesday, 9:30 Club on Thursday, Hammerjack's or the 8x10 in B-more on Friday, Velvet Lounge on Saturday. I saw pretty much every band I've ever wanted to see except The Clash, Husker Du and Minor Threat (although I've seen The Mescaleros, Sugar and Fugazi). I saw shitty bands in arenas and amazing bands playing for 30 people; over-hyped, under-hyped, no-hyped bands; bands I'd never heard of then nor has anyone since; bands that hadn't made it yet, bands that were past their time and everything in between. I've been in more pits than a grave digger. My best friend in college, Robin, worked at the old Waxie Maxie Records in College Park. We knew about EVERYTHING. We were John Cusack and Jack Black in High Fidelity. We got all the demos and promo copies and all-access passes and were talking about bands months before you ever heard of them. (I laugh/cringe when I think about some of the bands we "discovered" that we thought were gonna be huge- anybody wanna buy a slightly used, promo copy of "Junk Fuel" by Fretblanket?)

Flash forward to last week- I was in a Barnes & Noble, perusing the periodicals, and picked up a copy of Alternative Press for the first time in years. I used to read that rag with some frequency, and I remember it (could this possibly be true?) being filled with articles about bands I liked, regularly highlighting new bands I actually wanted to check out. The issue I looked at last week featured the annual "100 Bands You Need To Know" article. Each profile gave some background on the "need to know" band, and also listed three bands "Who They Sound Like." That's where I knew I was more out of touch with reality than I ever dreamed: not only had I never heard of, I think, 90-95 of the "Need to Know Bands," but I also hadn't heard of probably 290-295 of the "Sounds Like" bands. Not only am I clueless about this generation of music, but apparently I missed the last generation as well. I figured I'd see "sounds like Nirvana" or "sounds like Social Distortion" or God forbid, "sounds like The Smiths meets Candlebox fronted by Edie Brickell." Something, anything I'd recognize. Instead, everything "sounds like Morbid Angel meets Dog Fashion Disco meets Sigur Ros."

Basically, the whole article was as incomprehensible to me as Curt Schilling talking about Everquest. And I wondered...does anyone know who these bands are? Then I saw a kid a few feet away from me looking at a video game magazine. He had checkered Vans, tight black jeans, a black hoodie sporting a safety-pinned Good Charlotte back patch, a bunch of piercings and streaky, asymmetrical hair that reminded me of Lux Interior, but was probably modeled after some guy in Avenged Sevenfold. He was probably 16 or 17 years old. That's who knows the 100 bands you need to know; it's that kid, and all the kids like him. The ones my wife yells at for having no "pit etiquette." You know, the kid I used to be. And even though I think Good Charlotte, and probably the rest of the bands he likes, suck, well, for a minute I was still a little jealous.

I also get the weekly email blasts from most of the live music venues in DC and Baltimore. I should just unsubscribe because it's like getting a reminder every week that says, "You are old. You are no fun anymore. You are a square and this whole list might as well be in ancient Greek. Even if you see the name of a band you recognize, don't buy tickets and show up because all the kids will laugh at you. They'll say, 'look at that old guy with the Bad Religion t-shirt...God, how old is that shirt? Is it from the '90's?'"

Needless to say, finding the name of a band I recognize who actually still plays live gets increasingly harder each week. Sometimes what happens is this: I see that a band I like is coming to town, but not in a forum in which I can enjoy them. "Oh, sweet- Flogging Molly and the Street Dogs are coming March 10! Oh shit, it's at something called 'The Mid-Atlantic Shamrock Fest,' an all day parking lot festival. No thanks. Can't leave the kids that long. Don't want to deal with a crowd that big." The other problem is that most of the geezer punk bands we like rarely play clubs anymore. They all go on the Warped Tour (don't even get me started...). I guess it's easier playing 30 minutes a day for hundreds of thousands of kids over the summer than it is playing for 500 every night for an hour. Not to mention the fact that each Warped Tour features about 40-50 bands, and we might be familiar with three or four. It's like a national holiday in our house when somebody we like is actually playing the 9:30 or the Black Cat. It seems like that only happens about four times a year now.

