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Heaven

Last night I thought I had died and gone to heaven. There I was at a CELTICS playoff game as the top seed. The Bruins were still alive. Ortiz was out of his slump. Hell, the weather was even nice. Seven rows in front of me sat Coco. Also at the game were John Henry, Ortiz, Cora, Youk, Lowell, and Pedroia.

Yes, this was heaven.

The Celtics didn’t let me down either. I remembered last year where the whole crowd only watched Sox players watching the game. But this year it’s a different story. There were fireworks in the garden to introduce the players. It was smoky the entire first half, but the adrenaline of the garden was too high for my asthma to kick.

Then at half time, like any good Boston sports fan I panicked. I think you’ll all agree with me on this panic attack, though. They had Lucky the mascot dunk over Ortiz. Ortiz is there holding up a basketball, and scrawny drunk looking Lucky is running towards the trampoline.

All I could think was, what if Lucky doesn’t jump high enough.

What if this is what puts Papi on the DL list for the season. The crowd was cheering wildly as I held my breath, waiting for Papis agent to interfere. I was half expecting Francona to come in and stop it. But Lucky was too quick for any interference. And thank God, the man is more athletic than he looks. He went way over Ortiz. And I, well, I went straight back to heaven.

Some sunshine needed in Boston...

It’s been a bad week with the sky acting like how I feel everyday. Today in rainy still cold Boston I suddenly had a revelation. It’s baseball season. We are still the champions. So I walked into a bar and sat down happily with my Sunday sports page to read during commercials.

I sat down with my Guinness to warm my body and watched. Beckett was pitching what could possibly go wrong…

Oh right. Everything. Now I remember the good old days of being a Sox fan, when trainwrecks were a weekly occurrence. We can blame Lugo as much as we want, but it’s deeper than that. No one on our team is playing to his normal standards. Jet lag, jet smag. We need to pick it up. And soon.

We have opening day this Tuesday, and Boston is dreary enough right now without a bunch of disappointed drunk fans wandering the streets. I will be at the game on Saturday, and we don’t need an angry me trying to brawl Yankees fans, I’m actually a lot smaller then I think. Also we have twenty games in twenty days, so we really need to build some momentum.

My godmother and I will be selling “I love New York” shirts, with some puffy paint written below it before the game on Saturday. You know how expensive hot dogs and beer are at Fenway, so feel free to buy one!  Just think the more beer my godmother and I can afford the more likely every Yankees fan will be harassed. Puffy paint has never been so wicked!

Once Again, Yankee Fans Prove to have No Heart

Years from now when I am gray and wise, my grandchildren will be sitting by my side watching the Red Sox, and they will ask, “Nana, where were you when Manny Ramirez hit his first walk-off home run?”

I will respond with either one of these two responses, the first one is, “I was in Fenway Park sweetie, greatest moment of my life, well besides marrying your grandfather of course”(which in this daydream also happens at Fenway).

Or I will tell the truth. I was on a train from Grand Central, surrounded by their great aunt and uncle. I left the pub at the top of the ninth inning. I was trying to be polite to cousins I hadn’t seen in a year, and ended up making a terrible mistake.

I got to see the conclusion of the attack of the flies’ game. But not the walk off. Fricken Yankee fans. One told me last night, “it’s all over for us, we can’t come back now,” as he sulked back down in his seat on realizing I was a Sox fan.

I told him they could still come back. I mean look at the Sox, we’ve done the come back kid thing before, and so can the Yankees. I know it seems absurd, me saying these things about the enemy, but I guess that little immature fan in me wants to see us beat the Yankees with our own hand.

“But we have no heart,” he replied. “The Red Sox have heart. The Yankees just have money. It’s all over,” he swigged his drink and I looked at his eyes to see a look I often have. A look of complete defeat.

I wished him luck and returned to my table of Yankee fans. The table of cousins who are supposed to love me dearly. The cousins who excitedly awaited my arrival back to the U.S.A.

Or, as I look at it now, the table of heartless cousins who prevented me from having a great story to tell my future grandchildren, about Manny’s incredibly wicked awesome first walk off homer.

So now I sit, looking slightly defeated myself. Watching the replay of the homer over and over again on my computer, wearing my Yankees Go Home t-shirt.

Is the Glass of Barium Half Full?

Canada? Is this for real? I hope the rest of Red Sox Nation is well in bed by now. This is nothing for the faint hearted.

