I Catch The Beat Runnin' Like...

...Randy Moss.

Before I go into that, I'd like to provide an update on the workings of the incomparable Aaron...the often heralded nephew of mine who continues to find new and improved ways of courting my lady. As per usual, we stopped into my folks' house yesterday afternoon to watch the Sox and have dinner thereafter. I'll save you the boring details...Big A's newest move is take La into the living room, sit her down and then proceed to ask those who enter to immediately leave the room. I entered last night as they were sorting through various dinosaurs and he calmly looked up at me and said "please leave." At first I refused...who was he to tell me to leave? Then La informed me that he made my Dad leave the room earlier and since his word tends to be gospel 'round those parts, I complied. I pouted and assured him he wouldn't get away with that kind of stuff but who was I kidding? Of course he would. Genius...

Back to more pressing matters...

Anytime your team lands a future Hall of Famer just a few years removed from the prime of his career, it's news. When you get him to take a six million dollar per year pay cut, it's bigger news. Finally, when the move gives your offense the firepower it needs to stretch defenses (at last) and open things up for Laurence Maroney, it's mind-blowing.

Much like the Moss deal that stole the show at this weekend's draft, the nine picks the Patriots made were of their usual high-value caliber. They got what they needed to plug some holes in their secondary (complimenting their off-season FA signings) and they added some athletic lineman which we as Pat fans have become quite accustomed to when watching a draft. All in all, I'd say New England had the most success on draft day. Here are a few thoughts on how some other teams fared yesterday in New York City.

Three 'winners' in the draft were San Francisco, Green Bay and Cleveland. San Fran traded up for the Pats' 28th pick to get Joe Staley, which I thought was a great move for them. They got the best LB in the draft in Patrick Willis and with the success of their off season, they made some significant improvements to an already improved team during the 2006 season. Green Bay got the steal of the draft in Corey Hall, in my opinion. I thought he should have been regarded as one of the top 3-5 LB's in the draft, even though he played at Boise State. Say what you want about his size (6'0, 230), he's got the drive and ability that will make him an above-average player in the NFL. He could be converted to a John Lynch-like safety and look out if he is because he packs a wallop when he hits. Green Bay's other picks were solid in that they tried to address some of the offensive issues they have, but they won't be close to contending in what better be Favre's last year at the helm. In fact, their two best picks were Hall and kicker Mason Crosby out of Colorado...we know how valuable placekickers are here in New England and Crosby should be great. Finally, Cleveland...I group them in the list of great drafts because they managed to get Brady Quinn at 22, realizing that he probably wouldn't be picked before this if they didn't choose him. So instead of choosing him early, they took someone who will ultimately protect him for a the next several years in Joe Thomas. The problem with Quinn was that he wasn't rated that much higher than several other QB's in the draft, such as BYU's John Beck and MSU's Drew Stanton. I felt bad for Quinn when he eventually left the green room because he was all alone in there but this turned out the way he wanted it to: being chosen by his hometown team in the first round. I thought the rest of the draft was very Belichick-like for Romeo and the Browns, and that must be good. And I feel the same about the Jets' draft, even though they had only four picks.

There's no need to look any further than our friends down in Miami to pick out a loser in the draft. Ted Ginn Jr. at #9? Was this a joke? Did they say the wrong name to Roger Goodell on the phone by accident? Never mind that Ginn would have been available into the second round, more than likely. He's not even healthy and may not be available by the time the preseason rolls around. I know he's fast, but I just don't get this pick and it was apparent that not many other people did either. Honestly, I liked the rest of their draft but the Ginn pick spoiled it. Beck has a big upside and may be their QB of the future and their pick of Lorenzo Booker in the third round was a good pick. I didn't understand Indy's first pick of Anthony Gonzales from Ohio St. I thought they would go with a RB since they lost Dominic Rhodes to the Raiders, instead of piling on another receiver. That one was weird. I also thought that Washington might have traded up to take an offensive playmaker like a Greg Olsen or a big receiver. Having only five picks limited their choices, though. The biggest would-have-been loser of the draft is JaMarcus Russell, who donned all black in his assumption of being the first overall pick of the Oakland Raiders. It's a good thing he didn't go to the Browns...his hat wouldn't have matched because as we all know, nothing goes with brown.

Carl's quick draft day recap:

"I can't wait to play with Moss in Madden 2008! We won't even have to manipulate the rosters!"

That is pretty strange. It's also strange that people are talking about the Yankees as not being that good this year. Let's all get a grip. It's not that they're not that good this year, it's just right now. The Royals have a better rotation that the Yanks do at this point, but April isn't even over yet. We all know they're going to snap out of it and be contending by the time August rolls around. April in the sport of baseball is akin to the preseason in the NFL...it's a warmup. These games in the MLB may count towards the overall record but the season is just too long for the results to bear any weight. I will say this: their rotation, even when fully healthy, isn't all that great. It's their offense that instills fear and they haven't started to perform yet. With the exception you-know-who, they've got a bunch of guys who will eventually start to do what they've always done. There's nothing I'd like better than to admit that the Yanks are no longer in the upper echelon of the A.L., but it's not time for that yet.

EAST W L PCT GB HOME ROAD RS RA STRK L10

Boston 16 8 .667 - 7-3 9-5 125 84 Won 1 7-3

Toronto 12 12 .500 4 6-7 6-5 123 105 Won 1 4-6

Baltimore 12 13 .480 4.5 7-6 5-7 109 112 Lost 1 4-6

Tampa Bay 11 14 .440 5.5 5-6 6-8 126 162 Won 1 5-5

NY Yankees 9 14 .391 6.5 6-6 3-8 131 125 Lost 1 2-8

It is kind of nice to look at though, isn't it??

Cheesy Philly

Here are the uniforms the Eagles will wear on occasion this season in commemoration of the 75th anniversary of the franchise (these were the unis in 1933 as explained by Paul Lukas on Page 2 on ESPN.com today...read his post today about uniform numbers, by the way).

Following this photo shoot, Akers and Kearse went out and shared a sundae at Friendly's, took in the new Dakota Fanning movie and headed back to Kearse's pad for "coffee". Akers was seen leaving early the next morning with a noticeable limp.

It's Cool, Daddy.

Can someone explain this one to me: the mid-size, family sedan with the fin on the back. At what point did anyone think it was a good idea to purchase a sensible, reliable car like the Ford Taurus (tongue-in-cheek as I choke out the word reliable) and then stick a fin on the back? It looks so ridiculous. I suppose one might want to have a fin on the back of his or her sensible sedan to offer the look of a more sporty vehicle. Perhaps the look of something fast is on their agenda. News flash: you're not fooling anybody, folks. Regardless of fin, it's still a family sedan. I'm sure you didn't want to purchase that mini-van in an effort to remain somewhat cool in the eyes of your teen aged daughter's friends, but they're not morons (I'm making this assumption for argument's sake, because chances are, more than half of them indeed are morons). It's not cool.

This is a good segway into another topic of interest to me as of late, and that is the difference between what actually IS cool and what others simply PERCEIVE to be cool. I know that different social layers vary greatly in their judgements of cool, but how is it that every time an older person tries to ignore the age gap and diversify his coolness, he grossly misunderstands what actually is considered cool? I'll admit that if you supplanted my existence into that of a senior class of some local high school, I'd probably get the shit beat out of me within twenty minutes of arriving. I wouldn't be able to use prior knowledge of cool from my days in high school because nothing was cool amongst a group of anti-establishment misanthropes. I wouldn't know where to begin. But I feel like every father who tries to pretend he knows what cool is in front of his kids and their friends falls desperately short of the mark every time.

