SAT

Part I: Analogies

Flintstone's Car : Fred's Two Feet ::

(a) Beckett : fastball

(b) Posada : piece of cheese

(c) Red Sox offense : Roger Clemens

(d) Babe Ruth : 6" hoagie

(e) bat : ball

The correct answer would of course be (c). Fred's Two Feet would ultimately stop the Flintstone's car as Roger Clemens halted the Sox offense last night. I suppose you could make the argument that a piece of cheese might very well stop Posada, being the rat that he is, and that a hoagie surely would halt the Babe's portly ass, but the most correct answer would be (c). There, now wasn't that fun and educational at the same time?

I wrote yesterday about renewed hatred. I write today about a rampant hatred that's alive and well...kicking and screaming...seething and spitting. It's back, folks. For all of you who have been sitting back in the old recliner all season, mouth agape as you hum along in lala land with this feeling of comfort, the fear is back. Last night's win was an official momentum shift, if not a swing. Granted a Sox victory this evening will cancel it out but I'm not confident in Schilling. I'm also not too fond of facing Wang.

Isn't this better though? Having laid mention of the this thought before, I won't go too deeply into it but this is what Septembers are made for. Summer is coming to an end, school is back in session and the AL East race is tightening up. The smell of football is starting to tickle the nosehairs but the stench of sausages, booze and October dominate the late summer air. We live for this part of the year here in Boston and we thrive on the taste of the postseason. Even though it would take a collapse of epic proportions to claim the playoff life of the Sox, it could happen. Thankfully, I don't think there's anyway that our pitching staff is conducive to that sort of occurrence so let's bury that whim right here and now. There will be playoff baseball in Boston. The only question is, will it involve that stripey whale from the Bronx?

There is a lot to think about going into this home stretch for Boston. As of yesterday, we're staring at a potentially serious injury to Manny's oblique which, as one can surmise, is as devastating an injury as any hitter can have. Twisting and turning your torso unfortunately cannot be avoided when swinging the lumber. So that is an intriguing and unpropitious situation at this juncture. There's also this little issue of the clutch hitting and comebackability...if you will. While the Sox offense would appear to be built to score a lot of runs, they just haven't been doing it with regularity. The bright side of this shows Ortiz and Ramirez being much more productive since August began, but of course Manny can't keep that up if he's not playing. It is not, however, out of the realm of possibility to think that Papi could carry the offense in his shoulders is he has to. He's done it before (see 2004).

Big sports night tonight: Schilling v. Wang, Pats final preseason game before the opener against the J-E-T-S and the college football season opens with the nation's #2-ranked team (LSU) taking on Mississippi State. So get that grill fired up, crack a Miller Chill and take it all in. Think of me as you sip that chelada-style beer, as I'll be painting, hauling boxes and painting. I'll also be painting.

Still, I...

After watching last night's Sox-Yankees game, one thing was clear to me: even with a fairly soft cushion in the division...and the great team we send out there every night...and the decrepit state of most of the Yankee rotation...I still hate the Yankees. I had thoughts that it may have dissipated, but no. I thought maybe I pitied them to some slight degree, but no. I hate them. They suck.


I should stop using that phrase...they don't suck, per se. Mariano looks great, Joba Chamberlain scares the bejesus out of me and on any given day, they have the best offense in the game. Before leaving work yesterday, I approached one of the cookie-cutter, Baby-Boomer Sox fans in my office and told him my prediction for this series: the number of appearances Joba makes will be directly proportional to the number of games the Yankees win. So far, I'm right.

Here's a few things that suck a whole lot more than the New York Yankees: people that stand in front of the entrance to the T as they look for their train pass. You couldn't have done that thirty seconds ago? Or perhaps just off to the side so other people can get through...really not cool and in fact, it sucks. Also sucking today is my decision to eat half a sandwich at 9:20am. My stomach was already out of whack and that surely didn't help. Let's see, let's see...I know there's more, but now I can't get the thought of that insipid guy at the T stop, digging through his wallet while a line formed behind him. What an asshole. Honestly, you take the T everyday, yet you don't bother to take out your pass until it's the last possible second, therefore lending yourself to the possibility of being a major annoyance if you can't locate it right away. Just who do you think you are?

On another front entirely...no matter how much time you think you have, or how much manpower you've enlisted, or how hard you work...moving still sucks. And I'm not even moving. It has more to do with transforming a dungeon into an acceptable dwelling, and La and I are almost there, but still. It's a very stressful event and the projects you encounter during a move tend to have a bit of a domino effect. I know it will be rewarding once we're all finished, however. On the brighter side of this stress, I can safely say that I am becoming quite the interior painter. My handiness with a 2" latex brush and 3/8" nap roller has grown tenfold over the last month or so, and I have this apartment (and a house in Rye Brook, NY) to thank for that. Alas, I am my father's son and he happens to be a bit of a paint master, so I must get it from him. I did not, however, inherit my mother's uncanny ability to edge a ceiling. If I don't tape off the ceiling, it looks like a blind man took to the ladder and attempted to do the job.

I read in the news this morning that the late Leona Helmsley has left $12 million in her will for her beloved dog. Lucky dog, huh? When asked what he planned on doing with the money, the Maltese named Trouble hadn't decided yet. But he did seem to fancy chewing it, swallowing it and puking it up a few hours later. It's unclear as to whether or not the money would still hold its value if it were covered in canine bile. The pieces of money that appear in his excrement lose their value but this begs me to point out that while money doesn't grow on trees, it may in fact show up in a pile of dog shit once in a while.

Despicable

It was an act of the utmost in unsportsmanlike character; an act that took aim at embarrassing the opposing team's coaching staff, players and fans. I have to assume that there will be some bad blood on the other end of something that happened last night in Major League Baseball and the next meeting between these two subjected teams should be very interesting and entertaining.

Last night in Motown, the Detroit Tigers went for a two-point conversion not once, but twice in a lopsided pasting of the New York Yankees. Call it piling on, calling it padding stats, call it what you will...this was purely uncalled for and humiliating and there's just no place for it in sports.

