Happy Birthday Mike!

This year I wanted to do something different and hear from some of your dearest friends.  I asked them to give me a memory to share.

Here is what I got:

My daughter was born at 3am on October 5th. The rest of that day was a total blur, with my parents flying in to town, etc.

That day, Mike came to see us in the hospital, bringing with him a stuffed elephant, which is a good luck charm in the Philippines. He was the first non-family member (on both my side and my wife’s) to see my baby.

When I thought about it afterwards, I realized that if you had asked me 20 years ago who the first friend to see my first born child would be, I would have answered Mike.

-Phil

Rear wheel drive Mustang
Snow covers 128
Turn up the J Geils

-Lenny B.

One time we went to Seabrook to bet on the dog races. We were sitting inside. The seats were somewhat like plastic cafeteria chairs that were fixed to the ground in rows. As we were watching a race, Mike was messing around and using his feet to press on the back of the empty chair in the row in front of him. He kept pushing it back and forth, back and forth, seeing how far he could flex it. Then all of a sudden *BANG* the back of the chair shatters. It sounded like a shotgun. The guy a few rows ahead of us covers up and then swings around quickly. After he realizes what happens, the guy says something along the lines of, “It’s bad enough I’m losing my shirt, then I think I got shot in the back”. I’m not sure, but perhaps some chair shrapnel hit him. We sat there nervously pretending like nothing happened. A minute or so later security came and took Mike to the office. He was gone a long time. We thought he was probably getting roughed up out back. He returned a few races later. He said they made him pay for a new chair. We were hoping they were going to put in a red seat, like at Fenway. It would be nice to admire it every time we returned. No such luck.

-Paul

Mike and I share a mutual friend, Chief Creative Consultant Keri. A few years back, Keri had invited me up to Pleasantville to watch the Sox. She mentioned her friend Mike may also join us.  This particular night, the Sox were at Tropicana Field for a tilt against the lowly (at the time) Devil Rays.  I couldn’t tell you what happened during the game because from the time the NESN cameras first captured the scrawny, annoying Rays shortstop, the night turned into a three-hour Julio Lugo roast.  Prophetic, no? We spent the duration of the game ragging on Julio for a lot of the things that we’d continue to after he joined the Sox….the high pants, awkwardness, 12-year old boy stature.  Lost in Julio’s transition from Devil Ray green to Sox of red, were the sleeveless uniforms and accompanying four-sizes-too-small Under Armour.  Many a quip along the lines of Julio shopping in the kid’s department constantly filled the room.

Along with the hilarity of lampooning Julio, I also got my first exposure to Mike’s passion for Pleasantville.  He spoke of his town in the way that an old-timer at the local diner would.  Of course there were a few jabs at Olympian Way (named for Pleasantville’s own silver medalists, the Carruthers) being the shortest street in the town, connecting an alley to a now defunct pizza joint.  But, there was a noticeable change in the tone and atmosphere as these individuals spoke of their town that really resonated with me.

My favorite things in the world are (in no particular order): laughing, beer, friends, Sox and pizza. I had them all that night. Thanks for being a key player in a great night, Mike! Thanks for the memory.

Happy birthday! Make the most of your day!

-Megan

As some might know, my husband Henry and I are part of Rainbow Tribe Dance Company. Mike has been a HUGE supporter of us and the dance group and has come to pretty much all (if not all) shows since I joined the company in 2001. Mike does not lie when he says he invests in people and their passion(s) and for him to come out and support really means a lot to me and I know it means a lot to Henry too.

There are so many great memories, that it’s hard to think of them all at once and write them down. We were really sad when Mike and his family moved to Ohio , but Mike did come back to Boston and he stayed with my family while he worked at my Dad’s office. He had the privliege of driving my Dad’s super cool station wagon so he could hang out with his friends. haha.

