It's cool to be a cook. :)
Looking at this picture reminds me of a conversation that Mike and I have had a couple times: If the Red Sox 25- man roster worked in our kitchen, what jobs would they have?
We always start out by saying who we'd want for a station partner. You work side-by-side with your station partner about 30-hours a week, so it's super important that you get along well. And assuming that you're going to be the lead cook on the station, you need your partner to be able to handle his/her job so that you're not constantly getting yelled at by the chef team because your station is in disarray. And furthermore, ideally you want someone who is intelligent, quick, and capable. So that pretty much ruled Manny out of the running for my Fantasy Fish Partner. If I had to pick someone out of the 2004 roster to be my station partner I would have picked Cabrera, hands down. He's fast, he's smart, and he's down with the handshake thing so he could learn our Fish Station Secret Handshake with no problem. (Yes, it actually exists because we're nerds.) Mike picked Millar, because Mike likes to be entertained. I personally would picture Millar as more of a pantry-type guy - low-level responsibility with lots of time to fuck around with everyone else in the kitchen.
I hate to say this, but Manny seems like the cool dishwasher that would work the window by my station and whom I would constantly be teasing and slipping free food every now and then. Varitek would be the chef controlling the line from the middle. Bellhorn would be a busboy. I could picture Ortiz working meat station, perhaps...he's one of those guys who is real big and sort of bulky but moves faster and is more efficient than you would imagine. Pedro would be a server, since they are usually a) charismatic, b) ingrateful drama magnets and c) gay, or at least really effeminate. And I am giggling right now picturing Pedro making bananas foster tableside in a tuxedo! Johnny Damon would make a great steward - the guy that does all the ordering for the restaurant and deals with all the purveyors, who mainly stays in the basement but who gets along with everybody. I could picture Bill Mueller as a fish purveyor, walking backwards through the backdoor, pulling a handtruck laden with dungeness crab and tuna loins.
Ya. So. This is the kind of thing you start thinking about when you don't have any details from an actual fucking baseball game to ruminate upon. I'm all excited about spring training starting, but actual Opening Day is all the way in April!!! ::swoons with back of hand pressed to forehead in a "woe-is-me" type of gesture::
Sunday, January 30, 2005
Friday, January 28, 2005
Took out my braids. I look ridiculous. Thought I'd share before I take a shower.
Um, is it spring training yet?
Wow, that's about as girly as I think I've ever looked. Gross.
Anyway - thanks to someone for letting me know that El Guapo hasn't been kidnapped but has merely been vacationing on the beach for ten days. Which is a hell of a lot better than him falling victim to some sort of "Romancing the Stone" type of deal wherein he is in the hands of a bunch of cutthroat Colombians who are threatening to feed his hands to alligators, only to be rescued by Michael Douglas and Kathleen Turner, who have spent the previous two weeks machete-ing their way through jungles and high-heeled shoes ("Now they're practical") and throwing huge bags of pot onto bonfires in the backs of crashed drug-running planes filled with dead pilots and snakes.
Thursday, January 27, 2005
I think Tony Massarotti has been reading my blog. On Millar vs. Mientkiewicz: "Seriously, people, was this even a decision?" Dude, holla if you hear me.
If I had to pick one Boston sportswriter who would read my blog for real, however, it would definitely be Dan Shaughnessy, so that he could read about what a bitter, old, loveless fuck-up I think he is. Here, I'm going to make a list of people that I would like to run into on the street sometime when I am staggeringly drunk and my inhibitions are at an extreme low:
1. Dan Shaughnessy
2. Peyton Manning
3. Rocco DiSpirito (the "chef" from the show "The Restaurant")
4. Pedro Martínez (who knows, this could actually happen in April. Headline in the sports page of the Cincinnati Post: "Young Over the Rhine Woman Assaults Mets Pitcher with his Own Bobblehead Doll While Screaming 'Liar, Liar, Pants On Fire.'")