16-0. Not 14-0, because that just wasn't enough of a cushion to satisfy Jim Leyland's club last night. I cannot determine the motives behind adding insult to injury against a team that clearly had no resolve or resiliency last night, but my heart goes out to Mike Mussina and the rest of that beleaguered Yankee pitching staff who couldn't seem to gut out a decent pitch.

The fines and/or suspensions that may or may not be handed out for this senseless behavior have yet to be stated and Commissioner Selig was unavailable for comment this morning. One can only hope that justice is served once all is said and done.

Front and Center

Three months ago, I cringed at the sound of Coco Crisp's name; whether from the announcer at Fenway, the SportsCenter anchors or my own voice in my head, reading an article in the Globe. Unfairly, I usually get down on players that are mired in slumps, whether it's verbal disgust or mental. It's hard to remember that for every slump, there's usually a hot streak on the other side of it, days, weeks or months down the line.

It's not Coco's offensive surges that have put me in an alternate state of mind as of late. The glove he wields in center field, night in and night out, far outshine any offensive output he could ever have from the 7,8 or 9 hole.

It's nice to see Coco on webgems, or on the SportsCenter top 10 plays of the night for some 9.5-in-difficulty catch he pulled in. But the affect it has on a team as a whole must be put into perspective over the accolades received. Coco may not be the catalyst in our offense but a run-saving play carries the same weight as a run scoring single on many levels, and in some cases it carries more weight. How many nights may or may not have been shortened for a Sox pitcher had Coco not come up with miraculous grab to end an inning or prevent further damage? I look at a Curt Schilling, who, at over 40 years old, doesn't have a ton of starts left in him. If a play in center or at any position saves him 5, 10, 15 pitches in his outing, it's huge. It's huge for his arm, for his ERA and most importantly, for his psyche. With many pitchers, poor performances get inside their heads and can cause a domino effect of bad pitching. When the guys who play behind them make great plays to save runs, those plays could very well serve as disaster aversion. But you don't see that in a stat line. When a guy like Jon Lester, who stands to be negatively effected in every start he makes at this point, gets a break from a great play in the field, it does wonders for his confidence. Of course these occurrences aren't going to be very common but that's what makes them so valuable. We will never know the woulda-coulda of these situations, but I have to imagine that they're entrenched in negativity. Volatile situations that aren't averted turn out terribly; hence volatile.

Coco might be looking at his first Gold Glove in center if he wasn't up against guys like Ichiro and Gary Mathews Jr. His arm isn't the strongest out there and that works against him in that race. However, he might be having the best year in center that a Sox player has had ever, and that's saying a lot. He has the speed, the grace, the athleticism and the will to make every catch known to that position. But his best trait might very well be that he does it quietly.

A long-awaited return...

...for all Yankee fans.

I knew eventually they'd come out of the woodwork following their long, winter naps...and/or summer snoozes. They've watched from the depths of their rat holes as the Yankees have stumbled, scraped and clawed their way through this season, falling as far back as 14 games way back when. Where were they then? In their holes, of course, savoring pieces of cheese from years back...26 pieces to be exact. A fresh piece of cheese seemed highly improbable in May, June and most of July but now, all rational thought says that the remaining 6 games between the Sox and Yanks will define either season by crowning an AL East champ and probably mold the AL representative in the 2007 Fall Classic.

I got a text from Ponch this weekend, merely stating "the Yankees are looking good". It was enough to dig just under the surface of my skin and begin to nest and I know that eventually, it will be a full grown virus that haunts me to no end. Regardless of the outcome of the season for the once impenetrable giant that is the Red Sox, a dogfight in April will test a fan's will and faith.

Also testing my will and faith is a one Eric Gagne. I'd rather have him go up there and walk the bases loaded rather than continually groove fastballs and curveballs over the fat part of the plate. I don't doubt that he's in a mental world of hurt right now, but every run that crosses that plate is one more run that Paps wouldn't have given up and it makes me wonder...why in the hell would you screw with a good thing when you're barely in the face of adversity? Why was there this pressing need to upgrade the best bullpen in the majors? If we were simply trying to keep Gagne from the Yankees, I guess I can see some justification but last I checked they have some guy named Chamberlain that is lights out. They didn't need Eric Gagne and they still don't. No team has a spot for a guy that spends his time on his knees, blowing important games like he possessed. He's been good when he's out there and the Sox are behind but he's not the same pitcher in clutch situations. He looks frazzled and he looks like he's aiming his pitches, afraid to make a mistake. Unfortunately for him, aiming leads to mistakes and hard-hit balls and ultimately losses. Right the ship, Gagne. Perhaps he should ditch the number 83...

We'll see what happens over the next several weeks but one thing I can promise you is that as long as the lead in the AL East remains in the balance, Yankee fans will be resurfacing regularly, boasting of 10 straight Division Championships and blah blah blah. When they start barking at you, simply throw your arms to the side with your palms up and ask where they've been. What would a late-August/early-September be without a race to the pennant?

The Slipcover

The sofa slipcover is merely an expression of guilt to your guests that, hey, a few weeks back I had a buddy sleep over and he vomited, urinated and defecated all over that couch.

Magic Number

3 might very well be the magic number around Boston over the next 9 months or so. Let me preface this entry by saying that this is simple but pure speculation and can only be filed under: "Hey, it could happen".



There is a very real opportunity that exists out there for three out of the four Boston professional sports teams. If you're halfway intelligible, you've already eliminated the Bruins from this group. The leftovers are the Celtics, the Patriots and the Red Sox and there is a very distinct possibility that all three could be crowned champions of their respective worlds come Fall, Winter and Spring. Three champions in one overly deserving city seems like the loftiest of dreams, but maybe...just maybe it's not.



We're nearing the 3/4 mark of the major league baseball season and here they sit, 6 games up on the Yankees in the East and staring an AL East championship in the face. I was a young lad the last time that happened and nothing would make me happier than to see the Sox finish the job they have started this season.



They have three starting pitchers that should help them get there, as well as three nasty relievers that will all play a hulking role in the charge for the pennant. Schilling, Dice and Beckett pose a healthy problem for most any team in major league baseball in a playoff series, but they all have to be special up until and through that time in order for this thing to materialize. I'm concerned about Schilling, and who isn't? I don't doubt his competitveness, nor do I doubt his knowledge of the game and presence in the dugout. But he's aging rapidly and his strength is ever depleting. We need him to be an ace, point blank. Dice-K will seemingly always give the Sox a chance to win at the very least, and we're staring at a potential Cy Young award winner in Beckett. Piece in Wake and Lester and our rotation is intact and ready for battle.

