Since I might have the distinct pleasure of handing out candy to the children in my new neighborhood, I'm thinking about boiling a bunch of hot dogs and serving them up on buns with orange mustard. I'll answer the door and say "Hey! Who wants a Halloweenie?" I wonder how many parents would promptly instruct their kids to get the hell away from me and further, how many would call me a sick bastard? I don't know, Halloweenies sound pretty fucking good to me. They'd be turkey dogs, first off. You'd think that with all that candy and general sugar running through the systems of these trick-or-treaters, they'd be relieved to come to a house that's offering a meal of sorts; a break from the rigors of chewing Sugar Daddies and various forms of nougat and caramel. Either that, or there will be that one kid who sort of straggles along at the back of the pack. His dad didn't want to come and his mom left town years ago. Most of the kids don't like him because he wears the same yellow sweatpants every day, but he's got every XBox 360 ever made, so they keep him around. He doesn't really like candy because he has been brought up to think that candy will turn him into lump of shit, so he takes the hot dog from me and thanks me for dinner. He's a good kid, leave him alone.
I've got more gym stories today, although they're now a week old. No matter, they're just as pathetic.
Lauren had two days of training down in Manhattan Beach last week, so we stayed in a hotel down there to avoid getting up painfully early to fight traffic two days in a row. It turned into two nights since we wanted to try and enjoy to the hotel a little bit before leaving town. The training was held at the flagship branch of her healthclub, which happens to be Spectrum. This place was ridiculous. In comparison to the club that Lauren has to sell for, this place is PS3 and her club is Coleco Vision.
The first day there, I was immediately drawn to the ball courts on site, also home to the Clippers as their practice facility. Awesome. There's Clipper logos all over the court and huge banner announcing the court's status as their second home. What this also meant was that the 3-point line was the NBA 3-point line. No college line in sight, and that does not bode well for me. I can hit college threes at maybe a 35-40% clip when completely unguarded at standing at my favorite spot in the floor. I took 30 NBA threes on day one, and I hit 4. 4-for-30. And I was dog-fucking-tired after this little exercise, because it's damn far to the hoop from that line. I had also never taken an NBA three before; at least not knowingly. Disaster.
As I'm shooting my threes, another dude was taking jumpers and free throws at one of the side hoops nearest me. A few minutes after I finished my comedy act, he challenged me to a game of horse. My first mistake was accepting. My second mistake was admitting that my achilles heel is the NBA three.
We stayed even through H-O, and then the rains came. He began banking threes from all angles and put me away in a very quick and quiet fashion. Well, quiet minus the squeals I was making as I heaved up every three I took. It was a bad scene overall, but he was a good sport. His name was Tony and he was probably in his late 50's or early 60's. I promised him I'd get him next time, but that promise was about as empty as the one Anthony Smith made last year before the Patriots played the Steelers.
Day two at the gym: 2-for-20 from beyond the arc. Talk about an exercise in futility. It's just too far, and quite frankly, I'm just not a very good basketball player. I've always played, but in high school I was the guy they put in for defense. I have zero handle, not having benefitted from the tutelage of Ponch back in my UMass days. However, there will just always be something inherently fun about shooting around and playing horse. I just have to lay off the NBA threes.
Here's wishing all of you a safe and happy halloween, especially those taking their little ones out to build their empires of candy. Gilbert, don't eat too much of Joey's candy, bro. You can do without it.
31 October 2008
18 October 2008
The Weighting Is The Hardest Part
A weird thing happened on the way to the free weights this morning. As I prepared for a standard workout, this dude asked me to give him a spot on the bench. Now, this particular dude is someone I don't usually see at the gym. He's about 5'7 and very stocky. He's almost totally bald with the exception of a rather mangy band of hair around the bottom half of his dome. He appears almost completely out of shape and overweight, but after one look at the plates on his bench bar, it's clear that he only works his chest at the gym.
The man had three plates on each side and a 25lb weight as well; so 365lbs. This was quite alarming to me. As I approached him to help him out, he instructed me to add a 10lb weight to the side I was nearest, which would up to the total to 385lbs. Trying to make light of the situation, I joked that it was a lot of weight. Bald dude not amused. He ignored my comment and told me that he was going to count to 3 and then I should lift up and guide him forward. He said he was only looking for one rep. Sounds easy enough.
So he counts to 3, and I lift. Now, I am not the strongest guy out there. Let's face it, I go to gym with the hope of some muscular definition as well as an with the initiative of staying in shape. I probably shouldn't have accepted the invitation to spot the stocky, bald man but spotting isn't supposed to be a crazy, difficult task. Anyway, the first try was wildly unsuccessful. I didn't get the weight out far enough for the guy be clear of the racks, so he put it back. And it felt like I was lifting all the weight myself, which was not only an incredible struggle, but also pretty fucking painful. After the weight was settled, I told the guy that he probably should ask another dude to help him, since I was not having an easy go of it. But he didn't think it was necessary.
"I want you to ease the weight up. It's only 20lbs. heavier than the previous weight I had on there, and I can get that up on my own. So you're only helping me with 20lbs."
Great. Make me feel like a pussy, you bald d-bag. I decided it wasn't the best time to tell him that my arm hurt from the first attempt.
Second attempt...3-2-1...and UP! Except, up was a shaky endeavor at best. I was literally quivering at the sheer mass of this lift and the second attempt failed to clear the racks again. Bald d-bag is now looking mildly perturbed and this time, he stands up to instruct me on the spot.
"You're shaking. It's throwing me off when I go to control the weight. Just lift up and push out lightly...I'll be doing most of the work, so you really don't have to work so hard."
