I've taken some time to reflect on 2007 and I'm realizing that my mother was actually right this time. She told me about a year ago that 2007 would be MY year, for whatever reason. I'm not exactly sure what 'my year' meant, but I can say with absolute certainty that this was the best year I've had in probably 10 years.
Looking back 10 years, I was in high school and living out those days with little to no responsibility, playing sports constantly and I was in really good shape. Then I went to college, became kind of fat, borderline alcoholic, prone to smoking weed on a regular basis and a host of other things that probably don't deserve any mention. But who's counting? Isn't this essentially what college is for? As an 18 year-old kid who had lived a fairly sheltered life up until college, it wasn't exactly difficult for me to go catapulting into that black hole of mischief and malaise. Alas, here I sit at 28 and I'm back at the weight I was in high school. This only bears mention because at the start of 2007 I weighed in at a chunky 197lbs. This morning I was 167. That's right bitch, 167 pounds and I'm proud of it. I turned a new leaf in 2007, and it was a giant fucking leaf.
I don't know why, exactly, that I waited as long as I did to try and regain some form of fitness and health. Oh wait, yes I do. Because implementing an entirely new and challenging way of life into my routine is akin to passing a stone (or so I would imagine). No matter now, because it's done. I think Christmas was most indicative of my current state of being, as was manifested in some of the gifts I received: health-conscious cookbooks and a gift certificate to a running store that ultimately paid for my new running shoes. Really good stuff there, and elsewhere in the presents, too...but those are representative of the new me, I guess.
Enough about my metamorphosis, because I'm sure you're all just tickled pink that I've found this new path. I'm done talking about that for the year. I'll move onto the year in sports, but I'll keep it nice and terse for all of you non-sports fans. Besides, I'm sure there will be a much more in depth analysis of the year in sports on Hammen's blog over the next week or so. (no pressure, bud...but get it done) I can turn to Christmas gifts as a fair representation of 2007 in Boston sports once again. As a way to bring my father back down to earth from his Red Sox & Patriots euphoric utopia, my oldest brother Chris presented him with a pin from the 1986 Super Bowl and a blown up photo of Buckner and the infamous ground ball off the bat of Mookie Wilson in 1986. What a year that was, indeed. I thought these were the most creative gifts of the holiday season, especially coming from Chris. He's not what you might call a "sports fan"; at least not in the traditional sense. But he know exactly what might conjure up past turmoil in the eyes and heart of our father. That being said, I don't think my dad gives a shit anymore. I already know that the highlight of his current vacation in Florida occurred on the 4th day of the trip, when he was able to watch the Pursuit of Perfection in his motorhome...something that was previously thought impossible due to the NFL Network. I'll say this about 2007 for Boston sports fans: I might not deserve this success, nor may thousands and thousands of other fans in this area and nation-wide who are currently living the proverbial dream as a result of said success. But for the older generations, such as that of my father and other baby boomers...they deserve this. They went through far more than I have in terms of disappointment and misery. (hang in there, Cubs fans. It'll happen.)
The past year brought some certain high points for me in the travel category. When all is said and done for 2007, my feet will have stepped foot in the following states: MA, CT, NY, NH, ME, VT, OH, IN, CA, NV and PR. PR is technically the 52nd state...Guam being the 51st. That's not too bad, especially considering I went to Cali three times over the course of the year. PR was the best trip by far, though. It was my 28th birthday gift from Lauren along with a few other things and it was the best birthday present to date. Thanks baby.
2007 was a momentous year for this blog, too. Hell, I made and kept plans with some dude from North Dakota that I know as a result of our blogs. Because of that, I have corresponded with some fine, young men who make their homes in various parts of our country. I gotta say that those friends are much more manageable than local friends of any variety because there's never any pressure to see or contact them. Cheers, boys. And Ben, I'm waiting for the re-ship on the Very Schneweis Holiday 2007. And to the rest of you blogworld inhabitants...Bowen, Ponch, DVJS, D-Lo, Alex, Hambone, Lovetron, Tallman from ND...Happy New Year. Here's hoping we all continue to litter the virtual literary world with non-sensical babble for another year.
To the various and sundry category, I've got new outlooks on so many new things because of 2007. I now pay close attention to every urinal I piss in; I have a great, new appreciation for breasts and breast cancer (you know who you are, Ms "feel this and tell Lauren what it's like"); I've now been to 2 Sox Playoff games and both were walk-off Sox wins; I've successfully orchestrated a charity event and attended two other fancy ones; I've learned to be ok with the love of my life loving another man (even if he is 4 years old); I've greatly expanded my horizons in terms of sushi that I am willing to eat; I've parted ways with red meat and pork and also my jiggly gut and puffy thighs; I don't smoke anything anymore; I know a good amount more about wine, albeit only red wine and it's really not that much at all...just a lot more than before this year...that might be it.
I think I'm ready for 2008, as I prepare to enter my final year of being in my twenties. Man, now I'm not so sure that I'm ready for 2008. That prospect alone is a shitty one at best.
Some goals for 2008:
Go to France, trim down to a lean 160 by the summer, be able to bench 200lbs at least 5 times, make 100k and one more thing that I don't feel like mentioning on here because it's not necessary. If I can do all these things in 2008, it will surpass 2007 as the best year of my life.
Good luck to you all on your resolutions and remember: make enough of them so that even if you only accomplish a couple of them, you can still view those as successes. And listen, don't go getting too fucked up tonight, whoever you are.
31 December 2007
26 December 2007
Tidings of Boredom and Complacency
Ahh yes, the day after Christmas in the working world. It's days like these that allow me to sit at my desk with no regard for anyone else in the office, simply because there's really no one else in the office to regard. I'm pretty sure someone in the lobby of the building could hear Zeppelin's The Ocean emanating from my desktop speakers (which I stole from someone else who's not here today), but the lobby is and will remain empty throughout the day.
another hiatus...
I've got to stop taking these breaks between paragraphs...it's killing my train of thought, which is entirely different today than it was when I began to write this post on Wednesday. I've got no reason as to why I haven't been able to finish this post since I began to write it. These last three work days have been positively fruitless from a business standpoint. I suppose plenty of people are off this week and the rest of us who have chosen to go into work are battling those holiday hangovers that accompany the typical three and four-day marathons of family, food and fun. I'm not talking about actual hangovers from booze, because I didn't consume too much alcohol during the marathon this year. I'm talking about the hangover that comes as a result of catching up with so many people...eating so much crap...driving all over the map.
Oh, that reminds me...I need to welcome another reader to the blog. This is someone who has felt it necessary to hide his identity on the blog for the last several months, although he has only commented a couple times. Cousin Brian...the one cousin I have that is just about my age. You do understand that since your identity has been revealed, you need to comment as such from here on in? Well, I suppose I am jumping the gun here, assuming that you actually read this with any regularity. But if you choose to comment again, I hope I can expect to see some sort of alias that suggests it's you. Either way, thanks for reading, B. Welcome, and good luck wherever grad school accepts you.
Speaking of my cousin Brian, I'd like to add that he is a part of one instance in my childhood that I wish I could have back again...one stretch of about three minutes that I want to do over again. See, being that we were about the same age and from neighboring towns, we had the opportunity to play against each other in a Little League game one summer when I was 11 and he was 12. This was the age group that plays to get to Williamsport, or the LLWS. It was a big deal to me back then...to be an All-Star second basemen and on a team of really good players. Anyway, I was a reserve on my team and Brian was probably the best player on his. It also happened that he was a pitcher above all else, and he indeed pitched for his Salem National squad against my Beverly East squad. All you need to know as a reader is that the opening paragraph of the article in the local news the next day was something like "Chad Benoit struck out on three pitches against his cousin Brian Benoit in Salem National's win over Beverly East in District 15 action last night, but he shouldn't feel bad..." The writer was saying that I shouldn't feel bad because B struck out everyone on my team that evening, sending us to the Loser's Bracket (where we would eventually lose in the final round) of the tournament.
Well, I want that at-bat back. I want it back so I can get a better look at that first-pitch fastball instead of being all nervous and overwhelmed by the situation. I want it back so I don't watch the second fastball whizz by me, just as my knees stopped shaking. And finally...and most of all...I want that fucking third pitch back. That off speed junk that was served up, which I missed badly. Whaddya say, Bri? Me, you, a bat and a ball and field...rematch. You up for it?
I think that's all I have for today/the last three days. I'm kinda thinking that all the shit that's in my brain right now might be on lockdown because it's not coming out. Oh, here's one thing...
La and I had drinks and appetizers at the upstairs bar at the Four Seasons in Boston a week or so ago, and the urinal at this place was phenomenal. It was like pissing into a giant salad bowl, but the beauty of it was the angle of the bowl. It was tilted ever so slightly forward, so that all streams could gently deflect off the inside lip of the bowl and spray harmlessly outward...not back towards you. I tried to take a photo with my phone but to no avail. Regardless, I was really pleased with that urinal.
another hiatus...
I've got to stop taking these breaks between paragraphs...it's killing my train of thought, which is entirely different today than it was when I began to write this post on Wednesday. I've got no reason as to why I haven't been able to finish this post since I began to write it. These last three work days have been positively fruitless from a business standpoint. I suppose plenty of people are off this week and the rest of us who have chosen to go into work are battling those holiday hangovers that accompany the typical three and four-day marathons of family, food and fun. I'm not talking about actual hangovers from booze, because I didn't consume too much alcohol during the marathon this year. I'm talking about the hangover that comes as a result of catching up with so many people...eating so much crap...driving all over the map.
Oh, that reminds me...I need to welcome another reader to the blog. This is someone who has felt it necessary to hide his identity on the blog for the last several months, although he has only commented a couple times. Cousin Brian...the one cousin I have that is just about my age. You do understand that since your identity has been revealed, you need to comment as such from here on in? Well, I suppose I am jumping the gun here, assuming that you actually read this with any regularity. But if you choose to comment again, I hope I can expect to see some sort of alias that suggests it's you. Either way, thanks for reading, B. Welcome, and good luck wherever grad school accepts you.
Speaking of my cousin Brian, I'd like to add that he is a part of one instance in my childhood that I wish I could have back again...one stretch of about three minutes that I want to do over again. See, being that we were about the same age and from neighboring towns, we had the opportunity to play against each other in a Little League game one summer when I was 11 and he was 12. This was the age group that plays to get to Williamsport, or the LLWS. It was a big deal to me back then...to be an All-Star second basemen and on a team of really good players. Anyway, I was a reserve on my team and Brian was probably the best player on his. It also happened that he was a pitcher above all else, and he indeed pitched for his Salem National squad against my Beverly East squad. All you need to know as a reader is that the opening paragraph of the article in the local news the next day was something like "Chad Benoit struck out on three pitches against his cousin Brian Benoit in Salem National's win over Beverly East in District 15 action last night, but he shouldn't feel bad..." The writer was saying that I shouldn't feel bad because B struck out everyone on my team that evening, sending us to the Loser's Bracket (where we would eventually lose in the final round) of the tournament.
Well, I want that at-bat back. I want it back so I can get a better look at that first-pitch fastball instead of being all nervous and overwhelmed by the situation. I want it back so I don't watch the second fastball whizz by me, just as my knees stopped shaking. And finally...and most of all...I want that fucking third pitch back. That off speed junk that was served up, which I missed badly. Whaddya say, Bri? Me, you, a bat and a ball and field...rematch. You up for it?
I think that's all I have for today/the last three days. I'm kinda thinking that all the shit that's in my brain right now might be on lockdown because it's not coming out. Oh, here's one thing...
La and I had drinks and appetizers at the upstairs bar at the Four Seasons in Boston a week or so ago, and the urinal at this place was phenomenal. It was like pissing into a giant salad bowl, but the beauty of it was the angle of the bowl. It was tilted ever so slightly forward, so that all streams could gently deflect off the inside lip of the bowl and spray harmlessly outward...not back towards you. I tried to take a photo with my phone but to no avail. Regardless, I was really pleased with that urinal.
13 December 2007
When You're Strange
Or maybe that title should read "When I'm Strange". I'm not sure about that one yet, but I'll keep you informed. Ok, I'm pretty sure I'm strange. The whole "It's All French To Me" is just a different way to purport that I'm kind of a weirdo, deep down. Stay tuned to see if I decide to change the title of the blog to simply "I'm Weird". Then again, I feel as though "weird" is all relative. It's not like I'm out there molesting family pets or something. I do, however, like to think that I have unconventional thoughts that occur in my brain on a daily basis. My blog is my vehicle for these thoughts.
I get in these moods sometimes...such moods that make it so that I will make an effort to strike up a conversation with anyone who I encounter over the course of a day. Not people in the street that I pass necessarily, or people in the elevator. I mean, it could be these people, for sure. But it varies. I just find it incredibly amusing to test people that you don't know and that don't know you.
Lunch lines are a good place to make off-the-cuff remarks to those around you. Depending on what others order and maybe what you order, this can be a good way to spur on a random remark. "Yeah, that looks healthy." You can say this to pretty much anyone who orders something revoltingly unhealthy, wherever you're eating. (you can say this to anyone at Boloco) I've only done this once, and it was more of an oral vomit situation in this case. I didn't mean to say it, really. But I did and thankfully, the guy wasn't pissed off. He replied, "Well, it's Friday and I'm hungover. So it's fine." Well played, well played. I think most would concur that hangovers breed unhealthy, greasy food cravings. Another good one in a food line is as follows: when the person in front of you orders something really whacky with all sorts of modifications like "hold this" and "add this" and "no tomatoes" and "extra sprouts", say to him or her "Oh my god, I was going to order the same, exact thing!" Without fail, he or she will say "really?" Then you say, "no, not really" and proceed to order whatever you were going to get. You get weird looks, but whoever hears it will laugh.
I also like to talk to people who are walking around outside during incredibly inclement weather. This morning, for instance, it was 15° in the city as I walked to my office. The reported wind chill was right at 0°, so it was frigid. For some reason, people seem to be a lot less guarded, maybe because that sort of thing (weather) bonds people together. Like, everyone has the mentality that we're all in this thing together, and we can all sympathize with each other. I was beaten to the punch this morning, as I approached a meter maid. I had literally removed my hood just before I passed this woman on the street and she says to me "Where's your hat?" Keep in mind, she says this as we pass each other. So I reply, "I have a hood." But as I mentioned, I had just taken it off. So she remarks "Put it on!" What could I do or say? I put on the fucking hood.
I get in these moods sometimes...such moods that make it so that I will make an effort to strike up a conversation with anyone who I encounter over the course of a day. Not people in the street that I pass necessarily, or people in the elevator. I mean, it could be these people, for sure. But it varies. I just find it incredibly amusing to test people that you don't know and that don't know you.
Lunch lines are a good place to make off-the-cuff remarks to those around you. Depending on what others order and maybe what you order, this can be a good way to spur on a random remark. "Yeah, that looks healthy." You can say this to pretty much anyone who orders something revoltingly unhealthy, wherever you're eating. (you can say this to anyone at Boloco) I've only done this once, and it was more of an oral vomit situation in this case. I didn't mean to say it, really. But I did and thankfully, the guy wasn't pissed off. He replied, "Well, it's Friday and I'm hungover. So it's fine." Well played, well played. I think most would concur that hangovers breed unhealthy, greasy food cravings. Another good one in a food line is as follows: when the person in front of you orders something really whacky with all sorts of modifications like "hold this" and "add this" and "no tomatoes" and "extra sprouts", say to him or her "Oh my god, I was going to order the same, exact thing!" Without fail, he or she will say "really?" Then you say, "no, not really" and proceed to order whatever you were going to get. You get weird looks, but whoever hears it will laugh.