I started this post on Friday. It's now Monday, and those 'three nasty relievers' that I mentioned so eloquently in the prior paragraphs have now blown two straight games to the less-then-mediocre O's. Here's my problem with yesterday's game: Oki walks the first batter of the inning and Tito takes him out of the game for Gagne. Maybe he's trying to instill confidence in the sloppy slinger, I don't know. But Oki has been lights out in the eighth inning all season and he's proven that a baserunner here and there rarely hurts him because he's absolutely masterful at getting out of self-inflicted jams. Regardless, Gagne comes in and promptly grooves a fastball right down home run lane to Miguel Tejada who quickly deposited the offering into the right-center bleachers. 2 days, 2 blown saves for Gagne. ERA: 2 touchdowns and field goal. AL East lead: 4 games. Yankee bats: smoldering. Anxiety level: heightened.

Time to make myself feel better. Let's look at team #2 in this 3-team picture: the Patriots. Odds on favorites to win the Superbowl, the best quarterback in the league, a much improved defense and possibly the best coach ever. They were on the precipice last season and suddenly imploded over the course of 24 agonizing minutes in Indy (see my post from back in January to relive it), so one can only imagine that with a vastly improved team, results should improve. I can see one team bettering the Pats this season, and they are the Chargers. I, for one, cannot wait until they visit Foxborough on September 16th. There's bad blood and some dormant tempers that once flared, so that promises to be a great one. However, San Diego should be one of the best teams in the league yet again this year. It should be interesting.

The final team to consider here is the Celtics, who kept busy in the past week and signed G Eddie House and F Scot Pollard to add some much needed depth to a depleted bench. Granted, neither will do much in the way of exciting the fans, but it's depth nonetheless. Honestly, it's a really strange feeling to be confident and excited going into a Celtics' season. For one, I don't remember the last time it felt this way and for another, pride hasn't existed around the Garden since...well, you know when. Seriously, we have the Truth and the Big Ticket and they're flanked by one of the top 5 shooters in the game in Ray Allen. There's something that will help you sleep at night.

I kind of hope this doesn't happen; that is, this three-team championship. It might be way too much to handle over the stretch of merely 7 or 8 months. And the only way to go from there is down, so where's the fun in that?

I'm kidding. It would be awesome.

Two in Two

Chuck Woolery has always been my favorite game show host..."we'll be back in two and two." Of course I am referencing the fact that this will be my second post in two days, a feat I haven't accomplished in a fortnight or so. As I sit here in my new orangy/mauve cubicle, I pat myself on the back for reconnecting with my blog. Onward...

Being back in the city full time, I am realizing how hard it is to not be the guy who brings his lunch every day. I have absolutely no idea where to eat when I venture out to revitalize. It's not that I can't find places; quite the contrary my friends. I can't decide on a place to eat because there are literally a thousand places to eat within a square 1/4 mile. I don't understand how all these little sandwich shops survive with all the competition. I suppose that for every Al's State Street Deli, there's a thousand Al's customers who are loyal and keep coming back. So if every deli and sandwich shop has a bit of a following, it's probably enough to get by in a big city like Boston. The problem is, they really are pretty much all the same.

I've had three versions of the turkey sandwich this week. The first from Al's, the second from Boston Kebob house and today came from Taste of the Town. I don't know which one was better; who am I to say? They were all tasty in their own turkey-like ways, but none was superior to the next. I will say, however, that there's no match for a baguette when it comes to breads of choice. The wrap, the wheat bun, the syrian...the baguette is simply the best. You could put a spoonful of vomit on there with a dash of manure and it would still be relatively good on a warm french baguette.

Ok, I can't write anymore because I have too much to do here. Amazing, huh? Well in case any of the faithful are wondering, this job is great so far. I'm really enjoying it...I just wish I could find an above-average turkey grinder somewhere. Suggestions welcome, please.

Many Happy Returns

Things have been a bit of a whirlwind lately, thus I have been absent from the blogworld. But this is my short-awaited return, in all its grandeur.

I regret to report that this must be a short re-entry, as my morning is jam-packed with work stuff...hey, when's the last time I uttered words with kind of message? I can't even remember. Anyway...the Sox are now a mere 5 games up on the Yankees. Props to the Jays for beaning A-Rod last night, but the least they could have done was turn it into an all out melee, complete with old men being tossed to the ground and a few cleat/face collisions. No such luck, and the pinstriped parade continued on its merry way to another victory. The good thing is that we still have 6 meetings with the Bombers before the end of September. I'm confident in head-to-head battle; our pitching is much better, so it should be able to cool their red-hot bats and give our offense enough of a window to get to the less-than-stellar Yankee bullpen.

But their offense is scary good right now. You look at the heart of that lineup and it's very difficult to go through it and say, "we get a break in this part here..." There are no breaks. And most of them are just on fire, allowing the Yanks to reel off win after win. But come on folks, we all knew this was coming and it's hardly a shock that here we are in early August, biting our nails and watching our blood pressures rise with fervor. But this is how it's meant to be...how it should be. What would August and September be without a pennant race in the AL East? Phone calls to my mother wouldn't be the same without the occasional yet imminent "well, your father is about to go ballistic here..." The next one of those shant be far off.

To Be Continued...

Out Like a Lion...

And if all goes down as it appears it might as I sit here now, that is a huge, badass lion with nasty incisors and a hefty appetite.

There's nothing like a solid metaphor, and this case I am clearly referring to the Boston sports scene, here and now. We're looking at potentially bringing in two big time pieces to fill in one puzzle that is damn near complete and a second that is taking shape and looking like it could be a quickly assembled, well constructed masterpiece.