5. Carrot Top
Elsewhere in the world, Rich Garces, a.k.a. El Guapo, is missing and feared kidnapped in Venezuela.......You know, I used to have this daydream when I was a kid about taking a car from Cincinnati all the way down through Mexico and South America to the tip of Chile. My family was friends with a bunch of Colombians because the guy upstairs from us married this beautiful Colombian woman, and her family would tell me about how beautiful their region of the world was (they would also give me shots of Aguadiente and have me stand on their shoes and salsa dance with me) and would teach me some spanish and stuff, and I wanted to go down there with them....but there is NO WAY I could make that trip now. I might make it through Mexico and Guatemala, but getting through El Salvador, Nicaragua, Panama, Colombia and Venezuela sounds like it might be asking for a machete to the forehead. Let's make a list of places Sarah would like to go but which are now too violent to encourage tourism:
3. Central/South America
4. Gary, Indiana
5. Eastern/Central Africa
Why do people have to fuck everything up? Anyhow, I hope Rich Garces (and Ugie's mama) will be safe and sound ASAP...and maybe he should consider an off-season home in Florida?
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
I got a new haircut. So Paul, here is the picture you were asking for!
While I was at the bar getting this done my good friend and co-blogger Paulie called me. I was like "Dude, I'm at Barleycorns getting my hair braided!" and we went on to have (two) fairly lengthy conversation(s), and meanwhile I'm clenching my hands into fists to keep from making any sounds into the phone that would relay at all the level of discomfort I was feeling. Everyone told me that after you get your hair braided that your scalp hurt because your hair was being pulled so tight. That part's not so bad - right now, the morning after, it's like a very low-level throb which is only noticeable if I think about it. But actually getting the shit braided was pretty painful...like, just imagine someone pulling the short hairs around your ears and neck really hard for about two hours and that's what it was like. But no pain no gain. I think it's pretty cool. I've got mad product in it right now to help it stay together because my hair is so short, but in a couple of months it will be long enough to stay in on its own.
Anyway, back to baseball. Goodbye and good riddance to Doug Mienkiewicz - it's Millar time once again! I'm so glad that Theo et. al. decided upon this course of action. There's no way that Mientkiewicz could ever fill Millar's shoes in any areas of Kevin's expertise like growing creative yet ugly facial hair, tawlkin' like a hillbilleh, wearing mirrored sunglasses, wearing socks pulled up so high that you can see the stirrups, taking whirpool baths with Manny (supposedly with their sliding shorts on, but I think we all know better,) and generally being the loudmouth dirtbag that I've come to love so much, need I even dip into the statistical offensive gap between the two. So Mientkiewicz: take your baseball and your annual six homeruns and get the fuck out of here.
Only 22 days until spring training and it can't come fast enough.
Every time I get on a good roll when I'm typing, the Pedro Martinez World Series Bobblehead we have - complete with Jericurl and trophy - starts nodding furiously. It makes me laugh.
Monday, January 24, 2005
First off, let me just let out a big "Fuck Yeah!" for the New England Patriots, who whipped up on the Steelers last night to go to their second consecutive Superbowl. Some asides on this topic:
a) I got to watch the game with this guy I know from Detroit, who is one of those type of people who come from a town with shitty baseball/football teams and will therefore hate on any baseball/football teams who are successful, i.e. the Boston Red Sox and the New England Patriots. This has caused several arguements between him, my husband and I, especially when there is beer involved. So after a couple weeks of listening to this guy try to mumble about how great the Colts and Steelers are while giving Deuling BlowJobs to Peyton Manning and Ben Roethlisberger, it was a real pleasure to be able to watch last night's game with him. He quickly changed his tune from "Big Ben! He's the best thing to happen to Pittsburgh since indoor plumbing!" to "Hey, give the guy a break, he's only a rookie!" Get back up on the porch, little doggie.
b) I am very, very happy for Corey Dillon. Here's a dude who was completely villified in Cincinnati, who was hated on by just about everyone in the city, who was completely miserable playing here, who suffered through a shit ton of losing seasons with the Bengals (and I'm talking losing, like 2-14 losing) who is now on one of the winningest teams in football about to play in his first Superbowl ever. That is so fucking cool to me. I think just because I, too, hate Cincinnati that I empathize with the guy, and I'm always happy to see people get the hell out of this city. It will be my turn one day...and not too far in the near future, either.....but that's a post for another time.
And last night, as Mike and I were getting ready to go to sleep, we decided to put on an old Red Sox game and go to sleep with the wonderful drone of Remy and Orsillo in our ears. Mike picked out the tape of the Sox/Indians game we attended in September, 2003.