I also like to talk to people who are walking around outside during incredibly inclement weather. This morning, for instance, it was 15° in the city as I walked to my office. The reported wind chill was right at 0°, so it was frigid. For some reason, people seem to be a lot less guarded, maybe because that sort of thing (weather) bonds people together. Like, everyone has the mentality that we're all in this thing together, and we can all sympathize with each other. I was beaten to the punch this morning, as I approached a meter maid. I had literally removed my hood just before I passed this woman on the street and she says to me "Where's your hat?" Keep in mind, she says this as we pass each other. So I reply, "I have a hood." But as I mentioned, I had just taken it off. So she remarks "Put it on!" What could I do or say? I put on the fucking hood.
two-day hiatus...
I'm back from the aforementioned hiatus now. I couldn't finish up this entry over the last two days and now, here I sit, trying to finish it up by the end of business today. I keep getting distracted by various things. The latest came in the form of a piece of organic swiss milk chocolate that was waved in front of me. But what do you care? I'll tell you what, the chocolate sucked. I had a tiny nibble, just because I wanted to delight myself in some organic chocolate and I was let down. But I will rest easy because the chocolate I ate was produced in an environmentally friendly way. (it still sucked)
I want to now talk about another kind of encounter that I create in the elevators at work sometimes. I was recently in one of said elevators with a colleague of mine and one other person; an older woman who ultimately got off on a floor before ours. We were talking about a few different things at once...the Santana deal, the frigid temperatures...she was clearly listening and looking at both of us as we chatted. I was aggrevated by this, and upon her exit, I said "Hope you enjoyed our conversation. Have a good one." She turned slightly, but the door shut and that was that. I haven't seen her since that day, either. Perhaps I should have kept my mouth shut, but understand that I didn't use a negative tone when I spoke to her. It was light-hearted, and for all she knows I was being somewhat serious because of the fact that she had to be subjected to our conversation. As in, maybe she didn't have a choice but to listen. We're loud, she's got ears. I really wasn't trying to be a jerk, honest injun.
The whole uncertainty of a situation when you make some sort of comment to a stranger is what makes these things fun, isn't it? More often than not, I find that people are generally nice and open to partaking in a totally surprise, unsolicited conversation. Unless, of course, you're a total dbag and you totally make someone feel like an asshole. One thing I'd really like to do is go into Boloco during peak lunch hours, holding up a sign with the caloric value of their most popular burritos. I walked past there today and the line was out the door. Hey , it's -4° in the sun. Do you really need Boloco that bad? By the way, what you're about to eat has about 1150 calories. What's that? No, I have no idea what you're about to order but all of that shit is BAAAAD. I feel like Kramer in the Kenny Rogers Roasters episode of Seinfeld. Don't eat the burritos...baaad burritos. Mess you up. I've got to say again that I'm really not against that place because they're just another fast food joint, trying to make a buck off of something that tastes pretty good. It's just that, I feel like they advertise as though their product is somehow good for you, and it's just not. It's garbage.
In closing, I need to extend a huge THANK YOU to Jackie, whom I welcomed to this blog no more than a week or so ago. You'll recall that I posted a plug for the Toy Drive that I'm doing with Youk's Kids. I received a delivery from Jackie yesterday, with some toys to donate to these kids and a card saying that she and her fiance wanted to help in some way. And that's awesome. Thanks Jackie and Jason. You guys rule. Hell to the Yeah.
12 December 2007
Bobby Petrino Is...
"HIGH ON THE HOG".
This was the leading headline on ESPN.com this morning. I don't even want to go into the many, many innuendo-tastic ways in which this headline is wrong.
I'm sorry, I can't resist writing this next quip. (for those family readers, I apologize ahead of time...it's beyond me) ***DAD - DO NOT READ THIS ONE TO MOM OUT LOUD. BIG MISTAKE***
Gay men are sometimes referred to as "cocksmokers". Thus, they are also "high on the hog", no? Too much? Listen, if you read this blog then you've read the disclaimer right below the title. It explicitly states, welcome to my brain and its daily malfunctions. They can't all be warm and fuzzy.
11 December 2007
Urinal Etiquette, Take Three.
Interesting comments thus far regarding Urinal Etiquette and the multitude of quandaries that we, as men, are presented with daily.
Another thing I failed to mention about the three urinals in my office is that the one on the far right smells like a piece of haddock that's been sitting out in the summer sun for three days. But I'm drawn to it because the one on the far left doesn't have a splash guard (more to come on these fucking things) so I choose to hold my nose but keep my pants dry.
D-Lo, I can't explain the 45° angle at the urinal. But I have to think that this dude has a bit of stage fright when it comes to emptying the old tank in public. He wants to make absolutely sure that not a sole on this earth can see his peter, much less see him pee. It's weird as hell, though. For sure.
Ok, onto urinal splash guards and why the fuck man can't seem to find a viable way to avoid the urine bouncing back and spraying a man's slacks. The thing that I find to be most confusing is the layout of the guard in the urinal. It's almost always just over the drain in the urinal, making it so you have make sure your stream is pointed straight down at all times. Now, I don't know about you but my trajectory totally varies on a day-to-day basis. If I'm not guiding it, it can go straight down on some days and straight ahead on another. Thus, a splash guard that covers both angles would be great. And I've seen these from time to time and I applaud those urinal manufacturers that use these types of guards. But not nearly enough of you manufacturers do and it's alarming. Here's what happens to me nine times out of ten when I use a new urinal. I take a very basic, bare bones inventory of the unit upon entering the latrine. As long as everything seems pretty normal, I let fly and, as I've mentioned is my norm, look skyward and either whistle or just close my eyes and enjoy the evacuation. The problem is, most of the time I haven't taken a comprehensive enough inventory and I overlook the fact that the splash guard isn't where I'm peeing. I go to zip up and half of the urine is festively decorating the upper part of my slacks.
Why can't all urinals just be lined all around with some sort of foamy piece of material that absorbs the piss? Like a spongy thing that doesn't allow any splashing? Is that too much to ask? I have to figure out how to get the piss out of the sponge so that it doesn't fester...not sure about how that can work from a logistical standpoint but surely there can be some sort of action when you flush that presses the sponge and releases the pee. Feel free to expound on this if it behooves you.
Another thing I failed to mention about the three urinals in my office is that the one on the far right smells like a piece of haddock that's been sitting out in the summer sun for three days. But I'm drawn to it because the one on the far left doesn't have a splash guard (more to come on these fucking things) so I choose to hold my nose but keep my pants dry.
D-Lo, I can't explain the 45° angle at the urinal. But I have to think that this dude has a bit of stage fright when it comes to emptying the old tank in public. He wants to make absolutely sure that not a sole on this earth can see his peter, much less see him pee. It's weird as hell, though. For sure.
Ok, onto urinal splash guards and why the fuck man can't seem to find a viable way to avoid the urine bouncing back and spraying a man's slacks. The thing that I find to be most confusing is the layout of the guard in the urinal. It's almost always just over the drain in the urinal, making it so you have make sure your stream is pointed straight down at all times. Now, I don't know about you but my trajectory totally varies on a day-to-day basis. If I'm not guiding it, it can go straight down on some days and straight ahead on another. Thus, a splash guard that covers both angles would be great. And I've seen these from time to time and I applaud those urinal manufacturers that use these types of guards. But not nearly enough of you manufacturers do and it's alarming. Here's what happens to me nine times out of ten when I use a new urinal. I take a very basic, bare bones inventory of the unit upon entering the latrine. As long as everything seems pretty normal, I let fly and, as I've mentioned is my norm, look skyward and either whistle or just close my eyes and enjoy the evacuation. The problem is, most of the time I haven't taken a comprehensive enough inventory and I overlook the fact that the splash guard isn't where I'm peeing. I go to zip up and half of the urine is festively decorating the upper part of my slacks.
Why can't all urinals just be lined all around with some sort of foamy piece of material that absorbs the piss? Like a spongy thing that doesn't allow any splashing? Is that too much to ask? I have to figure out how to get the piss out of the sponge so that it doesn't fester...not sure about how that can work from a logistical standpoint but surely there can be some sort of action when you flush that presses the sponge and releases the pee. Feel free to expound on this if it behooves you.
10 December 2007
Urinal Etiquette, Take Two.
Ok, no joke...I just went to the bathroom immediately after posting the previous post about urinal etiquette and I encountered a brand new situation. This fucking guy just brought a sandwich in there with him. And then he didn't wash his hands.
I'm not even going to go into how many things are wrong with this scenario. Be your own judge. I'm gonna be sick.
I'm not even going to go into how many things are wrong with this scenario. Be your own judge. I'm gonna be sick.
Urinal Etiquette, Take One.
Let me start off by congratulating the dynamic duo of Chuck and Steve, who collaborated to come up with the correct answer to my lyrical inquisition:
This line:
I want to be Jackie Onassis
I want to wear a pair of dark sunglasses
I want to be...Jackie O, O, O, oh please don't DIE.
is from the Rage Against the Machine song "Tire Me", off of their Evil Empire disc. As my father so appropriately pointed out, Steve is a Yankee fan/member of the Evil Empire...wait, the former Evil Empire. Some things are just meant to be, I guess. And as of this morning, both my father and Steve are proud owners of a Hollister fleece. Navy blue with white typing on the left breast. Quite nice, quite nice. More contests to follow...the next one will involve a prize of a Hollister fleece blanket. It's nice, you'll like it.
I had a few thoughts at the urinal this afternoon, as I drained my bladder for the third time today. There has got to be some sort of set guidelines for the bathroom, especially the urinals. The stalls carry their own set of codes and regulations but they're far less stringent since it is, after all, a private stall with a door. In terms of the urinal, there are some unspoken laws that need to be addressed because as some guys prove almost every day, these laws aren't universal.
First off, depending on the layout of your men's room, there are probably several stalls in a line or something of that nature. I have not been blessed with stall walls, or dividers, at this building's men's room. So privacy is at a minimum. Nonetheless, there are three urinals total. As a rule of thumb, when all three stalls are vacant, you are to choose either stall on the end. Further, if either end stall is taken, you choose the opposite end stall. The point here is that it is imperative to maintain as much space between urinators as possible. It's a matter of comfort, a matter of privacy and a matter of common sense...in my opinion.
Second, we have GOT to determine a universal distance for standing at the urinal. As in, you should be standing no more than three inches away from the actual urinal when you start to urinate. Ever been next to that drunk d-bag at the bar who stands like three feet away and kind of acts like he's shooting fish in a barrel? Yeah, unacceptable. Peeing is not a game, it's something we all do quite often as a human necessity. Let's keep it on that level and just stand no more than 3-4 inches away as we piss, ok?
Third, you may look up, you may look down, you may look straight ahead. Side to side is absolutely out of the question. Me personally, I'm a fan of looking up at the ceiling and whistling as I do my thing at the urinal. It's a great way of saying, "don't talk to me while I pee".
Fourth, if you must converse with another dude at the urinals, please keep this conversation contained within the following topics: sports, beer, cars. Actually, can't we just can all urinal discussion in general? There seems to be this feeling in corporate America that the urinals are a great place to catch up on the weekend, talk about the game, etc. Just wait until you're at the sink to do that shit. Conversation may spark the urge to look at the other person in the conversation and that's not supposed to happen at the urinal. See above.
Finally, there's this issue of noises that you may be allowed to make while you evacuate. This morning, and this kind of prompted this whole post, I was at a stall over from this janitor-looking fella who was making some truly weird noises at his stall. His etiquette was atrocious, by the way. Eyes side to side, standing a foot away and his method of getting out the last drops appeared to be borderline pornographic from my periphery. I digress...we're talking moaning, grunting, panting...everything. Aside from a medical condition, I can't think of any good reason why a man would have to grunt and moan while taking a piss. I'm ok with the occasional "oh, man" or "good god" if it's one of those times where you've been in a car for eight hours and your bladder nearly exploded. But avoid the noises. ***extenuating circumstances here might include passing a stone...noises totally ok in this case***
I think that does it, but feel free to add your own clauses and amendments to this list. One alternative form that I've seen and used at the urinal is the lean-to. I've used this in the past when inebriated....you put your forearm on the wall that the urinal is attached to and lay your head on your arm in a resting pose. This leaves out any possibility to look astray or talk. And it's relaxing.
This line:
I want to be Jackie Onassis
I want to wear a pair of dark sunglasses
I want to be...Jackie O, O, O, oh please don't DIE.
is from the Rage Against the Machine song "Tire Me", off of their Evil Empire disc. As my father so appropriately pointed out, Steve is a Yankee fan/member of the Evil Empire...wait, the former Evil Empire. Some things are just meant to be, I guess. And as of this morning, both my father and Steve are proud owners of a Hollister fleece. Navy blue with white typing on the left breast. Quite nice, quite nice. More contests to follow...the next one will involve a prize of a Hollister fleece blanket. It's nice, you'll like it.
I had a few thoughts at the urinal this afternoon, as I drained my bladder for the third time today. There has got to be some sort of set guidelines for the bathroom, especially the urinals. The stalls carry their own set of codes and regulations but they're far less stringent since it is, after all, a private stall with a door. In terms of the urinal, there are some unspoken laws that need to be addressed because as some guys prove almost every day, these laws aren't universal.
First off, depending on the layout of your men's room, there are probably several stalls in a line or something of that nature. I have not been blessed with stall walls, or dividers, at this building's men's room. So privacy is at a minimum. Nonetheless, there are three urinals total. As a rule of thumb, when all three stalls are vacant, you are to choose either stall on the end. Further, if either end stall is taken, you choose the opposite end stall. The point here is that it is imperative to maintain as much space between urinators as possible. It's a matter of comfort, a matter of privacy and a matter of common sense...in my opinion.
Second, we have GOT to determine a universal distance for standing at the urinal. As in, you should be standing no more than three inches away from the actual urinal when you start to urinate. Ever been next to that drunk d-bag at the bar who stands like three feet away and kind of acts like he's shooting fish in a barrel? Yeah, unacceptable. Peeing is not a game, it's something we all do quite often as a human necessity. Let's keep it on that level and just stand no more than 3-4 inches away as we piss, ok?
Third, you may look up, you may look down, you may look straight ahead. Side to side is absolutely out of the question. Me personally, I'm a fan of looking up at the ceiling and whistling as I do my thing at the urinal. It's a great way of saying, "don't talk to me while I pee".
Fourth, if you must converse with another dude at the urinals, please keep this conversation contained within the following topics: sports, beer, cars. Actually, can't we just can all urinal discussion in general? There seems to be this feeling in corporate America that the urinals are a great place to catch up on the weekend, talk about the game, etc. Just wait until you're at the sink to do that shit. Conversation may spark the urge to look at the other person in the conversation and that's not supposed to happen at the urinal. See above.
Finally, there's this issue of noises that you may be allowed to make while you evacuate. This morning, and this kind of prompted this whole post, I was at a stall over from this janitor-looking fella who was making some truly weird noises at his stall. His etiquette was atrocious, by the way. Eyes side to side, standing a foot away and his method of getting out the last drops appeared to be borderline pornographic from my periphery. I digress...we're talking moaning, grunting, panting...everything. Aside from a medical condition, I can't think of any good reason why a man would have to grunt and moan while taking a piss. I'm ok with the occasional "oh, man" or "good god" if it's one of those times where you've been in a car for eight hours and your bladder nearly exploded. But avoid the noises. ***extenuating circumstances here might include passing a stone...noises totally ok in this case***
I think that does it, but feel free to add your own clauses and amendments to this list. One alternative form that I've seen and used at the urinal is the lean-to. I've used this in the past when inebriated....you put your forearm on the wall that the urinal is attached to and lay your head on your arm in a resting pose. This leaves out any possibility to look astray or talk. And it's relaxing.
06 December 2007
Oh, Jackie.