Let's begin with KG entering the scene as soon as today, joining PP and Ray Allen to form a starting lineup that will stand up to any in the NBA and vault the C's from a solid 4 or 5 seed in the East to an odds on favorite to reach the NBA Finals. The fear is that we're dumping our entire bench, with the exceptions of Tony Allen, Big Baby and Leon Powe with a handful of below-average role players like Scal and the Candyman. I'm okay with that, save maybe letting go of Gerald and Gomes. Gerald's departure was imminent; Gomes was one that I hoped wouldn't find a way into this equation. However, you have to be willing to let go of a lot in order to land a superstar like the Big Ticket. (speaking of big ticket, big shout out to my boys Richie and Carl for getting the deal done for season tickets today...excellent work there, chums)

If the C's can manage to pick up a battle-tested veteran over the course of the next several months and perhaps one other piece, the NBA Finals look that much more like a certainty. For the Boston Celtics' fans that have patiently awaited something good to happen over the last 15 or so years, this is a nice payoff. Bad coaching, bad front office work, etc...all that considered, we wouldn't be in the position to pick up a Kevin Garnett without the foundations of several potential All-Stars like Big Al and Gerald Green. There's something to be said about their development here in Boston under the tutelage of Doc and Danny. Regardless of the outcome of the impending 2007-08 season, it promises to be one of great excitement here in the Hub.

Piece #2: Eric Gagne. The big righty is supposedly all but in a Sox uniform as it stands now, depending on whether or not he approves a move to Boston. Consider a bullpen that is made up of Mannny Delcarmen, Eric Gagne, Hideki Okajima and Jonathan Papelbon. Unstoppable. You will be hard pressed to find a hole in there and with the solidarity of our rotation that just continues to turn out quality start after quality start, October looks mighty fine. The beauty of this is, it's not necessarily about Money when it comes to Gagne. It's more about the superb job our scouts and front office have done to give the Sox a top notch farm system to offer so much value when trying to acquire guys like Gagne and perhaps even Jermaine Dye. They've drafted well and fostered the upbringing of quality guys like Clay Buchholz, Jacoby Ellsbury and a slew of others and it shows.

KG is now officially a Celtic. I'm giddy. Eric Gagne is looking like he will be in a Sox uniform by 4 pm. I'm more giddy. July 31, 2007 won't soon be forgotten by Boston fans...not for a long, long time.

Farewell, Dynisco

Dynisco, sweet Dynisco, I'm parting ways.
Hopefully my future holds much brighter days.

It's not that I truly despised my time here,
It's really the commute from which I choose to steer clear.

I've learned that a sensor comes in so many types,
And also that KR passes the buck on most gripes.

I'll miss the main men's room; stall #3.
I paid my last visit, alas, just to pee.

We were best of friends, that third stall and I,
I fed it, I loved it, that thing's heard me cry.

I got sick in there once, tossed up me grits,
Tossed up me bangers and then had the shits.

I speak highly of that stall 'cause we were quite the pair,
'Twas where I was most productive in all my days there.

I'll miss Uncle Roy and his lunchtime guarantee,
"If my food doesn't make you shit, then it's free."

The cards games at lunch were the highlight of the day,
And all the ways we could surmise that Doug was surely gay.

A lot of you won't understand what this poem is all about.
But go work at Dynisco and you'll soon figure it out.


There. That is my farewell to the good people at Dynisco and to the Sensors Sales Team that served as my family for the past 9 months. Godspeed, gentlemen.

Behold...

The Baconator

Go to Wendy's, get the Biggie Size combo meal and feast your ass-I mean eyes-on these sobering facts about the Baconator combo meal:

2290 Calories

127g of Fat

48g of Saturated Fat

350 mg of Cholesterol

5010 mg of Sodium

The box that it comes in also has a warning from the Surgeon General:

the Baconator may cause bacon-related child defects (child being born with a pot belly and a curly tail; oinks instead of crying). It should not be consumed by someone under the influence of alcohol because you'll be too drunk to remember the heart attack it caused.

I know, you're all thinking that all of a sudden, I'm health conscious and telling you about unholy food and its nutritional value (Bowen, I'm sorry you love Boloco. Nate, you too. But get a grip).

I'm just trying to help you out, but if you're stupid enough to eat the Baconator, I think you've got a host of other problems that have nothing to do with me and should thus consult a neurologist to make sure you have a working brain up there. You've heard of the proverbial 'shit sandwich', no? It's the one that someone might offer you in an effort to really insult you or make you feel unwanted. Well, you'd be better off eating a real shit sandwich than the Baconator. For real, next time you have the urge to consume a Baconator, call me up. I'll gladly shit in a bun and serve it up to you on a plate. Would you like fries with that?

Perspective

The homeruns are great. Pitching matchups are interesting and usually make for stellar competition. There are a million reasons why I love baseball and all that it has to offer, but last night was the prime example of how the emotion of sport can take hold of the common fan and suddenly turn a somewhat significant game in late July into the mark of a season, a career, a lifetime even.

Perspective is something that I have developed a vast appreciation for over the past 6 months to a year. I think I've been learning how to separate the menial from the immense and better understand that whole 'grand scheme of things'. Well, anyone who watched last night's game and knew what it meant to one 23 year-old pitcher and his family probably learned a little bit more about perspective and how abundantly different it can be from one person to the next.

It's not like cancer is this estranged disease that some of us have had some affiliation with or maybe a distant connection to. Every single person that I have known and will ever know has a connection to this sometimes fatal disease, and I feel confident in saying that the word 'cancer' is still a very scary utterance to anyone. I've never been diagnosed with any form of cancer, but I'm fairly certain that at some juncture in my life, I will hear that word spoken in my direction...whether I'm old and approaching death or a day over 29 and approaching my thirties, I will still be scared. If I had fulfilled my childhood dream of playing professional baseball and at the tender age of 22, I was diagnosed with the disease, i don't know what I would feel. I wish I could ask Jon Lester what sort of emotions he felt when he learned of his development of the disease.

Lester made it to the big club at just 22, and as a starting pitcher to boot. He had a baby face, a strong left arm and a competitive streak that most Sox fans could plainly see when he took the hill last season. He won some games, pitched remarkably well for a rookie that young and had us fans talking about the future of the rotation and how bright it might actually be. Things were probably somewhere in the general vicinity of perfect for Lester last summer, or at least I would have to imagine they were. Until late August.