Most of my generation has seen 'Billy Madison' a million times and could watch it again and again without growing tired of it. Remember that scene where he returns to high school and on the first day, he rolls up in a Firebird or something similar, blasting an 80's tune and wearing a denim jacket with the collar up? I'm pretty sure he's wearing an REO Speedwagon t-shirt as well. Later on, he tells the present day losers that he used to rule the school, suggesting that he should still be the cool guy. In reality, he's more of a loser than anyone else there but he has no sense of reality whatsoever. And I think this is kind of what happens to fathers and parents in general when they try and relate to their kids. No matter what, what's cool to you will never be cool to your adolescent children, even if you mimic everything they do. Once they see that you're doing the same things, it's no longer cool. And trust me, your daughter's best friend won't think more of you because your Pontiac has a fin on the back.

Currently, here are a few things that I think are cool (maybe the wrong word; these things are articles that I favor, more than anything): anything with a hood, mesh shorts, long hair, Kanye West's Late Registration, red wine and probably the one thing that will never, ever, ever waiver on my scale of coolness, the Sox.

What's amazing to me is how often I mix several or all of these things into one occasion. I know there have been countless times that I've walked to the market to get wine while wearing something hooded, sporting mesh shorts, listening to Kanye and then going home or to La's to watch the Sox. Everything is supposedly ok in moderation, but the things that you love and that comfort you are ok anytime and in mass quantities. But how concerned are you with what's cool as of right now? Right now as in at this very moment in time? Or as in at this point in your life? I can tell you that right at this second, cool represents the temperature in my cubicle as I write. That's about the extent of what's cool around here. On a broader scale, I don't think I have the slightest idea of cool in the outside world. But isn't it all relative? Cool to you probably isn't cool to me, so who gives a shit. I just got to thinking last night after I parked my Saturn on the street in downtown Boston and walked through a group of teens on the way to La's. They all looked like they could be the cool kids but I'm from the school of thought that believes social differences are more prevalent in the television shows we watch than they really are in our school systems. Jimmy's a jock but his best friend is the top math student who he grew up with and his girlfriend acts in all the school plays. I just don't believe that all too many kids are shunned from social groups and gatherings because they're thought of as 'uncool'.

This I KNOW to be cool: Wily Mo hitting a granny in the top of the 8th against the O's closer to wipe away the 2-1 deficit and the potential first loss of the season for JB. I have to say that as soon as Sam Perlozzo brought in Chris Ray, I verbally expressed my belief that he'd regret that decision. Asking anyone to get five outs to close out a 1-run game is extremely difficult. Further, Lowell was on a tear heading into his at-bat against Ray, Varitek has been hot (even with his multitude of K's lately) and Wily Mo was 2-for-4 lifetime against Ray. I appreciate the faith in your closer Sam, but it wasn't his night. The Sox have been coming from behind the whole month and one run to them may as well be a 3-run lead. Sure enough, a double, an intentional walk and a 430' bomb later, it actually was a 3-run lead. And that's pretty fucking cool.

Also cool: it's Friday. Here's wishing you a good Friday morning...and in case I don't write a blog this afternoon and this evening, good afternoon, good evening and good night.

Objects of my Affection

After many, many years of struggling with my inner handyman, I finally had a breakthrough last night. Amidst a toilet crisis that was preventing Carl, myself, La and Red from using it for any reason, I installed a new flow system in place of the faulty one with no assistance. And it actually worked. Upon completing the task, I exclaimed 'that's right, bitch" and it got me thinking about how many different situations over the last few days or weeks that I've either uttered those words or thought them to myself. Regardless, I find that I assign the name 'bitch' to countless inanimate objects on a regular basis; i.e. the toilet.

Coins/change play a huge role in my life. I pay several tolls over the course of my daily commute and on days when I carpool, i have to feed a meter to the tune of $3.00 in change to cover me for 12 hours. When the fate of my toll fare hangs in the balance and it's iffy as to whether I'm gonna find that last nickel or dime, it's then that the final piece of the toll fare puzzle becomes my bitch. Once I've located the last of it, whether it be under my seat, in the CD case, on the back seat...it comes out. "That's right, bitch." If it has been a particular struggle to find that coin on a given day, I'll hold it up between my thumb and index finger and look at it as I say the phrase. I want that coin to know that its value goes far beyond the five or ten cents it displays itself to be worth.

There's always that one, annoying piece of skin that hangs off my thumbs or fingers that never seems to be quite big enough to pick off. Granted, I've been making a concerted effort to quash my habit of gnawing off my own skin (as great as La is, not even she is cool with bloody, scabby cuticles), but still there are those hangnails that appear here and there. When they're finally at the stage where there's juuuuust enough to get it and erase it from my memory, it becomes my bitch. I get that classic symbol of concentration going when my tongue is sticking slightly out of the right corner of my mouth and when I get that piece of skin..."that's right, bitch."

I'm not entirely sure why that phrase has so much lure. But I'm comfortable saying that there's no harm in calling an inanimate object a bitch. I suppose it goes beyond objects, though. When I get a call at work and I don't feel like answering it, I dread the impending voicemail. But on rare occasions the caller won't leave a voicemail and I throw out the "that's right, bitch", as if I willed the person not to leave a message. The same can be said of the sun when it's just above tree height in the morning. I swear, sometimes the sun is out to get me. It wants to blind me and cause me to swerve off the road and into a tree. The x-factor in the sun's pursuit of bringing me down is that one cloud that moves in and sets a pick for me at the last second. At that point, I'll throw out the phrase and taunt the sun with an emphatic point with my right hand. I guess I'm also thanking the cloud at the same time. I've also used it on chunks of earwax that have been so elusive up until I get the paperclip in as far as I can push it and finally hook my target. That one piece of popcorn kernel that gets stuck in my back molars, the in-grown hair on my inner thigh that stings when i walk, the one fucking piece of lettuce that I can't stab with my fork...once i finally get any of these things in my control, out it comes.

Onto another subject, I thought of this joke the other day:

How did the lawyer turn into a comedian?

He slept funny.

I presented this to La when it came to me and she laughed. But it wasn't the kind of laughter you want to induce upon telling a joke. It was the kind of laughter that only comes from pity and embarrassment of knowing me...I still see it as a success, though.

I'm gonna try a new segment here, called Reasons Why You Should Be Thankful You Don't Have My Job. I hope I can carry it over to some future posts for your sake...for my sake, I hope it crashes and burns.

1. My boss has somehow grown fond of walking by my cube and 'crop-dusting' every time he's flatulent. To clarify, 'crop-dusting' is the act of leaving your gas as you walk so that someone can experience it but not truly know where it came from if you've executed it properly. However, my boss doesn't try to hide it. He sits directly behind me, and every time he gets up to do this, he alerts me that he's ready to dust my crops. Does he like me, or really, really, really hate me? Jury's out on this one.

Inquiring Minds...

Against my better judgement, I am posting this head shot to accompany the previous post regarding the audition. And yes, this is pretty much as good as it gets for me in terms of a beard. But notice the girth of my moustache.

Fire away, boys...

Special thanks to the talented Jen Benoit for making this delightful head shot possible. I'm really feeling that friendly, neighborly/slimy, womanizing douchebag look we were going for.

It's All An Act

I'm sure we all have opinions on those certain things in life that you go through that you think everyone should experience at some point. Those that bungee jump claim you haven't lived until you take the leap. Food lovers might say the same about having some sort of provincial delicacy in the French countryside, I don't know. I would hope that sports fans might offer that you've made it once you've watched a Sox-Yankees game at either Fenway or Yankee Stadium...just a guess. I'm going to add my own version of 'you haven't lived'.