I had to pints of barium for breakfast today (since being back on American soil my stomach has been acting up), and let me tell you, it was way less nauseating then watching my boys lose to a bunch of Canadians. I fell asleep last night to the sounds of calls from New York.

Do I honestly have to start screening my Canadian family members now? There has been a cop car outside my apartment all night; I think the Boston PD can sense the tension coming from over here.

Tomorrow I am having scrambled eggs mixed with radium for breakfast, as if I could even make this stuff up. I don’t care how sick it makes me, or if I glow green, as long as Canada doesn’t make us look like little league again I’ll be just fine.

Systemic Reaction to Yankee Allergy

This is the message I received last night from my godmother at midnight.

“Hi Carolyn. Almost committed suicide last night, was back in civilization to see the game, almost cut my wrists while watching it. I can’t imagine having to watch that game on prednisone; I would have hurled myself of some sort of building. Thank God we won tonight.”

This always seems to happen. Big games coincide with big illness. Friday night I had to ask myself do I take benendryl and risk passing out before the game ends, or do I endure swollen eyes and iffy breathing to cheer on my boys. I went with the second choice, which did in fact make me want to hurl myself off some building. Living on the fifth floor I decided this would only result in me becoming paralyzed, which might get me better seats at Fenway, but would leave me sedated for the rest of the season.

Last night I choose to ignore my swelling eyes and closing throat once more. I felt a beer from my Red Sox pint glass would simmer down my health enough. And another beer may calm the nerves. No thoughts of jumping off buildings. My mother even sat down to watch the game with me. We could hear Fenway scream a second before we saw it play out on the TV.

Becket, Cy Young, anyone? Johnny Damon , a real idiot, he doesn’t even know how many games behind his team is. Coco sort of my hero. I love seeing our team run, it makes all of the difference. Ellsbury, that just sends me into lovely daydreams. The Fox announcers kept calling him the next Johnny Damon last night. How dare they? Ellsbury is above and beyond that clean-cut idiot. Just watch him run. The kid can even count!

I’m still in my bathrobe, hung-over from beer, prednisone, and Sox adrenaline. I know the Pats are playing at the same time as the Sox. After living in Cali for a few years I got quite a few texts of harassment once midnight hit. Do I wear my Yankees Sucks hat, my Red Sox hat, or my Pats hat? I think we all know the answer to that, sorry Belichick.

Let’s just hope tonight doesn’t end by a deathly systemic reaction or a jump of the Pru!

Ortiz and the longball

I will not write about the game I just came back from, aside to say it was... disappointing. Check the box scores yourself if you want to see the damage.

However, I will talk about batting practice.

Ortiz was tremendous. Between smiling and tossing balls to screaming fans that traveled more than 400 miles to see the Sox play in Baltimore, he beaned two and three home runs in a row.

And a lot of these weren't home runs of the "just over the wall" variety. A lot of them went deep. Outfielders would need a jet pack and a butterfly net to catch them.

While practice pitches are lobbed, and intended for good, hard whacks, it's good to see Papi hitting home runs again. He's only hit 28 home runs this year, compared to his 54 last year.

He can't be bashed for this years low numbers. He's been playing through injury, but what these pre-game dingers tell me is that he's feeling better, up to par.

It looks like Ortiz will be at or close to full power in October. And that's when we need him.

Heartbreak at Homecoming

Trying to read the sports page this morning I had to stop myself. I don’t want to remember the awfulness of last night. The way Schilling seemed to play in slow motion, well except for his unreal bare hand catch. The way JD Drew did nothing to suppress the Nancy taunting in the crowds. And the last homeruns. Declarmen has always made me nervous. But Okajima? My first time seeing him pitch after hearing a year of hype. I know, it’s hard for these Japanese guys because of the long season, but when I’m at Fenway Park do I really care?

Nick Hornby says watching sports as a fan isn’t entertainment. He’s dead on. I was horrified, I was ecstatic (Variteks homer which I asked for as he came to the plate), I felt my arrhythmia acting up, there is really just no time for entertainment,

All the people around us in the stands left between the seventh and eighth inning. Even the two guys behind me who were constantly getting into huge fights about obscure stats left at the beginning of the ninth.

I looked at my father who looked cold, worn out, slightly heart broken, and informed him if there was extra innings I was staying for all of them.

I gulped my Smithwicks and silently said every prayer I could remember. It would all be ok, our best hitters were up. Even without Manny we could do this.

Ellsbury flies out. Ortiz grounds out. Lowell fouls out. My heart out.