Anyone that can name this tune gets a free fleece from the company I work for. Seriously, I'll send it to you...the first one to get it.
I want to be Jackie Onassis
I want to wear a pair of dark sunglasses
I want to be...Jackie O, O, O, oh please don't DIE.
Don't use google, that's just pathetic.
How many people named Jackie do you know? I don't know many, that's for damn sure. The one Jackie that I remember is someone that I never even met. She was a friend of a friend from college and she was someone that a group of girls playfully referred to as 'Jackie Buttcrackie'. I always loathed to hear this nickname spoken, because it really got under my skin. I don't know why, and it still does to this day. There's no reason for it, except for maybe not liking the people that came up with this nickname. That must be it. Wow, I just figured out why I hate it so much. Today is a good day.
I'd like to tell you of a girl named Jackie that is slowly becoming more of a part of my life as time goes on. I've spoken with her recently, but we've never met in person. Her story is one of true beauty and wonder...achievement and defying odds...struggle and depression. I'd like you all to listen to this story and think about what it means to you. It may mean nothing at all, and truthfully that's what I expect. But that just means you're a terrible person without a heart, soul or modicum of decency. Nah, I'm kidding. 'Tis the season to be a sardonic asshole, right?
Jackie is special. I know her through a close friend of mine that wanted me to have a chance to know someone like Jackie. There aren't many people in the world like her and you're about to find out why that is.
Standing not a shade under 7 feet tall, Jackie is a behemoth. Born a normal size, she sky-rocketed to over six feet tall by the fourth grade. Imagine the torment of fourth-graders to a six-footer...that happens to be female. Forget about glories on the basketball court at recess...no one wanted her on their team, no one wanted her as a friend...even teachers were reluctant to have Jackie in their classrooms. She was intimidating, gangly, and downright scary to be around. And it's pretty tough to make yourself invisible at that height. She had to have a special desk, a special cubby hole, a special coat hook and even a special lunch. Her appetite was massive and no single taco, apple sauce and snack pack pudding lunch was going to feed her rapidly growing frame. (the local high school would send over three regular lunches on a daily basis for Jackie...at least someone cared)
By the end of fourth grade, a six-foot, four-inch Jackie couldn't take it anymore. She told her parents that school wasn't for her and there had to be something else out there...something that would make her feel accepted; feel like a part of something where others were like her. After some careful research, she finally found a group of people that shared her plight. Enter Barnum & Bailey and their travelling freak show; more specifically, freakishly tall.
You've probably all at least heard of the freaks at the circus, right? And don't be afraid to use that term loosely because Jackie will be the first one to tell you that she's an absolute fucking freak. She interviewed with 20/20 once; they were doing a piece on such circus folk. When asked if it upset her that she had been cast out in such a cold way, she replied "Are you serious? Look at me. I'd have done the same thing if I were on the other end. I'm seven feet tall, open your eyes." Indeed...and I suppose it's better to accept your freakishness early on. It's probably much less damaging.
Since the normally tender age of nine, Jackie has been travelling with the B&B Circus and loving her life. People look at her in awe every day. Children ask for autographs all the time, a far cry from pointing and either laughing or screaming in fear. She's famous, in a way. She has fans, many friends and a family of circus folk who are just like her. She's even found love with a man named Igor from Romania. Igor stands over eight feet tall and has been featured on several documentaries on the Discovery Channel. To Igor, Jackie is not a freak. She's more normal, more beautiful and more special than any average-sized human could ever be. They've been married for three years this January and are expecting their first child over the summer. Odds are, that kid will be a fucking freak, too. But not to them.
Sure, none of this is true. But there really is a girl named Jackie that I don't know all that well. And for all I know she is in the circus.
And now I've wasted a really decent chunk of my day coming up with this mumbo-jumbo. And it was all for you, Jackie. Oh, Jackie. Maybe we'll meet someday.
I want to be Jackie Onassis
I want to wear a pair of dark sunglasses
I want to be...Jackie O, O, O, oh please don't DIE.
Don't use google, that's just pathetic.
How many people named Jackie do you know? I don't know many, that's for damn sure. The one Jackie that I remember is someone that I never even met. She was a friend of a friend from college and she was someone that a group of girls playfully referred to as 'Jackie Buttcrackie'. I always loathed to hear this nickname spoken, because it really got under my skin. I don't know why, and it still does to this day. There's no reason for it, except for maybe not liking the people that came up with this nickname. That must be it. Wow, I just figured out why I hate it so much. Today is a good day.
I'd like to tell you of a girl named Jackie that is slowly becoming more of a part of my life as time goes on. I've spoken with her recently, but we've never met in person. Her story is one of true beauty and wonder...achievement and defying odds...struggle and depression. I'd like you all to listen to this story and think about what it means to you. It may mean nothing at all, and truthfully that's what I expect. But that just means you're a terrible person without a heart, soul or modicum of decency. Nah, I'm kidding. 'Tis the season to be a sardonic asshole, right?
Jackie is special. I know her through a close friend of mine that wanted me to have a chance to know someone like Jackie. There aren't many people in the world like her and you're about to find out why that is.
Standing not a shade under 7 feet tall, Jackie is a behemoth. Born a normal size, she sky-rocketed to over six feet tall by the fourth grade. Imagine the torment of fourth-graders to a six-footer...that happens to be female. Forget about glories on the basketball court at recess...no one wanted her on their team, no one wanted her as a friend...even teachers were reluctant to have Jackie in their classrooms. She was intimidating, gangly, and downright scary to be around. And it's pretty tough to make yourself invisible at that height. She had to have a special desk, a special cubby hole, a special coat hook and even a special lunch. Her appetite was massive and no single taco, apple sauce and snack pack pudding lunch was going to feed her rapidly growing frame. (the local high school would send over three regular lunches on a daily basis for Jackie...at least someone cared)
By the end of fourth grade, a six-foot, four-inch Jackie couldn't take it anymore. She told her parents that school wasn't for her and there had to be something else out there...something that would make her feel accepted; feel like a part of something where others were like her. After some careful research, she finally found a group of people that shared her plight. Enter Barnum & Bailey and their travelling freak show; more specifically, freakishly tall.
You've probably all at least heard of the freaks at the circus, right? And don't be afraid to use that term loosely because Jackie will be the first one to tell you that she's an absolute fucking freak. She interviewed with 20/20 once; they were doing a piece on such circus folk. When asked if it upset her that she had been cast out in such a cold way, she replied "Are you serious? Look at me. I'd have done the same thing if I were on the other end. I'm seven feet tall, open your eyes." Indeed...and I suppose it's better to accept your freakishness early on. It's probably much less damaging.
Since the normally tender age of nine, Jackie has been travelling with the B&B Circus and loving her life. People look at her in awe every day. Children ask for autographs all the time, a far cry from pointing and either laughing or screaming in fear. She's famous, in a way. She has fans, many friends and a family of circus folk who are just like her. She's even found love with a man named Igor from Romania. Igor stands over eight feet tall and has been featured on several documentaries on the Discovery Channel. To Igor, Jackie is not a freak. She's more normal, more beautiful and more special than any average-sized human could ever be. They've been married for three years this January and are expecting their first child over the summer. Odds are, that kid will be a fucking freak, too. But not to them.
Sure, none of this is true. But there really is a girl named Jackie that I don't know all that well. And for all I know she is in the circus.
And now I've wasted a really decent chunk of my day coming up with this mumbo-jumbo. And it was all for you, Jackie. Oh, Jackie. Maybe we'll meet someday.
04 December 2007
Whoa, baby.
There's this one commercial on tv that I've seen a few times lately...it kind of bothers me because the tagline is "It's the most advanced piece of technology you'll ever pee on." I don't remember the product name, but it's obviously a pregnancy test. Is it just me, or does anyone else find this a little unsettling? I mean, for one thing it's a pregnancy test. I don't think most women like to associate something as delicate as a pregnancy test with a rather sardonically intonated commercial such as this. Shouldn't there be a softer, gentler tone for a pregnancy test commercial? If not, then I have some ideas that might share the same philosophy of this piece of advanced technology that you can pee on.
I think we're all aware that most pregnancy tests offer a simple symbol of the results. Maybe (+) and you're pregnant, (-) you're not. I think 'Clear Blue Easy' comes up blue if you're pregnant and some other color if you're not. And some of them can be confusing, like say, maybe it shows one line if you're pregnant and two lines if you're not. I don't know for sure but it sounds familiar. There are tons of commercials for these things out there.
My first thought after seeing this latest commercial was, why not just create a test that gives a verbal result as opposed to the symbol? For instance, if you're pregnant there would be a programmed response of "baby" and if you're not, "no baby". Then it occured to me that people might not hear the "no" or think they didn't hear the no and get all excited for no reason. No good, right? Then again, nothing is fail proof so who knows. Perhaps it would be more effective if the responses were a crowd cheering if you're pregnant and a crowd booing if you're not. This would be ideal for the sports fan out there. For the game show fan, there would be a series of 'dings' if you're pregnant and a buzzer if you're not. Carnival fans would have a test that sounds a siren if you're pregnant and a 'wah, wah, waaaaaaah' for not pregnant.
Purely sports-themed pregnancy tests would be as follows:
For Red Sox fans, the Sox logo appears if you're pregnant and the Yankee logo appears if you're not. The opposite happens for Yankee fans. Cubs fans see Derrick Lee's face for pregnant, Steve Bartman's face for not. Giants fans (football) see Phil Simms face for pregnant, Eli Manning's face for not. This next one might be confusing...Man United fans see Beckham in a Man U jersey for pregnant, but for not pregnant, they see him in a Galaxy jersey. Could be tough. For bowling enthusiasts, you'd hear a ball hitting pins if you're pregnant and a gutter ball if you're not. Golf fans would hear a ball going in the cup for pregnant, and a ball going in a water hazard for not. Cycling fans would see Lance Armstrong's face for pregnant and Floyd Landis' face for not.
There's really no end to the possibilities for a pregnancy test and how to show the results. What about a simple thumbs-up or thumbs-down? Maybe a smiley face or a frown? I think there should be a line tailored towards men, where for a negative result you hear something like "somebody's firin' blanks", or "can you say Erectile Disfunction??"
I think we're all aware that most pregnancy tests offer a simple symbol of the results. Maybe (+) and you're pregnant, (-) you're not. I think 'Clear Blue Easy' comes up blue if you're pregnant and some other color if you're not. And some of them can be confusing, like say, maybe it shows one line if you're pregnant and two lines if you're not. I don't know for sure but it sounds familiar. There are tons of commercials for these things out there.
My first thought after seeing this latest commercial was, why not just create a test that gives a verbal result as opposed to the symbol? For instance, if you're pregnant there would be a programmed response of "baby" and if you're not, "no baby". Then it occured to me that people might not hear the "no" or think they didn't hear the no and get all excited for no reason. No good, right? Then again, nothing is fail proof so who knows. Perhaps it would be more effective if the responses were a crowd cheering if you're pregnant and a crowd booing if you're not. This would be ideal for the sports fan out there. For the game show fan, there would be a series of 'dings' if you're pregnant and a buzzer if you're not. Carnival fans would have a test that sounds a siren if you're pregnant and a 'wah, wah, waaaaaaah' for not pregnant.
Purely sports-themed pregnancy tests would be as follows:
For Red Sox fans, the Sox logo appears if you're pregnant and the Yankee logo appears if you're not. The opposite happens for Yankee fans. Cubs fans see Derrick Lee's face for pregnant, Steve Bartman's face for not. Giants fans (football) see Phil Simms face for pregnant, Eli Manning's face for not. This next one might be confusing...Man United fans see Beckham in a Man U jersey for pregnant, but for not pregnant, they see him in a Galaxy jersey. Could be tough. For bowling enthusiasts, you'd hear a ball hitting pins if you're pregnant and a gutter ball if you're not. Golf fans would hear a ball going in the cup for pregnant, and a ball going in a water hazard for not. Cycling fans would see Lance Armstrong's face for pregnant and Floyd Landis' face for not.
There's really no end to the possibilities for a pregnancy test and how to show the results. What about a simple thumbs-up or thumbs-down? Maybe a smiley face or a frown? I think there should be a line tailored towards men, where for a negative result you hear something like "somebody's firin' blanks", or "can you say Erectile Disfunction??"
03 December 2007
Why? Because. Because Why?
One of my favorite exchanges to overhear is the classic 'why, because' dialogue.
"Why?"
"Because."
"Because why?"
"I don't know, just because."
"But it can't be just because. Why exactly? There must be a reason."
I don't have much more to comment on as far as that type of dialogue is concerned, but I was reminded of it recently by overhearing a conversation between this guy I work with and one of his candidates (I work for a recruiting firm, in case that was in question. Why do I work for a recruiting firm? Because.). I also overheard this conversation recently:
"Hi, Bill? Hey, it's Pat. How are you?"
"Pat, I'm good thanks, how are you?"
"Good, how are you?"
Hilarious. But it just goes to show that programmed responses sometimes just can't be avoided because they may just jump out of your mouth without the chance to retract them. This previous dialogue is exactly one of those such responses.
Maybe it's more of a nervous reaction, I don't know. Having worked in sales for quite some time, I've heard some pretty funny things come out of the mouths of co-workers. I used to work with a guy who, when asked how he was doing, would say the word "good" about ten times.
"Hi Zack, how are you?"
"Good, good, good, good, good, good, good, good."
I certainly think this is more of a nervous reaction but man, it was fucking funny to hear. I tend to say weird things to clients who give me a hard time on the phone. I have interesting conversations every day I pick up the phone and call potential clients...most don't really have the time to talk when they hear my voice, but my favorite road blocks to overcome are those cold calls to people who have no idea what my company does. I'll say things like "Oh, it's your lucky day then. You'll be pleased to know that I'm a recruiter..." You have to understand that these people that I'm calling receive upwards of twenty calls a day from people who do what I do. I'm pretty much willing to make an ass out of myself on the phone if it means that person at least remembers my name...with positive connotation or not. I recently left a ridiculous voicemail for a client that hadn't returned one of my calls in over three months. It was a play on the Comcast Digital Voice Commercials (sorry Roger, you Tiger now). I explained that I now had Comcast Digital Voice and that we could do business together now. There was more to it, but you get the point. And this woman emailed me shortly thereafter, explaining that I'd have to contact someone in another department, blah, blah, blah. But she got back to me. She did not, however, acknowledge my off-the-cuff voicemail and that would lead me to believe that she wasn't amused in the slightest bit. I need to start listening to Lauren when she tells me that most of the things I find funny really aren't that funny.
So the Sox have upped the ante for Santana, in figuring Jacoby into the final equation. On one hand, as I've discussed with me father and countless guys in my office, I would hate to watch him leave town. I can see him playing center for the Sox for years to come. At the same time, I was very reluctant about the Hanley/Beckett deal and look at where the Sox are following that deal: world champs, 2nd best pitcher in the AL this season. Yes, Florida owns the NL's most productive shortstop and bonafide superstar but Beckett basically won the Sox a World Series. Fans can't complain about that deal. Hooking Santana would be a really good insurance policy for a repeat title and maybe more to come, depending on the health of the whole pitching staff. There's also no guarantee on successful, young September call-ups who tear it up that first time in the bigs; see Dwayne Hosey, 1995 Sox call up with similar numbers. Point is, we just don't know if Ellsbury will be as good as he's shown himself to be in a short amount of time. However, his raw ball skills are undeniable and that's why I love him. He has tremendous intangibles and his baseball IQ is off the charts. In my opinion, those types aren't flashes in the pan. You can't teach speed or the ability to read the ball off the bat in the outfield. We'll see what happens, but Ellsbury is a superstar in the making.