Then again, maybe it's all for the best. Come to think of it, maybe it's meant to be. Maybe pop culture, in this case the music business, is designed for people without kids, without major time constraints, without busy lives. Maybe it's designed to be outgrown. If I knew as much about music today as I did in college then I might be pretty pissed if I missed a sold-out Arcade Fire gig. If I had half a clue what the hell was going on, I'd probably spend a lot of time pissed off that I couldn’t go see Band XYZ. Maybe ignorance is bliss. Tricky thing, that music business.

They say there's nothing sadder in life than a parent outliving a child. A few degrees less sad than that, I think, is a fan outliving their favorite band. Finding out that a band you grew up listening to is no longer together, one who was there in your formative years and well into your formed years, well, that has a really brutal way of making you feel older than you really are. Every time a Bosstones or a Face to Face breaks up, every time a Joey Ramone or a Joe Strummer dies, my youth puts another foot in the grave. Soon, there will be no concerts left to see, no CDs left to buy (if CDs even still exist), unless Bad Religion and Pennywise turn out to be my generation's version of the Stones and The Who. I really hope they don't, though, because there's also something very sad about that. Some people never learn how to grow old gracefully, with dignity. Those are the guys in the Red Room at the Black Cat wearing the Minutemen "Double Nickels '84 Tour" shirts who still think it's 1984, who still think they're 21 and angry. It's a hard lesson to learn, but eventually, begrudgingly, you replace "C-ya in the pit!" with your new motto, "C-ya at the playgroup!" When my kids are 15, I can't imagine the music they're going to love, but I'm pretty sure I won't be quite ready for it.

Maybe Not the Funniest Thing Ever. But Close.

2007-03-28T08:33:00.001-05:00

This is maybe the greatest interview I've ever read six years after the fact. Especially his answer to the ninth question (you have to count yourselves...the q's aren't numbered). I am not at all into computer games, or Playstation or anything like that. I played a little D&D as a young teen but soon realized that D&D and chess don't exactly hurry the pants off the ladies. So I stuck to sports, where I soon learned that sitting on the bench has roughly the same effect on the female types as dorky game playing. So I was a late bloomer. What's it to you? Considering all that, how in the hell do people, like the person Curt is in that interview, ever get laid?

Let me set the scene for you...

It's the year 2007...an almost middle-aged man of prodigious fame and physical talent sits alone in his hotel room wearing an old, fading "WWR2D" t-shirt and red sweatpants. His $7,000 Dell XPS laptop bathes him in a flickering, warm glow. A half-empty bottle of Yoo-Hoo sits on the night stand. It is 4:45am on a Saturday morning and our protagonist is locked in a life or death battle...

Curt Schilling: "Does anyone have some frogloks we can send down the hall? Shit! I'm hurt and I have no mend! No fucking mend, go figure...IT'S TIME TO STRAIGHT PANIC, BITCHES..."

The phone rings. And rings. Finally, on the eleventh ring, Curt picks it up...

Voice: "Scythehands Voxslayer? Is that you?"

Curt: "Maybe, who is this?"

Voice: "This is the rest of the world...you're a fucking dork. Just kidding, dude, it's Youk. Go to bed, man. You're pitching in like eight hours..."

On a related note, anyone who is trying to find me at the game in Philly on Saturday should have no problem tracking me down. I'll be the guy wearing that homemade t-shirt...

Hope to see all you pala-dudes and pala-dudettes there...just remember- you've got a level 43 Friend in me...