Before you die, I strongly suggest going out on a casting call or an audition from something like a pilot or a commercial. I promise you, just the sheer absurdity behind one of these things is well worth the hour or so you'll take out of your day to witness it first hand. The following is my account of this 'audition' I went to yesterday.

Hang on...I suppose I should preface of all this by saying that I've had 'representation' since I was 19. Before you get all 'what the fuck is that all about' on me, it was a brilliant idea to a kid who had just been kicked out of college for a semester and needed to fend for himself for an extended period of time. The money was supposed to be great if you could land a gig in a commercial or something, and the time commitment wasn't all that daunting. Regardless, I never did anything with it at that time because I was an idiot. I opted to work at Chili's as a server, relying on the tips of Harvard and MIT students who think that 5% is doing you a real favor. (On a side not, I eventually got fired from this job because I received the lowest 'secret shopper' score in the history of the the corporation...since when is it not okay to tell a customer to fuck off?? That score was a 42/100, FYI) Anyway, the acting thing didn't exactly pan out back then. Since then, however, I've been contacted several times by this agency for various jobs that I didn't really have an interest in. Enter: Monday morning phone call from Agency, asking if I could audition for a commercial on very short notice.

Paul at Agency: "Hi, Chad? Yeah, it's Paul from the Agency."

Me: "Oh, hey Paul. How's it going?"

Paul: "Listen, can you audition for a commercial tomorrow afternoon? Sorry for the short notice, but we're kind of desperate."

Me (feeling really special after that last remark from Paul): "Uhh, I guess. What's the commercial for?"

Paul: "Insurance or something. I"m not too clear on the details, but it's from 3-4pm tomorrow afternoon. Just bring a headshot and a resume with you, k?"

Me: "Yeah, ok. But I don't have a resume and the best I can do for a headshot is an 8x10 printed on computer paper."

Paul: "Well...ok, that's fine. Make something up on a resume though, ok? Shouldn't matter. Just be there by 4 so they can fit you in. I gotta run."

Me: "Ok. Thanks."

Now this is my kind of audition. No real idea what it's for, going in with a fabricated resume and a JV headshot, not to mention I've never been to an audition before. This should be mint. Right? Fuck yeah, right. I've never been so out of place in my entire life.

Talk about a comedy of errors from the start. The first thing you have to do at an audition is sign in and fill out a contact sheet with your information on it. Easy enough. However, there are like four or five sections on this thing that are starred, implying that these are the required fields...gotta be. I fill these in and return the pen to the table with the clipboard. After returning to the bench of 'actors' waiting to audition, I see the fine print at the bottom of the contact sheet and it reads PLEASE FILL IN ALL FIELDS; STARRED ITEMS ARE MOST IMPORTANT. Great. This is going well.

So I take care of that and I wait. As I look around, I see a mix of characters waiting alongside of me. There are three dudes: one tall, white guy in a suit with a backpack on. He's got the Zack Morris look going with the slick hair, cool smile and confidence. I immediately know he's been on thousands of these things and all the casting company crew know him by name. Me? Not so much. Second is the this really skinny Asian kid with really tall spikes in his hair. I hear the girl who's facilitating the whole thing say to him "Yeah, you're auditioning for a the cyclist role." I'm thinking to myself, cyclist role? No one said anything about cycling. Shit. I start to panic a little, nervously yawning every 20 seconds or so. In between yawns, I consider getting the fuck out of there. But I stay. The third guy is a thirty-something black guy sitting right next to me. He's got a bit of a Cuba Gooding Jr look to him and he's all smiles. Like, uncomfortably all smiles, as in there was a chance his plastic surgeon really messed up and gave him perma-grin. This settled me down a little because it was as funny as it was sad. Now, the women there...

If it isn't already abundantly clear, this commercial will feature racial harmony. There was one white girl and slew of middle-aged black women and then one younger black girl. The white girl was non-descript. She didn't make any kind of impression on me other than the fact that she was sitting there. All of the middle-aged black women had the same look: thick and horrendously bright lipstick, high heels and conservative blouses with long skirts. Every one of them could have played Saundra Cosby's stunt double on any given day, minus the lipstick. But only the younger black girl really stood out to me. She was the one person there that screamed "I'm an actress, DAMNIT." Two phones, both of which rang or buzzed about forty times over the course of a half hour; big, white sunglasses; a HUGE white, leather handbag; expensive-looking shoes (you know, the kind that can only work with like one fucking outfit? Why? WHY?), and that one phone conversation that had me think to myself, is this girl completely serious right now? about a dozen times:

Girl (tells person on one phone to hold because her other phone is ringing): "Hullo? Yeah, it's about time. Listen, I don't have a lot of--(gets cut off, getting angry)--I'm at an audition!! Listen, my A/C STILL is not working. I don't care what you have to do, I can't deal with this. I have to go."

Right. Your AC? Let's see...we've had how many warm days in the past 5 months? One? Psssssssychooooo.

So there's your cast of characters. As for me, I'm nervous the whole time. I have no idea what to expect in that room with the closed doors. All I know is that I'm surrounded by a bunch of people who have all done this before. They've all got nice, glossy headshots, professional resumes and seemingly, every hair on their heads is just where it needs to be. I've got a fake resume, a faded headshot printed on computer paper with a picture of me with a cigarette hanging out of my mouth and my hair was every way and loose. I'm in dire need of a haircut and I bought some new gel that is a far cry from the Crew Forming Cream that has spoiled my brown locks for so long. As I wait with the girl calling people in, I make light of my bogus resume and headshot. She looks at it and laughs, tells me it's fine. Sure it is. Then it's my turn, and in I go.

Much less nerve-wracking than I expected. These were taped auditions, first off. Just me and the cameraman. I had one line and I had to do it three different ways. One serious, like I was suggesting I know what I'm talking about, one relieved and one really confident. I had the same intonation and expression all three times, and twice I laughed in the middle of the take. The problem was that I had to sit at an impromptu desk for 15 seconds, pretending to work at a computer. The cameraman told me to order some food and pretend to drink my coffee...look natural. So the first time around on the 'serious' take, I ad lib that the waitress should bring me another sandwich. Another sandwich? Who gets a sandwich refill? Ridiculous. I laugh immediately following those words coming out of my mouth. Take one: FAIL.

The second time around was the relieved scenario. This time, I ad lib that I'm ordering another scone from the waitress. Another scone??? When have I ordered even one scone, nevermind a second? Yet again, I've outdone myself and I laugh pretty hard. Cameraman=not amused. Take two: FAIL.

The third and final time was my best effort. I was supposed to be confident, so my laughing could easily be translated into confidence...I think. I ad libbed ordering a bagel with extra cream cheese, showing my diversity. I then chuckle and give my line and the cameraman says "Nice, nice." Take three: DECENT.

And that was the end of my first real audition for television. I'm serious that we should all try to experience this at least once in our lives. I can guarantee you that you'll laugh a few times and see some unbelievably, remarkably hilarious people along the way. Oh, I haven't received a call back yet. YET.

Hitmen

Clearly, I'm still a bit hungover from the jubilation of Sunday's record-setter at Fenway. I can't help but talk about another facet of this game that I have overlooked up until this point. Going into it, I thought that the storyline of the night would be Dice's performance (his first) against a team that he's going to get to know a lot better over the course of his tenure in Boston. I'd like to visit that now.

His pitching was suspect at best on Sunday. Truth be told, he got knocked around a fair bit and probably didn't deserve to pick up his 2nd victory of the season when all was said and done. But there was something that he did that no one else has done up to this point in this young season: go up and in on A-Rod.