In closing, I'd like to welcome the month of December in a most unloving fashion. Way to make a grand entrance, what with 20-degree temperatures, snow, slush and just a general shittiness. Thanks, and screw you.
Hi Lisa. And Dina. Thanks for reading.
"Why?"
"Because."
"Because why?"
"I don't know, just because."
"But it can't be just because. Why exactly? There must be a reason."
I don't have much more to comment on as far as that type of dialogue is concerned, but I was reminded of it recently by overhearing a conversation between this guy I work with and one of his candidates (I work for a recruiting firm, in case that was in question. Why do I work for a recruiting firm? Because.). I also overheard this conversation recently:
"Hi, Bill? Hey, it's Pat. How are you?"
"Pat, I'm good thanks, how are you?"
"Good, how are you?"
Hilarious. But it just goes to show that programmed responses sometimes just can't be avoided because they may just jump out of your mouth without the chance to retract them. This previous dialogue is exactly one of those such responses.
Maybe it's more of a nervous reaction, I don't know. Having worked in sales for quite some time, I've heard some pretty funny things come out of the mouths of co-workers. I used to work with a guy who, when asked how he was doing, would say the word "good" about ten times.
"Hi Zack, how are you?"
"Good, good, good, good, good, good, good, good."
I certainly think this is more of a nervous reaction but man, it was fucking funny to hear. I tend to say weird things to clients who give me a hard time on the phone. I have interesting conversations every day I pick up the phone and call potential clients...most don't really have the time to talk when they hear my voice, but my favorite road blocks to overcome are those cold calls to people who have no idea what my company does. I'll say things like "Oh, it's your lucky day then. You'll be pleased to know that I'm a recruiter..." You have to understand that these people that I'm calling receive upwards of twenty calls a day from people who do what I do. I'm pretty much willing to make an ass out of myself on the phone if it means that person at least remembers my name...with positive connotation or not. I recently left a ridiculous voicemail for a client that hadn't returned one of my calls in over three months. It was a play on the Comcast Digital Voice Commercials (sorry Roger, you Tiger now). I explained that I now had Comcast Digital Voice and that we could do business together now. There was more to it, but you get the point. And this woman emailed me shortly thereafter, explaining that I'd have to contact someone in another department, blah, blah, blah. But she got back to me. She did not, however, acknowledge my off-the-cuff voicemail and that would lead me to believe that she wasn't amused in the slightest bit. I need to start listening to Lauren when she tells me that most of the things I find funny really aren't that funny.
So the Sox have upped the ante for Santana, in figuring Jacoby into the final equation. On one hand, as I've discussed with me father and countless guys in my office, I would hate to watch him leave town. I can see him playing center for the Sox for years to come. At the same time, I was very reluctant about the Hanley/Beckett deal and look at where the Sox are following that deal: world champs, 2nd best pitcher in the AL this season. Yes, Florida owns the NL's most productive shortstop and bonafide superstar but Beckett basically won the Sox a World Series. Fans can't complain about that deal. Hooking Santana would be a really good insurance policy for a repeat title and maybe more to come, depending on the health of the whole pitching staff. There's also no guarantee on successful, young September call-ups who tear it up that first time in the bigs; see Dwayne Hosey, 1995 Sox call up with similar numbers. Point is, we just don't know if Ellsbury will be as good as he's shown himself to be in a short amount of time. However, his raw ball skills are undeniable and that's why I love him. He has tremendous intangibles and his baseball IQ is off the charts. In my opinion, those types aren't flashes in the pan. You can't teach speed or the ability to read the ball off the bat in the outfield. We'll see what happens, but Ellsbury is a superstar in the making.
In closing, I'd like to welcome the month of December in a most unloving fashion. Way to make a grand entrance, what with 20-degree temperatures, snow, slush and just a general shittiness. Thanks, and screw you.
Hi Lisa. And Dina. Thanks for reading.
29 November 2007
***OFFICIAL NOTICE***
Effective November 29th, 2007 at 3:57pm EST, the Empire that has been known as the New York Yankees is officially dissolved.
Well, maybe this is old news and the Empire has been a crumbled mess for some time, but it became clear to me this afternoon via an email from my father. His note told of a colleague of his who happens to be a Yankee fan; I'll call him Steve Regan to protect his identity (his name is actually Steven Regan). Said colleague Regan has expressed utter astonishment as the news of the Red Sox being the frontrunners in the Johan Santana sweepstakes fell upon his pinstriped ears. He had previously just assumed that the Yanks would land him, no question. I admire his pompousness, but it's time to face fact, Steve-O. These current Yankees are not the Yankees of yesteryear. Unfortunately, it's looking more and more like today's Red Sox are owning up to the distinction of something along the lines of Evil Empire...just less evil with better pitching.
Consider a rotation of Johan Santana, Josh Beckett, Daisuke Matsuzaka, Curt Schilling and Wakefield/Buccholz. I would dare to offer that this would be the best starting rotation ever to hit a program in any stadium at any time in the history of baseball. The 1971 Orioles boasted four twenty-game winners, so I would imagine this staff would be the benchmark. True, this proposed Sox staff for 2008 does not include an underwear model (not yet, at least. Wakefield is rumored to be working out a deal with Hanes for a new line of protective skivees called Knuckleballs) but it would feature a multiple Cy Young winner, 5 World Series rings, 1 World Series MVP, 1 LCS MVP and two pitchers who are considered to be in the top 5 of greatest postseason hurlers of all time. Dear me. As the great Jim Hammen said in a recent text, the NL All-Stars wouldn't beat the Sox with Santana in seven games. Well said.
I know it's all speculation still, but it's exciting. Santana's #57 is available, in case anyone was wondering. Delcarmen switched to #17 this season.
Well, maybe this is old news and the Empire has been a crumbled mess for some time, but it became clear to me this afternoon via an email from my father. His note told of a colleague of his who happens to be a Yankee fan; I'll call him Steve Regan to protect his identity (his name is actually Steven Regan). Said colleague Regan has expressed utter astonishment as the news of the Red Sox being the frontrunners in the Johan Santana sweepstakes fell upon his pinstriped ears. He had previously just assumed that the Yanks would land him, no question. I admire his pompousness, but it's time to face fact, Steve-O. These current Yankees are not the Yankees of yesteryear. Unfortunately, it's looking more and more like today's Red Sox are owning up to the distinction of something along the lines of Evil Empire...just less evil with better pitching.
Consider a rotation of Johan Santana, Josh Beckett, Daisuke Matsuzaka, Curt Schilling and Wakefield/Buccholz. I would dare to offer that this would be the best starting rotation ever to hit a program in any stadium at any time in the history of baseball. The 1971 Orioles boasted four twenty-game winners, so I would imagine this staff would be the benchmark. True, this proposed Sox staff for 2008 does not include an underwear model (not yet, at least. Wakefield is rumored to be working out a deal with Hanes for a new line of protective skivees called Knuckleballs) but it would feature a multiple Cy Young winner, 5 World Series rings, 1 World Series MVP, 1 LCS MVP and two pitchers who are considered to be in the top 5 of greatest postseason hurlers of all time. Dear me. As the great Jim Hammen said in a recent text, the NL All-Stars wouldn't beat the Sox with Santana in seven games. Well said.
I know it's all speculation still, but it's exciting. Santana's #57 is available, in case anyone was wondering. Delcarmen switched to #17 this season.
21 November 2007
Ode To Thanksgiving
I'd be a real turkey if I didn't write something in honor of the holiday tomorrow, wherein we'll give thanks for stuff and probably eat way too much and ultimately end up feeling like shit for a day or two. But I don't want this post to have a foul tone, so I need to brighten it up a little. I had a few things planned out for this one, but it's looking more and more like I'm going to have to wing it.
T - is for thanks. Give thanks tomorrow. Maybe you're thankful for a World Series Champ, an undefeated football team and the best team in the NBA. Or maybe you live in South Dakota, and you're thankful for...for...I don't know, the Badlands?
H - is for hope. Without hope, what do we have? Well actually, without hope and money what do we have? Without hope, money and sex. Those three things. Without those, what do we have?
A - is for appetite. Bring yours to the table tomorrow and join the average American in consuming 3000+ calories in one sitting. Better dig up those elastic waistband chinos.
N - is for nice. Be nice to those who prepared the food that you'll consume tomorrow. Don't complain about not getting a wing, or a drumstick, or that there's a small, curly hair in the jello mold. Just eat, thank the cooks and shut up.
K - is for knowledge. Know that there are three football games tomorrow, and one is on the NFL network which you won't be able to watch. Unless of course, you have the NFL network. Also know that the only game worth watching is the Green Bay - Detroit game, if for no other reason than the throwback uniforms.
S - is for a lot of things. I have found that the letter 'S' is well represented among the table items at Thanksgiving. Squash, stuffing, string beans, salad, sweet potatoes, sauce (as in cranberry) and many more, depending on what weird shit you have on your table tomorrow. S is also for stupid, as in don't be. Save room for dessert and elect not to have that third re-stuffed potato. Let your father have it because you're at his house and if anyone needs to have the opportunity to use the bathroom at any given time, it's him.
I hope you all have a wonderfully enjoyable and laughter-filled Thanksgiving tomorrow. Just think...when you return to work on Monday, there will be less than a month left until Christmas.
T - is for thanks. Give thanks tomorrow. Maybe you're thankful for a World Series Champ, an undefeated football team and the best team in the NBA. Or maybe you live in South Dakota, and you're thankful for...for...I don't know, the Badlands?
H - is for hope. Without hope, what do we have? Well actually, without hope and money what do we have? Without hope, money and sex. Those three things. Without those, what do we have?
A - is for appetite. Bring yours to the table tomorrow and join the average American in consuming 3000+ calories in one sitting. Better dig up those elastic waistband chinos.
N - is for nice. Be nice to those who prepared the food that you'll consume tomorrow. Don't complain about not getting a wing, or a drumstick, or that there's a small, curly hair in the jello mold. Just eat, thank the cooks and shut up.
K - is for knowledge. Know that there are three football games tomorrow, and one is on the NFL network which you won't be able to watch. Unless of course, you have the NFL network. Also know that the only game worth watching is the Green Bay - Detroit game, if for no other reason than the throwback uniforms.
S - is for a lot of things. I have found that the letter 'S' is well represented among the table items at Thanksgiving. Squash, stuffing, string beans, salad, sweet potatoes, sauce (as in cranberry) and many more, depending on what weird shit you have on your table tomorrow. S is also for stupid, as in don't be. Save room for dessert and elect not to have that third re-stuffed potato. Let your father have it because you're at his house and if anyone needs to have the opportunity to use the bathroom at any given time, it's him.
I hope you all have a wonderfully enjoyable and laughter-filled Thanksgiving tomorrow. Just think...when you return to work on Monday, there will be less than a month left until Christmas.
19 November 2007
Talk To Me
I just had a revelation in the bathroom: I spend a good portion of my day talking to inanimate objects. I'm trying to figure out why this is and for the most part, I see it as a reactionary thing. If I find that some object that I'm using is working ineffectively, I then decide that it might very well have the faculties to be making the decision not to work, simply to make my life more difficult.
Lately, the toilet paper dispenser in the men's room at work has given me fits. It's one of those contraptions where you have to push the new roll upward for it to come down the slides and become loose on the tracks. I sit there probably 50% of the time, fiddling with this devil machine, begging it to just let me have access to some toilet paper. What drives me insane is when it's just too tight to release the roll, thus I sit there and tear off piece after piece of paper, until I have a stack of 50-60 2-ply sheets in my hand. Don't even get me started on why this method just doesn't work, but the fact that I have to sit there and pull off each incessant piece makes me angry. Then I start to talk. "Why can't you just let me have some fucking paper? You little bitch. All I want is for you to cooperate. Why can't you? Why?" It gets worse. I'll ask the metal dispenser what its problem is, what I've ever done to it, why it must be this way. And when I've finally finished up, I thank the damn thing as I walk by, in a totally sardonic tone. I wonder if it gets my tone, though. Probably not.
My cell phone is another one that I like to talk to. I'll tell it things like, it's only job is to give me reception so I can make calls and send messages to people. "You only have ONE FUCKING PURPOSE", I'll tell it. Doesn't help. I'll express my distaste by promising that I'll never buy another one of its kind, as if I'm somehow hurting its feelings. Chances are, I'm not. Our most frequent conversation happens when the phone beeps and shows 'low battery'. At that point, I might actually hold the phone in front of my face and utter a very tight-lipped "you suck". Does anyone else do the 'fake throw' of the cell phone? You know, wind up like you're about to hurl a football several yards and then just stop the motion?
I don't talk my kitchen utensils all that much when I'm cooking, but on a recent trip to California I was using some particularly sharp knives during food preparation. I cut myself three separate times in one night, all on the same knife. I was cursing this knife for being too sharp, which makes absolutely no sense at all. If that knife had any balls whatsoever, it would have snapped back at me with something like, "how about you stop being such a clumsy fool, you bozo...after all, I AM A KNIFE. I'M SUPPOSED TO BE SHARP." Alas, it said nothing and just continued to take off layer after layer of skin. What's funny about this one is that I promised the knife after each incision that it would be my last use of it...but I kept going back to it...allowing it to cut me up. Without question, the knife won this battle. If I'm ever back in that same kitchen with that same knife, I'll probably talk to it before usage. "Look, you and me...we've had our differences. But I don't want any trouble this time. I want your help cutting an onion and some cheese. That's it. We cool?" Maybe a different approach will wield more positive outcomes.
I can be positive with some of the objects that I use everyday. There are a few ties that I wear that, for some reason or another, always give me the perfect knot. I'll ask those ties on occasion why they're so good to me. I have this one pen that I use that never runs out of ink, for any reason. I don't even have to say anything to that pen, because it knows how I feel about it. Sometimes you can say a lot by not saying anything at all, that's how it is between me and that pen.
Maybe talking to inanimate objects can be viewed as unhealthy, or just weird. But the imaginary therapist that I've been seeing doesn't think it's weird at all. She said it's totally normal and it shows that I have a very active imagination. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go have a talk with my zipper about why it keeps getting stuck in the fabric of my pants.
Lately, the toilet paper dispenser in the men's room at work has given me fits. It's one of those contraptions where you have to push the new roll upward for it to come down the slides and become loose on the tracks. I sit there probably 50% of the time, fiddling with this devil machine, begging it to just let me have access to some toilet paper. What drives me insane is when it's just too tight to release the roll, thus I sit there and tear off piece after piece of paper, until I have a stack of 50-60 2-ply sheets in my hand. Don't even get me started on why this method just doesn't work, but the fact that I have to sit there and pull off each incessant piece makes me angry. Then I start to talk. "Why can't you just let me have some fucking paper? You little bitch. All I want is for you to cooperate. Why can't you? Why?" It gets worse. I'll ask the metal dispenser what its problem is, what I've ever done to it, why it must be this way. And when I've finally finished up, I thank the damn thing as I walk by, in a totally sardonic tone. I wonder if it gets my tone, though. Probably not.
My cell phone is another one that I like to talk to. I'll tell it things like, it's only job is to give me reception so I can make calls and send messages to people. "You only have ONE FUCKING PURPOSE", I'll tell it. Doesn't help. I'll express my distaste by promising that I'll never buy another one of its kind, as if I'm somehow hurting its feelings. Chances are, I'm not. Our most frequent conversation happens when the phone beeps and shows 'low battery'. At that point, I might actually hold the phone in front of my face and utter a very tight-lipped "you suck". Does anyone else do the 'fake throw' of the cell phone? You know, wind up like you're about to hurl a football several yards and then just stop the motion?