The City of Bloggerly Love

2007-03-26T22:59:00.000-05:00

Well...what are you doing next Saturday? If you're me, or Mighty Quinn or Leggett or FiNY, you'll be in Philly for the Sox-Phils game at 1:05pm...I knew a bunch of them were coming down on the bus from Prof. Thom's, and I'd been thinking about going anyway...then last Wednesday, my birthday plans got sick-ed out by the kids, and so I decided to do the completely juvenile thing and spend my b-day money from parents and in-laws ("...and make sure you spend this on yourself, on something FUN, for you...") on going to Philly for the game. I've already heard from John Quinn, and I left messages for FiNY and Leggett, so all that's left is for Peter to swing by Manhattan, pick up Jere, and meet us all at the game. I'm trying to organize a Sox bloggers get together sometime before/during the game. I know some of you in NYC already know each other, but I would love to meet all of you in person, finally. I feel as though I really know so much about each of the people in my links list, but I haven't met any of you face to face yet. Should be a cool afternoon...

As for my seats, well, cool story. I'd been tracking various seats on Stubhub and ebay, then tried Phillies.com today, to see what the legit channel had to offer, which was surprisingly good, like sections, lower level, down by the foul poles about 30 rows back off the field. Seemed great, but I wasn't sure I could find anyone to go up there with me, so I didn't buy right away. Well then I talked to die-hard SBF reader Kim (not FiNY, my friend Kim) who expressed interest, so this evening I got on Phillies.com just for fun and bam! Sec. 116, Row 20. Twenty rows off the field, behind the Phils' dugout. No idea how such great seats suddenly popped up, but what the hell? As I said to Quinn, I'd rather be behind the Sox dugout, but I'm not complaining at great infield boxes for face value.

The best part? Dice-K is supposed to start!!! According to this, he's supposed to throw about 60 pitches... how great is that? For me, who won't get to Fenway this year (again...) and might see the Sox once or twice in B-more, that's hot...anyway, I'm wicked psyched for Saturday, and hope that we all get together to toast the Sox and the friendship (internet-related friendship that it is) that our blogs have created...Quinn has my cell #, but email me if you want it for Saturday at mattysox9@yahoo.com...bring your cameras, I know I'll have mine...

Update: as of 5 minutes after I posted this, I checked back on Phillies.com and there were seats available in 123, row 32. Right behind home plate, 32 rows behind the end of the "fancy-behind-home-plate-seats." I'll take mine. But for someone looking for tix, or a reason to go to Philly, be advised, "Good Seats Still Available."

Update 2: as of 5 minutes ago, I left a comment on Schill's blog letting him know that a few Sox bloggers would be in Philly on Saturday and that if he didn't contact me directly to organize a group photo then I'd have no choice but to convince Michael Leggett that Curt is a half-brother of Joe Buck, thereby sending Michael into a frenzy of preoccupied, hysterical stalk-a-tive-ness, the likes of which hasn't been unleashed on anyone short of the "Braying Babboon" himself, Mr. Tim McCarver. I bet we get our photo, kids, I bet we do...

Schilling's Fat Ass, Wally and a Closer

2007-03-20T07:51:00.000-05:00

It was either on ESPN.com or in the Washington Post yesterday, but ol' Kevin Millar was interviewed regarding the Sox-O's game on Sunday, and his relationship with the Sox since being traded, etc. Pretty standard Millar questions...anyway, he mentioned that he still likes to joke around with the old crew and he told the reporter that upon taking the field for BP on Sunday, "I went over to Schill and said, 'Looks like you ate your second baseman!' I went over and looked real close, but I couldn't find Dustin (Pedroia) in there!" Which once again proves two theories of mine:

1. Schilling, despite what he's telling everyone, is, in fact, fat. Maybe he's slimming down, but for now he's typically 40-year-old man fat, and

2. Millar will be missed in this house for as long as my old Sox jersey lacks the buttons I popped off it when he failed to drive in any runs in the 4th inning of game 2 of the '04 ALCS. They should've just scrapped Wally and made Millar the mascot when he became dispensable, you know, as a player.