We left the house at 6:00 in the morning to make the four-hour drive to Cleveland and arrive in time to watch batting practice. Unfortunately, they weren't letting people in the park to watch BP, but we were still one of the first people inside when they finally did open the gates, and we were able to run down to the wall by the visiting dugout and watch the players warm up. This was the first Red Sox game I got to see live, since we live in a National League town, so it was amazing to me to see the players up close and in real life, not just some little dudes running around inside my television. Nomar was doing quick sprints. Kapler was walking around doing arm excercises. Tek walked by with all of his equipment on. Manny and Millar were doing some half-ass stretches while standing there chatting to each other. I was like "Holy shit, that's actually Manny Ramírez...he's like...a real person and shit. Wow." It was cool to realize that they were all just folks, just normal people. I liked that.
The game started. Pedro was pitching, and he was brilliant. The game ended as a 2-0 shutout with the Sox coming away victorious. The only real action of the game - Manny smacking a double off of the outfield wall right below our seats - unfortunately occurred while Mike was standing in line for some Moutain Dew, but we still left happy. Our section of the bleachers started a "Let's go Red Sox" chant which became so loud and boisterous that we were booed by the rest of the stadium and some people in front of us even threw some garbage our way. Which was cool.
Watching the tape of that game last night, I marveled at how, in a year and a couple of months, most of the guys on that team would be World Champions. They, of course, couldn't see it coming...hell, they didn't even know Game 7 of the 2003 ALCS was going to happen to them yet. But I knew the ultimate ending of their story while I drifted off to sleep, and how fucking cool is it?
Friday, January 21, 2005
Read this and laugh your ass off.
Oh A-Rod, your pathetic posturing and your martyrdom complex are endlessly amusing. I wish I was a professional sports journalist; I would interview this guy constantly, and I would play him like a fucking fiddle. I bet I could pull a Barbara Walters and make him cry within ten minutes. What an asshole. I'll tell you this much - that guy would never make it at the restaurant I work at with skin that thin. A-Rod...feh.
Okay, I'll grudgingly admit that there is one cool thing about Cincinnati. They had the first professional baseball team in the history of the game, and for this reason, every year the Reds get to play their first game of the year at home. This used to be the opening game of the entire season, but that went by the wayside some years ago. This year they will have their traditional Monday Home Opener on April 4th, the day after the season officially kicks off with a good ol' Sox/Yanks game on good ol' Sunday Night Baseball. But guess who will be on the mound pitching for the opposing team at the Great American Ballpark on Opening Day? Pedro J. Martínez, in all likelyhood. And I'm gonna be there, and I'm gonna wear my Sox jersey, and I'm gonna cheer that motherfucker on.
I mean, why not? I've come to grips with things. I've adjusted. It's sad that Pedro couldn't salvage a little dignity or self-respect on his way out of town, but that doesn't make the last three years of idolizing him worth any less. The only way I was not going to continue to follow his career was if he went to the MFYs, at which point he would have become as dead to me. But he went to the Mets, a team with some of the worst uniforms in baseball (above only any club with the color Expansion Team Teal in their unis,) and therefore I feel comfortable being able to root for his success.
So Mike and I have worked it out that I'm going to get up and go down to the park at six or seven in the morning on Feb. 19 and wait for the box office to open while Mike gets on the computer and tries that way, and I figure somehow we should be able to get tickets. And I'll go cheer Pedro on...although he will be in a strange uniform...with a strange catcher behind the plate...coming from a strange city.............gag................
Wednesday, January 19, 2005
I love you like a fat kid loves cake.
I'd like to take a paragraph to get re-acquainted with my love for our second baseman, the venerable Mark Bellhorn.
A couple days ago I was really bored and decided to randomly select and watch a game from the 2004 season - it turned out to be the May 7th home game against the Kansas City Royals. You may remember the end of this game, where Manny crossed home plate as the winning run in the bottom of the ninth thanks to an RBI double by V-Tek. Manny motored all the way around from first base, and instead of sliding into home when it became evident that there was going to be a play at the plate, Manny slowed down and seemed to tiptoe in, his arms raised, his fingers pointing up to the sky, a huge smile plastered on his mug as he jumped into a team mate's arms. It was one of my favorite MannyMoments of 2004, but I started the tape at the beginning of the game so that I could enjoy the Moment in context. (I'm a nerd like that.)