This can be looked at a slew of different ways. Maybe he was trying to show the faithful that he understands how much this guy is despised in this town. Perhaps he just got a little overzealous in trying to outmatch the best player in the game. Or maybe, just maybe, he was sending a message to A-Rod that, hey, if you think I'm gonna let you take huge hacks against me and continue your torrid pace, you've got another thing coming. Here's a little chin-music for you. I'm inclined to go with the latter.

How has no other pitcher opted for this yet? Typically when guys are this hot, they're gonna get pitched around half of the time, especially in key situations in games. Still, the guy has only walked seven times on the year and only one of these was of the intentional variety. Of his thirty hits, fourteen are homers and he's averaging a homer every 5 at-bats. Thirty-four RBI's thus far put him on a pace that isn't even worth mentioning because it's so outrageously high. And finally, his slugging percentage is at oh-good-lord level. I don't get why guys are not brushing him back and trying to get him to think twice about crowding the plate and getting the most for his swings. At this point, you know he's going to beat you in at least half of his at-bats. Throw at him. Dice knew exactly what he was doing. Petey would be doing the same thing and he may have thrown at him in every at-bat just to make sure that Rodriguez doesn't get the opportunity to tee off. I fully expect to see more of this in the near future.

Another thought about Sunday's game: Did anyone else have flashbacks to Mo Vaughn when Papi stepped in wearing the number 42? There's something about seeing a hulking lefty with a giant head standing in at the left side that will always remind me of the Hit Dog in his glory days. Fittingly, no Sox player since Mo has given me the feeling that every time he gets up there, he might hit clear the Dunkin ' sign in right field...except Ortiz. Also, if you had told me that the Sox would hit four homers in a row and D.O. didn't account for one of them, I wouldn't have believed you.

I've been trying to find alternate topics to write about over the past week or so but it's nearly impossible. This baseball season had the implications of being one of most storied in history and it's living up to that billing so far, if not exceeding it. Whether we like it or not, Bonds is quickly approaching Hank's record and it looks as if he'll eclipse 755 by Independence Day. We've already seen a no-hitter, a four HR game, countless walk-offs, and the makings of what could be the most outstanding offensive year in the history of the game. I know it's not even May yet, but everything has to start somewhere.

War, Vol. III

'The defining moment of the weekend: Back-to-back-to-back-to-back homers Sunday night (Manny, then Drew, then Lowell, then Varitek). Just a thrilling sequence that had to have been otherworldly to watch in person. '

This is how Simmons spoke of the weirdness at Fenway Park last night, and I've been struggling to find appropriate words to depict the feeling I had during that sequence of homers. Here's what went through my head as La and watched history happen before our back-to-back-to-back-to-back virgin eyes.

Manny gets up there and absolutely clobbers one over the monster. La comments on how quickly the ball left the yard as the faithful rejoice and I jump around, yelling and screaming. The guy to my right high fives me. Sweet, 3-1. We're on the board.

Enter JD Drew, whose jersey I purchased after the game on Friday night. He gets down in the count and then Wright leaves one fat over the plate and up in the zone...Drew's power alley. Result: monster shot over the Sox bullpen and no doubt that it was gone when it left his bat. Back-to-back? Awesome. More jumping, screaming, yelling, and a high-ten from the guy next to me. Awesome...within one run, 3-2.

Step in, Mike Lowell. BANG, shot over the monster and another destruction of a Wright pitch that he left fat for Lowell to drive. Start the mayhem as back-to-back-to-back is something to see in person. I'm off my ass now, voice faultering but I yell and yell. I jump and land on the foot of the kid next to me, but he didn't care. We're all laughing and smiling and La looks up at me and says something like four-in-a-row isn't possible...right? Who cares, tie ballgame. No outs. Wright is on a stick right now. 3-3.

Oh Captain...our Captain. On a 1-0 pitch, 'Tek takes a Wright offering and labels the ball his little bitch...and sends the offering out of the park in a HURRY. He hit it on a line, so reaction time was minimal. All I saw was a flash of light and then a chill through my body. FOUR IN A ROW. HOOOOLY SHIT. Pandemonium at Fenway. I high ten the guy next to me, only this time, we hold the high ten for a second, appreciating the moment and probably trying to understand it. We just saw something that we'll never see again. And it was against the Yanks. And it put us in the lead by a run. My voice is now completely gone, I'm hugging La in between futile screams and violent fist pumps. Best moment I've ever experienced at Fenway. ALDS 2004 was special, but this was just beyond words.

I've had some incredible sports weekends in my life, but these two Sox/Yanks battles were so outstanding...so incredibly outstanding in every way possible. This is why we're sports fans.

War, Vol. II

As Red Auerbach tugged on his Cuban from above last night, Oki induced a soft liner off A-God's bat and finally, his Rodliness was retired and Fenway absolutely ERUPTED. The eruption was an admission of fear, of nerves. Everyone from Sox brass down to the batboy had a pounding heart and a foreshadow of a third and debilitating dinger from #13. Lest we forget, 13 is UNlucky and our smilin'-Irish green chemises were enough to damn the man.

I had nothing left when La and I left the park last night. We sat in our walkway traffic seats until no one was left in the park and then finally gathered our reserves of energy and rose to depart.

"That's the best game I've ever been to, next to ALDS Game 3 of 2004", I said on our way out. There wasn't much more to say.

I'll be back tomorrow, amongst the sea of Japanese, for the third installment of this bloody battle. I need today off to regroup and, in the words of the great Jeremy Ryan, bring it back to neutral and recharge the battery. But this is what we live for, as Red Sox fans, as Yankee fans, as baseball fans in general. You cannot match the emotional electricity of Fenway Park or Yankee Stadium when these two giants meet. It's paradise.

For the record, I'd be at the game today if I had a ticket...hey Bowen, we were there last night in case you weren't sure. It was pretty decent.

War

ri·val·ry (rvl-r) n.

The state or condition of competition or antagonism.

I gotta go with antagonism as the operative word in this particular definition of rivalry, as provided by the good Mr. Webster. Chapter I, Verse I of Red Sox v. Yankees, 2007, begins in t-minus 2 hours and 50 minutes.

I don't think any of us need a storyline for this series; take your pick with the amalgam of asterisks that have attached themselves to this worldly rivalry. I'm salivating for every A-Rod plate appearance; every Papelbon sighting; every Yankee error; every brush-back and eventual hit batsman; every, single pitch that Daisuke throws on Sunday...my fingers are trembling right now, so I'm gonna go ahead and perform a few pregame rituals before I head out to the old ballpark for the first time in this young and promising season.

War is upon us. Hoo-fucking-rah.

A Little Slice of...Pizza?

Thanks to Hammen for the little slice of inspiration for this particular entry...check out his entry from today for clarification.

Assuming you're a sports fan, you've probably seen the clip of the fan at Fenway hurling his whole slice of pie at another fan during the Angel game two days ago. From what we're shown, the aggravated pizza-thrower is upset with another fan for some unknown reason. What we do know is that the guy who got hit with the slice has just misplayed a foul ball but successfully deterred Garrett Anderson from snagging the fly himself. Kudos to him for that, shame on him for losing a whole beer in the process.

I find the following to be beyond reason when analyzing this event. One, what exactly was the issue between the two fans? If they're both Sox fans, this interruption of Anderson going for the foul ball should be applauded; certainly no pizza should have been slung at him. Second, there are very few incidents at a Sox game that should warrant the classic food toss in the direction of another fan. Those few incidents include any and all fans donning Yankee garb within the Fenway confines, as well as any drunken asshole who can't keep his mouth shut during the National Anthem. That's just blatant disregard for a tradition that is sacred to so many. I can think of a couple other scenarios that would fit in here, all of which include A-Rod. You figure it out.