Speaking of Wally, if any of you out there have kids, I highly recommend you pick up Remy's kids book, "Hello Wally!" My daughter loves it. It's an ideal first step in the brainwashing process of a two-year-old to turn them into the sort of sick and twisted, fanatical losers that the rest of us are. I know we're supposed to want a better life for the next generation, but how's that fair to us? Also, it's good to pair the book up with a Remy-signed Wally doll and adirondack chair- but make sure you put that up on a shelf your kid has no prayer of reaching till high school, when they won't care a thing about you or anything you like anyway. That will teach them that what they want is usually out of their reach, a good lesson for Sox fans, or anyone really. My wife wants to blame me for my 2-year-old daughter's obsession with baseball, and her ability to recognize both the Sox "B" and the two Sox logo at a distance, but I just think she's really smart. Plus, it doesn't hurt that I've taught her to say, "Go Pats!" and "Bad, bad Steelers!"

As for the Sox themselves, the rumor that Theo has his eye on Brad Lidge is pretty awful. Haven't we been down this road before with the tortured, post-season-failure-turned-closer-for-us experiment? I'm thinking of a short, obscene-gesture-throwing Korean guy...yeah, that sounds familiar. So let's get Lidge, just in case we play the Cards in the Series again, so that he can face Pujols again. Great plan as usual, Theo. Who are you bringing in to bolster the set-up crew, Ralph Branca and Mitch Williams?

We have a closer already, dammit, he wears number 58 last time I checked. Jesus, this isn't rocket science. Mark my words, our illustrious starting rotation (who've actually looked really good, you know, considering two guys are 40ish, one's never pitched in this country, one's a complete over-rated head case, and one should be a closer) will set a new record for most no-decisions in a season. I'm picturing a starting five all finishing the season at 10-6, 11-7ish with ERAs around 3.50, with lots of strikeouts and a bullpen with an ERA around 6, with about eight holds and 19 blown saves. Remember, after the all-star break last year, Schilling had like six or seven no-decisions in a row, and that was with a reliable closer. (It should be noted that Phil Garner of the 'Stros says Lidge is not available, which in baseball speak means, "We'd trade him for Craig Hansen and whatever part of Pedroia Schilling hasn't digested yet.")

I threw up in my mouth a little when an "inside source" told the Globe that the Sox aren't really interested in Chad Cordero (who the Nats would happily give up for prospects because the new "cheap" plan to demolish RFK Stadium is for the pitchers to give up so many home runs that the deep flys actually knock down most of the outfield stands and walls) because of his "heart attack saves." While I agree that Cordero does save a lot of his games in the mold of a young Lee Smith (come in with a three run lead, the bases loaded and nobody out, walk in two runs then strike out the side) his "heart attack saves" would surely be preferable to the "complete and total heart failure" versions we're likely to get from the current crop of candidates.

Fortunately, I've come up with a plan that will allow Red Sox fans to make it through this season without everyday resembling a 2003-Opening-Day-Chad-Fox-ian nightmare... Just turn every game off after the seventh inning and don't watch TV, read the papers or talk to anyone who isn't on the "Seven Inning Plan." If you do this, I guarantee you the Sox will go 109-53 and secure home field throughout by the first week of September. And really, that's something we'd all like to see, isn't it? So this season, while everyone is stretching in the seventh, I'll be stretching for my remote to turn off another Sox win. Oh, wait; no, I won't, because I don't have DirectTV. Jesus, MLB, this isn't rocket science.

The Big Update

2007-03-16T21:36:00.000-05:00

For those of you who have been bugging me as to my whereabouts, condition, etc, well, I've been watching a lot of basketball and I'm not going out for St. Pat's. That's about it. Oh yeah, for those who asked, the kids are fine. And because nobody asked, I'll tell you that Bill Raftery shouting, "Send it in Big Fella!" makes the lead up to my birthday better every year. Go Terps. That is all.