Wakefield was pitching, and, as was so often the case last year when Wakey started, the game was unpredictable. Everything started out smoothly, with the game staying close through the first half, until the Sox unraveled suddenly in the field and allowed something like four runs to score in an inning. This was thanks largely in part to nearly back-to-back errors by Mark Bellhorn. In one instance Bellhorn and Millar had Carlos Beltran in a pickle (remember Beltran as a Royal?) and Bellhorn inexplicably missed a toss from Millar, allowing Beltran to return safely to first. (Weirdly this was scored as both a caught stealing on Beltran and an error on Bellhorn, though Beltran remained standing on first base. God I miss baseball. It's just so cool.) The second error occurred when Bellhorn was unable to handle a routine groundball. Don Orsillo: "It just seemed like he was in some sort of trance...I'm not sure what happened there." Close-up of Bellhorn's face. Sweatier now, with the bags under his eyes somehow more pronounced...Bellhorn doesn't look embarrassed, he just becomes instantly haggard. Anyhow, eighth inning, the Sox are down 5-3 and who should step up to the plate with Johnny Damon on first base but the Haggard Mark Bellhorn. And wouldn't you know that that erstwhile motherfucker tied the game with a two-run homer? Instant vindication. I cheered for him like it hadn't happened eight months ago. And somehow, that encapsulates my love for Mark Bellhorn.
That said, both the aforementioned Bellhorn and Bronson Arroyo reached one-year deals with the Red Sox yesterday, avoiding arbitration proceedings. Both received substantial pay increases, which they both deserved. If I weren't such a douchebag I'd remember the exact numbers, but I forgot already. I'm a bad blogger. Sue me. Let's just say that they'll both be back next year and leave it at that, aight?
Speaking of being back next year, what is up with this Millar/Mientkiewicz controversy? Is there really a fucking decision to be made here? Is Mientkiewicz going to hit 20+ homeruns next year? Is he going to get 80+ RBI? Is he going to be Manny's boyfriend? Is he going to suddenly develop a redneck drawl and a sense of humor and run around and entertain me? The answer is NO. HE'S NOT. Millar is. I'm going to be pretty disappointed if we keep the late inning defensive replacement.
That's enough for today. Peace.
Tuesday, January 18, 2005
This is the most boring time of the year. I wish I could just go to sleep and wake up in March. Yes, football is still going and the Pats are still in it, but that only keeps me occuppied on Sundays. The rest of the week is totally boring. Work is boring. We can't play outside right now because a) it's too cold to shag flies, and b) the ground is too wet to toss the football around. If there weren't like a million versions of CSI and Law & Order syndicated on cable every night I might go insane. My situation is getting dire. But every year, just when I think it can't get any worse - boom, spring training starts. I'm glad the SuperBowl is in February this year...that's just less time I have to wait.
There is some minor but good news on the Sox front: Bronson Arroyo and my man Mark Bellhorn, the only two players to accept arbitration from the Sox this offseason, are expected to be close to one- and two-year deals, respectively. I imagine that both will get quite a pay-raise, and deservedly so. Myself personally, I would like to see Bronson around for more than just a year, but there is time to work that out.
Here's an interesting bit on who gets World Series rings this year. Some have speculated that John Henry will give them out to anyone who donned a Sox uni this year, including but not limited to Nomar Garciaparra, Bobby Jones and Abe Alvarez. Johnny Pesky is also expected to receive a ring, which is an awesome gesture. But Bobby Jones?? In reference to this situation, a team official said: "Fifty players wore that team uniform over the course of the season. Who knows what might have happened if it had only been forty-nine." I'll tell you what might have happened. The Sox might not have dropped the second or third game of the season due to Bobby Jones issuing 243 consecutive walks.
And the biggest Big Mouth on the team is at it again. Curt Schilling was on ESPN's Sunday Conversation, and if you want to read the transcripts, here they are. The second biggest mouth on the team was on The Best Damn Sports Show Period last night, calling his mother a MILF on national television while wearing cowboy boots and a tshirt that said "Rebel Son" on it. Classy. I used to not be too big on Millar, but he's grown on me. I have to admit, I kinda like him.
