Lord, Beer Me Strength

J & I went to Home Game #2 on Wednesday night.  The good news was, there was beer and we were at the game.  The bad news was everything else.  Like the cold and the fact the Sox lost.  But, there was beer! 

In case any of you are lucky enough to one day take me to a game at Fenway, I’ve come up with some basic tips everyone should follow to make my viewing experience (and yours!) more pleasurable.

1) Take off your freaking hat for the National Anthem.  Yes, ladies, that means you too.  You wanted equal rights, you got ‘em.  That means you take off your hat even if your hair will be messed up for 5 minutes.  And if its one of those stupid ass pink hats, you can just leave it off.  And toss it in the trash.

2) Hot chocolate does not warm you up like beer does.  Neither does eating ice cream out of one of those plastic caps.  Beer (at $7.25/pc) is the most expensive option here, but so worth it.

3) You’re no fun unless you sing “Sweet Caroline” in the eighth.  Loudly, off key, and with all of the made up words included.  Therefore, J is no fun.  He’s lucky I married him after I found out he hates this tradition.

4) Its okay if you drop your peanut shells in your beer.  I highly encourage it!  Makes the beer taste better.  Mmmm…salt.  Dropping a chicken finger in your beer is not okay.

5) If you have the bladder of a hampster, get an aisle seat.

6) Speaking of seats, if you’re in the park, you bought one (or a standing room spot).  Sit there.  Don’t stand in the aisle looking for an empty seat, only to get kicked out when the person who owns that seat returns to it.

7) Fenway Frank = good.  Footlong = better.  Monster Dog = gross.  Seriously.  I love a good hot dog just as much as the next fat kid, but the monster dog is too much “meat.”

8) Its okay to leave in the 8th when you’re losing, its cold, and you have to work the next day.  Really.

PS — The spellchecker is back!  My prayers have been answered!

I know, I know. I’m a bad little blogger.

So, what’s new? Oh yeah, as DuJane pointed out, a little team called the Boston Red Sox won the World Series. Again.

Its so weird to say that. Again. Like its no big deal. It is a big deal, its just not as big of a deal as it was 3 years ago. Don’t get me wrong, its always nice to win. But this year seemed so easy. We had no heartbreak. No Aaron Fucking Boone. No coming back with walkoff after walkoff from being down 3-0. No spraying champagne in Yankee Stadium. We just kept winning, right from the beginning. Sure, the season had some bad moments, some scary moments, but we always looked good.

Not that I need a reason to be happy, but since I can’t use the “Its been 86 years!” reason, I came up with a few more:

• I don’t have to break my promise to J: that if the Rockies won, we’d name our first born son Yorvit. This allows us to have the young “Jason William Kevin Curt Bronson Orlando Manny Papi” as we promised each other in ‘04.

• I had a friendly bet with my friend Kay in Colorado. So instead of stuffing a Pilgrim into a FedEx box like I would have had to do if the Rockies had won, I am anxiously awaiting all the splendors that Colorado has to offer (with the exception of Rocky Mountain Oysters).

• Free Tacos for America!

• You gotta love signs like this:

(Sign Reads: Garko was right. Champagne does taste just as good on the road)

• And this:

• And, lastly, we can’t see this white boy dance enough:

(okay, maybe we can!)

Congratulations Sox!

Last night, J & I are watching the game, and I said “Hey, who’s pitching?” He replied: “Buck Holtz.” I thought, huh, you don’t hear the name Buck too often (unless you know George Costanza’s porn star name: Buck Naked). Later, I figured out that the kid’s name was actually Clay Buchholz, and he was a 23 year old rookie, making his second MLB start for the Sox, because Wakefield being hurt messed up the rotation a bit.

So, the kid looked good. By the fourth inning, J was saying, but not saying, he was on his way to a no hitter. See, J is a bit superstitious when it comes to baseball. He firmly believes Don Orsillo (Sox announcer) ruined Schilling’s no hitter earlier this season by simply announcing he was on his way to a no hitter. So, every time Orsillo or Remy would make note of the zeros on the board, J nearly had a conniption fit at the tv.