I don't talk my kitchen utensils all that much when I'm cooking, but on a recent trip to California I was using some particularly sharp knives during food preparation. I cut myself three separate times in one night, all on the same knife. I was cursing this knife for being too sharp, which makes absolutely no sense at all. If that knife had any balls whatsoever, it would have snapped back at me with something like, "how about you stop being such a clumsy fool, you bozo...after all, I AM A KNIFE. I'M SUPPOSED TO BE SHARP." Alas, it said nothing and just continued to take off layer after layer of skin. What's funny about this one is that I promised the knife after each incision that it would be my last use of it...but I kept going back to it...allowing it to cut me up. Without question, the knife won this battle. If I'm ever back in that same kitchen with that same knife, I'll probably talk to it before usage. "Look, you and me...we've had our differences. But I don't want any trouble this time. I want your help cutting an onion and some cheese. That's it. We cool?" Maybe a different approach will wield more positive outcomes.
I can be positive with some of the objects that I use everyday. There are a few ties that I wear that, for some reason or another, always give me the perfect knot. I'll ask those ties on occasion why they're so good to me. I have this one pen that I use that never runs out of ink, for any reason. I don't even have to say anything to that pen, because it knows how I feel about it. Sometimes you can say a lot by not saying anything at all, that's how it is between me and that pen.
Maybe talking to inanimate objects can be viewed as unhealthy, or just weird. But the imaginary therapist that I've been seeing doesn't think it's weird at all. She said it's totally normal and it shows that I have a very active imagination. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go have a talk with my zipper about why it keeps getting stuck in the fabric of my pants.
13 November 2007
Premature Parting Shots*
Sure, writing two posts in one day after a fortnight of a hiatus seems a bit irrational, but you know what they say...come strong or don't come at all. I'm comin' strong, buddy. You best get out the way if you don't feel like being a part of it.
Ok, now that the unintentionally intentional non-sensical entry paragraph is out of the way, here's the meat and potatoes of the post. Sorry, here's the skin of the potato: Eventually I will be ridding myself of the New Englandness in me, be it soon or in a few years. Subconsciously I've been trying to train myself to like the local sports scene a little bit less than I have over the course of the last 28 or so years. It's been touch and go a few times, I can't lie. But I figure, when I move away from I need to be prepared for the inevitable separation of man and his team(s). Going to games won't be possible unless it's a road game and I'm probably not going to purchase all of the major sports packages for the television. I will need Sox games, I know that much.
I watched far fewer Sox games this season, but I think went to the most games I've been to in a while. This always helps if you're going to start weening off of catching every game in some way, shape or form. I guess I probably should have pointed out that this whole separation is also due to the fact that I am virtually unbearable to watch a game with if my team is involved. Well, I used to be. I've learned how to curb my enthusiasm a little bit, if you will. Sure, it's still there somewhere deep down, but I can hold it in for the most part (In game 6 of the ALCS this year, I erupted in one maniacal, pathetically emotional yelp when JD Drew hit that grand slam. I had been harboring some excitement I guess, and it literally just leaped out. Lauren looked at me in such a way that only someone who loves you/hates how seriously you take this shit can...). I have taught myself to care a little less and take it all a little less seriously and personally when they lose. That's the problem with me and a lot of sports fans around here. We take this shit really personally and that's not a healthy way to root. It took me a long time to realize that Wakefield's floater to Aaron Boone in 2003 wasn't an attack on me at all. When Lugo couldn't hit the ocean with rock, standing on the Tobin, it wasn't because he really wanted to make me miserable. He was just slumping. So I'm over that shit, once and for all. No more taking it personally. Sure, winning the '07 Series helps but it's more than that. I've taught myself.
Still, I will never let go of my love for the Sox. No matter where my life takes me they have some of my heart and soul because they just do. But I'll be ok with being away from it, since I've found some other things in life that matter more and can hold my attention more effectively. And that's saying a whole hell of a lot. The Patriots, on the other hand...
The SpyGate thing? Yeah, they made more of it than they should have and they still dwell on it when yammering on about the asterisk on the hypothesis of a perfect season. Maybe they should. Without going into whether or not every team in the NFL does the same thing or not, I was extremely disappointed when I learned of this whole camera investigation. For the longest time, I had viewed the Patriot franchise as one that was to be revered and modeled after in the world of pro sports. I know this view is/was shared by many others and it's not unique, sure. But from someone like me, who has been a devout fan and follower of this team since longer than I can remember, it was a great, big punch in the stomach. All I could think was, "screw you guys." It was like finding out that my best friend since I was 10 has been sleeping with my girlfriend for the last few months, and who knows who else that I've been with. Sue me for not being over it, because I'm not and I don't know when I will be.
I think what this current team is doing is a great thing because they're on the verge of doing something that has never been done before (if they can go 16-0 and then win out in the playoffs) but it's bittersweet. I would normally be beside myself for the simple fact that it's the Patriots...that it's Brady, the same guy who I see with his hands on his head, shaking that same head in disbelief after winning the big one at such a young age. Perhaps he wasn't shaking his head because he couldn't believe he had done it...maybe he was thinking "jeez, and none of these losers know that we cheated the whole fucking time!" Has he had an unfair advantage with knowing defenses and formations before the other team even knows what they're going to run? I don't know, none of us do. But I'm not over the disappointment. I still watch some of the games, none in their entirety this season but I watch a little. The defining moment of this season came when Brady was picked off to begin the 4th quarter in Indy. That was a huge pick, and it was going to be a big uphill climb to win. It was sure to be a phenomenal ending to the game, and I walked out of a livingroom with a tv that was showing the game. I walked out the door, got into my car and went home...45 minutes later, I flipped the game back on in time to see the time run off the clock...:04, :03, :02, :01...and I changed it. I said to Lauren, "they actually won." And she annoyedly replied, "yeah? that sucks, I wanted them to lose." In a way, so did I.
I had been in Indy last January when the wheels came off the bus and it all came crashing down. It was a very sobering experience. I was so looking forward to this showdown, until the SpyGate shit. I don't care that much anymore. I don't really care if they go undefeated, other than caring that it'll be an enormous historical impact on the sport of pro football. That's an interesting feat...unfortunately, it would forever be associated with that silly asterisk. And that is a shame. I guess it's pretty appropriate though...Bonds breaking Aaron's record, with an asterisk...maybe this in the same year? Makes sense. It's a sign of the times, perhaps.
In conclusion, I've learned how to be more lax in my fandom. And I've learned that I will always take the Sox with me, no matter where I go. Probably the C's, too. But I'm not sure about the Patriots. I feel like I've been burned by them and it's leaving a mark...or an asterisk.
Ok, now that the unintentionally intentional non-sensical entry paragraph is out of the way, here's the meat and potatoes of the post. Sorry, here's the skin of the potato: Eventually I will be ridding myself of the New Englandness in me, be it soon or in a few years. Subconsciously I've been trying to train myself to like the local sports scene a little bit less than I have over the course of the last 28 or so years. It's been touch and go a few times, I can't lie. But I figure, when I move away from I need to be prepared for the inevitable separation of man and his team(s). Going to games won't be possible unless it's a road game and I'm probably not going to purchase all of the major sports packages for the television. I will need Sox games, I know that much.
I watched far fewer Sox games this season, but I think went to the most games I've been to in a while. This always helps if you're going to start weening off of catching every game in some way, shape or form. I guess I probably should have pointed out that this whole separation is also due to the fact that I am virtually unbearable to watch a game with if my team is involved. Well, I used to be. I've learned how to curb my enthusiasm a little bit, if you will. Sure, it's still there somewhere deep down, but I can hold it in for the most part (In game 6 of the ALCS this year, I erupted in one maniacal, pathetically emotional yelp when JD Drew hit that grand slam. I had been harboring some excitement I guess, and it literally just leaped out. Lauren looked at me in such a way that only someone who loves you/hates how seriously you take this shit can...). I have taught myself to care a little less and take it all a little less seriously and personally when they lose. That's the problem with me and a lot of sports fans around here. We take this shit really personally and that's not a healthy way to root. It took me a long time to realize that Wakefield's floater to Aaron Boone in 2003 wasn't an attack on me at all. When Lugo couldn't hit the ocean with rock, standing on the Tobin, it wasn't because he really wanted to make me miserable. He was just slumping. So I'm over that shit, once and for all. No more taking it personally. Sure, winning the '07 Series helps but it's more than that. I've taught myself.
Still, I will never let go of my love for the Sox. No matter where my life takes me they have some of my heart and soul because they just do. But I'll be ok with being away from it, since I've found some other things in life that matter more and can hold my attention more effectively. And that's saying a whole hell of a lot. The Patriots, on the other hand...
The SpyGate thing? Yeah, they made more of it than they should have and they still dwell on it when yammering on about the asterisk on the hypothesis of a perfect season. Maybe they should. Without going into whether or not every team in the NFL does the same thing or not, I was extremely disappointed when I learned of this whole camera investigation. For the longest time, I had viewed the Patriot franchise as one that was to be revered and modeled after in the world of pro sports. I know this view is/was shared by many others and it's not unique, sure. But from someone like me, who has been a devout fan and follower of this team since longer than I can remember, it was a great, big punch in the stomach. All I could think was, "screw you guys." It was like finding out that my best friend since I was 10 has been sleeping with my girlfriend for the last few months, and who knows who else that I've been with. Sue me for not being over it, because I'm not and I don't know when I will be.
I think what this current team is doing is a great thing because they're on the verge of doing something that has never been done before (if they can go 16-0 and then win out in the playoffs) but it's bittersweet. I would normally be beside myself for the simple fact that it's the Patriots...that it's Brady, the same guy who I see with his hands on his head, shaking that same head in disbelief after winning the big one at such a young age. Perhaps he wasn't shaking his head because he couldn't believe he had done it...maybe he was thinking "jeez, and none of these losers know that we cheated the whole fucking time!" Has he had an unfair advantage with knowing defenses and formations before the other team even knows what they're going to run? I don't know, none of us do. But I'm not over the disappointment. I still watch some of the games, none in their entirety this season but I watch a little. The defining moment of this season came when Brady was picked off to begin the 4th quarter in Indy. That was a huge pick, and it was going to be a big uphill climb to win. It was sure to be a phenomenal ending to the game, and I walked out of a livingroom with a tv that was showing the game. I walked out the door, got into my car and went home...45 minutes later, I flipped the game back on in time to see the time run off the clock...:04, :03, :02, :01...and I changed it. I said to Lauren, "they actually won." And she annoyedly replied, "yeah? that sucks, I wanted them to lose." In a way, so did I.
I had been in Indy last January when the wheels came off the bus and it all came crashing down. It was a very sobering experience. I was so looking forward to this showdown, until the SpyGate shit. I don't care that much anymore. I don't really care if they go undefeated, other than caring that it'll be an enormous historical impact on the sport of pro football. That's an interesting feat...unfortunately, it would forever be associated with that silly asterisk. And that is a shame. I guess it's pretty appropriate though...Bonds breaking Aaron's record, with an asterisk...maybe this in the same year? Makes sense. It's a sign of the times, perhaps.
In conclusion, I've learned how to be more lax in my fandom. And I've learned that I will always take the Sox with me, no matter where I go. Probably the C's, too. But I'm not sure about the Patriots. I feel like I've been burned by them and it's leaving a mark...or an asterisk.
08 November 2007
Hey, It's Me.
Wow, it's been a while since I last reported to my very loyal but very few readers. I wish that I had something monumental to deliver to you, such as the discovery of a new land, a cure for some terminal disease, maybe even news of the end of the world. Hey, I didn't say that it would have been hypothetical good news, did I?
Some of the thoughts that I have been nursing and nurturing since I last pegged the keys follow. Forgive my tendency to be non-sequitous.
How many of you go to the gym on a regular basis? If you are in this population, and by no means does being in this population make you cooler, you probably witness some of the same sights and sounds that I do. Gym noises can be a very funny thing, but dangerous at the same time. You definitely don't want to have the urge to laugh when you're trying to hoist up a few plates on the bench. But it can be hard, especially when you have people that sound like they're either in labor or experiencing the best climax of their life as they pump out some squats. Then there's the older folks at the gym. I've been in a treadmill next to one of these types, as he literally gasped his way through a brisk walk on the treadmill. I wouldn't know whether to encourage him for really working through the obvious pain he's in, or start performing CPR right then and there in order to save his expiring life. This next one is certainly more a part of the 'sight' variety. There's this one dude at our gym who Lauren playfully refers to as 'partial rep guy'. You'd understand if you saw, and you kinda have to see him in order get the full scope of his ridiculousness. I can't knock the guy's commitment to getting to the gym because he's there everyday. However his work ethic is lacking something...like, a full rep? Everything is completely half-assed with this guy. From a distance, it might appear as if he's really pushing out a ton of reps at a mad pace. At closer look, you realize that he's probably doing his body more harm than good with his partial reps. Halfway up, then down. Halfway down, then up. And so on. Ridiculous. He's also one of those dudes that likes to ask if he can work in with you, which is annoying as anything.
I know that a fair bit has transpired since I wrote last, but now that I've actually sat down to write about that stuff, I'm drawing a bit of a blank. The Pats are 9-0 and coming off a bye week...Buffalo on Sunday. Yawn. At this point, it'll just be interesting to see what kind of numbers that offense can put up and how many records can be broken. No, I'm not being the typical arrogant NE fan here. It's just the reality of the situation as I see it. I haven't even watched much of their season because it's been pretty boring. Blowouts aren't the most riveting games to watch. There's just no question that a) the Patriots are the NFL's best with a good amount of separation between them and the rest and b) more of the focus in this town needs to be shifted to the C's until around the first of the year.
Speaking of which...have you seen the C's play this year? I've seen bits and pieces and tons of highlights. A few observations on this team: 1. The big three are just that. They've played like superstars in every game so far, they click as a unit and frankly, it's tough to say that the Celtics starting 5 can be beat by any other 5 in the NBA. The second unit is absolutely a work in progress, but the education of Big Baby is happening and soon enough, he'll be the guy on that unit. His energy and talent should help him to develop into a legit leader and scorer in the NBA. Watch this team play if you can. They appear to be having a lot of fun on the court and you have to be happy for a guy like Paul Pierce, who has endured years and years of 'rebuilding' and young talent. He's never really complained, and how he's been rewarded with Kevin Garnett and Ray Allen to play alongside of him...or vice versa. It's a cool thing.
We're on the heels of fall now, and just getting onto the tiptoes of winter. But this week is the quintessential tweener for weather. It's pretty balmy out there, rather rainy and dreary but totally bearable from a comfort standpoint. I can always stand being wet but being cold just plain blows. So we're looking at upper 50's temperatures this week, but then it's to promptly plunge back down towards that mark of freezing by the weekend. So I will enjoy this seemingly tropical air while it's here, and then I look forward to the inevitable four to six months of weather misery to come. And even then, when it's penis hibernation cold, I'll still be thankful that I'm not in North Dakota. To those I actually know who live or have lived there, come on. You know what I'm talking about.
Some of the thoughts that I have been nursing and nurturing since I last pegged the keys follow. Forgive my tendency to be non-sequitous.
How many of you go to the gym on a regular basis? If you are in this population, and by no means does being in this population make you cooler, you probably witness some of the same sights and sounds that I do. Gym noises can be a very funny thing, but dangerous at the same time. You definitely don't want to have the urge to laugh when you're trying to hoist up a few plates on the bench. But it can be hard, especially when you have people that sound like they're either in labor or experiencing the best climax of their life as they pump out some squats. Then there's the older folks at the gym. I've been in a treadmill next to one of these types, as he literally gasped his way through a brisk walk on the treadmill. I wouldn't know whether to encourage him for really working through the obvious pain he's in, or start performing CPR right then and there in order to save his expiring life. This next one is certainly more a part of the 'sight' variety. There's this one dude at our gym who Lauren playfully refers to as 'partial rep guy'. You'd understand if you saw, and you kinda have to see him in order get the full scope of his ridiculousness. I can't knock the guy's commitment to getting to the gym because he's there everyday. However his work ethic is lacking something...like, a full rep? Everything is completely half-assed with this guy. From a distance, it might appear as if he's really pushing out a ton of reps at a mad pace. At closer look, you realize that he's probably doing his body more harm than good with his partial reps. Halfway up, then down. Halfway down, then up. And so on. Ridiculous. He's also one of those dudes that likes to ask if he can work in with you, which is annoying as anything.