Sunday, January 16, 2005
Killer Bees - Brady, Bruschi, Brown and Belichik take it to Peyton Manning's helmet - Pats win 20-3 and remain undefeated at home.
I won a bottle of rum off of this game, as well as shit-talking rights for the next six days and hopefully beyond. GO PATS!
Saturday, January 15, 2005
As my friend Frakes said, "I can't wait to watch that baby cry."
This is the first year of my life that I have ever felt the need to make requests of the Football Gods. I've just about worn the ears off the Baseball Gods - so frequent and urgent were my demands of those guys that they finally broke down and just did something about it. But the Football Gods are a new and untapped source of blind faith. I'm not asking for much. I'm just asking that Peyton Manning gets his ugly ass trampled on Sunday evening. That's all. I want the field to look like the Swamp of Despair in "Neverending Story" and I want Manning to be Artex. I want this to be Manning's Waterloo, his "Waterworld," the worst day of his fucking life.
And I want Richard Seymour NOT to be injured.
You got all that, Football Gods? It's a pretty simple request, right?
Thursday, January 13, 2005
My husband and I were sitting around playing cards last night when who should appear on ESPN News but Curt Schilling. Never one to avoid being the center of attention, Mr. Schilling announced that he is planning on being ready to pitch the 2005 season opener at Yankee stadium. The opposing pitcher, of course, will be Randy Johnson. This is a great marquee pitching matchup, and definitely makes me that much more excited to get the season underway, but what, Schilling wasn't going to be ready if it was Mike Mussina?
Wednesday, January 12, 2005
So what's been going on since last I made a serious entry? Well, there's the Randy Johnson thing. If you don't know by now that RJ has been signed by the MFYs then who picked up the fucking rock and let you crawl out? It should, of course, be pointed out that signing one player does not a World Series victroy ensure, but it definitely makes the Yankees better on paper. However, it also makes them older. Is there any Yankee starting player under 30? I know that the Sox aren't much better, but seriously. The Yankees are just getting silly old. Their failure to sign Beltran means that Bernie Williams will see more playing time in center field next year even though it would probably serve the team better to put him out to pasture as a DH. I just saw on ESPN that Giambi is "healthy" and ready to go to spring training as a Yankee, and I'm sure we'll all be excited to see how much more weight he has redistributed by March. Tony Womack, the poster boy for the Fraternal Order of the Old and Broken Down, will be manning second base. Um, did I mention Kevin Brown is still in the starting rotation? But enough of that. We all know the Yankees will give us a run for the money next year.
Then there was the whole Mientkiewicz/ball situation...I'd like to think that if I made $4 million a year I'd take the moral high road and just give the ball to the Hall of Fame or whatever, but hey. I'm not in his shoes. And I'm not a memorablia buff, so really, who gives a fuck. It's just a baseball. I'll say this, though: please, Theo, bring back Millar in 2005. If Millar comes back and Mientkiewicz goes along his merry little way, that means that all three players that I disliked from the 2004 squad will be gone...which is small recompense for losing all the players that I really loved, but hey. I gotta cling to something.
And speaking of not missing someone, Derek Lowe is headed for the Dodgers. It feels a little ingrateful to diss someone who won three clinching games for the Sox in the playoffs - a wonderful acheivement that I would never try to strip from even my worst enemy - but to be totally honest, I just didn't like him. So bye-bye Derek Lowe, my hanky remains dry.
And finally. Fuck Vanderjagt. I'm off to work.
Tuesday, January 11, 2005
YAAAAAAAAAAAAY I've finally got my new monitor and I can now pick up where I left off a week ago, happily blogging away in the (relative) safety and comfort of my own home, with my own music (Tego Calderon,) my own munchies (trailmix,) and my own beverage of choice (Dewars on the rocks.) Now that I see this nifty new monitor we have I realize that our other one had been dying a slow and painful death for a long time and we just didn't realize it. Asi es la vida.
Looking back on it, I realize that this blog has pretty much sucked ass for the past two months, and I apologize. Some of the circumstances leading up to me being an irregular and/or shitty poster were out of my control, but I'm not trying to make excuses. I henceforth and without further ado do hereby promise to be a more regular blogger, with more worthwhile and interesting things to say (which will generally fall in line with the chosen content of this blog, in general the sport of baseball, in specific the Boston Red Sox.) I furthermore do promise to spend less time fucking around at work making all that money since the busy season is now over, and more time reading about, pondering, and pontificating upon our Great National Past Time in between episodes of CSI. From here on out I will no longer slack. I have an abundance of free time, and I will use it in the right way.