Pearls of wisdom from the petulant puffball. Once again, I offer that he really won't be offending me if he was to relieve me of my spotting duties in favor of a one of the three other dudes in our general vicinity...all of whom were visibly buffer than I. But no, baldy wanted to stick with me, for whatever disturbingly unobvious reason. On to attempt number 3...and UP! It's up this time, and I'm guiding it outward to clear the racks. This time, he utters "nope, nope" and we set the bar back down. He rises again, this time to remind me that if I don't release the weight simultaneously with both hands, it will throw off his balance and he'll drop the weight. I salivate at the thought. At this point, my left arm is throbbing and shaking, I'm sweating profusely and panting and this bowling ball with arms is just bullish about me getting this weight in proper position. I started to wonder if this was some kind of covert exam and maybe he's recruiting men for a secret society. Surely I had failed at this point, so why not let me go about my business? What possible, sane, credible reason could this asshead have for making me be his spotter?
Attempt 4...I lift up, I push out, it's smooth and I release the weight. Stay Puft eases it down and completes one rep, then puts the bar back on the racks, only he misses one of them. There sits the weight now, awkwardly hanging down on one side with me pathetically trying to support it so it doesn't come crashing down on something or someone. Thankfully, one dude had been watching this humiliation the whole time and he ran over to grab the bar and help me put it on the other rack. Totally exasperated and exhausted, I tell the bald man that he did a good job on the lift and that I was done. As I walk away, the dude who helped me with bar tells me to get some water, take a rest and go on to my next exercise, as he is assured that I have just endured a very difficult arm set. He laughs at my futility and I offer a wry smile. I want to say something horribly offensive, maybe about his wristbands or his white tube socks but I remind myself that I am not in any place to be a nuisance. Lauren's place of work and all...bad idea. Plus, what am I gonna do, fight the guy? That's a resounding no.
I'm not sure what lesson is to be learned here, but I guess I should have politely turned the bald man down when he asked me to spot him. I'll know better next time.
The man had three plates on each side and a 25lb weight as well; so 365lbs. This was quite alarming to me. As I approached him to help him out, he instructed me to add a 10lb weight to the side I was nearest, which would up to the total to 385lbs. Trying to make light of the situation, I joked that it was a lot of weight. Bald dude not amused. He ignored my comment and told me that he was going to count to 3 and then I should lift up and guide him forward. He said he was only looking for one rep. Sounds easy enough.
So he counts to 3, and I lift. Now, I am not the strongest guy out there. Let's face it, I go to gym with the hope of some muscular definition as well as an with the initiative of staying in shape. I probably shouldn't have accepted the invitation to spot the stocky, bald man but spotting isn't supposed to be a crazy, difficult task. Anyway, the first try was wildly unsuccessful. I didn't get the weight out far enough for the guy be clear of the racks, so he put it back. And it felt like I was lifting all the weight myself, which was not only an incredible struggle, but also pretty fucking painful. After the weight was settled, I told the guy that he probably should ask another dude to help him, since I was not having an easy go of it. But he didn't think it was necessary.
"I want you to ease the weight up. It's only 20lbs. heavier than the previous weight I had on there, and I can get that up on my own. So you're only helping me with 20lbs."
Great. Make me feel like a pussy, you bald d-bag. I decided it wasn't the best time to tell him that my arm hurt from the first attempt.
Second attempt...3-2-1...and UP! Except, up was a shaky endeavor at best. I was literally quivering at the sheer mass of this lift and the second attempt failed to clear the racks again. Bald d-bag is now looking mildly perturbed and this time, he stands up to instruct me on the spot.
"You're shaking. It's throwing me off when I go to control the weight. Just lift up and push out lightly...I'll be doing most of the work, so you really don't have to work so hard."
Pearls of wisdom from the petulant puffball. Once again, I offer that he really won't be offending me if he was to relieve me of my spotting duties in favor of a one of the three other dudes in our general vicinity...all of whom were visibly buffer than I. But no, baldy wanted to stick with me, for whatever disturbingly unobvious reason. On to attempt number 3...and UP! It's up this time, and I'm guiding it outward to clear the racks. This time, he utters "nope, nope" and we set the bar back down. He rises again, this time to remind me that if I don't release the weight simultaneously with both hands, it will throw off his balance and he'll drop the weight. I salivate at the thought. At this point, my left arm is throbbing and shaking, I'm sweating profusely and panting and this bowling ball with arms is just bullish about me getting this weight in proper position. I started to wonder if this was some kind of covert exam and maybe he's recruiting men for a secret society. Surely I had failed at this point, so why not let me go about my business? What possible, sane, credible reason could this asshead have for making me be his spotter?
Attempt 4...I lift up, I push out, it's smooth and I release the weight. Stay Puft eases it down and completes one rep, then puts the bar back on the racks, only he misses one of them. There sits the weight now, awkwardly hanging down on one side with me pathetically trying to support it so it doesn't come crashing down on something or someone. Thankfully, one dude had been watching this humiliation the whole time and he ran over to grab the bar and help me put it on the other rack. Totally exasperated and exhausted, I tell the bald man that he did a good job on the lift and that I was done. As I walk away, the dude who helped me with bar tells me to get some water, take a rest and go on to my next exercise, as he is assured that I have just endured a very difficult arm set. He laughs at my futility and I offer a wry smile. I want to say something horribly offensive, maybe about his wristbands or his white tube socks but I remind myself that I am not in any place to be a nuisance. Lauren's place of work and all...bad idea. Plus, what am I gonna do, fight the guy? That's a resounding no.
I'm not sure what lesson is to be learned here, but I guess I should have politely turned the bald man down when he asked me to spot him. I'll know better next time.
17 October 2008
Ray of Might
You know the old adage in sports. We all know it. And that would be that when you have a team on the ropes, you have to go for the jugular and put them away. When you have a team pinned after a flying suplex (little help here...wrestling terminology not my strong suit) and they're unconscious and barely breathing, you break the windpipe and erase all doubt.