I know that a fair bit has transpired since I wrote last, but now that I've actually sat down to write about that stuff, I'm drawing a bit of a blank. The Pats are 9-0 and coming off a bye week...Buffalo on Sunday. Yawn. At this point, it'll just be interesting to see what kind of numbers that offense can put up and how many records can be broken. No, I'm not being the typical arrogant NE fan here. It's just the reality of the situation as I see it. I haven't even watched much of their season because it's been pretty boring. Blowouts aren't the most riveting games to watch. There's just no question that a) the Patriots are the NFL's best with a good amount of separation between them and the rest and b) more of the focus in this town needs to be shifted to the C's until around the first of the year.
Speaking of which...have you seen the C's play this year? I've seen bits and pieces and tons of highlights. A few observations on this team: 1. The big three are just that. They've played like superstars in every game so far, they click as a unit and frankly, it's tough to say that the Celtics starting 5 can be beat by any other 5 in the NBA. The second unit is absolutely a work in progress, but the education of Big Baby is happening and soon enough, he'll be the guy on that unit. His energy and talent should help him to develop into a legit leader and scorer in the NBA. Watch this team play if you can. They appear to be having a lot of fun on the court and you have to be happy for a guy like Paul Pierce, who has endured years and years of 'rebuilding' and young talent. He's never really complained, and how he's been rewarded with Kevin Garnett and Ray Allen to play alongside of him...or vice versa. It's a cool thing.
We're on the heels of fall now, and just getting onto the tiptoes of winter. But this week is the quintessential tweener for weather. It's pretty balmy out there, rather rainy and dreary but totally bearable from a comfort standpoint. I can always stand being wet but being cold just plain blows. So we're looking at upper 50's temperatures this week, but then it's to promptly plunge back down towards that mark of freezing by the weekend. So I will enjoy this seemingly tropical air while it's here, and then I look forward to the inevitable four to six months of weather misery to come. And even then, when it's penis hibernation cold, I'll still be thankful that I'm not in North Dakota. To those I actually know who live or have lived there, come on. You know what I'm talking about.
29 October 2007
Keep That Broom Out...
...Halloween is in two days, you know? What I'm trying to say is that you might as well not bother to put away that World Series broom because this is the time of year when it's most useful.
I struggled with some kind of quirky intro to this post. Truth be told, I sat up in bed last night as the game was wrapping up and I thought about what I would write. A few minutes into my contemplation, Lauren asked me what I would write about. A few minutes ago, my brother Mike emailed me and asked where my post was, suggesting that surely I'd have been up until 1am carving out some sort of literary diatribe on the Series...maybe diatribe isn't the right word but I could fuel this post with the usual sardonic tone. Either way, I wanted to bring in the post with something other than a typical intro about the Sox winning the Series. Ultimately what I came up with fell about ten yards short of where I was aiming for in terms of effectiveness and/or humor. Oh well, win some, lose most.
The Sox winning the Series will always be a special thing to me and to all Sox fans around the globe, but this time it was just a little different than when I experienced in 2004. And if I can say so, I am more excited about the future of this team than I am about the present...tough to admit that, considering what has just transpired...I know. But these are my thoughts.
The other question Lauren posed to me last night had to do with my feelings this time around as opposed to 2004. I didn't have a great answer for her then, and I'm not sure what I've come up with in terms of bloggery is much more poetic but it's been very difficult to put into words. 2004 was a very special year for Sox fans and for me, it meant a good amount of isolation during playoff time. I spent the duration of the Yankee series in solitary, just me, a tv and a stool set up no more than 2 feet in front of the screen. I left it all out there and at the end of that excruciating series I was left with a sense of peace and serenity that only the Dalai Lama could be on par with. I watched the Series with my father and we rejoiced together when the inevitable happened. It was probably one of the happiest moments of my life when Mientkiewicz squeezed that last out and dream became reality. What made that so special was watching that with my father, who had suffered through much more than I had. He had three times the time investment in the Sox that I did and a much more vivid memory of Buckner, Bucky Dent, Carlton Fisk, Jim Lonborg...but it was elation that I had never experienced before. It was something I'll never forget.
Enter the 2007 Series. I have a greater love for this team than I did for the the self-proclaimed 'Idiots'. Sure, Trot is my all-time favorite to ever don the Red and White but this year's team displays the likes of Jacoby Ellsbury, Dustin Pedroia, Pap, Jon Lester...these are homegrown guys just like Trot, but they've barely even begun their careers in baseball. They're excitable, inspiring, electric personalities that seem to get it...they know where they are, the stage they're on and the scrutiny they're under. Or do they? Maybe the early success skews all of that, I don't know. But I adore this team. The 2004 team made me believe...the 2007 team held my belief and did what they were supposed to do. They met my expectations and for that I am grateful. Regardless, neither team owed me anything from the start but they certainly both made it clear to me why I am a fan...because sometimes that emotional investment I make in something as trivial as a hometown team can instill a lot of happiness.
That brings me to a point that I want to make here; a point that really only became apparent to me this season. There are, of course, reasons as to how it became apparent but I will save those for a later post. There's this inherent sense of entitlement with Red Sox fans. There's a feeling that individually, the men who play for the Sox owe them, as fans, something in the way of performance. I can't sat that I thought this in these exact terms in the past, but I have certainly felt my share of entitlement over the years. I felt short-changed by guys like Edgar Renteria and Matt Clement. I've muttered things like "...and we're paying this guy $10 million this year?" The problem with that statement is the "we" aspect. There's no we here. It's them, and it's me, or us as fans that are involved in this relationship. Some might argue that as ticket buyers, we are paying salaries and therefore it's a "we" thing. Well, it's not. Let's be realistic here.
I sat and watched newscasters this season as they covered the Sox in the Series, the ALCS and the ALDS. Most would say things like, "Well folks, we gave it our all tonight and it was just enough..." I would think to myself that when even the media is imparting this sense of "we" onto its viewers, it's hard to not think of it as such. When the largest supplier of furniture in New England offers free furniture to its customers if the Sox win the Series, it might become a "we" situation for a lot of fans since their furniture may now be bought by the Sox if they should win the World Series. "We have to win!", they might have said. Oddly, I look to Manny's statement about whatever happens, happens (or whatever happen, happen) and there's always next year. Years past, I'm livid about this statement from the much-maligned left fielder of the World Champs. This year, not really at all. I thought to myself, hmm. He's absolutely got the right point of view here, even being as it is that he can be such a dog. I agree with Manny. Because in the end, it's a game. No one one this team, the 2004 team, the 1986 team, any of them...none of them owe me a damned thing. In a way, shame on me for having been so completely entrenched in it for so long. Shame on me for having put so many tears, so much sweat and so much vocal strain into what they are doing for so many years. Has it ever mattered? Maybe a little. Has it ever meant more than say, an exam, work or a relationship? Probably. But not anymore. So many things are more important.
Look, I know ballplayers are probably overpaid. Although I don't think I would feel that way if it were me playing in front of 36,000 rabid fans on a fairly regular basis, under that microscope that is the national media. Ultimately, I have a lot of respect for these guys and what they are able to endure over the course of a season. I think many athletes make suitable role models for our youth (leaving a lot of things unsaid there...trust me, I know...that's a whole other post) and on the other side of the steroids and drugs, there are charities like Youk's Kids, the Jimmy Fund and thousands of others that are the recipients of millions of dollars and cumulative efforts of people who want to do right. In a perfect world, we focus on this and save the crap for the back page. No, I'm not delusional and I know what sells and grabs ratings. But it gets old. I digress...watching our hometown team joyously jump around like school boys because they've reached the pinnacle of pro sports will never get old. And I'll never shame myself for letting that make me happy.
Congratulations to the 2007 World Champion Boston Red Sox.
Way to go, boys.
I struggled with some kind of quirky intro to this post. Truth be told, I sat up in bed last night as the game was wrapping up and I thought about what I would write. A few minutes into my contemplation, Lauren asked me what I would write about. A few minutes ago, my brother Mike emailed me and asked where my post was, suggesting that surely I'd have been up until 1am carving out some sort of literary diatribe on the Series...maybe diatribe isn't the right word but I could fuel this post with the usual sardonic tone. Either way, I wanted to bring in the post with something other than a typical intro about the Sox winning the Series. Ultimately what I came up with fell about ten yards short of where I was aiming for in terms of effectiveness and/or humor. Oh well, win some, lose most.
The Sox winning the Series will always be a special thing to me and to all Sox fans around the globe, but this time it was just a little different than when I experienced in 2004. And if I can say so, I am more excited about the future of this team than I am about the present...tough to admit that, considering what has just transpired...I know. But these are my thoughts.
The other question Lauren posed to me last night had to do with my feelings this time around as opposed to 2004. I didn't have a great answer for her then, and I'm not sure what I've come up with in terms of bloggery is much more poetic but it's been very difficult to put into words. 2004 was a very special year for Sox fans and for me, it meant a good amount of isolation during playoff time. I spent the duration of the Yankee series in solitary, just me, a tv and a stool set up no more than 2 feet in front of the screen. I left it all out there and at the end of that excruciating series I was left with a sense of peace and serenity that only the Dalai Lama could be on par with. I watched the Series with my father and we rejoiced together when the inevitable happened. It was probably one of the happiest moments of my life when Mientkiewicz squeezed that last out and dream became reality. What made that so special was watching that with my father, who had suffered through much more than I had. He had three times the time investment in the Sox that I did and a much more vivid memory of Buckner, Bucky Dent, Carlton Fisk, Jim Lonborg...but it was elation that I had never experienced before. It was something I'll never forget.
Enter the 2007 Series. I have a greater love for this team than I did for the the self-proclaimed 'Idiots'. Sure, Trot is my all-time favorite to ever don the Red and White but this year's team displays the likes of Jacoby Ellsbury, Dustin Pedroia, Pap, Jon Lester...these are homegrown guys just like Trot, but they've barely even begun their careers in baseball. They're excitable, inspiring, electric personalities that seem to get it...they know where they are, the stage they're on and the scrutiny they're under. Or do they? Maybe the early success skews all of that, I don't know. But I adore this team. The 2004 team made me believe...the 2007 team held my belief and did what they were supposed to do. They met my expectations and for that I am grateful. Regardless, neither team owed me anything from the start but they certainly both made it clear to me why I am a fan...because sometimes that emotional investment I make in something as trivial as a hometown team can instill a lot of happiness.
That brings me to a point that I want to make here; a point that really only became apparent to me this season. There are, of course, reasons as to how it became apparent but I will save those for a later post. There's this inherent sense of entitlement with Red Sox fans. There's a feeling that individually, the men who play for the Sox owe them, as fans, something in the way of performance. I can't sat that I thought this in these exact terms in the past, but I have certainly felt my share of entitlement over the years. I felt short-changed by guys like Edgar Renteria and Matt Clement. I've muttered things like "...and we're paying this guy $10 million this year?" The problem with that statement is the "we" aspect. There's no we here. It's them, and it's me, or us as fans that are involved in this relationship. Some might argue that as ticket buyers, we are paying salaries and therefore it's a "we" thing. Well, it's not. Let's be realistic here.
I sat and watched newscasters this season as they covered the Sox in the Series, the ALCS and the ALDS. Most would say things like, "Well folks, we gave it our all tonight and it was just enough..." I would think to myself that when even the media is imparting this sense of "we" onto its viewers, it's hard to not think of it as such. When the largest supplier of furniture in New England offers free furniture to its customers if the Sox win the Series, it might become a "we" situation for a lot of fans since their furniture may now be bought by the Sox if they should win the World Series. "We have to win!", they might have said. Oddly, I look to Manny's statement about whatever happens, happens (or whatever happen, happen) and there's always next year. Years past, I'm livid about this statement from the much-maligned left fielder of the World Champs. This year, not really at all. I thought to myself, hmm. He's absolutely got the right point of view here, even being as it is that he can be such a dog. I agree with Manny. Because in the end, it's a game. No one one this team, the 2004 team, the 1986 team, any of them...none of them owe me a damned thing. In a way, shame on me for having been so completely entrenched in it for so long. Shame on me for having put so many tears, so much sweat and so much vocal strain into what they are doing for so many years. Has it ever mattered? Maybe a little. Has it ever meant more than say, an exam, work or a relationship? Probably. But not anymore. So many things are more important.
Look, I know ballplayers are probably overpaid. Although I don't think I would feel that way if it were me playing in front of 36,000 rabid fans on a fairly regular basis, under that microscope that is the national media. Ultimately, I have a lot of respect for these guys and what they are able to endure over the course of a season. I think many athletes make suitable role models for our youth (leaving a lot of things unsaid there...trust me, I know...that's a whole other post) and on the other side of the steroids and drugs, there are charities like Youk's Kids, the Jimmy Fund and thousands of others that are the recipients of millions of dollars and cumulative efforts of people who want to do right. In a perfect world, we focus on this and save the crap for the back page. No, I'm not delusional and I know what sells and grabs ratings. But it gets old. I digress...watching our hometown team joyously jump around like school boys because they've reached the pinnacle of pro sports will never get old. And I'll never shame myself for letting that make me happy.
Congratulations to the 2007 World Champion Boston Red Sox.
Way to go, boys.
26 October 2007
Rolaids in the 'Pen
That's right, R-O-L-A-I-D-S spells R-E-L-I-E-F. If you have gas, Jonathan Papelbon and Hideki Okajima might just be able to settle your stomach.
Last night at the old ballyard, Curt Schilling was the prime rib, the potatoes and the green beans. Oki and Pap provided the milk and cookies to finish off the meal and everyone went home satisfied. Sure, this wasn't the dominating start that Josh Beckett provided for the faithful on Wednesday evening but it was vintage Schilling. It was the playoff-potent pitcher who has done it before and done it well. And this time, sans bloody sock and free of most of that 2004 drama, he had to be someone entirely different.
Schilling, who now has to be categorized in the 'Crafty Veteran' genre, has to really reach back to hit low 90's on the radar gun. When he throws a riser, it usually means that it's rising right out of the park. But on the other end of that, he's got this deceptive, lose-your-lunch splitter that Troy Tulowitski will be having nightmares about for years to come. It's an interesting feeling when, as a fan, I sit there and watch Schilling and think, "Ok, lead-off man is on, that's fine. Double play perhaps...but that guy won't score." I expect him to put men on base in pretty much every inning that he pitches. And I expect one or two of them to score. But what I don't expect is that he's going to have one of those implosion innings that so many pitchers are susceptible to when things start to go awry. With his experience, knowledge of the game and awareness of his surroundings, I just never get to the point where I know he's going to give up the big hit. Granted, he has done that this season. When he was pitching at maybe 70% of his full health he was that guy who gave up big hits and couldn't manage games. Not playoff Schilling, though. He manages individual pitches, counts, innings and that translates to game management. The result is just what we all saw last night: 1 ER.
Then you get to Oki and Pap, aka milk and cookies. Let's cut through the verbose drama here and call it like it is. In Oki, you get a guy who throws an 88-89mph fastball with movement in to righties and movement out to lefties, a devastating change/curve and the hurky-jerky delivery that would unsettle Rod Carew. Then you bring in Pap, death stare and all, with a deliberate delivery and straight gas, up to 97mph when he's really slingin' it. Add in a 85mph change and it's a perfect differentiation of styles that will make it extremely difficult for hitters to adjust to over the course of an inning or two. And here you have Okajima able to pitch 4, 5 or 6 outs with little to no scarring. That is what's most valuable. Here's a guy who had to take to the bench in September with a dead arm and now he's better than he's been all season (which is saying a LOT) when it matters most.
