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Busy Bats

Arriving at Fenway last night was as always exciting. The first of two games against the almighty Tampa Bay. Although somewhere in the midst of World Cup madness they seemed to have lost the ‘almighty’.

 Lackey pitched what in numbers was a solid game. As a bystander it felt a bit different. There was never the certainty as there is when…forget it; I have never have felt certainty at Fenway.

 Last night the game lasted 3 ½ hours.  So what caused this game to have Sox-Yankee duration? Even with Lackey able to pitch seven innings, we still had five new pitchers to come.

 Okajima, not really a surprise. He came to the plate determined to bring smiles to Japan after their elimination of the world cup. Or this is at least what I told myself to bring me comfort. In any event, his determination was short-lived, and after 21 pitches, two hits and two runs, he sat down.

 Next we had another familiar face in Daniel Bard. Daniel Bard we have watched grow from Pawtucket to the bigs.  Sometimes when Bard pitches I forget to watch the actual pitch, instead I just look at the speed. Unfortunately, the men behind me seemed to have missed out on Bard altogether, they briefly asked who he was, and then continued to talk about the Lady GaGa show they were going to in the upcoming week. Almost before the men could utter the name of their favorite Lady GaGa song, we had another pitching change.

 Atchison. Atchiwho? The good news about Atchison is he is not nearly as old as he looks(he is 34). The bad news about Atchison is he has been plagued by an elbow injury on and off since 2000. Atchison spent last season playing for the Hanshin Tigers, so perhaps, he too came with the determination to lift spirits throughout Japan. Thirteen pitches and two runs later, Farrell was a welcomed sight.

 With the crowd nice and nervous, who else but to grace the plate other than Dustin Richardson. Since 2006 Richardson has climbed up from Lowell to Pawtucket with a 1.69 ERA last season, to Fenway Park. Last night he pitched just enough to get us comfortably back to a familiar song.

 The song of Papelbon. With an ERA of 3.82 his song may not be as calming as it used to be to Fenway. But he was able to get the job done.

 Our team’s pitching ERA total is now 4.27, only ten teams have a higher one. So how can we sleep through the night in Boston?

 It’s simple. Beltre. Beltre is second in the league with his 3.49 batting average. And other bats are getting busy as well. Papi got a 3 run homer last night. Even with the absence of Martinez, Ellsbury, Pedroa, Lowell, Boston isn’t getting quiet.

 Let’s not forget the Yankees lost last night. And Tampa Bay isn’t looking so mighty, in fact they are looking a bit catty these days.

 Let’s just hope those bats stay busy for DiceK tonight. And let’s hope the game ends before midnight.

Taking my father to church

Fathers Day is usually easy for me. I purchase a new book about sports I have secretly been wanting. I give it to my father so he can teach me the new information, and then read I it myself.

But this year I had bought all of the books. And the Celtics didn’t provide us with the option of a 2010 Champion t-shirt.

I’m not a sports fan because my father is, but I am a better sports fan because of him. His Midwestern kindness has mellowed out the Boston in me. I learned early never to boo a player. I remember spending my entire first Red Sox game guilt ridden after booing someone.  This rule I amended after Johnny Damon. He told me just the other day how proud he was that the Celtics made it as far as they did. They beat most expectations. All I could think about was beating LA.

 Sports have always given my father and I something to talk about. Some families have church. My father and I have sports. We put all of our faith into something we can never fully predict.  I sometimes think my father started getting season tickets to ensure I won’t move to Ireland indefinitely. It worked.

In the end I bought my father a book. Sort of like our own Bible. We are about to go on a pilgrimage. I bought The Green Cathedral. And starting this summer, every summer we are going to a new ball-park. Because sometimes Fenway is too close to home. Sometimes you need a journey to find your way again.

Infanity or Insanity?

I have this embarrassing habit of crying after game sevens. Game sevens have caused me break-ups, asthma attacks (too much celebrating), and the occasional apology batch of brownies to the homeowners I watched the game at.

Fortunately, because I am a girl, I got away with this for many years. Rather than insane, my habits were viewed as corky, or even cool. As I get older, people are seeing the true insanity behind my actions, including myself.

I recently asked a player if he thought Bostonians were silly with their emotions, or if it was motivating to athletes. He never responded. Which leads me to believe he thinks silly is an understatement.

Someone recently told my aunt, she knew just what my aunt was going through, after my Nana had a stroke. She told my aunt, her cat had just died. She knew it was different, but she knew what it was like.

At first I wondered, is that what I seem like to professional athletes? Would Ray Allen be offended by the dramatics of my superficial wound?

Then, the cynic in me wonders, what if it only is dramatic for the fans? For athletes, it’s a job. They are professionals. For us, it’s all heart. There was no reason for me to stay up way to late and watch the game. I wasn’t getting paid to wash my lucky Celtics outfit every other day. In a fit of rage, no one was there to pick up my Celtics towel for me. And no one could pay me enough money to route for LA.

The Celtics are one of the few true teams left in basketball. Basketball has become a lot of superstars. The Celtics weren’t supposed to beat LeBron. We weren’t supposed to come so close to Kobe. But people underestimated the strength of a team, the strength of heart.

Without teams, where is the heart? Without teams, will fans be the only ones crying in game sevens? What if there’s more Mannys?