The only problem with this analogy in relation to last night's epic cage match between Boston and Tampa Bay is that Tampa didn't exactly let up. You could make the argument that their pitching failed them a little bit, but JP Howell and Dan Wheeler have been lights out all season and all through the playoffs. They were victimized not by errors, necessarily. Longoria's error was big but it wasn't ultimately the deciding blow in this game. They were victimized by something that has fueled this Sox team all season and helped them get to where they are. Red Sox hitters are very patient in most cases, but more importantly they are patient when it matters most. The most beautiful thing in the game of baseball is the epic battle between pitcher and hitter...when the count runs full but seems to never end...when pitch after pitch is fouled off, only prolonging the inevitable. Coco Crisp's at-bat in the eighth last night was a great example of this scenario, though he didn't need a dozen pitches to get to Dan Wheeler. I feel like I can tell when a guy is locked into a pitcher in an at-bat. The way Coco was fouling off high fastballs indicated that he knew what Wheeler was coming with, no matter what. Before long, he had to throw something over the plate to get him out. If you're Wheeler, you'd much rather pitch to Coco in that situation than Pedroia.
So eventually, the patience paid off and you know what happens next. And while most people watching this game thought Coco made a mistake by going to second on the play, that was the best decision he could have made in that situation. By doing this, he not only forces Pena to cut off the throw and enable the run to score (which was a terrible throw, mind you). He also opens the possibility of getting into scoring position for the go-ahead run. And if he's thrown out, tie game and the Sox hit in the ninth with Pedroia, Ortiz and Youkilis. It's a win-win and a great decision by Crisp in the right situation. Veteran guys who have been there before and know the game and all the little nuances make plays like this. Tampa doesn't really have the quote-unquote veteran guys who have been there and seen this stuff before. That's a big deal; a really big deal.
So now what? Back to the Trop for Game 6 tomorrow night. Beckett against Shields, which is now looking like a much better matchup for Boston than Beckett against Kazmir. Tampa used its bullpen a lot last night, as did the Sox. However, this is huge for the psyche of the Sox moreso than for the psyche of Tampa. This marks the first time that 'pen has shown signs of fatigue and beatability, if you will. And those Tampa relievers have now got to be thinking that they're not bulletproof anymore. Because you know full well that this victory shot a much needed dose of adrenaline into the hearts of those Sox and you also know that they cannot wait to get back on the field on Saturday and let loose.
We know this much...Game 6 is going to be fun to watch, no matter where you're sitting.
13 October 2008
Game 3 Journal
2:38pm: It's the bottom of the third inning at Fenway and the Rays just went up 5-0 in the top of the inning. I'm getting a late start on this running journal but maybe I can start to change the face of this game. Notes from the first 2.5 innings: they'll have to wait. Craig Sager sighting...another ghastly sport coat selection from the king of cheesy blazers. Sager is a renaissance man. He kinda dresses like Richard Dawson, circa 1975.
2:41: Ellsbury continues to struggle and hit the ball in the air. He's got to get on track and get on base. Manufactured runs start with Jacoby in this lineup. He's now 0-for-his-last-19. Maybe a bunt next time.
2:42: Pedroia hammers another one off the wall. It still baffles me that pitchers continue to challenge Petey with fastballs. He's becoming one of the best fastballs hitters in the game. 2 for 2, both fastballs that were absolutely hammered. Here's where we need Ortiz to lock in and make Garza work.
side note: I feel like they can get to Garza with patience. He can get wild and if they can work some counts and scratch together some hits, they can get back in this game quickly. Nice, it's now 3-0 to Ortiz.
2:47: Ortiz is in a full count but he's fouling off pitches and making Garza work. I like it. Now there's a towering, fading foul ball that Longoria makes a great effort to get...he misses. Longoria is a great looking, young player.
2:48: Ortiz pops out to shallow center. He missed a fat breaking ball that was left over the heart of the plate. As has been clear for some time, he's just not the same hitter we're used to here in Boston (or LA).
2:50: On a replay of Youk's check swing, I see something strange in the seats...a fan is wearing what appears to be a sock on his head. I think it's a mechanism to keep his ears and head warm, but I can't be sure. I'm not familiar with such a thing.
2:52: Youk strikes out on his third check swing of the at-bat. It's looking like Game 3 might be a long one for Sox fans, and an equally long one for readers of It's All French To Me. I fear the game log that Simmons does so well might turn out to be incredibly and painfully boring a la French.
3:03: Lester gets out of the 4th rather easily...one hit but he makes Iwamura look silly on a curve for strike three and the third out. The Sox have to plate two in the bottom of the 4th and build a little momentum.
3:06: Just talked to my dad who is listening to the game on ESPN Radio 710AM. He gets Vin Scully, I get three boneheads on TBS who suck at their jobs. I miss Remy and Orsillo. Oh, my father also offered his obligatory "the Sox suck" just now. I'm sure he hopes as well I do that he'll eat those words.
3:11: Kotsay smokes another Garza offering for his second hit of the night. I wish I had even the slightest modicum of confidence in Jason Varitek. I'm predicting a strikeout.
3:12: Ok, it was a popout to first and boos are starting to come out at Fenway. Really? Boos? It's the fourth inning of Game 3 of ALCS, people. Calm down and have a little hope, would you? This isn't Wrigley.
3:16: Upton singles and the Rays have the leadoff man on for the fourth straight inning.
3:17: Pena bunts, a beauty away from the shift. Youk has no play, except Upton rounds second and Youk throws him out...Cora lays down the tag. I'm reminded how young the Rays are and I'm also reminded that something as small as that play could light a fire.
3:20: "If this was the NBA, the Red Sox would need a :20 timeout." I don't know which announcer it was and I don't care. I only wish I wasn't listening when he said it.
3:25: Lester is through five and at the very least, he's saved some of the bullpen by not folding after his early inning issues. The Sox have 15 more outs and they have to score in this inning. They need to get men on in front of Pedroia and with Cora leading off the fifth, Pedroia is due third. No better time than now.