Wake Me When It's Over

2007-02-05T10:47:00.000-05:00

Congratulations to the Colts. You won, arguably, the most boring Super Bowl I've ever seen over one of the most undeserving, overrated, hapless and bumbling opponents ever. Yay. Everyone throw a monkey off your back. Oh happy day.

The biggest question I have: If it was $2.6 million to air a 30-second ad, how much exactly did Lunesta pay the NFL to turn its marquis event into a three-and-a-half-hour televised version of one of their pills?

No, actually, the biggest question I have is this: How in the hell did the Bears ever get to this game?

Is the NFC really that bad? I mean, I watch the Redskins all season, so my view on the NFC isn't exactly rosy, but seriously...how in the hell was this team 15-3 coming into this game? That was one of the worst-tackling, most poorly executed, super-soft, meek and timid defenses I have ever seen. The Colts are the soft ones! Have been for years. Now all of a sudden they look like tough guys? Brian Urlacher must once and for all go down as one of the most overrated defensive players of this generation- he looked confused and weak from start to finish. I'm not gonna lay this game at the trembling, slippery and amateurish feet of Rex Grossman, either, despite the fact that his ineptness is matched only by his comical look of being overwhelmed in almost any situation. Even if Rex had thrown for 300 yards and no interceptions, the Bears defense was rendered clueless and heartless in what has to be the last 60 minutes in which that team is ever again, for as long as oxygen is breathed on this earth, compared to the Bears team which so thoroughly whipped the Pats' asses in the days of yore. If you made it through that sentence, congratulations. The Bears, upon reading it, would have misread the subject, tripped over the verb, let the prepositions slip through their hands and the direct object get behind the two-deep safety.

I'm not going to do the Boston Globe thing, and say, "Man, if the Pats could have made just ONE stop in Indy, we could've crushed the Bears..." Obviously, that goes without saying. I hope last night was a wake-up call to the Pats' front office. The Super Bowl last year, this year and probably next year is yours for the taking! If you can put together a team that can just make the Super Bowl, you're already most of the way there to winning it. The NFC is embarrassing! On a sloppy night, the Colts did enough to win. I got the impression they could have done more. After the touchdown pass to Reggie Wayne, the Colts hardly threw the ball downfield. Didn't need to. Wasn't gonna be necessary as long as throwing the ball six yards into the flat would result in three missed Bears tackles and a gain of 18 yards.

As the saying goes, I had no dog in that fight, but that fact did not stop me from once, just once, firing my Sox cap at the tv in disgust after Grossman's second fourth-quarter pick. I was mad the Colts were gonna win. I was mad the Pats weren't even there. But mostly, I was mad that the Bears didn't even seem to respect the opportunity they were given. After the New Year's Eve loss, Grossman said his head wasn't in that game, that he wasn't prepared, what with it being New Year's Eve and all. Well, I just looked at a calender, and for the life of me, I can't figure out what the hell holiday the Bears thought yesterday was.

Making Poor Kids Cry Since 1976

2007-02-03T10:23:00.000-05:00

One of the things I always wondered about come time for some sort of championship game was how they had the t-shirts and hats all ready for the winning team. Did they know who was gonna win? Was everything fixed? Or, as I found out as a teenager (and this sort of killed the excitement for me), they just make up the stuff for both teams so they're ready either way. So I sat on that knowledge for a few years till one day it occurred to me (ok, it was like 3 days ago), "What in the hell do they do with the loser's hats and t-shirts?"

I guess I always just assumed they threw the stuff out. But, and I'm sure I'm awfully late to this party, I found out that apparently what they do is send all the loser stuff to third world countries to help clothe the needy. Which, I think, is a great idea, a nice use of resources and a terrible way to prepare the people of those countries to ever appear on "Stump the Schwab," or some other such sports trivia type thingy.

Stuart Scott: "...finally homies, let's get busy meeting our third playa...all the way from Bangladesh, gimme a big Stump the Schwab boo-yah for Kamal! Kamal, this question is for you...who won Super Bowl XL?"