Fanhood: It's a sickness

What people don’t understand about Boston, is that fanhood is a sickness. It begins at different ages for different people, for some fortunate enough it never begins at all.

 We don’t go to games to go stargazing. We go to get our hearts mended or broken.

 For some this sickness begins at a young age. It probably doesn’t help to have the adults around one infected by such a problem.

 One of my nine-year-old students came into school in tears yesterday morning. I asked him what happened. Through hysteric cries, “the Celtics…..LOST!”

 Luckily, he didn’t realize there was a game seven, so this came as a comfort. I told him it was only a game. Thank goodness he had not seen my reaction after the game. I told him the thing about game seven is the Celtics need to win.

 Will they win? Perkins is out. No one who works for ESPN seems to think so. Nor does sports radio, but who really listens to those guys. But those of us sick from fanhood, we believe it, even if we say we don’t. Chances us superstitious ways prevent us from saying what we actually feel. A small part of believes it. A small part of us is that nine year old, blindly believing, without even knowing the logistics of the game.

The new Curse...

Friday I arrived hours late to a party. I went to the gym after work and made the mistake of tuning on ESPN. Bill Plaschke had plenty of lovely things to say about my Celtics. So lovely, I furiously worked out until finally, a show later when Wilbon said one sentence full of hope about the Celts, I realized I was about to pass out.

It reminded me of the insanity which occurred after Ortiz didn’t hit in the first two games of the season. It was, after, only the first game of the playoffs, and already we were being counted out. It reminded me of watching ESPN a few years back. You know, 2008. Anyone in LA remember the outcome of that series?

Sunday gave us hope again. Yesterday, I woke up and literally jumped out of bed, knowing I was going to my first finals game ever. For reading, I had my student read the Sports page, I couldn’t help myself.

Walking into the Garden was everything I thought it would be. After a very serious conversation with my father, about which beer brought the Celtics the most luck, we finally lined up for a pair of Sam summers. The man in line behind us seemed a bit of a celebrity. A few young men asked for a photograph with him. I turned to look at this man. He looked familiar, in one of those, you know you don’t like him, but your can’t remember why sort of ways. That’s when I noticed his media pass.

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Los Angeles Times. It was the man who almost caused me an asthma attack. I will admit he seemed nice. He bought my father and I a drink being amused he had such an effect on my health routine, and also (this is when I briefly forgave him) telling me the job of teaching is incredibly important.

My father and I sat down happily in our seats, with our free 10-dollar beers. BEAT LA echoed through the Garden. Fifteen minutes in our smiles vanished. The game of basketball was out and officiating was in.

Was it the refs who lost the Celts the game? Probably not. Did the refs make a comeback less of a reality? Possibly. Did Bill Plaschke put a voodoo curse on our beers to prevent Ray Allen from hitting his shots? Absolutely.

Today I went to the gym, and politely asked the man working there to put on NESN. He looked at me funny as I cheered for Wakefield in a 2-hour replay. But there was something glorious of knowing exactly what was going to happen. And I dared not chance it with ESPN.

 

Johnny Baseball

After delaying my viewing of Johnny Baseball, multiple times, due to real games in the area, I finally managed to sneak away into the theatre sports world last week. A place I was unaware existed.

            Brilliant idea. Play about the Red Sox. We already have ice cream, books, movies, Pez Dispensers, and wine. I often think I should tattoo my forehead, official writer/teacher of the Boston Red Sox. I would suddenly be a top seller.

            So here is genius, right? A play about the Red Sox.

            Walking into the theatre was brilliant. Perfect hot summer night, the air smelled of concession stands at Fenway (no joke!). All of the ushers were decked out in Sox gear. It was like Fenway. Except people were sober. And there were more couples. But like Fenway, if you desired, you could bring in a plastic cup of beer.

            The play started out with fans watching the game. It was as if I had become my college room mate, watching me in hysteria watching a game. Except it was a lot more fun, because instead of cursing, they sang! Well, they cursed and sang as they sang about the curse.

            I would like to take this moment to say the people around me were thoroughly enjoying themselves. In fact I was a bit nervous the friend I brought was going to join the stage in excitement. Babe Ruth- phenomenal.

            With that said… why on earth did they have to make all of the female fans such stereotypes? It was like listening to sports radio. They had a pink hatter. A woman singing about marriage during a playoff game, and another woman who wanted to do Rivera. One of the most amazing things about Fenway, is we have real female fans. Look at some of the sports writers who have come out of this town. I’m not talking Heidi Watney, I’m talking Jackie MacMullan. I decided to forgive Johnny Baseball at the intermission for this error, because I have never seen any writer represent female sports fans well.

            Johnny Baseball has two stories. One is present day, the other is years ago, how the curse began, and it’s not what you think. The problem is the play really has far more than two stories. We have love stories, we have some Mauryesk father drama, we have Willy Mays, we have the Negro Leagues.  All valid stories, minus the love story, but it was just too much.  As soon as you were getting into one subplot there was a scene change. It was like a game with six pitching changes. Sometimes you just want to get comfortable. Nothing’s wrong with no runs when it’s a no-hitter.

            If you looking for a fun night out with friends, spend it here. If you are looking for baseball, watch the Sox!