The devastation from the level of a fan was immense and Sox fans everywhere felt it. It wasn't the same as Pedro getting hurt and being out for months. It wasn't JD Drew pulling a hamstring and being a question mark for some unknown length of time. It wasn't Trot going down for almost an entire season, creating a massive hole in our offense. It was a kid having cancer; a kid that represented a big part of the club's future. But it was cancer that sent the shockwaves through the Nation, not the imminent DL spot for Lester. It was the unknown of the initial diagnosis that had everyone guessing as to whether or not this young man might live to see 23...a little more serious than wondering if your starting leftfielder might be back in time for the playoffs. Overall, it was just really difficult to put into perspective from a fan's view because it was so unfair. It's Darryl Stingley and Travis Roy. And that's just the fan's point of view...my point of view.

I had wondered about the feelings of his parents, of his closest friends and of his own emotions as he went through this whole ordeal. I suppose that, after a fairly short or long period of time, he knew that the cancer was found in ample time to extract it all and label his self cancer-free. But I don't know if that can really be considered a comfort since you just never know if it might come back and take more of your life away from you. Then came the chemotherapy sessions that were surely painful and draining for him and his family, followed by that uphill battle to get back into some sort of shape that might allow him to return to pitching in the major leagues of baseball-something that is hard enough to do the first time WITHOUT having battled cancer. I now wonder a little less about those feelings that he and his family might have had or might be having now.

I watched last night's game and I don't know what I expected to see. Lester was one of my favorite young players well before he first pitched at Fenway, so I knew that he would give it his all and probably give us a solid start. He's a great competitor. What I didn't...or couldn't predict were the emotions portrayed by him and his family over the course of the game. From watching his mother rock back and forth in her seat, half the time cupping her hands over her eyes and the other half peering over those hands to watch him pitch, you could really feel her nervousness and relief and fear and all those things. In the fourth inning, he let Cleveland load the bases and after working out of some trouble to get to 2 outs, he faced Grady Sizemore. Sizemore took him deep two innings before. Lester had been all over the place with his pitches in that inning and it certainly didn't feel like he was in complete control, but when he got Sizemore to two strikes and ultimately blew a 93mph fastball by Sizemore's swinging bat, you could feel the relief of much more than a simple recorded out in a ballgame. Lester yelled and pumped his fist, his mother threw her hands up on top of her head and look skyward and the whole family section hugged each other. I thought it was quite a moment, but I can't begin to imagine how they felt. Or how they felt after the sixth when they knew he wouldn't return to the mound, or after the ninth when it was assured that he had become the winning pitcher for that night.

I know that the win in that ballgame didn't much matter to Jon or his family in the way that it used to. I appreciated the 'W' in the win column as much as everyone else, but I really appreciate the fact that Jon Lester is back in our rotation, as healthy as before but certainly a much different person than he ever was.

Two Battles Lost

I suppose there comes a time in every relationship where one of the two has to get used to sharing his or her partner with another human being, for whatever reason. Maybe one of the two is working on a project with someone, or traveling on business with someone, or just spending time with a new friend. This weekend i've had to split time with an unlikely character; he's actually an adolescent with dorky glasses and a British accent (being that he's British and all) and supposedly he rides a broom.

Yep, Harry Potter has taken over as La's current flavor of the week, a spot that I have proudly occupied for a good 8 or 9 months now. I guess every dog has his day. Let's have a look at how I stack up to young Mr. Potter.

As I mentioned, Harry is younger than I, actually 10 years my junior to be exact. I guess he may be a bit more spry than I am these days, but I am working on that shortcoming. He possesses that newly pubescent look with perhaps even a little hint of a fuzzy moustache, whereas I can't even try to hide my dirty upper lip. It's plainly visible even on the morn of a fresh shave. On looking young, advantage Potter.

Potter's sport of choice is Quidditch, which would appear to be some sort of amalgum of lacrosse and curling with the addition of brooms and an air-bound playing field. Right. My sport is football and as a few of my readers will attest, I could William Tell that Potter's ass right off the broomstick and send him hurdling earthward. I don't tend to know the athleticism involved in a sport such as quidditch, but it does look like it possesses a fairly high degree of difficulty. But I can't concede this one to Potter because I just know I could throw on his ass all day if you lined him up at corner. I think I could hold my own on a broom. Advantage: me.

I wish I didn't have to go here, but in light of the last category, it seems fitting. I think Potter might have the upper hand when it comes to vehicle of choice. Surely his broom is light years cooler than my 2005 Saturn Ion. He may not be able to offer the comforts of a padded seat and dual airbags but there's nothing sexy about a 4-cylinder sedan that gets 32 mpg, highway. And think about the time and money you could save on parking with that broom. Forget valet, you could check it with your coat or better yet, stick it under the table while you eat. Advantage: Potter.

I fear that I may fall short in the category of trade as well. Potter studies wizardry and from the limited portions of the movies that I've seen, he can do some pretty cool shit. I can't name anything specifically but in my book, all magic is cool magic. I, on the other hand, studied marketing and my trade is sales. Sure, I can write a little, but neither selling prowess nor writing ability is going to hold any water when matched up against a dude who's a friggin' wizard. I must confess that I can't even master the simplest of card tricks; nevermind lighting something on fire or disappearing, what have you. Once again, advantage: Potter.

I think I have found an advantage in the looks department. For starters, I currently possess a nice brownish tan from time spent in the sun, whereas Potter sports the pasty white guy look. I can't really compare hairstyles because I had the Potter do no more than a few months ago. I don't wear those studious glasses, nor do I wear a school uniform day in and day out. I should hope that La prefers the shorts and a polo look, accented by flip flops and the occasional cap.

Regardless of the outcome of this head-to-head battle between me and Potter, I have lost out this weekend and will continue to lose out until the final installment of his journeys is put to rest. I suppose that if there's one dude that I don't mind sharing La with, it would have to be a fictional character. Or not.

In light of a recent request from the comment section of one recent post, I'm going to go ahead and post the results of the dog cliche text war that unfolded last week. It started on my end with a comment about drafting Vick in fantasy and it kind of just took its own life after that. Enjoy.

Me: Is it fair to say that if you select Vick in the draft, the season could be a real...dogfight?

Hammen: Taking Vick could really come back to bite you.