“It’s just a game my father,” my father said.
But I kept seeing millions of other defeats flashing before me.

All right Red Sox, let’s really start playing. And Manny, please come back. Make me happy Ireland wouldn’t extend my visa. Make me proud to be American. For fecks sake, I even sang the anthem last night.

Don't cry for me Dice-K

Red Sox fans have a storied history of blowing everything out of proportion.  Things go bad in April and its "these guys are terrible."  A pitcher has a bad outing and the Nation speculates what could be "wrong" with him.  Well in an effort be remain consistent I offer the following over-the-top analysis of tonight's 2-1 loss to the basement dwelling Tampa Bay Devil Rays.

After winning the first two games of a three-game set, the Sox looked to Dice-K for their first series sweep since the first week of July when, you guessed it, the Sox broomed the D-Rays.  Dice-K (13-10) was solid over six, allowing two hits and two runs over six.  Matsuzaka also had eight strikeouts while walking four. 

I don't have the numbers in front of me, but this is a disturbing trend: Dice-K puts in good work (he leads the league in quality starts), puts the Sox in a position to win, and the rest of the team can't pick him up.  You mean to tell me that you cannot scratch out one lousy run over three innings against the Rays? 

No offense to T.B. - they're a talented major league club with a lot of hard workers who perform nightly in front of about 28 people.  But the Sox are the best team in baseball and need to demonstrate as much by taking care of business.  It's a rare week when you have the chance to gain three games on the competition.  A Sox win tonight, coupled with a Yankee loss in Anaheim, would have provided just that.

In true Sox Nation fashion, tonight's loss will be tempered by a Yankee loss against the Angels.  Anyone see the shellacking the Angels put on the Yanks last night?  And speaking of shellacking, check out this football score the Orioles allowed today. 

The Red Sox lead will either be 6 or 5 games by tomorrow.  Next up for the Sox: the Chicago White Sox who have lost 8 of 10. 

Feeling lazy and beaten on a topic...

I was going to write about Buchholz, and how maybe Gabbard wasn't such a big loss because we obviously have an arsenal of up-and-coming pitchers grazing and grooming in the farm.

But Aaron beat me to it, talking about our "embarrassment of riches," in his post. You're just too quick for me, Aaron.

So here's a few pictures from that Sox vs. O's game I went to last week.

Here's Eutaw street. It's kind of like Yawkey Way, but without pavement or outside businesses. If you ever wind up at an O's game, get food from the Jack Daniel's barbecue. I've never had a better burger at a park.

You'll find these signs on Eutaw Street. Unlike other areas of the park, it's no joke here. I personally saw two balls ping off the sidewalk, then the wall of the old factory building. A hard hat might not be a bad idea. Neither would spider senses.

This was the view from our seats. Our $15 seats. Yep. $15.

I'm not sure who this is, but I think he batted eighth in the O's lineup that day. That could be why the Sox won 6-2. They must have sent this green player back to the minors before the next day's game thought, cause the O's won 6-3.

The view while leaving Camden Yards. Incidentally, this is also the view you will have while exiting this entry.

So Much for the Luck of the Irish

The baseball gods are not on my side this week. My sleeping eating and drinking patterns have all been affected by the shrinking lead we have over the Yankees. I know that stats are in our favor, but this is the Red Sox, and it is August. Getting comfortable is just cursing ourselves.

I went to a pub to watch the game, no luck as usual. But this time it got a bit scary. An elderly woman who mistook me for a cricket fan actually chased me out of the pub.

“Get out of here you English cricket fan” she said and threw in a few profanities here and there. I kept trying to explain to her it was baseball I was after. She kept telling me cricket would be the end to the Irish nationalists. I was forced out of the pub full of locals who at this stage all believed me for an antinationalist cricket fan. They must have been a bit too buzzed to hear my American accent at this stage.

I ended up having pizza. I mean they can't possibly kick an American out of a pizza joint, right? This is when I realized just how cursed I am. The lunch special was called the Yankee pizza. I looked up to the walls, and found myself staring at a picture of Matsui on the wall. At least it wasn’t A-Rod. However, I still lost my appetite.

I tell these stories of Ireland so you’ll be prepared. I was hoping for nice quiet pints of Guinness to nurse me through this hard time in August. Instead I keep finding myself getting kicked out of pubs eating Yankee pizza. So much for the luck of the Irish.

I can’t wait to return to the promise land.