Kamal: "Ooh ooh, I know this one...this team is very popular back home in Bangladesh...it was the Seattle Seahawks!"

Stuart: "Oh, sorry dog, that is in-correct. Schwab, who was it?"

Schwab: "It was the Pittsburgh Steelers who beat the Seahawks."

Stuart: "That's why he's the man, ladies and gentlem...yo, Kamal, you got a question, dog?"

Kamal: "Um, yes. I'm pretty sure that Seattle is the correct answer. I am almost certainly very positive about this."

Stuart: "You better check ya-self, kid, the answer is the Steelers."

Kamal: "No, no, it is you who is to be checking himself, Mr. Boo-Yah; I know it is the Seahawks. I have a t-shirt back home that clearly states in no uncertain terms that the Seattle Seahawks were the champions of Super Bowl XL..."

Stuart: "Ok, how can I explain this to you..."

So, I guess my point about all this is that one day I hope to travel to the Sudan and have the opportunity to break some poor, malnourished kid's heart by explaining to him that it was indeed the Chicago Bears, and not the Indianapolis Colts that were the champions of Super Bowl XLI. While I'm there, though, I'm totally gonna get a New England Patriots 2006 AFC Champions sweatshirt...that'd be super sweet.

So Bored

2007-01-22T07:53:00.000-05:00

After about eight months of doing this blog, I've grown really bored with the medium. Now that football season is over, I just don't have the will to write daily updates on what's not going on with New England sports...this whole thing has grown stale and uninteresting to me. Hope you all liked it...see y'around...

Superstition Redux

2007-01-21T13:00:00.000-05:00

!!!UPADATE!!!

My wife decided to postpone the family portraits till next Sunday...ostensibly, she says, because she doesn't feel well and my daughter is cranky, and all my good shirts need to go to the cleaner...honestly, though, even if she does bleed black and gold Steelers blood, I think deep down she wants the Patriots to win...you know, so I'll be happy. And that's pretty cool. So I shall remain stubbly and Brady-clad, and it's all right for now...not that I believe in such things...

I'm Not Superstitious...Am I?

2007-01-21T08:09:00.000-05:00

All I'm saying is that last week, I shaved on Monday, then didn't for the rest of the week until this past Monday; and last Sunday I put on my Pats jersey as soon as I got dressed and kept it on all day. And this week we're having family pics with the kids taken at 2:30, and I have to shave, and obviously can't wear the ol' home Brady action all day. And this concerns me a little bit. A lot actually. It concerns me that I'm actually thinking about it, not that the "rules" will be broken.

I used to be really superstitious about sports. Examples: during the '03 Sox run, I could only drink Budweiser, preferably cans. When I'd go downstairs from our old apartment to smoke, I'd have to hold my cigs, lighter and keys just so on the return elevator trip to our place. I had to have the top and bottom buttons of my jersey open (this was before the horror of Millar-ALCS-Game 2-popout-jersey-button-tearing-meltdown of '04). My wife showed up at a bar I was at during game 4 of the Oakland series in '03 wearing a longsleeve Boston shirt I had and I nearly freaked out on her for wearing that without permission and chancing the fates. I'm famous for switching caps during a game. For turning them around sideways or backwards, but never inside out. With two strikes, 3-2 counts, or third downs, I never sit. I stand, or hop, or crouch. I just can't sit. After the Pats first two Super Bowls, I randomly ended up, with different people each time, at the same DC strip club after the games. When that didn't happen after SB39, I worried for a second if time would move backwards and let the Eagles win to punish me for disturbing the rhythm of life. I still blame myself for the '03 game 7 debacle because we returned to the same bar in which I watched the Sox lose games 1 & 2 of the Oakland series, just because the bartenders at that bar were Yankees fans and I wanted to be there to see their sad faces after game 7. Oh, the hubris of youth!