He fell asleep in the 8th, and I took over the worrying. They showed a clip of the last Sox pitcher to get a no hitter, Derek (Even though you’re a headcase I still miss you since you went Left) Lowe, and I thought, this can’t be good for Bucky. Then, they showed a clip from the ‘67 dream team, who apparently the ‘07 Sox are being compared to, and a fabulous catch by Yaz in the ninth to keep the pitcher’s (whose name I can’t remember) no hitter alive. Then lost on the next batter. I wanted to turn the tv off at that point, fearing the worst, but I left it on and woke J up for the last batter.

And he did it! Bucky got the no hitter, on a called strike that seemed to take forever to call. Jason Varitek picked him up (what I wouldn’t give to have been Clay Buchholz for that moment) and the team swarmed the field, nearly crushing the kid to death. You could tell he was crying, and so was I. Then you could hear Josh Beckett say, “You just did something Curt Schilling couldn’t even do!”

So, there you have it. The first Red Sox Rookie to get a no hitter. And I’m still calling him Bucky. But the good Bucky, unlike the other one, who is known to all Sox fans as Bucky Fucking Dent.

Slogging through my long run on the dreaded treadmill at the gym tonight, I got to see a lot of news. And the sports world has gone crazy, crazy I tell you!

First up, I’m not a huge X Games fan, even though I believe the first X Games were in my home state of Rhode Island. But look at this guy fall!
Jake Brown’s X Games Fall
The amazing part, aside from the simple fact he’s still alive, is that he’s planning on coming back to skateboarding is three weeks. If I ever fell 40 feet, I think I’d wrap myself in bubble wrap and hang out in bed, getting up only to -carefully!- eat and pee. Of course, the odds of me being 40 feet in the air to begin with is slim to none, but you get the point.

Next, I think we may have to move the Seattle Mariners into the Evil Empire of Baseball. Why? Because their mascot, a moose of some sort (why the Mariners have a Moose mascot, I don’t know) tried to run over Coco Crisp! How awful is that?! That moose should not be allowed into the Hall Of Fame — blacklist him like Pete Rose, I say! Here’s a clip: Coco and the Moose

The Rox Sox mascot, Wally the Green Monster, is far more civilized, by the way. And, he’s popular with the ladies

Some other stuff happened this weekend in sports too. ARod hit his 500th homer, and Barry Bonds hit number 755. I’m far more impressed by ARod, but that’s a blog for another day. And, Schilling is back on the mound for the Sox tonight, so we’ll see how long he can keep his fat yap shut for after the game.

I’m a Red Sox fan. I used to be a big fan when I was little (I even have Roger Clemens’ rookie card), lost interest, and am now a big fan again. I love Fenway Park. The uncomfortable seats, crowded T, $7 beers and the best hog dogs around. I saw a Yankee fan harassed by Sox fans at a Devil Dogs game. It was great. (Really. Why would you wear a Yankees hat in Boston to a Boston/Tampa game? The kid was clearly asking for it).

I was at the Yankees game with the infamous Varitek/ARod fight. My thighs were bruised from jumping up so fast I hit them on the seat in front of me. I almost cried when the Yankee fan behind me called Varitek a pussy. And my throat hurt for days after screaming for Bill Mueller’s walk off home run off of Marian-A Rivera, and chanting “Yankees Suck” to the tune of Dirty Water.

I cried when they won the World Series. And I stood in the rain for hours by Mass General to see the “Rolling Rally.” You know those teeny boppers you see on tv crying and fainting because N’Sync signed their CD? That was me, except at 26, knees shaking and trying not to cry as the Boston cop assigned to keeping our section in line led us in a rousing round of Sweet Caroline. I swear Bronson Arroyo looked right at me (my friend said it was because I screamed “Bronson!” at the top of my lungs).

After the rally, we walked to the Common and took pictures in front of the World Champions banner outside of the State House. It was one of the best days of my life. And, on a bittersweet note, I gave a picture of J & I in front of the banner to my Papa for Christmas. He passed away after a hard battle with cancer less than 6 months after the Sox won the Series, and I’m so glad he lived to see it. We buried him with a Sox cap.