BTW – I still don’t think my parents know about the little “get together” he had while we were away on vacation

-Mel

I’m very lucky Mike is my brother.  He is the best older brother in the world.  I wanted to write about my favorite memory with Mike.  However, there were too many so I made a list.  Here are some things he has done for me, funny stories, and good times:

-  The surprise Vegas trip he took me on in November.  What a great time watching Buckeyes, Pacquiao, and 4^th and 2.  Pacquiao fight was the best!

-  Every Patriots game we have watched together has been special.  My favorite game we attended was the AFC Championship game vs the Colts.  The best game we watched together was the Superbowl vs Carolina .  It was dead quiet when Adam Vinatieri was getting ready to kick the game winning field goal.  After it was good, Mike started jumping up and down chanting, “DYNASTY, DYNASTY!”

-  The time I watched one of his basketball games.  He went in for a layup and hit the back of the backboard!  Worst shot ever!

-  The time we were driving in a blizzard and he smashed his car into the BHS guard rail.  He hit it pretty hard, but there was so much snow that we just bounced off it with no damage.

-  When I was about to have my first day at my new high school in Ohio , I was really nervous and missed Burlington .  I received a card from Mike.  It was a “Little Engine That Could” card.  In the card, he wrote a motivational message.  His card and 2Pac’s music was what helped me the most at that time.

-  When I was in fourth grade, my baseball team played in the championship.  I gave up the winning homerun at Regan Park .  I was really pissed and sad.  I remember going to my car with my head down.  When I reached the car, he gave me a hug and told me I still played well.

-  When I was in high school, my coach was announcing everybody’s batting average.  Mike was sitting directly behind the bench so he could hear.  The coach said, “John Espejo .093.”  Again, I was pissed and as I walked onto the field. Mike yelled, “Hey John!  Nice average!”

(The last two stories makes it sound like I sucked at baseball.  I ended up being an all-star every year.  Just wanted to clarify that.)

- Mike helping me complete my Master’s degree.  He let me stay at his house (for the second time) so I could attend Cambridge College .  I was planning on moving back to Ohio .  If I moved back, I probably wouldn’t be teaching and would not have met Courtney.

Happy Birthday Mike!

-John

Mike,

Happy Birthday again.  I know you had a bad year, but things are looking up. You have friends and family who love you.  Our time together is limited but we always make the most of it.

Thanks for being you.

Love, Keri

EDITOR’S NOTE: As I mentioned yesterday, this entry was written by my dear friend Keri.  She wanted a funny picture of me (lower right) in my younger days and the above is the best I could do (Thanks Mel).  Happy Birthday Beau, Dirk, Weebs and Jon Lester!

Happy Birthday Mike!

The truth about Mike. This is what I know.

I have known Mike for almost 20 years. I met him on an overnight biology field trip my sophomore year in high school. He was only a freshman but he had tons of confidence and personality for days.

And that was the beginning of a long beautiful friendship. I guess I can say that I was the one who put the final boot in his a*$ to write a blog. I always thought he had something to say and has a good way of saying it.  Not everyone is a softie, intelligent, thoughtful wordsmith with a mouthful of verbal diarrhea. With the final push came my fancy TAM title “Chief Artistic Consultant”. The pay is paltry, but I love the pro bono work. Having Mike as my boss is an absolute honor.

Here are a few fun facts about Mike, if you haven’t been paying attention:

Everything I learned about humanity, I learned from Mike.

Mike LOVES Burlington: Or as he calls it, Pleasantville. Burlington was very good to Mike, and he gave back 110% as always.

If you want the fruit to fall, you have to shake the tree. Mike is PERSISTENT. Whatever he sets out to do he does it. He wanted to be a member of Sons of Sam Horn so he borderline harassed the moderator until he was admitted to the elitist club. And look at how lucky SoSH was to get him. He got involved, met people, forged lifelong bonds, organized events and became a moderator himself. Good move on both ends.