None of this is any more or less ridiculous than anyone else's little quirks, but make no mistake, it's all ridiculous. The older I've gotten, the less I worry about such things. More often than not now, I just try to help others maintain their little routines. It's too much effort to remember always to take two sips of beer everytime the Pats get a first down. At some point it goes from "helping your team win" to having a named, treatable, medical condition, and I simply don't have the energy for it anymore. Sure I still turn my cap around, and I still pace, but those are just nervous tics, not outright talismans.

Today, I'll make sure to call my friend Kim and invite her over to watch the game. And like always, she'll say, "NO, you know me, I always watch playoff games at home, it's been working so far!" And she means since 2001. She's never come over to watch a game. But I think we both take a little comfort in the routine of me asking her. And we'll send a ton of texts during the game, but never actually speak. Last week, my wife said, "Why don't you just call her and talk to her?" And I said, "I can't...Kim doesn't like to talk during the game..." And my wife gave me that look, that one that says, "You guys are all retarded." And maybe she's right. But I'm not as bad as I used to be. Now, Kim will probably make her dog sit on the couch next to her the WHOLE game, and that's cool. She takes comfort and luck in that. I take comfort in the fact that tomorrow, if I'm reading all about Manning's big day, it won't be because I shaved today. But I really, really hope we win, because you know I'd at least wonder...

Finally, Pats 31, Colts 20. And I didn't just jinx us, either, so all of you shut up...

Is Your Dog Owned by a Huge Nerd?

2007-01-16T16:16:00.000-05:00

Terrorists- is this why you hate America?

Go Fuck Yourself San Diego

2007-01-16T07:45:00.000-05:00

I know Kristen linked to this in her great post about the Pats game, but I wanted to include it on my site so I could easily watch it and laugh at Merriman and the classy Chargers anytime I want...Yeah!!! We're getting punched in the mouth!!! File this video under delusion and irony...more to come on the Colts game later in the week.

Tick, Tick.....Tick

2007-01-15T09:13:00.000-05:00

If you're a Pats fan, this is already the l...o...n...g...e...s...t week ever...
Will 6:30 on Sunday ever get here?

MVP means...

2007-01-14T21:13:00.000-05:00

Most Valuable Pussy.

In case you missed the end of the game because you're a Pats fan and you were jumping around hysterically, then you missed a very upset Ladainian Tomlinson getting into a scrum with some Pats players. Apparently, some of the Pats players did the Shawne Merriman "Lights Out" dance at midfield after the final second ticked off, and LT took that as a disrespectful move he just couldn't watch (according to his post-game presser) and refused to shake hands, was cornered by some Pats players and left the field whining like a little bitch. In his press conference, he said, "Those guys showed no class..."

Seriously, he's rising up in defense of a guy, Merriman, who was suspended four games for violating the league's steroid policy. The guy who is the face of the Chargers, and in some ways, of the new, young NFL. Who didn't appeal his steroid suspension. That guy. Just so we all know who we're talking about here. The steroids guy, who had "Lights Out" shaved into the side of his head. That's the guy that LT, supposedly one of the classiest guys in the league, is defending. Just so we know where everyone's moral compass is set...(Those of you who read SBF a lot know where this is going, right?)

Shut the fuck up, LT.
Take your 31 touchdowns, and your 1,800 yards and shove them up you prissy little ass. Take your RoidBoy Shawne, and your other 99 Pro Bowlers and enjoy your trip to Hawaii. We'll let you know how Miami is. You know, where they're playing the Super Bowl. Oh, and don't clear any more space on your mantle; you've already won your last trophy this year.

We're Not Worthy

2007-01-14T20:27:00.000-05:00

Tom Brady,
You're my hero.
I'm sorry I doubted you for three quarters.
(If Kim could blog, she'd apologize, too.)
Our bad.
I promise we'll believe next week.
Thanks for a nice Sunday.
Sincerely,
your biggest fan,
Matty

Which of course in German means a whale's vagina...

2007-01-07T16:25:00.000-05:00

I'll say it one last time this year...