Me: What can you say about Vick? It's a dog eat dog world

.
Hammen: He'll definitely be spending some time in the doghouse.

Me: I'd say Goodell will be keeping him on a short leash.

Hammen: He could be all bark, no bite.

Me: Nah, he'll probably walk out of the meeting with his tail between his legs.

Hammen: He's kind of a dog without a bone right now.

Me: I wonder if he's enjoying the dog days of summer?

Hammen: Those investigators are barking up the wrong tree if you ask me.

Me: I guess they found a book on dogfighting in his home. The page about pitbulls was dog-eared.

Hammen: They'll just be chasing their tails.

Me: It's high time they release the hounds.

Following these exchanges, I repeated my 'tail between his legs' cliche from earlier and forfeited the contest as a result, making Hammen the undisputed winner of the cliche-a-thon. But I'll be back, and I'll be stronger than before. I will prevail. Oh yes, I will prevail.

The Week That Was

As a Friday treat, I thought I'd break down my week by highs and lows and see just how good or bad it really was. After all, this was my first fuil week back at work following the glorious trip to Puerto Rico. It was bound for eventfulness, 'twas it not? Methinks.

Let's begin with the end.

1. We all went out to lunch today...the sales team here. David sat to my right, and he ordered the Captain's Platter. He's about 5' tall, and the platter is just massive. I remarked that he should have ordered the First Mate's Platter (good, solid round of laughs) then asked if he had read the sign at the door saying "You Must Be This Tall To Order The Captain's Platter". He didn't see the sign, nor did anyone else. Also, he didn't see the humor, nor did anyone else. I did get points, however, when the Vick scandal came on the tube in the lounge and I remarked, "Man, Vick sure got himself into a dogfight with the NFL." I won that battle, but ultimately lost the fight...see #2.

2. I somehow became entrenched in a text war with Hammen; the basis was coming up with dog cliches concerning the Vick fiasco. See above for an example. Anyway, the feud lasted a whole day and then some, but I eventually repeated one when I wrote for the second time a text containing the cliche "tail between his legs". I was beaten.

3. I got the offer for the new job this afternoon. Thankfully, I will be ridding myself of the monotony that I have known for the past 8 months in short time. That's a huge victory.

4. I achieved 3 of 4 running goals for the week: I ran 5 miles for the first time, I ran 4 of 6 days (4 of 5 actually), I burned over 2000 calories in those 4 days and I did a 5k in under 29 minutes. Nothing miraculous here, but all milestones for this guy.

5. I've started eating something in my diet that gives me tremendous gas. I mean, bone-throttling gas...I just don't know what it is that's doing it to me. I've been eating a lot of new shit this week, so I've got to try and isolate the culprit this weekend. But my stomach has been in shambles for a few days now.

6. I got caught up with Ponch this morning, and it turns out that he is headed up to Vermont for that wedding he wrote about not too long ago. His expectations are high, which is probably going to bite him. Undoubtedly, he'll end up getting too stoned after the ceremony and asking some bridesmaid to join him in his hotel room for a cheeseburger sub and NHL '97 on SEGA, thus killing his chances of anything good happening. Unless, of course, she's into that. Then he might just get married up there, too. Best of luck, you sack.

7. And finally, the Red Sox. I'm not going to say much here because there's just nothing original to say. My Dad has already given his annual "there's always next year" speech, so the inevitable summer slide must be upon us. But let's look at it this way: it's earlier than usual, so maybe they're having their growing pains early. Much like the first girl in high school to have breasts, it'll be a little uncomfortable at first for them but eventually they'll be basking in the affections of everyone again soon. This funk will pass, it has to. They're too good and they're pitching will eventually save them. I still think we'll win the AL East by 10 games or more.

That's all for today. Hope you all have an insanely good weekend. Salut.

Inspired Bullshit

I trust most of your have heard of a new-age burrito place called 'Boloco', whose slogan is 'Inspired Burritos'. I'm not quite sure what, exactly, the inspiration was or has been behind these less-than-tasty burritos, but I'd love to know.

I had lunch these yesterday; myself and La were hoping to get over the Samurai Sushi but the rain prevented us from having the desire to walk several blocks. Thus, we had to settle for either Boloco or Viga. Hindsight being as clear as it is, we should have gone with Viga but we were right in front of Boloco and it provided immediate shelter from the intensifying rain. So in we went, hopes not so high because La informed me that these things were very high in fat due to the sauces that they put on the burritos. I didn't really think anything of this because I figured i could go with something made predominantly over veggies and be safe. Holy SHIT was I wrong.

I had the Mediterranean burrito: grilled chicken, tomatoes, black olives, hummus, black beans, white rice and some sort of sauce on a wheat tortilla. I'm sorry, but that doesn't sound so bad to me. I figured it had maybe 600 calories and 20g of fat, which I can live with for a good sized lunch. Here are the facts: 1129 calories, 46g of fat (13.5 of saturated fat...YIKES) and over 3000mg of sodium...137% of a daily intake. It did have 59g of protein, which is great. But are you serious with these other amounts? A fucking Whopper has less calories (990) and a little more fat (64g). I was just floored when I learned of the nutritional value of what I had just eaten. I mean, it's a little reassuring to know that the entire meal at BK with the Whopper has like 1800 calories, but there I was, thinking that I was eating something that could possibly be considered good for me, totally unbeknownst to the fact that it was worse than a fucking Whopper in some ways. Ridiculous.

I made up for it though. When I got home, I ran five miles and burned 700 of those dastardly calories off. I know what you're thinking here, that I'm watching my weight all of a sudden and counting calories? Well, yeah I am. I was really sick of looking at my hairy gut in the shower and it's become a bit of an obsession now that I've embarked upon a journey for ultimate health. I guess you can't really tackle health in a half-assed manner because it'll defeat the purpose. No matter how much good stuff you consume, if you're also consuming the shit on top of that, you're cancelling out the good stuff. No thanks.