So let's play the other side of this here and assume that the pizza-thrower was an Angel fan. Maybe he's pissed that the other fan disallowed Anderson from making this catch, but under no circumstances can you act this way in another team's yard. You're outnumbered by 37,000 or so here. On the contrary, if the guy breaking up the play were an Angel fan at Fenway and it was Manny going into the stands to make the catch, fire away. I would expect to see far more than pizza in the air in this case. But I digress...if we assume this pizza guy was an Angel fan, he's got to consider the bigger picture surrounding the foul ball fiasco. Look pal, your team is down big, Beckett is looking virtually unhittable at that point (although he's probably done for the day being that it's the bottom of the 7th) and it's late in the game. Moreover, you probably got that slice before the 7th inning stretch, also known as the last time you can buy concessions at Fenway before they start shutting things down. If that was your last shot at sustenance, you've successfully foregone food until after the game and chances are, the line at the Sausage Guy is gonna be 100 deep by the time you stumble over there. Smarten up.

This whole situation is just outrageous. It can all be attributed, more than likely, to the hilarious effects of alcohol at sporting events. I am quite impressed with the fan who was hit, though. He showed no ill feelings about the pizza beaning. He was all smiles after the whole deal occurred, even having the spirit to give a buddy the obligatory point afterwards. He casually wiped off the pie residue from his fleece and resumed the Fenway experience. Well played, if you ask me.
Let's take a look at some alternatives to pizza in a situation that bears tossing a food item at someone during a game.

1. Beer.

I don't recommend this one, because you're throwing $7 out the window as soon as the cup leaves your hand. But as far as damage, this is an effective choice because with good aim, you can totally douse your target, depending on how full the cup was upon release.

2. Peanuts.

These don't offer much in the way of messiness, but they're probably the most effective in the way of velocity and accuracy. If you can pinpoint that sonofabitch's eyeball and fire a laser at him, he's gonna respect you. Further, if you choose to hurl a handful of nuts at him, you can then yell "have some nuts, bitch", and then enjoy a good laugh at his expense.

3. Fenway Frank.

There's nothing quite as amusing as a a hotdog in flight. Add some mustard, onions, relish, ketchup, kraut, whatever...and this is a white shirt's worst nightmare. An excellent choice.

So you see, there are better options out there for the fan that needs to project food in the direction of another fan at a sporting event. But do yourself a favor: make a good throw and keep that elbow in close. You don't want to be all over YouTube throwing like a little girl.

Climate Control

I wonder how many times over the course of the year that I'm consciously aware of how long it's been since I've seen the sun. Sure, I saw it briefly this weekend up in NH but it was a fluke because it wouldn't have happened had my urge to urinate not woken me up at 6:15 am. So as I look outside over my left shoulder, as I look at the gray, lifeless/leafless, tree-lined parking lot outside, I again wonder when we're going to have a nice, warm, sunny day here in friendly NewEngland...where the weather has a penchant for bending its residents over and continually porking them until mercy is merely an afterthought.

I had a look at historical weather patterns for April and May this morning and I came to a horrific realization: April, on the average, has more clear days than May in the city of Boston. Now, I've lived here my whole life and I guess I should know by now that May isn't all flowers blooming and picnics in the park. The average temperature in the month of May is just over 58°, which doesn't exactly make me want to celebrate the fact that we're more than halfway done with April. But this happens every year with me...somehow, May is the finish line for the long winter's race that I, as a New Englander, limp through consistently from year to year. Yet, May still sucks. Maybe it's not the frosty, ball-shrinking chill of winter but it might as well be. What's with this raw, dreary, depressing shit? As the rhyme goes, it's April showers that bring May flowers, so I'm always expecting a rainy month this time of year. But May sees only 6 clear days as compared to 7 in April. Correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't photosynthesis need SUNLIGHT?? I hate that stupid rhyme, but maybe the May flowers/Mayflower joke is one of great wisdom and tomfoolery. There's no flowers in May, folks. There's rain, wind who knows...if we're really, really lucky this year, maybe even a little snow. Just awesome.

I love hearing New Englanders champion the whole four-season-a-year angle when they talk about loving it here. Yeah, me too man. There's truly nothing like being cold 8 months out of the year and then anticipating the cold during the remaining four. It's true, though. For most of the summer, I spend my time thinking about every day passed is another day closer to the chill of Fall/Winter. It's fucked up. Another aspect of New England that claims to have such a hold on its residents is the fabled Fall foliage. I say 'fabled' because really, does the event of the leaves turning color towards their eventual death warrant its own name? I've always been intrigued by those who take specific trips north to 'take in the foliage'. I'm wondering, at what point in a person's life does taking in the foliage begin to create excitement? If I had to venture a guess, it's probably around the same time that sex becomes nothing more than something that happens on your birthday, holiday gifts have dwindled to socks and underwear and the only thing in your life that offers any break from your grudgingly mundane existence is a trip to the can following a long and arduous bout with constipation.

I know you're probably thinking that I must have hit some brutal traffic this morning, or perhaps I didn't sleep a wink last night and I'm overly irritable. Neither of those are true. I'm good today...perhaps even great. I just happen to be reaching my annual breaking point with the climate of our metamorphic region. Onto brighter things...

Is Josh Beckett really a new pitcher this year? Is he vastly different than he was last season, when he sat pretty at 3-0 in the second starter's slot? Yes, he is. Correction, he has been so far. I've been hearing both sides of the coin in this debate since his last start, but his stuff is better this season. When you compare his starts to last season, he just has much greater command of his pitches than he did last season. Sure, he's yet to face that vaunted Yankee lineup, or Toronto's loaded deck and yes, we'll see what he does on Saturday afternoon against those very Yankees...to me, he looks more confident and more comfortable out there than he did all of last season. I can appreciate the comfort that goes along with pitching with a 5, 6 or 7-run lead, but he's been throwing like it's a 1-run game. Beckett gets in trouble when he relies on his fastball to get him by. With command of his curve and his sinker there's no need fall back on his four-seamer like he did all of last year. Still, I don't think he's going to win the Cy Young and he'll probably end up with less than 20 wins and an ERA around 3.7 or so. But he's a better pitcher this year and than he was last year.

The other Sox issue that's been hot lately is Coco's struggles at the plate/pretty much everywhere else. We've been hearing that he offers nothing valuable to this team and the only asset he really has at all is his speed. I don't disagree, and I don't think his leash should be any longer than another week or so. Everyone remembers how well Wily Mo did in his 40-or-so starts last season. He also played a flawless center field and he's got a very good arm...something we haven't enjoyed in a center fielder since the Gold Dust Twins era. So what if Coco just mails it in after he gets benched. His signing is already a black mark on the record of Sox brass as it stands now, regardless of his injury. For the amount of effort it took to get him here, there should be question about who our center fielder should be. Other than the fact that we have Wily Mo waiting in the wings, there's also the emergence of Jacoby Ellsbury that seems to be laying out the not-so-distant future of that position.

Almost History

i received a phone call last night at 8:59 pm, EST. It went something like this:


Me: Yeah?

Cree: Hello Charile. Dude, can you fucking believe this shit? I'm so pissed.

Me: I know, man. I don't even know what to think. The fact that it might...uhh...that...man, I can't even say it. I feel like I'll jinx the Sox if I do.

Cree: I know, but we gotta do something, dude. This can't happen.

Me: I think we just have to mention it...the no-hitter, and that it's still alive. Orsillo just mentioned it before the commercial, so he's in on it, too.

Cree: Ok, good. This is just so fucking ridiculous, dude.


After we hung up, I received a text message from Cree, reading "Captain goes opp. field for 2b or hr", suggesting that 'Tek would come up and ruin the no-hitter bid with either a double or a homer. I replied seconds before Drew came to the plate with this: "I'm thinking Drew, wall-ball double."

