No, I didn’t go to Kenmore square last night. It was to cold/late/crowded for me to go, so I just set and saw it on TV, forcing my wife to stay awake with me and watching the Red Sox celebrate their rightful earned victory.
It’s been told more then once lately, that it is an exiting time to be a sports fan here in New England. The Patriots are kicking ass, the Bruins and the Revolution are doing fine, and the Celtics are back in business after so many years. And yesterday was a great example. It started with the Pat’s with who else but future U.S. president Tom Brady, who completely ignored the Redskins existence. And then, at 8:30, the main course, with the Sox fighting hard and winning the World Series.
And a couple of words about the possibility of A-Rod coming to Boston next year in case Mike Lowell goes: I have nothing against A-Rod, but if it ain’t broken, don’t try to fix it. And after Lowell became the World Series MVP last night, and after his great season, the Red Sox organization should make a considrable effort to keep him here.
I simply hate Dancing With The Stars! I know that I don’t reflect the mainstream- TV consuming average Joe, but it’s the truth. And now, not only that the show is getting even more attention after Marie Osmond was Fainting With The Stars on live TV before the eyes of an amazed nation, Uri Geller’s Phenomenon will premier tonight live on NBC. Between these two shows, I believe we would have a 100% of captive audience, if it wasn’t for Manny, Big Papi, Youk, and the rest of the Red Sox gang, who are playing in World Series tonight, and will be ranked the highest in the Boston area ratings. Let’s go Red Sox.
(photo by -vodca- @ flickr “a bar where I love eating alone”)
I have a confession to make; I love being alone. This is an odd turn of events. As an only child, I think I spent my whole life looking for siblings. For as long as I can remember, including most of my adult life, I never, ever wanted to be alone. Whatever I was doing, I wanted someone with me. I was lonely when a signif. other golfed for a day. Anything fun I thought was more fun with a friend. And then poof. I don’t know why, but all that vanished. Suddenly, I relish my me time. A lot.
One of the things I most love to do alone is watch baseball in bars. Why is that? It makes no sense whatsoever. If you want to be alone and you want to watch baseball, and you have NESN, clearly the place to do that is at home on your own couch in your comfortable (yet adorable) loungewear.
Thus, it stands to reason that if you are out in a bar watching baseball, you must want to meet someone. That would explain why, when I’ve been out to bars to catch a game, men have told me I “look familiar.” One guy even said to me, “Do you know anything about baseball, or are you just watching it because it’s on?” Hey, no harm, no foul. So to speak. But FYI, here are a few reasons a girl might leave her house and head for say Coolidge Corner Clubhouse, Audobon, Eastern Standard, Bar 10, the bar at Fugakyu (really random but they are so nice, even if one guy is a Mets fan), Unos, Papa Razzi, even sometimes Grill 23 — all alone:
1. None of her girlfriends wants to watch the game.
2. When they do agree to go somewhere to watch the game, they don’t watch the game and just chat the whole time.
3. She does not now how to make good steak tips.
4. She knows how to make a nice Delmonico, but doesn’t want to clean a pan. (Look, maybe it’s been a long week.)
5. She wants to be near Fenway to feel the crowd react (and in the case of Eastern Standard, to hear it)
6. She wants to people watch (not interact, just watch).
7. She wants to write about the game, and when she’s home, she folds laundry while watching instead of taking notes.
8. It’s fun to hear guys talk when they don’t think anyone is listening. Good material.
9. It’s Sunday and she has no vodka and also no idea how to make a decent Bloody Mary.
10. She wants a change of scenery (*”Note: “Change of scenery” may also be code for “chocolate bread pudding”)
11. She feels it’s a good idea to take a long walk somewhere. Pls see: chocolate bread pudding, Delmonico, and Bloody Mary, above.)
12. She has a brand new pair of Michael Kors wedges with a nautical flair that are begging for a suitable debut ASAP.
So the point of this is, if you’re in a bar and you see someone by herself watching the Sox, you’re right that it’s not completely outside the realm of expectation that you would try to make conversation (fair game in a bar) but also that just because she’s there doesn’t mean she wants that. She may blow you off. Don’t take it personally. Some days a girl just happens to be on a solo mish – and loving it.
Yesterday morning at a very civilized hour, I turned on the TV just in time to pick up the game (West Coast) where I’d left off (falling asleep) the night before.
I used to think “Sox in Two” was dumb. At that point, you already know who won or lost. With a few exceptions. I’ve never much liked watching those “Classics”games, because the excitement of baseball is that it’s in real time.
Maybe it’s my age and love of convenience, but all that’s changed. I’m crazy about Sox in Two now. It’s just so handy! They deliver the game to me on my time. I’m beholden to no one, and I fade into sleep when I want to rather than force feeding myself diet cokes and slapping my cheeks every five minutes.
I wish more things would be provided twice for convenience. Meetings in Two would be nice. You could finish whatever project you were working on and just catch the meeting tomorrow. Summer Dress Shopping in Two would come in handy. Get to Mint Julep after close on Saturday? No worries. They’d open first thing on Sunday for you to come on in with your latte.
Best of all, of course, would be “Relationships in Two.” For every relationship that only fell apart because of timing or geography, someone’s non readiness and someone else’s readiness, the ones you don’t realize you really wanted until later. You could get another chance when things settle down. The doorbell would ring and there he’d be, now that you have the benefit of daylight and alertness and a clear plate, right in your living room, ready to be enjoyed with a scone.
One of the hardest thing to do in sports isn’t hitting a 90-mile-an-hour fastball, or racing in the Indianapolis 500, or making the game-winning basket with 1.5 seconds left on the clock.
It’s knowing when it’s time to go.