3:31: Cora grounded out and once again, Ellsbury lifts a fly ball for out number two. Petey hits again with no one on and two out. If the Sox have any thoughts of a comeback, it's not showing in their offense...no energy and no urgency...yet. I'm beginning to get bored with my own writing. This promises to be a great blog entry at this point.
3:40: Top six and Lester k's Aybar for out number one. All things considered I like how Lester has settled down and managed this game after such a rocky start. When it comes down to it, if your team isn't scoring at all, it doesn't matter how many runs you've given up. But Lester hasn't folded and somehow I still feel like the Sox are still in this game. Then again, I also still believe that Brady will be back by the end of the season to commandeer the Pats into and through the playoffs. No, I haven't started drinking yet but perhaps it's time.
3:44: Lester's night is over after 5 2/3. He gives way to Paul "Swinging" Byrd who has serviced this team well in eight starts since coming over from Cleveland. I only wish he batted more often so that I could hear "Byrd flies out" once in a while.
3:46: Byrd gets the third out and the Rays are retired in the sixth. The Sox have to score here in the...you know what, fuck it. I sound like a broken record. Yes, they need to score at least five times over the next three-and-a-half innings.
side note: I got a really bad haircut this weekend at SuperCuts in Santa Monica. I know it's bad because Lauren typically has no response to my haircuts unless they're really bad or really short. This time it was something like "what the hell happened to your hair?" I would have been better served to stand near an open flame and hope for the best. Stay away from Laura at SuperCuts in Santa Monica.
3:51: Garza is still dealing and looking tough. Youk grounded out to begin things here in the sixth and Drew is behind 1-2.
3:52: And Drew just looked silly on a three-quarter swinging third strike. I give him props for running out the dropped strike, though. Way to go, JD. You'll get 'em next time.
4:00: After a walk to Bay, Kotsay works the count full but flies out to Upton in center. I'm annoyed.
4:01: My annoyance level has just gone through the roof after the Nikon commercial with Asthon Kutcher taking pictures at a wedding. I recently found out that he coaches high school football out here in California. Riveting.
4:19: Bottom seventh now...I've attended to some other things since the last useless update. After walking Tek, Garza gives up a bounding single down the first base line to my man AC. Tek goes to third, Garza goes to the bench. I mentioned before the fact that the Sox need to get some men on in front of Pedroia and this could be the right time. Ellsbury needs to put his last 20 at-bats behind him and make something happen here. It'll be against JP Howell who has been very effective in both the regular and postseason.
4:23: Ok, a sac fly from Ellsbury is as productive an at-bat as we could have hoped for. Shutout averted, Pedroia now has to...not hit into a double play, which is exactly what he did. So much for getting men on in front of DP. Shit.
4:32: With first and third and nobody out, Pedroia fields a sharp grounder off Navarro's bat and fires home...Crawford bangs into Tek, but he holds onto the ball and gets the out. Keeping this a four-run game is a small victory in this situation, especially since there were no outs with men on the corners.
4:35: Baldelli just blasted a 3-run job off the Sports Authority sign. Well, this has been fun. Except no, it hasn't.
2:41: Ellsbury continues to struggle and hit the ball in the air. He's got to get on track and get on base. Manufactured runs start with Jacoby in this lineup. He's now 0-for-his-last-19. Maybe a bunt next time.
2:42: Pedroia hammers another one off the wall. It still baffles me that pitchers continue to challenge Petey with fastballs. He's becoming one of the best fastballs hitters in the game. 2 for 2, both fastballs that were absolutely hammered. Here's where we need Ortiz to lock in and make Garza work.
side note: I feel like they can get to Garza with patience. He can get wild and if they can work some counts and scratch together some hits, they can get back in this game quickly. Nice, it's now 3-0 to Ortiz.
2:47: Ortiz is in a full count but he's fouling off pitches and making Garza work. I like it. Now there's a towering, fading foul ball that Longoria makes a great effort to get...he misses. Longoria is a great looking, young player.
2:48: Ortiz pops out to shallow center. He missed a fat breaking ball that was left over the heart of the plate. As has been clear for some time, he's just not the same hitter we're used to here in Boston (or LA).
2:50: On a replay of Youk's check swing, I see something strange in the seats...a fan is wearing what appears to be a sock on his head. I think it's a mechanism to keep his ears and head warm, but I can't be sure. I'm not familiar with such a thing.
2:52: Youk strikes out on his third check swing of the at-bat. It's looking like Game 3 might be a long one for Sox fans, and an equally long one for readers of It's All French To Me. I fear the game log that Simmons does so well might turn out to be incredibly and painfully boring a la French.
3:03: Lester gets out of the 4th rather easily...one hit but he makes Iwamura look silly on a curve for strike three and the third out. The Sox have to plate two in the bottom of the 4th and build a little momentum.
3:06: Just talked to my dad who is listening to the game on ESPN Radio 710AM. He gets Vin Scully, I get three boneheads on TBS who suck at their jobs. I miss Remy and Orsillo. Oh, my father also offered his obligatory "the Sox suck" just now. I'm sure he hopes as well I do that he'll eat those words.
3:11: Kotsay smokes another Garza offering for his second hit of the night. I wish I had even the slightest modicum of confidence in Jason Varitek. I'm predicting a strikeout.
3:12: Ok, it was a popout to first and boos are starting to come out at Fenway. Really? Boos? It's the fourth inning of Game 3 of ALCS, people. Calm down and have a little hope, would you? This isn't Wrigley.
3:16: Upton singles and the Rays have the leadoff man on for the fourth straight inning.
3:17: Pena bunts, a beauty away from the shift. Youk has no play, except Upton rounds second and Youk throws him out...Cora lays down the tag. I'm reminded how young the Rays are and I'm also reminded that something as small as that play could light a fire.
3:20: "If this was the NBA, the Red Sox would need a :20 timeout." I don't know which announcer it was and I don't care. I only wish I wasn't listening when he said it.