Oh, on this post-Boloco run, I ran past another Boloco up on Huntington Ave by Northeastern and it made me visibly angry. I read the 'Inspired Burritos' line on their sign and I thought, yeah, inspired by a bunch of fat, sweaty dudes in sweat suits who decided to create something that sounded healthy but is actually worse than fast food. Inspired bullshit. Stay away from Boloco. It doesn't even taste that good, so if you're going to go off the caloric deep end, I suggest either Nick's Roast Beef or Burger King. Get your money's worth of shit and make it taste greasy and good. Get that grease running down your face onto your shirt. Let the mayonnaise drip out the ass-end of your sandwich onto your crotch. After that, take the part you're about to bite and actually dip it into a glob of mayo. Hey, we French love mayo on our fries. I used to have mayo on pretty much everything, but I've since smartened up.

In an unrelated story, I'm on the verge of making yet another move in my career. It seems as though the world corporate recruiting is calling me back to its doorstep. I'm much obliged to answer the call, as I really can't stand much more of this banal existence that I'm leading on as type. It's hell. The most exciting part of my day occurs around roughly 930am, when I get the "call to the bullpen", as I like to call it. Then I can go sit in solitude and do part of a sudoku while my system cleanses itself. In the rare event that I get two calls to the bullpen, that is a very special day, my friends. With any luck, I won't have to worry about my commute anymore, or about the lot of worthless individuals that I deal with daily. Sure, there are some people here that offer value but not nearly enough to keep me around. Sorry Tom, no hard feelings...you understand, i know you do. Eat those goji berries, though. You'll live longer. Actually, wait...today had a different highlight to speak of. My boss said I look like Sergeant Slaughter on account of my army green shirt and olive pants, so I took the liberty of drawing some stripes, cutting them out and taping them onto my sleeve. Every time someone came into my cube and asked for something while using my name, I could say, "That's Sgt. Chad to you", or every time Brady addressed me, "That's Sgt. Dickhead to you."

Indeed it is. At ease.

Novel Ideas

This afternoon I ventured out of the office to fill up my gas tank. The trip brought some good along with some bad. The bad was that I forgot my wallet, so said tank was never filled with any sort of fuel. The good was a hotdog stand on the side of the road, occupied by two female vendors clad in string bikinis; it was aptly named "Hottie's Hotdogs". Granted, this is Franklin and a hot woman here is the equivalent of Wisconsin's annual Miss Thunder Thighs Pageant...but still a novel idea and one that has spurred others of the like in my head.

Fruity's Fruits

Why not set up two flamingly gay men in front of a fruit stand and have them loudly sell fruit? They'd probably make a fortune doing it because, for one, people love roadside fruit stands anyway. Add two gay men who are obnoxiously loud and aggressive and they're sure to strike a little fear in the customer, thus forcing them to buy more fruit.

Customer: "I'll just have this one mango, please."

Gay Man: "Ex-cuuuuse me? I don't think sooooo! No one in her right mind buys a mango without buying at least 2 guavas. It's just not sane. It's 2 guavas or you can just scoot that little butt right out of this fruit stand, Missy."


Tubby's Tubs

I think a really tubby (or portly) man selling tubs would be the best and most effective way to demonstrate the size of the tub. This also leaves a high probability for the very funny song, "Fat Guy in a Little Tub".


Gimpy's Gimp

Something about a legit gimp selling gimp on the side of the road is particularly funny to me...but maybe just me. I mean, I have to assume that said gimp has plenty of time on his hands, so what better way to spend it than making a bunch of gimp bracelets and selling gimp to others? Look, all I'm saying is if I'm going to buy gimp from anyone, it'll be from a gimp.


Mike's Mics

This one is nothing special, but if you're going to buy a mic, you might as well buy it from a guy named Mike. He should know more about a mic than anyone else in my opinion.


Alright, I'm exhausting my creative muscles here and frankly, these just aren't doing it for me anymore. At first it seemed like a great idea, but now it's fizzled out into something bordering absurd. Imagine that, an absurd idea seen on this blog. I never thought I'd see the day, did you?
I leave you with this top 5 list:

Most Bad-Ass Names For Boys

1. Magnus

2. Bruno

3. Dolf

4. Dirk

5. Vito

When I have a son, if he comes from school one day and warns that he is on the verge of a fight and the opposing kid's name is one of the previous, I will instruct him not to fight this child. Under no circumstances should you EVER fight someone named Magnus. Or Bruno, etc. No way.

A Tale of Two Blogs

(Travis, me, Hammen, Alex, Kristen and Lauren)

Blog worlds collided this weekend as the infamous Hammen brought a little slice of North Dakota to Boston, along with his girlfriend Alex, his buddy Travis and Travis' fiancé Kristen. I have a feeling he'll write something along these same lines upon his return to Grand Forks, but seemingly everyone who came to find out about this get together thought it was the weirdest thing since the Wizards alternate jerseys.

Verbal exchange of the weekend:

La: (to Travis and Kristen) "Just so you guys know, I might be able to get you a friends and family rate at one of our hotels on your honeymoon."

Alex: "Well, if you guys come to Grand Forks, we can get you a discount at Perkins."

(If you're not familiar with Perkins, http://www.perkinsrestaurants.com/home.html)

Some of the things that I learned from this weekend are:

1. North Dakotans do not like the movie Fargo.

2. Interest in professional sports varies greatly, considering there are exactly zero teams represented there. Hence, Hammen's loyalties are with the Sox, Knicks, Titans and Jayhawks. That's some shit right there.

3. A three bedroom apartment in Grand Forks goes for about $800...total. Kill me now, please.

4. I just read #2 again and I take back the last part of #3. Unless I ever move to ND.

5. Grand Forks, ND is a 22 hour drive from Florence, AL. And Florence, apparently, is kinda shitty.

6. North Dakotans are Twin fans generally, but the University of North Dakota's biggest rival is the University of Minnesota.

So that's what I learned this weekend. All in all, it was a very positive experience and the highlight of the weekend...a weekend that also had some very unenjoyable moments, but I'm not going to bother to go into them. By the way Jum, I plan on coming to Lawrence for a game this season, so keep that in mind. Rock, chalk.