Now, we all know at this point that Drew did indeed break up the no-no with a sharp single up the middle, just under the diving glove of Jose Lopez. Clearly I was off in my attempt to call the hit that would end Hernandez's bid for history, but I'll take a partial on this one. Not only did I do my part and channeling some of my optimism to the head of JD Drew, but I also administered three precise changes within my personal zone to break the pattern. I first took off my Sox hat and placed it on the table. Second, I removed my zip-up hoodie and replaced it with a WBCN/Patriots t-shirt that Carl had given me only hours before. It happened to be next to me on the couch. Third, I slid off the band-aid that was on my left index finger.

Say what you will about superstition, about creating a sense of hope for yourself, all that sort of stuff. But when all is said and done, who really knows why JD Drew was able to solve the newly legal (to drink) Felix Hernandez just that one time last night. Several other balls were hit that could have produced the same result, but Seattle's defense was superb in that game. Honestly, I thought Hernandez was going to do it. I had a feeling. The game had all the makings of the next no-hitter: it's the first few weeks of the season (Cree reminded me last night that some ridiculous percentage of no-hitters occur in the first few and last few weeks of the season, historically); the Sox weren't catching any breaks on balls hit that could have fallen and conversely, Seattle's D was making very difficult plays look somewhat routine; Hernandez had thrown just 80 pitches through 7 innings; and finally, but I think most crucially, this was supposed to be Dice's night. When all the hype and anticipation surrounding our prized Japanese goldenboy was at its peak, the show was stolen by a 21 year-old kid from Venezuela who signed with the Mariners on his 16th birthday in 2002. It's the last thing that could possibly happen on a night like that, isn't it?

To put this into perspective, it's just another tally in the loss column for the Sox and subsequently the first loss for Matsuzaka in a Sox uniform. It's amazing to me how much can be affected by one man getting one hit in the latter stages of a bid for a no-hitter. In one instance, you're thinking that we're gonna have to hear about this for a long time to come as a Boston fan and a moment later, that thought is erased from your memory forever. Hernandez would have become the youngest player in American League history to throw a no-hitter but instead, he's just the current AL leader in ERA, OBA, wins and a slew of other things that won't last very long. He will, however, probably have two or three more chances to surpass Vida Blue as the youngest pitcher ever in the AL to throw one.

Aside from all of this hype and drama that infected Fenway Park last night, perhaps we saw two of the brightest and most promising arms in baseball facing off against each other. They're two young guys who are new-or at least fairly new- to the major leagues. Both have stellar command of more than one or two pitches. Both are foreign-grown talent and both will probably win about 15-20 games this season, barring injury. But the biggest difference between them isn't that one is Japanese and one is Venezuelan. It's not that one is 6'3, 230 and the other 5'11, 187. And it's not that one plays for the most storied franchise in baseball and one for a franchise struggling to find an identity. It's that Matsuzaka will earn $8 million this season and Hernandez will earn $420,000.

Take to the Air, Joey!

When your best touchdown to interception ratio over six seasons in the NFL is 19/12, you really haven't distinguished yourself as, let's say the elite of the league. I don't know if anyone had truly high expectations for Joey Harrington when he came into the NFL out of the University of Oregon, but he was good in college. I wouldn't say great per se, but he finished 4th in the Heisman voting in 2001 and lead the Ducks to two impressive bowl wins over top 12 teams in his tenure. So why has the Dave Groel look-alike performed so poorly since it's been for money? I have a theory.

He hasn't been the same since leaving the nest, so to speak. Life as a Duck was good to him, so perhaps he should never have left the aves class within the chordata phylum for that of the mammalia.

How a duck is expected to go from a dredging water fowl to the king of the jungle is beyond me. I mean, that's like taking a swimmer in the Special Olympics and pitting him against Michael Phelps in the individual medley. Sure, it's still water in a pool but you can't win a race in floaties. He had been trained to just kind of sit around, taking the occasional flight towards a stray morsel of bread that may have been tossed in his direction. Imagine having to adapt from a small beak to a giant jaw complete with enormous teeth, suited for tearing animal flesh and kicking pretty much anyone's ass. Circle does not get the square. Even if he possesses the heart of a lion, his carnivorous hunting skills were severely lacking when he was drafted by the mammalian class. Result: shitty.

His next move was a step in the right direction in terms of joining a more docile class of mammal, but again, just too much of a leap to take with any hope of succeeding. A dolphin, while intelligent and playful, is a sea-stricken fish and another carnivorous mammal. We again must look at the transition here. Sure, maybe Joey learned a thing or two about being in charge of a species in his time as a lion but he still failed miserably. Whoever thought he'd serve better in the open ocean, eating squid and doing flips in the air, was terribly mistaken. A duck is a bird, people. No flowing mane, no dorsal fin, no blowhole (in the literal sense). The boy needs some wings, a beak, a bunch of feathers. Perhaps we can throw in some talons so he can at least protect himself, you know? This mammal crap is for the birds.

They say that every time a Snell slings, a dolphin gets his wings. Sure enough, Ian Snell slung it around for the Pirates last night and Joey the dolphin inherited a pair of much needed falcon wings. This is just the thing for the publicly pilloried (from the Old French word pilori, meaning to expose to ridicule) pianist...just the thing to nurse him back to above-average mediocrity and mild success with the occasional disaster. Once Mike Vick gets his wings clipped this season by way of season-ending hit, we'll again see Joey take to the air and return to the comforts of wings and a beak. It's been a long road to this Oz, but along the way he's picked up the heart of a lion and the brain of a dolphin to assist him in his familiarly new landscape. Go get 'em, Joe.

Must be opening day at Fenway...I have no idea what the previous few paragraphs are all about and I sincerely apologize. Harrington's a bum...he should be coaching Pop Warner somewhere and playing Keno in his spare time. Anyway, I'm looking forward to a little Jeff Weaver home cookin' at old yard this afternoon. Jeff will be serving a delicious variety of meatballs and cheese and I hear Papi's a little on the hungry side.

Bon Appetit.

Salut, Lundi.

I'll start this week's blogging adventure with an update on my arch-rival/favorite person under 4' tall...my nephew Aaron. If you've kept up with this blog at all, you'd know that he has somewhat of a master key to the world of things that are fun. He remains my arch-rival because within that world exists my girlfriend and I know she'd side with him over me in a heartbeat. And I can't blame her because he is pretty convincing. Here's how he fared on Easter Sunday: he scored some candy, a few stuffed animals, a gardening kit complete with a shovel, a rake and a watering can, a bunch of carrots for his personal consumption (real carrots and he was extremely happy about it...point: his parents), several books, several games and more hugs than the cast of the Departed at the Oscars. He barely had to eat dinner but engorged himself in a giant bowl of ice cream, he got to play games all day, copped more consequence-free feels on Lauren than I could ever hope to and to top it all off, he had the ultimate ruling on when we could all finally take a post-meal snooze. King Soloman never had it this good. Keep it up, Big A.

Onto more pressing matters...

I've been enjoying hearing various synopses of baseball's first full week of action and pretty much as always, nothing is really going as planned. But the first week is really funny in a lot of ways. It's kind of like bizarro league baseball...to me, anyway. I really enjoyed looking at the AL East standings this morning and finding the D-Rays in first. Imagine that! And look, there's the Yankees, waaaaaay down in third or fourth or something. I hear Steinbrenner's considering firing Torre and making A-Rod a player-manager. Imagine...A-Rod moves himself back to short, throws Jeter in right and refuses to put anyone at third, citing that he has the range of three Jeters combined. Also, he hits leadoff, third, fourth and fifth.