3:25: Lester is through five and at the very least, he's saved some of the bullpen by not folding after his early inning issues. The Sox have 15 more outs and they have to score in this inning. They need to get men on in front of Pedroia and with Cora leading off the fifth, Pedroia is due third. No better time than now.
3:31: Cora grounded out and once again, Ellsbury lifts a fly ball for out number two. Petey hits again with no one on and two out. If the Sox have any thoughts of a comeback, it's not showing in their offense...no energy and no urgency...yet. I'm beginning to get bored with my own writing. This promises to be a great blog entry at this point.
3:40: Top six and Lester k's Aybar for out number one. All things considered I like how Lester has settled down and managed this game after such a rocky start. When it comes down to it, if your team isn't scoring at all, it doesn't matter how many runs you've given up. But Lester hasn't folded and somehow I still feel like the Sox are still in this game. Then again, I also still believe that Brady will be back by the end of the season to commandeer the Pats into and through the playoffs. No, I haven't started drinking yet but perhaps it's time.
3:44: Lester's night is over after 5 2/3. He gives way to Paul "Swinging" Byrd who has serviced this team well in eight starts since coming over from Cleveland. I only wish he batted more often so that I could hear "Byrd flies out" once in a while.
3:46: Byrd gets the third out and the Rays are retired in the sixth. The Sox have to score here in the...you know what, fuck it. I sound like a broken record. Yes, they need to score at least five times over the next three-and-a-half innings.
side note: I got a really bad haircut this weekend at SuperCuts in Santa Monica. I know it's bad because Lauren typically has no response to my haircuts unless they're really bad or really short. This time it was something like "what the hell happened to your hair?" I would have been better served to stand near an open flame and hope for the best. Stay away from Laura at SuperCuts in Santa Monica.
3:51: Garza is still dealing and looking tough. Youk grounded out to begin things here in the sixth and Drew is behind 1-2.
3:52: And Drew just looked silly on a three-quarter swinging third strike. I give him props for running out the dropped strike, though. Way to go, JD. You'll get 'em next time.
4:00: After a walk to Bay, Kotsay works the count full but flies out to Upton in center. I'm annoyed.
4:01: My annoyance level has just gone through the roof after the Nikon commercial with Asthon Kutcher taking pictures at a wedding. I recently found out that he coaches high school football out here in California. Riveting.
4:19: Bottom seventh now...I've attended to some other things since the last useless update. After walking Tek, Garza gives up a bounding single down the first base line to my man AC. Tek goes to third, Garza goes to the bench. I mentioned before the fact that the Sox need to get some men on in front of Pedroia and this could be the right time. Ellsbury needs to put his last 20 at-bats behind him and make something happen here. It'll be against JP Howell who has been very effective in both the regular and postseason.
4:23: Ok, a sac fly from Ellsbury is as productive an at-bat as we could have hoped for. Shutout averted, Pedroia now has to...not hit into a double play, which is exactly what he did. So much for getting men on in front of DP. Shit.
4:32: With first and third and nobody out, Pedroia fields a sharp grounder off Navarro's bat and fires home...Crawford bangs into Tek, but he holds onto the ball and gets the out. Keeping this a four-run game is a small victory in this situation, especially since there were no outs with men on the corners.
4:35: Baldelli just blasted a 3-run job off the Sports Authority sign. Well, this has been fun. Except no, it hasn't.
Fast Fingers Freddy
Yesterday was an eventful day for me. My parents met Lauren's grandparents and a host of other people somehow related to the Goldstein-Greenberg clan at a very nice dinner hosted by the aforementioned grandparents. There was a lot of laughing, a lot of eating and a healthy amount of drinking as well...all good things. Unfortunately the defining moment of the evening came at the expense of two cupcakes.
We know where we made our critical error. Lauren and I bought a fine selection of eight gourmet cupcakes to serve as part of dessert, and they were displayed on a crystal cupcake platter as you might find at a nice family dinner. However, we failed to remove this display from the dinner table prior to sitting down for the meal itself. Typically you don't put dessert on the table until the dinner part of the meal is finished, but then again, you don't expect that anyone besides a undisciplined child would actually make a move for a cupcake until dinner was over and everyone else was ready to eat dessert. Let me set the scene here:
The majority of the group sat the large dining table in the kitchen of Lauren's grandparents house, a table that seats 10-12 depending on the seating chart. Last night it was 10. As it was, the dinner was buffet style and everyone grabbed their plates of food prior to picking a seat at the table. All was well and good until about 15 minutes into the meal when Lauren tapped me on the arm. Next to her sat Freddy, a long-winded, grandstanding man with a penchant for the dramatic. Lauren and I had endured a painful session with Freddy before dinner, as he rambled his way through some truly uninspiring and monotonous stories about a football game, a wedding and something about a company in LA that I have yet to determine what in the sam hell he was actually talking about. I digress...after the arm tap, I looked over at Freddy and didn't immediately notice what had caused Lauren to direct my attention his way. She finally alerted me that a cupcake was indeed missing from the tray (which sat about eight inches in front of Freddy), and there sat Fred, furiously devouring a cupcake as if his life depended on it. Further, it was the one cupcake the Lauren had hoped would be available to her when it was time for dessert. No sale.
For a few minutes, we both confusedly tried to make sense of the situation. First off, it was the best cupcake on there and I felt bad that my lady wouldn't be able to enjoy even a taste of it. Second, the plan was to cut the cupcakes into sections so that everyone could try a bit of each if desired. Now we were down to 7. At this time, it was clear that our diversion from Freddy to discuss the hilarity/horror of his thievery was our second and perhaps most damaging mistake.
