So for the last week, I’ve been away. Some of you may noticed, others may not have (only three people read this so there must be a majority either way). But while I was away, I took the time to stop and smell the roses and learn some new things (in between sessions of beating up my liver). Here is what I remember:
10. Chicago is a great city, but it is nothing like Boston. Sure, the people are more laid back than New York, but the city looks different, is more segregated and allows drink specials in bars. The most important difference is that while people are similarly laid back, there are fewer assholes per square mile (except on Montrose beach, where people just dont pay attention and walk right through your Cornhole game) and nobody uses the horn on their car. We should conquer them, rename the city “Bostonisbetterthanyouville” and then get wasted with the locals on some of those truly amazing drink specials.
9. I hate the Mets. No, not as much as the Yankees, but the fact that they cant win one of three against them makes them about as useful as the entire city of Newark, NJ.
8. Back in the day it used to be that you could travel to buy products that you couldn’t get at home or foods that weren’t shipped to where you live. Today, you can get anything you want over the internet, and that part of the experience has been taken out of travel to a point. The one thing that you can travel for is beer. In Chicago I drank Goose Island (Honker’s Ale and 312), New Belgium (Fat Tire) and Murphy’s Bleachers ales which I cannot get at home. This added to the experience of being away greatly as it was not just the visual experience which was different, but the taste of the city as well.
7. Every day I am away I miss NESN more. Nuff ‘Ced.
6. From now on Every time I travel for more than a weekend I am going to find a Red Sox bar in whatever city I am in. They are everwhere and walking in to them makes you feel like you are at home. Plus, you can watch the game on NESN, on every TV. Big ups to the Tripoli Tap. I didn’t get to make it there this trip but you’ve made me feel at home in the past.
5. Play Cornhole. It has nothing to do with butt sex, as it may seem, but is a great alternative to sitting while you drink and doesn’t require you to dig out a horshoe pit or put up a dart board.
4. Everywhere you go you will see Red Sox fans, and they will always see you and give you the acknowledgement head nod. It’s a brotherhood.
3. We seem to have forgotten what it was like for us in Red Sox Nation before 2004, when winning became expected and the horrible collapse unthinkable. I was on my way to the airport during the U.S. – Brazil Soccer game on Sunday with my buddy Jimmy Junk (also known as the cheapest man ever), and we heard on the radio that we (that would be the Amurrrricns) were winning two-nil in the 27th (yup, 27th) minute. Junk actually started to celebrate, thinking it was all over and that the rest of the world was going to have another reason to hate us (well F@#$ you too). But I knew different, as that little part of me that wasn’t killed by the Greatest Comeback In Sports History spoke up and told me to stop counting chickens. Sure enough I was right. We should be pissed that we didn’t win it all, not happy that we made it that far. If the U.S. doesn’t win the World Cup next summer I’ll be dissapointed.
2. Eck is getting better at teaching people about the art of pitching every day, even as his vocabulary expands. Last night, as He Who Shall Not Be Doubted (so nasty) was shutting down the O’s, Eck had a sequence where he taught us about establishing the inside, even with a ball, and then making Aubrey Huff look like my sister at the plate by throwing outside. I don”t know if I’m the only one but I wouldn’t mind seeing a three man booth once the Rem Dawg gets back.
1. The Red Sox are really really good and everyone else is jealous.
Go Sox.
Done.
Some things that spilled out of my head while preparing to yell “Bitch Tits” for four straight hours (I know I said that yesterday, but I really want to get people to chant it tomorrow night) :
It’s coming time that Daisuke Matsuzaka starts to earn the $100 million that the Sox have invested in him (the posting fee has to count). He was 18-3 last season but only threw 169 innings and hasn’t been able to stay past 5-2/3 this season. The WBC can be blamed to a degree (and he needs to realize that his AL season is more important), but in many ways it’s a stubborn lack of ability to adapt that has held him back. In the Majors the hitters are too disciplined and too good to try and nibble around. If he were to start going after hitters more and stop worrying about giving up his honor by allowing a hit or two he might turn into a Major League pitcher.
It has been about a week since I last checked in to the Ballpark. I have been on an epic journey through time, space, self and the south… each one stranger than the last. Arizona, New Mexico, Texas and Louisiana (I’m purposely omitting California, which was the point of embarkation, because California sucks). The Sox record while I was on the road was 5-3, The Celtics won game 7 while I was surrounded by Bulls fans in Scottsdale, Arizona (which I hated by the way, it is a productionless suckpit that traps people with warm weather and nice people and then surrounds you with unwed teenage mothers and old guys with crappy tattoos) and even the Bruins went up 1-0 in the series -before forgetting how to play the sport and losing three straight including a devastating and demoralizing OT loss-. Bottom line, I shit talked my way across the country, and there wasn’t a damn thing anyone could do about it because I was wearing a Red Sox hat and they weren’t. The icing on the cake, of course, was the slew of incoming calls I received while waiting to board my flight home informing me that Manny had tested positive for some penis enhancing steroid and was suspended for 50 games. -Unfortunately, Manny will still outswing Ortiz in every major category.-
Of course, it’s easy to fall into the trap of criticizing our own, when Big Baby is our offensive standout, the Bruins start looking like a bad roller hockey team and Ortiz is forced to play with a fittingly pink bat, but there’s nothing like a little perspective to remind us all how great Boston is.
Get Out of My Ballpark 