I've gotta get this off my chest...I hate A-Rod's face. I know you all saw it when he came to home plate following his walkoff grandslam against the O's this weekend. Is it just me, or did it kind of appear as if no one really wanted to show much excitement about his game-winner? Yeah, they crowded the plate but it wasn't the same as an Ortiz moment, or any of the Red Sox, for that matter. I don't know, but he was everybody's MVP in the preseason and he's played like it over the first week. For the moment, he's bought himself a reprieve from the Yankee faithful but that's not going to last too long. Just a head's up to A-Rod: 4/20/07 is quickly approaching.

Since this whole issue of performance enhancing drugs is omnipresent in sports right now, I"m wondering when we're going to see an athlete have an absolute 'roid-rage moment and do something inexplicably violent. Maybe Bonds charges the mound after getting beaned in the head for the third time in a game and actually rips off the pitcher's head. Let me ask you, if he were to do this, does he get into the Hall of Fame? I'd love to see Gary Matthews Jr. run through an outfield wall made of brick or something. I wonder if guys like Bonds, Sosa, McGwire, Sheffield and Giambi use(d) heavier bats due to their brutish strength from the 'roids. I also wonder if any of their wives/girlfriends took issue with their drug use. Perhaps in the 60 Minutes interview with Bonds after his retirement, he'll come clean about it and say the hardest part was having to let his wife bang some other dude because he penis became so pathetically small. "Yeah, it hurt when she decided that was the route she was gonna take. The fact that it was Hank Aaron was just over the top, though." Interestingly enough, Bonds could have a chance to break Aaron's record on the 20th of July this season against Milwaukee and in Milwaukee. On July 20th, 1976, Hank Aaron hit his 755th and final homerun of his career...in Milwaukee.

Somehow I lost track of my original idea here, which was discussing the first week of the season and where things stand at this point in time. What matters is this: the Sox open at Fenway on Tuesday, Dice throws his first game in front of the faithful on Wednesday and I'll make my first appearance at the park on Thursday. It's too cold for baseball, but who gives a shit (ask me this on Friday morning...it's supposed to snow here Thursday night around gametime). I'd say just given the fact that we can all watch baseball for the next 6 months is reason enough to celebrate.

The License Plate Said Fresh...

...And it had Dice-K in the mirror. This time, it's for the money. Boston, stand up.

He's a revolutionary new product that's hitting the market after much anticipation. He's been field tested on a surface level, but the true sample of a new product happens soon after the official release; it happens when the ultimate consumer finally gets his hands on it and sees what it can do. Sure, the split-squad lineups that "The Monster" has faced in spring training will tell you that he's functional and can offer value for the money but they're merely product testers. Not to mention, all of those guys are impartial anyway. Today...this time...it's for the money.

For the Red Sox and their fans, they're (we're) the one kid in the neighborhood whose parents actually could afford and gave in to the request for the hottest toy on the market that everyone wanted. And tonight, all of our friends are coming over to play it for the first time. They've been talking about it rabidly for months and months, offering fanatically fantastic versions of what they think it'll be like, yet none of them have the foggiest idea of the truth. Yeah, this toy was released in Japan several years ago but a buzz is only a buss until it's full blown hysteria that's actually tangible. What will they all think? Will it be like every time the new version of Madden or NBA Live comes out and it takes a few games before you actually declare that yeah, this thing is the shit? Maybe it'll be like Grand Theft Auto, wherein you know it's sick the first time you play it but over time and hours upon hours of use, it becomes shelved somewhere between Double Dribble and Dig Dug. Here's to hoping that Dice is my Tetris.

Onto what we know as of right now: Red Sox 7, Royals 1. Beckett wasn't sharp, but he did what he needed to do to give the team the opportunity to win. For the number of changeups he left up in the zone, there were equally as many follow-up knee-benders that had me saying "that's your spot...get that shit down". As Remdawg consistently pointed out, you can get away with that when it's the Royals and when it's David DeJesus. Come April 20th, that pitch is on Landsdowne and someone's calling Giant Glass for a windshield replacement.

Overall, last night's game was a bit of a mixed bag. When's the last time trusty Mike Lowell made two errors in one inning? But errors are quickly forgotten when you have damage control. When's the last time the guy in the 5-slot really made a guy pay for being careful with Ortiz and Ramirez? Now, I know what you're thinking; none of this is worth talking about until there's consistency. But it has to start somewhere, and I can't think of a better place to start than with JD Drew. He's gonna get it done in the field and he certainly is capable of getting it done at the plate with consistency. And I would like nothing more than for my Trot wound to heal up nicely with little to no scarring. As of right now, the bleeding has stopped and it's scabbing over nicely.

Fever

The following is my best Dan Shaughnessy impression, following the Sox opening day loss to the Kansas City Royals:

Ok Sox fans, who's given up on the season already? Come on! I know you're out there! Well, I'll tell you, you might just be in for a treat if you give up now because it looks like you might be able to save yourself some money, pain, suffering and loss of voice/bowels over the next 6 months or so. I wish I could be in your blossoming club, but I have to follow every game in an effort to relive every, painful day in the form of a blog entry. So up yours.

So much to say, so little that warrants being said...let's keep this one pretty short and sweet, shall we? Schilling is old, overweight and better suited as a Bush campaign supporter. Varitek's legs are no longer all muscly and aren't capable of hitting a baseball past the pitcher, our bullpen is a patch job and the meat of our order will fall victim to the bottom of our order because our 6-9 hitters are hardly even mediocre at this point. So you like the starting 5? Sorry, 4? Interesting, considering there's absolutely nothing that precedes these 4 guys that would make sense of anyone being optimistic about them. Masochists unite...2007 is the year of the mass suicide.

Nah, not really. I think we should wait until week 2 to make this distinction. For now, we get to enjoy a night off from Sox baseball to lament the loss that was last night, and let it stick in our collective craw just long enough to make us wonder about the Bruins. Ok...maybe that's a stretch.

I find it truly remarkable that I can go through so many emotions during and after a baseball game. The preceding passage was the third commentary I wrote on Tuesday morning/afternoon and to be honest, it's the only one that truly 'flowed from the pen', so-to-speak. It goes without saying that I won't give up until we've been mathematically eliminated from playoff contention or knocked out in the DS/CS/WS. But beyond the Sox, there are so many things that are making this season both exciting as well as intriguing. Some of them are, in no particular order:

1. The Bonds situation. It bothers me that this seemingly imminent record-breaking will happen this year and so many sports analysts have this everlasting hard-on about it. I guess the enhancement issue has been beaten to a bloody pulp but it still looms too large to let go of. I know that it doesn't change the fact that he is still in the books as having hit 734 home runs to date, but it's still impure. I guess we don't really know how many of the other guys in his company were taking supplements either, but when he hits #756, I'll be flipping from SportsCenter to anything else. On the brighter side, Pujols should be over 300 after this season, making him the youngest ever to reach that plateau. He's also the only other guy on that list who started his career at the same age as Henry Aaron. If Pujols plays until he's 43 like Aaron did and averages 30 HRs, he'll have hit 760 HRs. If he averages 35, his total will be 845 HRs. Good luck, Albert.

2. The AL East, as always, is stacked and ready for another season of very tight and very emotional baseball. Toronto is again legit and NY and Boston speak for themselves. The several questions surrounding the Yanks and Sox make the situation that much more interesting and maybe we'll see the Jays sneak in there under the radar. But alas, it will be the Sox and Yanks battling for the East and the possible pitching matchups from these two meeting are historic (let's say Clemens ends up a Yankee, too...for grins)

Clemens v. Schilling (Fenway turns back clock, drop all prices to 1950 prices in honor of Clemens and Schilling being elderly men...Sox sign Johnny Pesky to a one-day deal to DH)

Pettite v. Beckett (nothing to do with the matchup really, but Beckett will hit A-Rod to start the beanfest. Menino decides Boston should be known as Beantown from here on in.)