The second tap on the arm was doubly as appalling as the first. I peered over at Freddy a second time, and there sat the ingrate, halfway into cupcake #2. Yeah, that's right. Not satisfied with just one, he had helped himself to a second and as luck would have it, it was Lauren's hopeful second choice of cupcake after losing the battle for her first choice. Talk about ruining a girl's night. To top off this cupcake circus, it then became apparent that Freddy's wife had gone ahead and joined her husband in his tomfoolery by helping herself to a cupcake. She showed some sense of control by taking only half of a cupcake but SHIT MAN. Who the hell do these people think they are? You don't eat a quarter of the cupcake allotment DURING DINNER unless you're either a) a dog or b) insane. I guess I've solved that mystery.
What made this scenario even funnier was when Lauren actually cut up the cupcakes to serve to the guests, Freddy's wife came over a exclaimed "ooohh, look at the pretty cupcakes!" This kinda set me off. I wanted to ask her if they looked any different from a few minutes ago, when her and Freddy decided to pig out and consequently ruin our evening. She would later contend that the dessert portion of the meal was indeed a "cupcake orgy". I know her and Freddy were satisfied, but I can assure you that Lauren and I were not.
I later found out than Freddy had recently lost his job and ten days ago had removed all the alcohol from his house in order to support his newly christened sobriety. Perhaps the cupcakes had provided him with a little happiness but at what price? It's rumored that Freddy has just rid his house of all cupcakes and then promptly headed to a C.A. meeting downtown. Yes, that would be Cupcakes Anonymous.
Line of the night provided by Lauren's grandfather, Dick:
(referring to my mom) "Your mom is very attractive. Does she fool around?"
We know where we made our critical error. Lauren and I bought a fine selection of eight gourmet cupcakes to serve as part of dessert, and they were displayed on a crystal cupcake platter as you might find at a nice family dinner. However, we failed to remove this display from the dinner table prior to sitting down for the meal itself. Typically you don't put dessert on the table until the dinner part of the meal is finished, but then again, you don't expect that anyone besides a undisciplined child would actually make a move for a cupcake until dinner was over and everyone else was ready to eat dessert. Let me set the scene here:
The majority of the group sat the large dining table in the kitchen of Lauren's grandparents house, a table that seats 10-12 depending on the seating chart. Last night it was 10. As it was, the dinner was buffet style and everyone grabbed their plates of food prior to picking a seat at the table. All was well and good until about 15 minutes into the meal when Lauren tapped me on the arm. Next to her sat Freddy, a long-winded, grandstanding man with a penchant for the dramatic. Lauren and I had endured a painful session with Freddy before dinner, as he rambled his way through some truly uninspiring and monotonous stories about a football game, a wedding and something about a company in LA that I have yet to determine what in the sam hell he was actually talking about. I digress...after the arm tap, I looked over at Freddy and didn't immediately notice what had caused Lauren to direct my attention his way. She finally alerted me that a cupcake was indeed missing from the tray (which sat about eight inches in front of Freddy), and there sat Fred, furiously devouring a cupcake as if his life depended on it. Further, it was the one cupcake the Lauren had hoped would be available to her when it was time for dessert. No sale.
For a few minutes, we both confusedly tried to make sense of the situation. First off, it was the best cupcake on there and I felt bad that my lady wouldn't be able to enjoy even a taste of it. Second, the plan was to cut the cupcakes into sections so that everyone could try a bit of each if desired. Now we were down to 7. At this time, it was clear that our diversion from Freddy to discuss the hilarity/horror of his thievery was our second and perhaps most damaging mistake.
The second tap on the arm was doubly as appalling as the first. I peered over at Freddy a second time, and there sat the ingrate, halfway into cupcake #2. Yeah, that's right. Not satisfied with just one, he had helped himself to a second and as luck would have it, it was Lauren's hopeful second choice of cupcake after losing the battle for her first choice. Talk about ruining a girl's night. To top off this cupcake circus, it then became apparent that Freddy's wife had gone ahead and joined her husband in his tomfoolery by helping herself to a cupcake. She showed some sense of control by taking only half of a cupcake but SHIT MAN. Who the hell do these people think they are? You don't eat a quarter of the cupcake allotment DURING DINNER unless you're either a) a dog or b) insane. I guess I've solved that mystery.
What made this scenario even funnier was when Lauren actually cut up the cupcakes to serve to the guests, Freddy's wife came over a exclaimed "ooohh, look at the pretty cupcakes!" This kinda set me off. I wanted to ask her if they looked any different from a few minutes ago, when her and Freddy decided to pig out and consequently ruin our evening. She would later contend that the dessert portion of the meal was indeed a "cupcake orgy". I know her and Freddy were satisfied, but I can assure you that Lauren and I were not.
I later found out than Freddy had recently lost his job and ten days ago had removed all the alcohol from his house in order to support his newly christened sobriety. Perhaps the cupcakes had provided him with a little happiness but at what price? It's rumored that Freddy has just rid his house of all cupcakes and then promptly headed to a C.A. meeting downtown. Yes, that would be Cupcakes Anonymous.
Line of the night provided by Lauren's grandfather, Dick:
(referring to my mom) "Your mom is very attractive. Does she fool around?"
09 October 2008
Anything But Baseball
I'm torn here, I really am. I have a split audience (of roughly 6 people) that offer differing opinions on subject matter in this blog. My Aunt Gloria, who has suggested that my brain has turned to mush since being in LaLaLand (due to the lack of blogging) has insisted upon some good, old fashioned Sox talk. I delivered. The honorable James Hammen concurs, as does the Captain of the Chuckwagon. Lauren might say she's impartial on the subject, but she much prefers my non-sporting sputterings. Same goes for my sister-in-law, Jen, and Gilbert.
So where do I go from here? I've been finding it quite the grind just to simply string together some coherent thoughts, let alone get them on paper. Perhaps my brain is somewhat mushy, AG. But that happened long ago, like maybe on or around the 5th of July, 1979. I've considered starting a new blog about just baseball, but then I remember how much effort that would take and I'm immediately discouraged. And almost in the same breath, I remember that I just started a new blog about my daily frustrations. Two entries and one month later, I have come to grips with the fact that this new blog is a failure. So how could starting yet another blog be a good, solid idea? I don't think it is.
