The Rambler

On a cool, shitty morning;

In a job bound for nowhere.

I set up to write a rambler;

And I began to type.

Scanning the latest Hammen entry this morning put me in some kind of mood...not sure exactly what kind, but the nature of his post also put Kenny Rogers in my head - hence the Gambler parody - and I thought, it must be time for another rambler of a post. Why not? I want it, you want it...let's light this candle.

It really is a cool, shitty morning. I think it was only in the mid 50's when I left for work this morning, in a sweater. A sweater in the middle of June? I knew I shouldn't have complained about the heat in the beginning of May. What the hell, now the sun's out, as I peer over my left shoulder for an uninspiring look outside. And...it's gone again. Just gloom and what looks to be a good amount of wind out there now. I hear the weekend is supposed to be a nice one, and that's really all that matters, isn't it?

8.5 games. 3 weeks ago, it was 14.5 games and the Yankees were tied for last with the Devil Rays. Spare me the 'it was only May' garbage, please. I don't care. No Red Sox fan in his or her right mind was ever sitting comfortably without worry about the potential Yankee streak. It was inevitable and we're in the midst of what won't be the last streak for them this season. Every analyst from here to Chechnya has been saying that the Yankees will be playing for the Wildcard and the Sox will win the Al East because Boston is built to withstand any Yankee run. I'm not so sure that's the case.

Over the course of the last week, we've all been reminded that Curt Schilling can be an ace as well as an ass. He should have no hit the A's, then he comes back and throws up a complete piece of shit against the feeble Rockies. This is why he's not signed yet, folks. While he has the potential to throw a no-no every once in a blue moon, he's much more likely to mail it in. He's in his 40's, lest we forget. There's just no escaping that fact. Our only true pillar of reliability is JB. Beckett goes for win #10 tonight, and he's been very good in nearly all of his starts. In those that haven't been stellar, he's kept the team in the game and given the offense a chance to pull it out. No issues there...yet. Dice has been (and I'm sorry for saying it, I am) dicey at best. He's prone to that 'one bad inning', and that drives me up a wall. What that means is that, during his starts wherein our offense is snoozing, we're going to lose. I just don't like that prospect. The saving grace here is that Jon Lester is going to be returning to the rotation soon, and all reports from his rehab starts say that his stuff is electric.

I'm not truly worried about our pitching, but I'm never going to be completely comfortable with it, either. What really bothers me lies in our lineup, 1-9. At this point, I have no issues with 1, 2, 3, 4, 6 and 7. 5, 8 and 9 are really getting on my nerves and I think that probably goes for the whole of Red Sox Nation. We knew Julio Lugo wasn't a great fielder when he signed. What we were hoping was that he wouldn't suck with the bat, which he has; tenfold. I'm not even going to post his numbers here, because they make me really, really angry. He has speed, woohoo. When you get on base NEVER, that doesn't really matter. Next, we have one of the 7 dwarfs playing right field: Sleepy. I've never seen a man look more uninterested in what's going on around him than JD Drew does, game in and game out. I know he's a hard worker and I know he'll probably break out this funk he's in but WHEN THE HELL IS THAT GOING TO HAPPEN? It's June, going on July. Wake up, JD, if that's your real name. Finally, there's Coco. His defense has been nothing short of perfect, so he gets more of a pass than Lugo and Drew. But Coco, dude, come on. Who works with this guy on his swing? Anyone? He looks like the kid from T-Ball whose helmet dropped over his eyes and couldn't help but hit the plastic T every time. Get a clue, man. Where is Dave Magadan?

Ok, I'm done with Sox talk. I'm getting pissed here, and it's only 9:15am.

Here's something that i find awe-inspiring...a while back, a woman I work with made a point of stopping by my cube and pointing out the amount of sodium in the thai noodle bowls that I eat for lunch on occasion. Generally, when I have foods that resemble something healthy (which is all the time), she looks for something that might be thought of as unhealthy and points that out to me. Word 'round the office on this woman is that she never brings her lunch and pretty much eats fast food every day. I've seen her eat it several times, but I've never monitored her habits...until this week. So far, the menu has been: Monday, McDonald's double QPC meal, with cheese, Large size, diet coke; Tuesday, Wendy's double cheeseburger meal, Large size, diet coke; Wednesday, McDonald's Big Mac meal, Large size, diet coke. Hang on one sec...

Ok, I'm back. I had to run to the men's room so I could barf. Is that a joke, you might ask? Is he just trying to get a rise out of me, you might wonder? Stop your muddling. It's true, dammit. Every bone in my body wants to walk over to her slop trough (lunch table) and tell her that she makes me sick, but I can't do it. She knows what she's eating, who wouldn't? It's not like any of us are unclear on whether or not fast food is bad for us. No one has ever wondered, hmm, maybe there is some nutritional value in this greasy, shit sandwich. She knows the effect its having on her body. But don't waltz into my cube and judge the amount of sodium in my noodle bowl, bitch. Get a grip.

I have to tip my cap to the drunkard that La and I ran into at the South Bay shopping center in Southie last night. As I got out of my car, I heard a man say "excuse me, can you help me?" I turned and looked for someone, and he asked "are you from around here?" I said I was, and asked what he was looking for. He eluded the question, instead telling me he lived in Salem, and I stupidly replied that I was born there. He asked where, but I figured he meant to ask where I lived...not where I was born. By now, I could smell the rampant booze on his breath. I told him where I had lived in Salem and he told me where he lived. He then pointed to 'his' car (a wobbly hand pointed to like 6 cars) and he repeated a few times that he was terribly sorry to bother us. He even looked at La and apologized just to her, like he was really inconveniencing her more than me. Then he asked for $3. I had no cash on me (well, I did, but it was for supper. Not for a bum's fix of Dr. McGillicuddy's) and La didn't either, so the conversation ended quickly. But he was clever to ask me if I was from around here as he was getting my attention, because I simply thought he was lost. I was open to hearing about his tale, thinking I'd eventually have to tell him where the nearest gas station is. But he lied. He was drunk. Clever, yes. But drunk.

Ok, I've rambled enough for one day. Here's wishing you a real stick-to-the-ribs lunch that'll tide you over until dinner.