These pitchers are clearly on a mission to win this 103rd World Series. They have very clear-but game plans when they enter and when they exit, it's a fact that the next in from the bullpen will know what he's going to from the first pitch he throws. Oh, and you also have a dynamite percussion section lead by Admiral Timlin that reminds us all that we're not the only ones enjoying this game. We're all watching a complete team; a dominant force and a purebred World Champion. It's all there, they just have to keep their focus and do what they know they can do.
Last night at the old ballyard, Curt Schilling was the prime rib, the potatoes and the green beans. Oki and Pap provided the milk and cookies to finish off the meal and everyone went home satisfied. Sure, this wasn't the dominating start that Josh Beckett provided for the faithful on Wednesday evening but it was vintage Schilling. It was the playoff-potent pitcher who has done it before and done it well. And this time, sans bloody sock and free of most of that 2004 drama, he had to be someone entirely different.
Schilling, who now has to be categorized in the 'Crafty Veteran' genre, has to really reach back to hit low 90's on the radar gun. When he throws a riser, it usually means that it's rising right out of the park. But on the other end of that, he's got this deceptive, lose-your-lunch splitter that Troy Tulowitski will be having nightmares about for years to come. It's an interesting feeling when, as a fan, I sit there and watch Schilling and think, "Ok, lead-off man is on, that's fine. Double play perhaps...but that guy won't score." I expect him to put men on base in pretty much every inning that he pitches. And I expect one or two of them to score. But what I don't expect is that he's going to have one of those implosion innings that so many pitchers are susceptible to when things start to go awry. With his experience, knowledge of the game and awareness of his surroundings, I just never get to the point where I know he's going to give up the big hit. Granted, he has done that this season. When he was pitching at maybe 70% of his full health he was that guy who gave up big hits and couldn't manage games. Not playoff Schilling, though. He manages individual pitches, counts, innings and that translates to game management. The result is just what we all saw last night: 1 ER.
Then you get to Oki and Pap, aka milk and cookies. Let's cut through the verbose drama here and call it like it is. In Oki, you get a guy who throws an 88-89mph fastball with movement in to righties and movement out to lefties, a devastating change/curve and the hurky-jerky delivery that would unsettle Rod Carew. Then you bring in Pap, death stare and all, with a deliberate delivery and straight gas, up to 97mph when he's really slingin' it. Add in a 85mph change and it's a perfect differentiation of styles that will make it extremely difficult for hitters to adjust to over the course of an inning or two. And here you have Okajima able to pitch 4, 5 or 6 outs with little to no scarring. That is what's most valuable. Here's a guy who had to take to the bench in September with a dead arm and now he's better than he's been all season (which is saying a LOT) when it matters most.
These pitchers are clearly on a mission to win this 103rd World Series. They have very clear-but game plans when they enter and when they exit, it's a fact that the next in from the bullpen will know what he's going to from the first pitch he throws. Oh, and you also have a dynamite percussion section lead by Admiral Timlin that reminds us all that we're not the only ones enjoying this game. We're all watching a complete team; a dominant force and a purebred World Champion. It's all there, they just have to keep their focus and do what they know they can do.
23 October 2007
Close Encounter of the First Kind
***This entry is dedicated to the wonderful Cindi Goldstein, without whom this encounter would not have been possible***
There's a first time for everything, isn't there? In my case, there's a one and only time for what I experienced out in Malibu/Pacific Palisades, CA last week. This is one of those relationship-defining moments where, following it, nothing can really be considered weird or off limits anymore. In terms of breaking down walls or things of that nature, this would fall under the category of utter annihilation of walls and all things attached to and surrounding them. Disintegration of walls.
After a nice and casual lunch just off the Pacific Coast Highway in the Palisades, Cindi (Lauren's mom, has appeared in the blog a few times prior to) and I elected to go up to the family's house and see the dogs, chat further, spend a little more time together in general. To give you an idea of my relationship with Cindi up until this point, it had pretty much been an easy transition into a friendship from the start. We managed to avoid any real weirdness the first night we met, when upon being left alone very early on in the process, we engaged in a conversation about the future Notre Dame savior, Jimmy Clausen. At that time he was only a commitment, but Cindi had seen him play a while back against her youngest son Tito. Turns out that Jimmy was a few years older than the other boys he was playing with and against, making him look like Tom Brady out there. I digress, though...the point is, we dove into some interesting conversation from the start and never looked back.
Future moments would include dinners, drinking at local watering holes, and learning from Cindi that Jewish women are especially adept at...how do I put this...let's say making their male partner happy? I'll leave it there. But you get the point...no censors with her and I love that. I don't like to watch what I say, and I certainly have a flare for saying the inappropriate at the most inopportune times. All of this being said, none of it would ultimately prepare me for what was to transpire following our lunch that afternoon.
After some light conversation about various things, something happened that would forever change the course of potential-future-mother-in-law/daughter's boyfriend relationships everywhere. Or, at least for me and Lauren's mom. As we sat at the table chatting, she rose from her chair and approached me.
"I need you to do something for Lauren. You have to feel my expanders and tell her what they feel like."
Since I momentarily blacked out when this was posed to me, I probably said one of two things. It was either "Whoa, you want me to feel you up and tell your daughter what it was like???", or "(gulp)...Gagagoogoo." That would be gibberish, since I would have no idea what to say in that situation. But gagagoogoo seems most appropriate.
To give some more background here, Cindi has expanders for her future breast implants, which will be a result of a double mastectomy, which was a result of breast cancer. She has bravely fought through the chemotherapy and surgery and now it's the stage where these expanders are inserted to make room in there for her new "girls", as she referred to them during one of our conversations. These expanders felt like she had stones under her shirt, or small mounds of cement. They feel utterly uncomfortable and intrusive, but apparently they're not so bad. I guess after all that she's been through, nothing can really be all that uncomfortable, even having your daughter's boyfriend feel your boobs...or the place where your boobs will eventually be.
All in all, it was an experience that I will never forget and it most certainly falls under the category of 'Things I Never Thought I'd Get To Do In Life". But I am very, very thankful that I have the kind of relationship with her that I do and I wouldn't have it any other way.
There's a first time for everything, isn't there? In my case, there's a one and only time for what I experienced out in Malibu/Pacific Palisades, CA last week. This is one of those relationship-defining moments where, following it, nothing can really be considered weird or off limits anymore. In terms of breaking down walls or things of that nature, this would fall under the category of utter annihilation of walls and all things attached to and surrounding them. Disintegration of walls.
After a nice and casual lunch just off the Pacific Coast Highway in the Palisades, Cindi (Lauren's mom, has appeared in the blog a few times prior to) and I elected to go up to the family's house and see the dogs, chat further, spend a little more time together in general. To give you an idea of my relationship with Cindi up until this point, it had pretty much been an easy transition into a friendship from the start. We managed to avoid any real weirdness the first night we met, when upon being left alone very early on in the process, we engaged in a conversation about the future Notre Dame savior, Jimmy Clausen. At that time he was only a commitment, but Cindi had seen him play a while back against her youngest son Tito. Turns out that Jimmy was a few years older than the other boys he was playing with and against, making him look like Tom Brady out there. I digress, though...the point is, we dove into some interesting conversation from the start and never looked back.
Future moments would include dinners, drinking at local watering holes, and learning from Cindi that Jewish women are especially adept at...how do I put this...let's say making their male partner happy? I'll leave it there. But you get the point...no censors with her and I love that. I don't like to watch what I say, and I certainly have a flare for saying the inappropriate at the most inopportune times. All of this being said, none of it would ultimately prepare me for what was to transpire following our lunch that afternoon.
After some light conversation about various things, something happened that would forever change the course of potential-future-mother-in-law/daughter's boyfriend relationships everywhere. Or, at least for me and Lauren's mom. As we sat at the table chatting, she rose from her chair and approached me.
"I need you to do something for Lauren. You have to feel my expanders and tell her what they feel like."
Since I momentarily blacked out when this was posed to me, I probably said one of two things. It was either "Whoa, you want me to feel you up and tell your daughter what it was like???", or "(gulp)...Gagagoogoo." That would be gibberish, since I would have no idea what to say in that situation. But gagagoogoo seems most appropriate.
To give some more background here, Cindi has expanders for her future breast implants, which will be a result of a double mastectomy, which was a result of breast cancer. She has bravely fought through the chemotherapy and surgery and now it's the stage where these expanders are inserted to make room in there for her new "girls", as she referred to them during one of our conversations. These expanders felt like she had stones under her shirt, or small mounds of cement. They feel utterly uncomfortable and intrusive, but apparently they're not so bad. I guess after all that she's been through, nothing can really be all that uncomfortable, even having your daughter's boyfriend feel your boobs...or the place where your boobs will eventually be.
All in all, it was an experience that I will never forget and it most certainly falls under the category of 'Things I Never Thought I'd Get To Do In Life". But I am very, very thankful that I have the kind of relationship with her that I do and I wouldn't have it any other way.
22 October 2007
We're Not in Red Sox Nation Anymore
Maybe "League of United Red Sox Nations" is more appropriate? To the two Japanese pitchers who effectively iced Game 7 of the 2007 ALCS, along with Jonathan Papelbon's additional 2 innings of shutdown ball. The presence of Far Eastern baseball is stronger than ever in Boston, and I can't imagine what this is all like for the Okajima and Matsuzaka.
Two pitchers coming over from a 6-team league in Japan, having never seen the tenacity, vigor and sheer electric power of a playoff crowd at Fenway Park...much less a 7th and deciding game of the ALCS to vault the winner into the 103rd World Series against the National League champ Rockies. Daisuke was as good as he needed to be and just barely that. He pitched into and out of jams several times, allowing the Indians to sniff the lead, but never quite realize it. He was aided by that occasional gem from Manny in left. He was aided by the invaluable brain and experience of Jason Varitek behind the plate. And ultimately, he was aided by an offense that eventually exploded like it should have in he early going against Jake Westbrook. As they say, better late than never, right?
My confidence in Okajima is absolutely unwavering. I have as much in him as I do in Papelbon, and that is something that I never thought would even be a embryo of a thought back in Spring Training. It's his ability to never let up against a hitter that amazes me the most. He'll get down 2-o in a count and spot an 89mph fastball on the inner half of the plate, and then get a swinging strike on absolute junk. Then the advantage is gone from the hitter and field is even again. Advantage: Okajima. Every time. He appears to be fearless out there, no matter what he comes into. I'm looking forward to his continuing efforts in a Sox uniform, in the World Series and into next season. 2 years, 2.5 million dollars? I'm sorry, what? 41 Okajima's would equal one Daisuke. That's some shit.
World Series
Let's have a little fun with some anagrams that we can get out of World Series. Here goes nuthin;.
Worried Less - I don't know if I've worried less about a series, and not that this is a bad thing. But I was truly concerned heading into the Cleveland series because of their lineup and their #1 and #2 starters, respectively. I am, however, worried about Colorado's potent attack and their level of confidence heading into this thing. It's not like they don't know what adversity is, or that they don't know how to play with their back up against the wall. I guess the two clubs are similar in that regard.
Weird Losers - For the Rockies, it might be a little weird for them if they should lose because they really haven't felt what that is in a long time. So they could be in for some weirdness. For the Sox, it could be weird in a whole different light. I mean, they just came off of another epic comeback in a best-of-7 and they're riding high. A loss in this 2007 WS would be sobering for both teams, because I don't think either has that 'lucky to be here' outlook that some teams might. They're legit. I can't believe I'm saying the Rockies are 'legit', though. A month ago, they weren't even in the picture. Weird.
Dowel Risers - In this case, a dowel would be the metaphor for bat. In Coors Field, there should be plenty of rising. I think it's totally realistic to think that this series could produce the most home runs ever in a 7-game series. By the way, I have no idea what that record is. I can't find it online, either. Little help here?
Wireless Rod - I don't know, it sounded cool I guess.
Sliders, Re: Ow - see Jonathan Papelbon's 1 and 1 offering to Ryan Garko last night. Indeed, ow. That thing was sick, gross, nasty, ridiculous, unhittable, the list goes on. I reiterate: Pap is a crazy bastard. I love it.
Worried Less - I don't know if I've worried less about a series, and not that this is a bad thing. But I was truly concerned heading into the Cleveland series because of their lineup and their #1 and #2 starters, respectively. I am, however, worried about Colorado's potent attack and their level of confidence heading into this thing. It's not like they don't know what adversity is, or that they don't know how to play with their back up against the wall. I guess the two clubs are similar in that regard.
Weird Losers - For the Rockies, it might be a little weird for them if they should lose because they really haven't felt what that is in a long time. So they could be in for some weirdness. For the Sox, it could be weird in a whole different light. I mean, they just came off of another epic comeback in a best-of-7 and they're riding high. A loss in this 2007 WS would be sobering for both teams, because I don't think either has that 'lucky to be here' outlook that some teams might. They're legit. I can't believe I'm saying the Rockies are 'legit', though. A month ago, they weren't even in the picture. Weird.
Dowel Risers - In this case, a dowel would be the metaphor for bat. In Coors Field, there should be plenty of rising. I think it's totally realistic to think that this series could produce the most home runs ever in a 7-game series. By the way, I have no idea what that record is. I can't find it online, either. Little help here?
Wireless Rod - I don't know, it sounded cool I guess.
Sliders, Re: Ow - see Jonathan Papelbon's 1 and 1 offering to Ryan Garko last night. Indeed, ow. That thing was sick, gross, nasty, ridiculous, unhittable, the list goes on. I reiterate: Pap is a crazy bastard. I love it.
21 October 2007
Beat the Heat II
Betancourt v. Pedroia, Round II
Let's see here, what do I throw to Dustin on this here first pitch? Perhaps a fastball over the heart of the plate, slightly up, but one that he can drive to the wall to clear the bases and put the game completely out of reach.
See you on Wednesday...beware of the extremely obvious Fox promos to come: Sox and Rox on Fox, etc.
Let's see here, what do I throw to Dustin on this here first pitch? Perhaps a fastball over the heart of the plate, slightly up, but one that he can drive to the wall to clear the bases and put the game completely out of reach.
See you on Wednesday...beware of the extremely obvious Fox promos to come: Sox and Rox on Fox, etc.
Greet the Heat
Papelbon throws a 98mph heater to sit Hafner down, then throws a RIDICULOUS 85mph slider to Garko on a 1-1 pitch that made not only Garko look stupid, but Varitek, too.
In the words of Dan Dierdorf, I'm apoplectic.
In the words of Dan Dierdorf, I'm apoplectic.
Beat the Heat
Top 8th currently...I hope this post doesn't change any course of anything or something like that.
I have a question right now, and it can't wait until morning: do pitchers in the AL just refuse to believe that Dustin Pedroia can't hit a fastball? (***text just came in from Hammen. It reads simply 'Petey!!!')
I have a question right now, and it can't wait until morning: do pitchers in the AL just refuse to believe that Dustin Pedroia can't hit a fastball? (***text just came in from Hammen. It reads simply 'Petey!!!')
18 October 2007
Calm Like A Bomb
If Alex Rodriguez wonders what it's like to be able to perform in the postseason, he should just ask Josh Beckett. Not that JB doesn't also have a firm grasp on things in the regular season as well, but his prowess when September ends is simply uncanny.