I guess I've decided that I'm not going to interrupt anything that decides it's ready to come tumbling out of the mush upstairs, whether it be about baseball, anger, toilets, food, Lauren, whatever. And I'm not really sure why I dedicated three paragraphs to the delivery of this news, but hey. These are the malfunctions I speak of, my friends.
My friends. I am John McCain. You are all my friends. I will be referring to you as my friends each and every time I speak to "you", the public. "You" are my friends, fellow Americans. I'm really hoping that over time, I will make my way into your heart as your true friend because, after all, you wouldn't choose not to vote for your friend, right? It's my only shot at this upcoming election. Ok, it's me again...French. I don't claim to know very much at all about the upcoming election. My default I've watched the debates, partially. I know that I can't take Sarah Palin seriously, but not because she's a woman. I just don't particularly care for her. But I don't have any true conviction behind that. I know that McCain is lax on immigration and tends to like the way Iraq has been handled. And I know he's in favor of stem cell research. As for Obama, I know he also supports stem cell research. I know he wants our troops the fuck out of Iraq...he's pro-choice, pro-death penalty and big on education.
I agree with both candidates on certain issues. But I don't like how McCain constantly says "my friends". It makes me angry. Yes, I'm voting for Obama. But I swear it's not because of the "my friends" thing. I swear. And all those issues I listed in the above paragraph are things I just read about after googling "Obama/McCain platforms". Sue me.
I found this interesting this morning: I was driving back from dropping Lauren off at work and "Hypnotize" by Biggie came on the radio. The word "sex" was dubbed over, yet the word "ass" was not. What? Really? Is "sex" a bad word? I don't think so. Are we protecting the ears of our children from this word because we don't want them to have sex before a certain age? Right, I'm sure bleeping out the word "sex" in a Biggie song is helping. Ridiculous.
So where do I go from here? I've been finding it quite the grind just to simply string together some coherent thoughts, let alone get them on paper. Perhaps my brain is somewhat mushy, AG. But that happened long ago, like maybe on or around the 5th of July, 1979. I've considered starting a new blog about just baseball, but then I remember how much effort that would take and I'm immediately discouraged. And almost in the same breath, I remember that I just started a new blog about my daily frustrations. Two entries and one month later, I have come to grips with the fact that this new blog is a failure. So how could starting yet another blog be a good, solid idea? I don't think it is.
I guess I've decided that I'm not going to interrupt anything that decides it's ready to come tumbling out of the mush upstairs, whether it be about baseball, anger, toilets, food, Lauren, whatever. And I'm not really sure why I dedicated three paragraphs to the delivery of this news, but hey. These are the malfunctions I speak of, my friends.
My friends. I am John McCain. You are all my friends. I will be referring to you as my friends each and every time I speak to "you", the public. "You" are my friends, fellow Americans. I'm really hoping that over time, I will make my way into your heart as your true friend because, after all, you wouldn't choose not to vote for your friend, right? It's my only shot at this upcoming election. Ok, it's me again...French. I don't claim to know very much at all about the upcoming election. My default I've watched the debates, partially. I know that I can't take Sarah Palin seriously, but not because she's a woman. I just don't particularly care for her. But I don't have any true conviction behind that. I know that McCain is lax on immigration and tends to like the way Iraq has been handled. And I know he's in favor of stem cell research. As for Obama, I know he also supports stem cell research. I know he wants our troops the fuck out of Iraq...he's pro-choice, pro-death penalty and big on education.
I agree with both candidates on certain issues. But I don't like how McCain constantly says "my friends". It makes me angry. Yes, I'm voting for Obama. But I swear it's not because of the "my friends" thing. I swear. And all those issues I listed in the above paragraph are things I just read about after googling "Obama/McCain platforms". Sue me.
I found this interesting this morning: I was driving back from dropping Lauren off at work and "Hypnotize" by Biggie came on the radio. The word "sex" was dubbed over, yet the word "ass" was not. What? Really? Is "sex" a bad word? I don't think so. Are we protecting the ears of our children from this word because we don't want them to have sex before a certain age? Right, I'm sure bleeping out the word "sex" in a Biggie song is helping. Ridiculous.
08 October 2008
Issuance of Gag Order
I wrote this entry yesterday but lost it during the transfer of my laptop from house to coffee shop. I'm pissed because I know there was some stuff in there that I'm not capable of coming up with two days in a row, but who's to say that some new stuff won't spew out of me during this attempt at literary greatness? That's a rhetorical question.
John Lackey and Torii Hunter are frustrated with losing to the Red Sox. They're probably the only 2 Angels that can back up their verbal assaults of late, since both played very well in this series. Unfortunately, they didn't have the full compliment that they were accustomed to all season long as the Angels carved out the best record in baseball. For some reason, the rest of the Angels roster chose the worst possible time of year to play subpar baseball and for that, they'll be sitting at home watching another chapter of the Rays-Sox Choose Your Own Adventure. So relax John and Torii. Pop open a few suds, put your feet up and enjoy the ALCS. And please, shut the hell up.
Both Lackey and Hunter were quoted as saying that the better team didn't win this series and I beg to differ. I don't care what your team does in the regular season because once October hits and the clutter gets swept into anonymity, we're left with a new season and clean slates. The Angels won 5 more games than the Sox during the regular season, playing in arguably the weakest division in baseball. True, they lambasted the Red Sox in the season series but this just further proves that regular season baseball matters not when October hits. Both teams made the playoffs. End of story.
The better team plays better baseball when it matters. Looking inside the numbers of this series, the Angels were simply outplayed and outmanaged.