There’s a short list of athletes who knew when it was time: Jerome Bettis, Rocky Marciano, Jim Brown, and John Elway.
Then there’s the other list, the long list of athletes with diminished skills who didn’t know when to go.
Hey look, there’s Eric Lindos, Muhammad Ali, Joe Namath, Willie Mays, Patrick Ewing, Emmitt Smith, David Cone, Wayne Gretzky, Rickey Henderson, Martina Navratilova–uhh, let’s stop here. As I said earlier, it’s a long list.
When it comes to reading the handwriting on the wall, athletes remain stubbornly illiterate. I never understood why until I saw an interview with the blues guitarist Johnny Winter on television one day.
Winter was promoting a new CD and he looked tired and bored as he answered questions he probably heard hundreds of times before. But then, by accident, the reporter asked him the right question: “So, Mr.Winter-how do you feel about what you do for a living?” It was as if she flipped a light switch on inside him. A bright happy smile lit up his face and he replied, “Well, it’s a job–but it’s a good job.”
As long he stays healthy and people keep buying his CDs and going to his shows Winter can do his job as long as he wants. John Lee Hooker was in his 80s when he died, the morning after his last concert. That’s much longer than the guys wearing jockstraps, that’s for sure. Michelle Kwan retired at what, 25?
When you’re an athlete, the window where you can do your job productively is temporary. I understand that nobody wants to leave the best job they’re ever going to have. But if you’re not careful and stay around too long, Father Time will slam that window shut on your fingers. Hard.
I had to say something to my son about Barry Bonds. I had to say something, because I didn’t want him watching a gorgeous home run arc over the Green Monster and thinking that Bonds owned a rightful place among real homerun heroes, like his favorite, Big Papi, or mine, Manny Ramirez, or ones he’d learn about later, like Hank Aaron.
So I told my son that Bonds cheated. I explained all about the importance of telling the truth and of playing games fairly so that every player has a chance to win. And he understood perfectly.
And yet, it seems, the point is lost on some (far more grown up) people. Someone recently told me that she’s seen, as a person in the dating world, a rise of married men asking out single women. And I’ve peeked at it myself. I’ve been in the situation where someone is chatting you up and wanting to take you out on a dinner date, and by asking a few run of the mill questions, you realize he’s married. And not about-to-be-divorced married. Married married. And amazingly enough, these guys are not ashamed of that at all.
More often than not they claim to have “an understanding” with their wife. Wait, I need to stop laughing.
According to these guys, they are free to date, and the woman who dates them gets everything she wants out of a relationship, unless she wants marriage.
Or integrity. It’s not about wanting marriage and not being able to have it because he’s married to someone else. It’s really just about whether you could ever trust and love someone who is a serial sneak. Every word would be suspect. Every gesture called into question.
I don’t hate Barry Bonds because he’s full of himself or a jerk to media or rude to his teammates. What I can’t stand about him is that he’s a big faker, and, like every cheater, he knows it.
In spite of all the excitement, we were glad to see him go.
(first published at http://mannyshadow.blogspot.com)
The GMs in Major League Baseball who sign up Roger Clemens are in an odd love/hate relationship with him. Oh sure, they love it that the the fiery pitcher-for-hire can still win games for them, but they hate the horrible things they have to do beforehand. This time, it was the Yankees turn.
“Jesus, this place stinks.”
“Over there! He’s in the cage where they used to keep Hannibal Lector.”
“R-roger?”
“HUNGRY!”
“It’s O.K., Roger! Look! We brought you a sportswriter!”
“No!” Dan Shaughnessy screams, “Aaiiieee!”
After the gory carnage is over, Roger picks his red-stained teeth with a bone and smiles. “ME VERY HORNY.”
“Huh? W-why are you looking at me?”
“Go ahead, Bill! George said to give him anything he wants!”
“NOT SEX! MONEY!”
Suddenly, in a foul-smelling cloud of brimstone, a demon in a suit appears.
“My God! Are you S–”
“Of course not,” the demon smoothly replies, in a voice that sounds suspiciously like James Earl Jones. “I’m The Rocket’s lawyer. Now, this is a list of what my client requires, and there will be no negotiation. Please listen carefully , our time is worth $5,000 a minute, and I will not repeat myself. First of all…”
Last night Schill almost pitched a no-hitter. He had it going for so long, and then he shook one sign and poof. But still, he pitched a complete game. He brought us out of our slump. He saved the bullpen for the weekend. He lifted spirits. He picked up his team. He was the stopper. And he was almost perfect.
In the post game interview they asked if he’d called his wife yet. He hadn’t. And in the tone of his voice you wondered if he even planned to. After all, he hadn’t been perfect. Just almost.
What is there to say for an almost perfect relationship? Where you see clearly all the right elements coming together but there’s just that one insurmountable thing? Sometimes I think that an almost perfect relationship is a starting point. It’s proof that you can be in love, if you ever had a doubt. Proof that what you want is out there. Or at least almost everything you want.
But sometimes I think that the almosts are just impossibly sad. So close, and yet so far.
(originally published at http://mannyshadow.blogspot.com/)
I simply hate Dancing With The Stars! I know that I don’t reflect the mainstream- TV consuming average Joe, but it’s the truth. And now, not only that the show is getting even more attention after Marie Osmond was Fainting With The Stars on live TV before the eyes of an amazed nation, Uri Geller’s Phenomenon will premier tonight live on NBC. Between these two shows, I believe we would have a 100% of captive audience, if it wasn’t for Manny, Big Papi, Youk, and the rest of the Red Sox gang, who are playing in World Series tonight, and will be ranked the highest in the Boston area ratings.