Odds 'N' Ends

There's an unknown man in my office that produces such a foul smelling fecal matter...such a powerful stench...that our industrial strength air-freshener can only whimper at the odor and wave a white flag. For weeks now, I've gone into the belly of that latrine, only to be shunned by the sour smell of what can be described as a cross between low tide and rotting carcass. It's truly and remarkably awful. To be honest, I want to find the dude and tell him to stop eating whatever raw sewage he's been consuming for the past few weeks because he's making my life miserable. I know I'm not the only one, because man after man will walk in and out of that bathroom with hands held high in defeat. I can't take much more of it, so in time I will draw up a sign and put it on the bathroom stall door:

TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN:

This note is intended for you, Mr. Cess Pool Colon. You know who you are because you most certainly vomit at the smell of your own excretions. Well, enough is enough. You're making people sick. Next time, go dig a hole in the woods out back, shit in that hole and bury it so no one has to lose yet another appetite. Also, STOP EATING MCDONALDS. Thank you.

Ketchup

No, not ketchup...catch up. I'm caught up on things now, and it's time to get back to the daily grind of regular blogging. I know it's been a while, as was evidenced by the email from my father this morning that questioned where the hell my blog about our adventures in Puerto Rico was. Well, it's one below this one, in case you can't see it for yourself at this given time. Onto current events...

Last night was a great way to come back from the All-Star break for the Sox. Getting swept by the Tigers wasn't what I was looking for going into the break, and if you saw how bad Tito looked after that series you might reconsider those three days off being a pain in the ass; Tito needed the rest.

Anyway, we now possess the only starting rotation with 3 10-game winners, as Knuckles joined Beckett and Dice-K last night in the Sox second dismantling of Doc Halladay this season. It just goes to show that working the counts and making a power pitcher throw a lot of pitches can only benefit your offense eventually. The core of Manny and Ortiz carried the load last night, even with Papi's supposed bum knee. I don't know how concerned to be with this knee thing, but if he's going 3-for-5 and knocking in runs like he did last night, then I'm not going to sit and stew over it. Regardless of whether or not they're hitting home runs, as long as they're productive (as they've been most of the season) it doesn't really matter what the power numbers are. But they're going to catch fire at some point and the balls will start flying.

Look who's 5 for his last 9, everyone! It's the guy whose chalk outline has been drawn into the dirt at shortstop for the last few months! I'm not proclaiming Lugo to be out of his gargantuan slump just yet, but his average has found its way over .200 for the first time since the end of June. He says he's seeing the ball better and that certainly would account for his better contact lately. Let's give him July to keep this little roll going and then re-assess things in August. Needless to say, his bat would be HUGE in this lineup if it starts heating up.

Unfortunately, the end of the first half of the season brought the end of the first Jacoby Ellsbury stint. In 6 games, he hit .375 with a double, an RBI, a stolen base and 7 total bases. I can't wait for him to be our regular center fielder, but he's not there yet. I hope to see him in the starting lineup by the end of next season, however.

10 games up in the AL East, fairly healthy and the most favorable schedule in the MLB. Buckle up, folks. It's going to be an exciting few months of baseball around here and I couldn't be happier about it.

Rican Recap

The bulk of this post will consist of pictures from La and I's trip to Puerto Rico that ended yesterday afternoon. If there's anything that comes to mind right now, as I sit at my desk and reflect on our relaxing trip, it's that everyone should take a day or two post-vaca to come back down to earth. Being thrown back into the normalcies of a morning commute, granola bars and the company bathroom are the equivalent of being fun-drunk (not blacked out drunk...fun-drunk) and all of a sudden being thrust into a massive hangover without the lag time in between to either sleep or walk it off. It really blows.

Let's get into the details of the trip now, shall we?

1. The hotel.

We stayed at La's Intercontinental San Juan, right on the beach, huge pool, casino, Japanese restaurant, a Ruth's Chris and some Italian place that we never did find. The service, above all else, was insanely good. Granted, they knew we were coming and they knew my birthday was last Thursday, but they treated us like royalty. Good service is most appreciated when you don't expect it, much less deserve it. I can't afford this kind of hotel, so La being an employee there made it all possible. In order to afford simply the free food they provided us, I would have had to sleep on the beach to save hotel money and catch all of my other meals with a self-crafted spear. My point is, the people from the hotel made the trip better.

2. The other guests.

I don't hate kids. If you read this blog, you know that one of my favorite human beings is my nephew Aaron. However, I walked off the plane yesterday cursing all children and they're unattentive parents. I guess that's the difference though. Aaron has great parents who discipline him and make sure he is accountable for his actions. Every child at our resort (had no idea it was such a family-oriented resort) was the red-headed kid in Problem Child. Unadulterated splashing, yelling, running around the pool and just being an overall annoyance to me and La. I kid you not, there were 600 (give or take 550) children at the pool on any given day, and they were all uncontrolled and taking full advantage.

3. The food

I was hoping to be a bit frugal on this trip, and nothing says thrift like Subway for lunch everyday. A few complaints about the Subway down there: the bread sucked. It looked fine on the outside, but the inside looked as if a mouse lived in the roll and ate the inside prior to it being sliced. Next, the workers there did not like Americans very much. Every time I went in, I had to wait 5 or 10 minutes for them to finish their conversations with each other (the sandwich artists, that is) before I could order. And I was almost always the only one in line. Finally, they ran out of pretty much all the toppings I like by the third day. Spinach, olives, pepperoncini...at least, they said they did. Aside from Subway, we went to three different sushi places that all offered really fresh fish and creative rolls.

And onto the pictures...

La on our balcony, which looked out onto the ocean and produced some really nice sunsets every night.

The aforementioned sunsets...here's one of them, taken from the top of the Water and Beach Club Hotel. It's the only boutique hotel in San Juan on the beach, and they allow pets...FYI.

The pool...there was this outcropping of rocks in the pool that gave way to several waterfalls and smaller pools.

Another view of the beach from the balcony...if you look really closely, you can see the individual grains of sand on the beach. I'm talking really closely.

The above is an assortment of towel creatures created by Hector, our room attendant for the week. The monkey is most impressive...is there any way that these things didn't take him like an hour apiece? I appreciated the effort, though. Really nice work incorporating La's glasses with the rabbit. He was a studious fellow.

And finally, a little sample of our tans...this blog has been brought to you by the InterContinental San Juan, the Isla Verde Subway and the good people at Momoyama restaurant inside the InterCon. (Momoyama's got to be a play on Yo-Yo Ma, right? I thought so)