The Red Sox committed one error to the Angels three and if you remember, Jed Lowrie's error in Game 1 hurt at the time, but it was erased by an offensive comeback later in the game. The Angels weren't so lucky with their errors, as they all hurt and helped in determining the outcome of the games in which they were committed. Case in point: better teams overcome mistakes.
The Red Sox left 36 men on base in this series, including 16 that were in scoring position with 2 outs. The Angels left 43 men on and 21 with 2 out that were in scoring position. Case in point: better teams get it done with men on, men in scoring position and in clutch situations such as when there are 2 outs.
The Angels were ultimately plagued by several boneheaded plays in this series and that is not the mark of a better team. A lazy fly to center by Jacoby Ellsbury plates three runs because Torii Hunter and Howie Kendrick didn't call it. This is Hunter's fault entirely as it's the centerfielder's call on these types of balls. Either way, it was a huge mistake that playoff teams cannot afford to make if they expect to win. Ironically, the Angels ended up winning this game, but still. Vlad Guerrero's baserunning blunder was just plain ridiculous in Game 1. This from a veteran who should know better in tight situations, but it was a bad decision that cost them dearly. And finally the suicide squeeze attempt in Game 4 was perhaps the worst managerial decision of Mike Scoscia's tenure in Anaheim. You've got a guy in Aybar who won Game 3 for you. He's a contact hitter, up 2-0 in the count. Based on the first two offerings from Manny Delcarmen, one can only surmise that Francona and the Sox knew what was coming. Things like this are part of the reason why the Sox are back in the ALCS for the third time in five seasons. And the Angels are going home, again.
Lackey commented that Pedroia acted as if he did something good following his wall-ball double in Game 4 that plated Jason Varitek. He also remarked that this is an out in any other ballpark. Well John, this theory doesn't really hold any water in my book. You play to what the park gives you, and in Boston, that wall gives hitters another option as they know that sending a ball in the air to left leaves open the possibility of banging off the wall. Pedroia is a great pull hitter and he did what he had to do in that situation. He pumped his fist after reaching second because he did something good for the first time in that series and it couldn't have come at a better time. The Angels, on the other hand, were let down by the meat of their order except for Hunter. They couldn't produce when it mattered most. I'll give some credit to Mike Napoli who single-handedly beat Josh Beckett and the Sox in Game 3. Outside of that, it was an utter failure by a unit that came into this series as the scariest lineup in baseball. Not so scary now.
John Lackey and Torii Hunter are frustrated with losing to the Red Sox. They're probably the only 2 Angels that can back up their verbal assaults of late, since both played very well in this series. Unfortunately, they didn't have the full compliment that they were accustomed to all season long as the Angels carved out the best record in baseball. For some reason, the rest of the Angels roster chose the worst possible time of year to play subpar baseball and for that, they'll be sitting at home watching another chapter of the Rays-Sox Choose Your Own Adventure. So relax John and Torii. Pop open a few suds, put your feet up and enjoy the ALCS. And please, shut the hell up.
Both Lackey and Hunter were quoted as saying that the better team didn't win this series and I beg to differ. I don't care what your team does in the regular season because once October hits and the clutter gets swept into anonymity, we're left with a new season and clean slates. The Angels won 5 more games than the Sox during the regular season, playing in arguably the weakest division in baseball. True, they lambasted the Red Sox in the season series but this just further proves that regular season baseball matters not when October hits. Both teams made the playoffs. End of story.
The better team plays better baseball when it matters. Looking inside the numbers of this series, the Angels were simply outplayed and outmanaged.
The Red Sox committed one error to the Angels three and if you remember, Jed Lowrie's error in Game 1 hurt at the time, but it was erased by an offensive comeback later in the game. The Angels weren't so lucky with their errors, as they all hurt and helped in determining the outcome of the games in which they were committed. Case in point: better teams overcome mistakes.
The Red Sox left 36 men on base in this series, including 16 that were in scoring position with 2 outs. The Angels left 43 men on and 21 with 2 out that were in scoring position. Case in point: better teams get it done with men on, men in scoring position and in clutch situations such as when there are 2 outs.
The Angels were ultimately plagued by several boneheaded plays in this series and that is not the mark of a better team. A lazy fly to center by Jacoby Ellsbury plates three runs because Torii Hunter and Howie Kendrick didn't call it. This is Hunter's fault entirely as it's the centerfielder's call on these types of balls. Either way, it was a huge mistake that playoff teams cannot afford to make if they expect to win. Ironically, the Angels ended up winning this game, but still. Vlad Guerrero's baserunning blunder was just plain ridiculous in Game 1. This from a veteran who should know better in tight situations, but it was a bad decision that cost them dearly. And finally the suicide squeeze attempt in Game 4 was perhaps the worst managerial decision of Mike Scoscia's tenure in Anaheim. You've got a guy in Aybar who won Game 3 for you. He's a contact hitter, up 2-0 in the count. Based on the first two offerings from Manny Delcarmen, one can only surmise that Francona and the Sox knew what was coming. Things like this are part of the reason why the Sox are back in the ALCS for the third time in five seasons. And the Angels are going home, again.
Lackey commented that Pedroia acted as if he did something good following his wall-ball double in Game 4 that plated Jason Varitek. He also remarked that this is an out in any other ballpark. Well John, this theory doesn't really hold any water in my book. You play to what the park gives you, and in Boston, that wall gives hitters another option as they know that sending a ball in the air to left leaves open the possibility of banging off the wall. Pedroia is a great pull hitter and he did what he had to do in that situation. He pumped his fist after reaching second because he did something good for the first time in that series and it couldn't have come at a better time. The Angels, on the other hand, were let down by the meat of their order except for Hunter. They couldn't produce when it mattered most. I'll give some credit to Mike Napoli who single-handedly beat Josh Beckett and the Sox in Game 3. Outside of that, it was an utter failure by a unit that came into this series as the scariest lineup in baseball. Not so scary now.
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