J-E-T-S Suck! Suck! Suck!

You stay sucky San Diego...here we come!

Welcome to the Jungle, Baby

2007-01-07T12:12:00.000-05:00

PUT HIM IN A BODY BAG...YEAH!!!

LET'S GO PATRIOTS!!!

Right...I guess I did do that...

2007-01-03T23:33:00.000-05:00

Remember a couple months ago when I said I had a major announcement, then never announced anything major? Remember when I laughed it off and said, "It's not like I quit the restaurant to go sell Italian wine or anything..."

I forgot to tell you guys...I totally did that.

Yeah, I gave notice to Ceiba the first week of October, planned to talk about it here, then my GM at the restaurant wanted to keep things quiet as long as possible. I didn't say anything on here because I know that some of my former employees read this occasionally. So, anyway, we finally broke the news at work around December 18, but somehow I forgot to put a post up about it.

Well, today was my first official day with my new company, Grappoli Imports. A friend of ours is the co-owner, and they wanted me to take my interest in and knowledge of wine to help them build what is still a pretty young company. So I'm a sales guy now. Selling a broad portfolio of 99% Italian wines. And I have no idea what I'm doing. Well, ok, I sort of do, but it's all pretty new to me. I've worked on the purchasing end for restaurants before, but never on the wholesale end. I expect I'll grow into it slowly, but the hours are much more conducive to raising a family, as it's mostly daytime with most evenings and weekends off. So that's one major plus. Initially, it's probably a lateral move, at best, financially, but the potential is really high if I bust my ass to develop new accounts. I was really surprised at how many places where I know someone we're not in yet, so in addition to the 40 or so accounts I'm sort of poaching, I've got a pretty extensive list of places where I've at least got a friendly "in."

So anyway, if any of you have come looking for me at the restaurant in the last couple days, well, sorry. New Year's Eve was my last night...I got to eat dinner with my wife tonight, at a normal time, help put my daughter to bed, get my son to sleep, and watch "Top Chef" not on rerun. Feels very strange, all of it. Almost like a day job. This could be interesting...

I've Got Next!

2006-12-27T11:35:00.000-05:00

In the last two days, James Brown and Gerald Ford have died. What did they have in common? As my wife reminded me, they were both featured in classic SNL sketches: James Brown's Hot Tub Party and Chevy Chase's bumbling Ford skits. So I ask you now- who's next? What famous, and famously parodied, celebrity goes next? Because as always, people die in threes...

Here's my list, in order of probability to kick it*:

1. John McLaughlin- One of my fave Carvey creations. Fifteen years later, I'm still saying, "Wrong! You had Special K...with ba-na-na..." A great one to laugh at with Chris Leavens and Jeff Compton.

2. Ed McMahon (my wife's first choice)- The first of my Hartman characters I'm predicting will go...even better when he was McMahon on Carsenio...

3. Archbishop Desmond Tutu- this would give Eddie Murphy a two-fer; is it time to weld Doug Flutie's Heisman back together on the big sports talk show in the sky?

4. Mindy Cohn- as famously played by Farley during the America's Most Wanted: Child Stars sketch as a sociopathic glutton. I always thought Farley based his fat-girl Gap character on Mindy as well- "GET OFF MY BACK, I'M STARVING!!!"

5. Phil Donahue- I'm not sure why, he's sort of my wildcard...he hasn't done anything in ages; seems like he'd want to get back in the spotlight...another classic Hartman character, who sort of went hand in hand with Jan Hooks' Sally Jesse Rafael skit...who knows, maybe Phil and Sally will be on a plane together and...

There's lots of other really good guesses out there, I'm sure, but these are definitely my top 5.

*Of course it goes without saying that if any of these people actually die, I am in no way responsible nor is it to be understood that I will write a follow up post in the "I told you so" style, nor is to be imagined that I will revel in some sort of schaedenfraudistic, self-congratulatory, "I'm so clairvoyant" state, although I probably will...