By finding pictures of Manny Ramírez's hot ass wife.
Monday, January 10, 2005
Being without at-home internet access SUCKS. I lived without a computer for the first 25 years of my life, and now I've had one for only two years and already doubt my ability to live without one for any significant period of time. I'm sitting at the public library right now with god knows who reading over my shoulder and the spacebar sticking but hey, things could be worse, and besides, my mama is coming down tomorrow with an extra monitor from home for us.
Anyway, I just want to express my dismay at the inability of the Broncos to do a goddamn thing against the Colts. While it wasn't really surprising, I was still kind of pissed, because the sooner I see the look of defeat painted across Peyton Manning's ugly hillbilly mug the better. The Broncos didn't even deserve to be in the playoffs. They SUCK. So do the Vikings, yet they managed to beat the Packers - quite a sound drubbing, actually. In fact, I am 0-4 right now as far as cheering for teams in the playoffs. The Seahawks, Chargers, Broncos and Packers all lost. I'll be wearing my Ty Law jersey next sunday, even if he is out for the rest of the year. GO PATS!
I can't write worth a damnhere at the library, so I'm going to sign off for now. Hopefully I'll be back tomorrow for good! Adios y hablamos mas tarde.
Friday, January 07, 2005
Sunday, January 02, 2005
I was just recently browsing through some of the threads on the message board of the official Red Sox website and came across a thread dedicated to discussion of this book. One person wrote that “it is good if you followed the season from the very beginning,” but that if you hadn’t then it was pretty boring. For one thing, Mr. Anonymous poster, way to be a half-ass fan and not follow a complete season. For another thing, I did follow the entire season, and I still kinda thought the book was boring.
Don’t get me wrong – there is plenty of humor spread throughout that kept me laughing. For example, when our hapless third base coach would wave someone around into a certain out at the plate, Stephen King referred to this as being inducted into the Hall of Sveum. D-Lowe is referred to as the Tragickal Mr. Lowe. After a game lost by a moronic Francona move, King’s literary partner Stewart O’Nan writes: “Captain, I’m detecting high levels of Gradium.” Good stuff. There are also plenty of good memories to relive, like the April ass-whipping the Sox dealt down to the MFYs, or Manny and Big DaDa going back-to-back, or how much I used to enjoy it when Jose Contreras and Felix Heredia would pitch against the Sox. And some memories that aren’t so great, like the entire “June Swoon” chapter and Cesar Crespo.
But the book was basically a nearly game-by-game recap of the entire season without much in the way of new information. King and O’Nan just didn’t add much that I didn’t get from Remy and Orsillo/McDonough during the game broadcasts. And O’Nan was kind of grating on my by the end of the book due to his obsession with catching balls at games and getting autographs. Catching a ball every now and then is cool. Showing up to batting practice with a fucking net and coming home with ten fucking balls isn’t cool. Trying it again is just fucking dumb. Leaving every game you attend with an excess of five baseballs while little kids around you go home with none is sort of repugnant to me. What the fuck does he do with all those balls? I mean, they’re just baseballs. Does he toss them around in the backyard with his kids? Does he cryovac them and display them in a hermetically sealed and bullet-proof plexiglass case? I mean, what the fuck? The autograph thing…well, I can see how other people would think it was cool, but personally, asking someone for an autograph would make me feel like a total douchebag so I never do it.
But anyway, I got sidetracked.
I found “Faithful” to be entertaining at best, and the worst thing I can say about it is that it can be a little tedious at times. I’m not too sure about the re-readability factor with this one since it is so intensive on details of one season, but hey – it’s the offseason and I’m pretty much clinging to any sort of baseball life raft that floats my way. If you thought you were missing baseball now, reading this book will make it infinitely worse. Between that and all the Randy Johnson/Carlos Beltran bullshit going on in New York, I’m looking forward to the 2005 season like you look forward to five minutes alone in the bathroom after spending all night at a strip club.
Let’s get it on!