Showing yet again why is he is the ace of the Sox staff, Beckett absolutely dominated the Cleveland Indians last night at Jacobs Field in Cleveland, setting up another Schilling-Carmona duel that I hope will live up to its billing a little moreso than it did the first time around. So how good was Beckett last night? Well, you tell me. 8 IP, 11K's, 1 ER and he threw GAS up through his last pitch. In the first inning he featured a 97 mph heater. In the 8th, it was 96. Not much fall off there. He is lights out in the postseason and he has been throughout his career. The scary part about that statement is that Beckett still has a long way to do in that career, barring injury. He's young, he's nasty and he's battle-tested. And he's going to be in a Sox uniform for a long time.
This all having been said, the Sox are still down 3-2 in a series that has seen the Indians have their way with everyone else from Boston with the exception of Beckett. Boston is looking at a glaring hole at the bottom of its order in Crisp and Lugo, so don't be surprised if the spry Jacoby Ellsbury is inserted into the lineup for Saturday's sixth game. For me, I could have been thrilled with Ellsbury in the lineup from day one of the playoffs, considering he ended the season smoldering at the plate and having played flawless defense in both center and left. The Sox need to do something about the bottom of their order, because right now there are two automatic outs down there and that is really helping out Cleveland pitching. Their lineup is a National lineup, only with two pitchers. It's pathetic and it simply has to be attended to.
The middle of the lineup is its usual stout self, even with Manny continuing to dog it on hits to the outfield and running the bases in general. It's hard for me to sit here and complain about him though. I mean, he is hitting .440 with 2 HRs and 7RBIs in the ALCS. Tough to argue with that, no matter how much of a dog he is. Ortiz is, well, Ortiz. Pedroia and Youkilis are starting to really heat up and Lowell is just plain solid in the 5 hole. Heck, even JD Drew is showing signs of a faint pulse in the batter's box. But 8 and 9 are severe weaknesses for this offense.
No matter what happens with the outcome of this series, I have a new respect for the Indians, their relievers and their lineup, top to bottom. They have probably the most consistent order in all of baseball with a bunch of guys who make contact and hit the ball hard nearly all of the time. I admit that I didn't see much of them in the regular season, nor did I think they would be this relentless in the postseason. They've outplayed Boston so far, but thankfully this is a best of seven series. As we all know at this point, the Sox need every game in order to come out on top.
15 October 2007
He Didn't Get The Memo
Tony Romo must have been sleeping at his desk when the memo came out about the TPS reports...it seems as if Tony isn't really clear on what these TPS reports are, exactly. Well Ton', it's pretty simple: TPS stands for Total Patriot Shellacking.
"I would have liked to have seen the outcome if we had made that 4th and 1."
I'm sorry, what? I guess we can give the quarterback on America's team a pass on knowing the numbers, since he was speaking at the post-game press conference just following his shower. I have news for you, Tony. That 4th and 1 meant nothing in the outcome of this game. The Cowboys were dominated, you were dominated and thankfully no more critics will be coupling your name with that of the incomparable Tom Brady for at least a few weeks...which should be about as long as it might take for them to forget about what took place at Texas Stadium on the 14th of October.
When you consider the fact that the Patriots held the ball for nearly twice as long as the Cowboys (38:15 to 21:45) and couldn't run the ball to save a life, you can start to understand the will they imposed on the team that is no longer among the unbeatens in the NFL; according to their coach Wade Phillips, they're no longer to be considered an elite team, either.
Brady picked about a pretty good defense with short, medium and long passes, not giving the Dallas D a chance to rest its bones. No Maroney, no Morris, no matter. Short passes replaced the running game and Wes Welker reminded fans why he is the best slot receiver in the game. His combination of speed, agility and toughness was good enough for 11 catches, 124 yards and 2 TD's on the day. When you consider the host of talent in Brady's receiving corps, who you double cover will only go to determine which receiver(s) will take the spotlight and have a career game. Welker had never had 100 yards receiving in a game before, but my sense is that this won't be his last as long as he's in a Patriot uniform.
Most of the hype generated heading into this "Duel in Dallas" centered around the two 81's; Terrell Owens and Randy Moss. Granted, the hype was a result of some things said by Terrell Owens and frankly, I'm not sure anyone outside of TO himself thought Randy Moss wasn't the better receiver so far in 2007. I don't think anything is different this morning, either. Terrell Owens still thinks he's the best, still thinks the Cowboys are the better team and everyone else knows that the exact opposite is true. Can we all agree that Owens is an ass? I could never be a fan of his, whether a Patriot, a Red Sox or my brother-in-law. Not possible. And believe me, I was probably as skeptical of Moss before he came to town but To is in a league of his own in terms of being a complete and utter jackass. From what came out of Romo's mouth after this game, it appears as if TO may be having an effect on him.
So mark those calendars now: November 4th. New England vs. Indy in a rematch of the 2007 AFC Championship game in Indy. I mean, this was the game that Pat fans were looking towards since last season, not the Dallas game. With any luck, both teams will still be unbeaten heading into the game and the hype will this time be around Manning and Brady, Harrison and Moss and Dungy and Belichick. Indy and New England...that's a classic matchup. Dallas and New England is simply another game...another win for the Pats.
"I would have liked to have seen the outcome if we had made that 4th and 1."
I'm sorry, what? I guess we can give the quarterback on America's team a pass on knowing the numbers, since he was speaking at the post-game press conference just following his shower. I have news for you, Tony. That 4th and 1 meant nothing in the outcome of this game. The Cowboys were dominated, you were dominated and thankfully no more critics will be coupling your name with that of the incomparable Tom Brady for at least a few weeks...which should be about as long as it might take for them to forget about what took place at Texas Stadium on the 14th of October.
When you consider the fact that the Patriots held the ball for nearly twice as long as the Cowboys (38:15 to 21:45) and couldn't run the ball to save a life, you can start to understand the will they imposed on the team that is no longer among the unbeatens in the NFL; according to their coach Wade Phillips, they're no longer to be considered an elite team, either.
Brady picked about a pretty good defense with short, medium and long passes, not giving the Dallas D a chance to rest its bones. No Maroney, no Morris, no matter. Short passes replaced the running game and Wes Welker reminded fans why he is the best slot receiver in the game. His combination of speed, agility and toughness was good enough for 11 catches, 124 yards and 2 TD's on the day. When you consider the host of talent in Brady's receiving corps, who you double cover will only go to determine which receiver(s) will take the spotlight and have a career game. Welker had never had 100 yards receiving in a game before, but my sense is that this won't be his last as long as he's in a Patriot uniform.
Most of the hype generated heading into this "Duel in Dallas" centered around the two 81's; Terrell Owens and Randy Moss. Granted, the hype was a result of some things said by Terrell Owens and frankly, I'm not sure anyone outside of TO himself thought Randy Moss wasn't the better receiver so far in 2007. I don't think anything is different this morning, either. Terrell Owens still thinks he's the best, still thinks the Cowboys are the better team and everyone else knows that the exact opposite is true. Can we all agree that Owens is an ass? I could never be a fan of his, whether a Patriot, a Red Sox or my brother-in-law. Not possible. And believe me, I was probably as skeptical of Moss before he came to town but To is in a league of his own in terms of being a complete and utter jackass. From what came out of Romo's mouth after this game, it appears as if TO may be having an effect on him.
So mark those calendars now: November 4th. New England vs. Indy in a rematch of the 2007 AFC Championship game in Indy. I mean, this was the game that Pat fans were looking towards since last season, not the Dallas game. With any luck, both teams will still be unbeaten heading into the game and the hype will this time be around Manning and Brady, Harrison and Moss and Dungy and Belichick. Indy and New England...that's a classic matchup. Dallas and New England is simply another game...another win for the Pats.
10 October 2007
MishMash (cont.)
6. If you're wearing an orange dress shirt...wait, let me start over. DO NOT wear an orange dress shirt to an interview. Seriously, I don't know what part of one's brain contributes to fashion sense but DEAR LORD, sometimes people are whacked out. The same applies to anything brightly colored...don't do it. You may think, hmm, this plum-colored poplin sure looks nice with this gold tie. Well, you're wrong buddy. Dead-fucking-wrong.
7. This one is more of a 'help French out' mishmash...any suggestions for me as I watch Game 1 of the ALCS on a plane? What's acceptable here? I probably won't be buying $5 Coors Lights, so there won't be any drunken commentary. However, is there a ceiling for me as far as yelling? Cursing? Cheering? Can I high-five other Sox fans on the flight?
8. My friend started at the company I work for today. I referred him and they hired him, so he's kind of my responsibility in the early going. You know, if he turns out to be a total disaster, then it's totally my bad because I vouched for him. I'm not too concerned about him but he does tug on the occasional cigarette. Smoking is kind of 'gauche' 'round these parts, so I hope he isn't cast out before he's accepted.
9. Gauche? Can I even say that?
10. I got nothing else. My head hurts.
7. This one is more of a 'help French out' mishmash...any suggestions for me as I watch Game 1 of the ALCS on a plane? What's acceptable here? I probably won't be buying $5 Coors Lights, so there won't be any drunken commentary. However, is there a ceiling for me as far as yelling? Cursing? Cheering? Can I high-five other Sox fans on the flight?
8. My friend started at the company I work for today. I referred him and they hired him, so he's kind of my responsibility in the early going. You know, if he turns out to be a total disaster, then it's totally my bad because I vouched for him. I'm not too concerned about him but he does tug on the occasional cigarette. Smoking is kind of 'gauche' 'round these parts, so I hope he isn't cast out before he's accepted.
9. Gauche? Can I even say that?
10. I got nothing else. My head hurts.
09 October 2007
MishMash
Lately I've been thinking that, more often than not, my brain is filled with a hodgepodge of stuff that makes no sense, or is just plain inane whimsy. As I've done in the past, I will share some of those recent internal ramblings with you now. Bon appetit.
1. If you could lay eggs, would you eat them? If you were to eat those eggs and one day, you laid a golden one, would you eat that one? Would you alert the local new stations?
2. Newspaper hawkers that give out a free publication in the subway stations need to understand something: due to the fact that the paper you are distributing is available on every fucking street corner in Boston, it's not really a huge convenience to have you handing them out as I leave the T station. Further, there is NO NEED for you to yell "free Metro". It's not even like you mutter it, or simply suggest taking one. You announce it, like it's this great thing and everyone should know about it. God forbid I just lose it one day and take it out on you. Just sayin.
3. Hey Michael Irvin, here's a news flash for you. Tony Romo is not that good. I've been saying this for a year now and no one has listened. He's maybe a little above avegare, tops. 5 INTs last night on the grand stage of MNF? Are you kidding? And these were pretty much all bad throws, bad decisions, bad bad bad. Something to ponder: how good would T.O. be if Tom Brady was throwing to him?
4. One thing you never want to spill in a gym bag: a huge container of instant oats. It gets into EVERYTHING. Also a bad thing to spill in a gym bag: vomit.
I think there will be a continuance for now...more tomorrow.
1. If you could lay eggs, would you eat them? If you were to eat those eggs and one day, you laid a golden one, would you eat that one? Would you alert the local new stations?
2. Newspaper hawkers that give out a free publication in the subway stations need to understand something: due to the fact that the paper you are distributing is available on every fucking street corner in Boston, it's not really a huge convenience to have you handing them out as I leave the T station. Further, there is NO NEED for you to yell "free Metro". It's not even like you mutter it, or simply suggest taking one. You announce it, like it's this great thing and everyone should know about it. God forbid I just lose it one day and take it out on you. Just sayin.
3. Hey Michael Irvin, here's a news flash for you. Tony Romo is not that good. I've been saying this for a year now and no one has listened. He's maybe a little above avegare, tops. 5 INTs last night on the grand stage of MNF? Are you kidding? And these were pretty much all bad throws, bad decisions, bad bad bad. Something to ponder: how good would T.O. be if Tom Brady was throwing to him?
4. One thing you never want to spill in a gym bag: a huge container of instant oats. It gets into EVERYTHING. Also a bad thing to spill in a gym bag: vomit.
I think there will be a continuance for now...more tomorrow.
08 October 2007
A Great Night
A warm, humid evening in October had the feel of an early July night, maybe just following the All-Star Break. An overcast, mildly threatening sky eventually gave way to black, the moon nowhere to be found. Perhaps it was tucked away behind some big cloud, saving any aerial majesty for Manny Ramirez and a potential mammoth home run that only Manny could deliver. No pitcher in his right mind is ever going to give David Ortiz that chance unless he has no other option.
A relatively boring game even by playoff standards, this one saw what has come to be a typical Dice-K start: flimsy control of his pitches, the tendency to fall behind in counts and on top of that, not getting the close calls from the umpire. But that's what happens when you display a lack of control. You don't get the close calls and therefore, you surrender walks and leave pitches a little fatter over the plate than you normally might. I actually thought that on this night, Tito pulled Dice-K's plug at exactly the right time. While he had sustained significant damage, in no way was this game out of reach when he left. He kept the offense in the game despite his suspect effort. He gave way to Javier Lopez who couldn't have displayed a more contrasting style to Matsuzaka. In one pitcher, you see an extremely deliberate and slowly mechanical delivery to the plate; his arm comes very much over the top. Lopez is quick from the stretch and his delivery is borderling submarine style. He's also a lefty, and in one pitch he got the Sox and Matsuzaka out of further trouble. And the Angels would never sniff the plate again as the Sox bullpen showed how they anchored the best pitching staff in baseball this year: No runs over 4.1 innings.
With the 'pen holding the Sox in the game, the stage had been set for some drama. It must be noted that the 17 year-old fan who snatched a foul ball away from Angels' catcher Jeff Mathis should be given a line on the stat sheet for allowing Mike Lowell the opportunity to hit the sac fly that tied the game. This kid is the anti Steve Bartman.
Let me set this Manny moment up for you a little bit. Early on in the contest, Manny misplayed a ball hit by Chone Figgins and his miscue lead to a run. Yes, he overran the ball and let it get to the wall. Figgins motored to second, a run scored and the fans went apeshit. A quote from the drunk guy behind me: "Manny, you SUUUUCK! Get him outta there, he's done! He can't do shit anymore, get him out!" Yes, great point you drunk fuck. He's done. Let me ask you, has Manny Ramirez EVER been accused of being a good fielder? No. Has he ever won a Gold Glove or come remotely close to one? No. Has he overrun balls countless times out there in left? Yes. Would you be willing to say that his bat more than cancels out his fielding woes? A thousand times over, YES. Amazingly, when Manny came up to bat in the ninth following the Ortiz IBB, that same guy was going berzerk for Manny...screaming his name, shouting accolades and showing his support for what seems to be his favorite player on the Sox. Typical.
We all know what happened when Manny stepped up to the plate to face "K-Rod". 96 mph fastball over the inner part of the plate...the perfect pitch for Manny to turn on and end the game. The anticipation in Fenway leading up to the dong was electric. You could feel the place just waiting to erupt...waiting to shower Manny with attaboys...waiting to sing "Dirty Water" and skip all the way home.
I watched Manny step into the offering from K-Rod and the crack of the bat was the sweetest sound I'd heard in a long time. I didn't have to wait to see the ball clear everything in left. I turned to La just in time to see her face...mouth agape, eyes wider than a 7 year-old at Christmas. I stepped over to her and lifted her off the ground in a celebratory bear hug. She then reached for her camera and got the celebration on video. I continued to lose my head, jumping up and down, screaming like a child and looking for anyone to high-five. The text messages were pouring in from the few people who knew I was there, most of their thoughts aligned with mine and those of the 37,607 fans in Fenway...MAAAAANNNNY! MAAAAAANNNY! And now, we await the result of a series that is gaining excitement in the Bronx. As our pitchers rest and prepare for the first long series of the 2007 postseason, I await hopefully for another Sox-Yanks ALCS. Come on, is there anything better?
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