Wang v. Matsuzaka (Fenway changes menu to only sushi, tempura, fried rice and Sapporo. By the third inning, every toilet in the park is clogged, game is postponed, Torre declares season to be 'in the crapper'.)

3. The AL Central is the most thought-provoking division in baseball. It's been great to hear people like Gammons and Kurkjian predict this race because no one can commit to a leader. How can you? You hear things like, "well, Detroit has to be the favorite but Chicago will be certainly be in the mix and you can never count the Twins out because you just know Gardenhire/Mauer/Santana will make them win..." I gotta give the nod to Los Tigres. With the addition of Sheff, the pitching (assuming the Gambler will come back at some point) and Zumaya as their closer, they're a tall order on any day. It'll be fun to watch this one unfold.

4. I've been a legit Dodger fan since D-Lowe, Bill Mueller, Grady, Nomar, etc. went west. They had arguably the best off-season in baseball and they've built a deep rotation that should carry them back to the playoffs and into the World Series. Man, a Sox-Dodgers World Series would be IT.

NO DEAL

I've changed my mind about 'American Idol' being the best representation of why other parts of the world hate us. 'Idol' is still in the top three but it is FAR SURPASSED by Deal Or No Deal.

If you consider a Yankee victory entertaining merely for the aggrevation it causes, then maybe you should consider becoming a 'Deal Or No Deal' (sick of typing that out...from here on in, DOND) viewer. This show is for people that like getting pissed off about how incredibly senseless television has become over the years, for the most part. I also find it slightly ironic that the one show that keeps me in my seat for a solid hour every week (aside from sports) is based on thwarting the undying efforts of angry Muslim militants/terrorists and their efforts to kill us all. By the way, in the subscripts of '24', it tells of Fayed and Gredenko taking in an episode or two of DOND before every attack, just to get the old blood boiling. I'll tell ya, Fayed is damn good at looking irate, isn't he? This also reminds me...watching DOND must have generated enough adrenaline in Gredenko to pump him up for that arm amputation. I mean, the guy didn't even faint or pass out from the pain! THAT'S adrenaline, my friends.

So I found myself in front of DOND last night, as a result of BOF insisting that we give it a chance and watch an episode. I've gotta preface this all by mentioning the show 'Greed'. Sure, the name implies an even more absurd theme than DOND, but at least these people had to use their fucking brains a little bit...at least there was a little, friendly competition amongst the contestants. Anyway, we watch DOND last night and there's a female contestant from Alaska who is 'trying to make a better life for her kids' and thus, she's come to DOND to win some money. By the way, her kids didn't look like they were deprived of much...they had neatly pressed button-down shirts on, khakis and they all had glasses. Perhaps mom just wants a new SUV. My problem with her interest here, wanting a better life for her boys, is that if this were true, why would ANYONE risk a guaranteed sum of $191,000 just to see if maybe she could win $400,000? Maybe because it's a game show, right? But these people don't make it about the game. This woman had to make it about the greater good of providing for her family but that went out the window from the moment her obnoxious mother yelled out "NO DEAL! That's only enough for a new truck!"

I would have been so satisfied had the contestant gone all the way and found a mere few hundred dollars in her selected case. She ended up taking a 'DEAL' at $204,000. I'm not sure that's worth the several hours she had to spend with Howie Mandel and his pet soul patch, though...but at least she finally afford that Mercedes M Class and a few Lunchables for the kids. Mission accomplished.

It's Really Opening Day, For Starters

At long last, the single greatest day of the year is upon us. Who gives a shit about the dreary doldrums that surround us here in metro Boston; who cares about the 40° temperatures and who cares that it's yet another Monday morning and we're staring the rest of the week in the face? Today, my friends, is Opening Day. Shouldn't this be a national holiday? Well, maybe the day of the home opener would be more likely to require time off because the games starts at 2:05 pm whereas today's match will see the first pitch around 4:15 pm. But still, it's a great day.

Kicked off by the uber-knowledgeable and quick-witted Richard Levine on the Hillman morning show this morning, the day has looked pretty sweet thus far. As Richie clamored on about 'ol Pap's return to the bullpen and such, I prepared for work in the usual way. Chances are, my day will float on with minimal resistance, apart from the usual hard time the clock gives me. For some reason, it's insistent upon employing the Bob Knight method of running...painfully slow and methodical. I figure every minute is taking about 90 seconds at this point. i won't be able to have the gamecast on my computer because I'll get in trouble for that, but I might be willing to risk it for just this one day. I haven't decided just yet.

The first email of the day came from my buddy Jake, who seems to be really excited about seeing Schill take the hill for our first game. Personally, I'm fine with it but slightly impartial. I would have been perfectly happy with Dice out there or JB. KC, on the other hand, will be sporting the pioneer of the 2007 free-agent unworthy millionaire class in Monsieur Meche. Boy, how much would it suck to be a Royals fan? You've invested a large sum of money in Gil Meche, a guy with a career ERA of 4.65 and who has never topped 200 innings. I'd be more optimistic about Greinke who should have a breakout season; personally I thought that would have happened last year, so clearly this will be his year to make a name for himself. Other Royals to keep an eye out for: still trying to find one, check in later. Prediction for KC: 55-107

The National Championship is also tonight, and I am looking forward to watching Florida cut down the nets. Wait, let me rephrase that: I'm looking forward to watching this game, but I fear that it will be Florida taking it home with little second half resistance. They just have way too much firepower in their lineup and as Jay Bilas remarked, when your fifth offensive option is a guy in Lee Humphrey who shoots 45.6% from downtown, you've got a pretty potent offense. I know the OSU isn't full of slouches either, but they're young, inexperienced and Thad Matta is not Billy Donovan.

Moving onto topics on the lighter side, yesterday marked another April Fool's Day; another in which nothing remarkable happened to anyone I know. The only prank I witnessed (which failed miserably, might I add) was a phone call from Carl's girl's friend who told him she was hammering drinks at 10am and still playing cards, etc etc. But I alertly reminded him at the beginning of that call that it was indeed April 1st and to be wary of any fabricated stories about his girl. Point: Carl, Assist: Me. Some of the better moments in April Fool's Day History as I've seen them:

1. Circa 1993 about, I tied an elastic around the sprayer on our faucet fixture just before my Dad came down to leave for work. Knowing he'd wash out his coffee cup, I waited by the sink in anticipation of the inevitable shot of water he'd get and I soaked him, but I had no idea he'd get so angry. There's something about dousing a man in a suit prior to the work day that gets under the skin a little but. I think I was grounded for a good chunk of time, and I learned never to try and slip one past my old man on April 1st, especially not right before work. Bad idea.

2. Circa 2005, I was working at a recruiting firm and the office was a series of cubicle rows. A co-worker of mine had his "office" moved into the men's room, computer, desk, chair, everything...with a sign that read "Victor's Office" on the men's room door. Unbelievable idea by whoever came up with it. He took it well, too.

I'll use this last paragraph to give an official welcome to the blog world to my father, Charles III. (for those of you unfamiliar with my family tree, I'm the fourth). He started reading about a week ago and following his first visit, he sent me an email and signed it 'French Sr.' which I thought was pretty awesome and equally funny. He said he might be commenting on my insights here and there, so I look forward to the first one.

Oh, for those curious about the photo I've attached on this entry, that's me when I was about 4 or 5. It's posted in an effort to make someone laugh and I hope it's effective on a few more. FYI, my belly has never been this impressive since this photo.

Happy Monday, sports fans. Go Sox.