Mike and Jon Lester have the same birthday. He loves Lester for every reason he should, overcoming cancer and the no-hitter for starters but he REALLY loves the fact that they have the same birthday. (So do Katie Couric and Nicolas Cage)

Mike knows a ton about sports, any sport. He has seen in person an enormous number of monumental events. He has been to the Greatest Show on Turf/Pats upset against the Rams, Sox 2007 World Series, Ohio State’s 2002 national championship victory, C’s 17^th Championship and raising of the banner, Sox ring ceremonies, Opening Days, B’s playoff game 7’s, Celtics playoffs…..And this is just off the top of my head.

He still has a whole bunch of notes we sent each other….Notes!

Mike taught me how to drive a standard.

Mike plays the sax.

He originally wanted to be class president just so he could make a speech at graduation. He really hates organizing reunions. (Bait and switch?)

He thoroughly appreciates a woman’s beauty. He gravitates toward the eight plusses.

Mike loves his family. More than anyone I know.

I REALLY hated the blog entry where Mike said that he died. He played me. I cried my eyes out; I called my husband at work and announced that Mike was gone. It was incredibly traumatic.

I was there when Mike starred as Nathan Detroit in Guys and Dolls, when he played Lazar Wolf in Fiddler on the Roof, when he received his Eagle Scout badge and when he made his commencement speech at graduation. Procrastination is the thief of time.

I am happy to say that I influenced Mike to watch Love Actually, Beautiful Girls, and It’s a Wonderful Life. They are three classic movies that I knew that he would love. I dig how in tune he is with his sensitive side.

Mike hates strip clubs because he feels bad for the girls dancing.

Mike misses Tiger (his “ex-dog” as Mike says) so much and should probably get a stepbrother for him.

Mike loves his friends. All of them. If you are a lifelong, midway, or just met him last month, you are all held in the same regard. He will make time for you, he wants to learn from you, he wants you to be friends for life.

Mike hates golf.

He uses the word “fabulous” way too much.

He lives 5 houses down from me yet I rarely see him. 

He waited out in terrible weather for hours to hear Bill Clinton’s speak on the campaign trail. And he actually petitioned our Senators and Representatives for a chance to attend Obama’s inauguration. He read Obama’s book, “The Audacity of Hope,” a while ago.

Mike LOVES Juno. I have no idea why. Seriously. Predictable and not enough Michael Cera (George Michael from Arrested Development).

Mike loves life: He is hands down, MOST positive person I know and possibly on the planet. Sometimes ad nauseum. He is a self-proclaimed Pollyanna but I read his blog because I like to hear what’s right in the world. It’s never gloom and doom with him. About anything.

Mike, I hope 36 serves you well. Keep writing and we’ll keep reading. I think its going to be your year!

You have a friend for life in me.

(Chief Artistic Consultant’s note: Mike also LOVES comments so anything you’ve got for Mike’s birthday will not go unnoticed or unappreciated.)

EDITOR’S NOTE: I had something planned for today, but I had too much interaction with Sam Adams at the B’s game (saw my first hat trick!).  The following story is from my friend Chuck and it is one of my favorites during the holiday season.

Thanks for letting me share it with everyone, Chuck!

I’m not a big fan of Christmas, and never have been. I’m not a religious person (Frisbetarian), and the holiday has always seemed so forced to me; everyone gets stressed, people drive like pendejos, and the whole buying crap for the sake of buying never made sense. Quick aside, would anyone ever set foot in a Brookstone if it weren’t for this holiday?

Anyway, when my son Will was born I tried to like Christmas, I really did. And it almost worked just because it was so great to see the look on his little face when I took him to see the lights, or did the whole shake the bells to emulate Santa’s sleigh on Christmas Eve, or watched the animated shows, or read the Christmas books (this was one part I truly did enjoy, especially reading The Polar Express before it too became over commercialized), or brought him to sit on Santa’s lap. Still, the holiday remained a source of aggravation for me, and by the time the poor kid was two or three I was so sick of Christmas being forced down my throat every year from Halloween on that one day when Will mentioned Santa I told him that Santa owed me money. I know it was wrong, but I kept it up that year and escalated things over the next few to a point where his shrink, and he’ll eventually need one after growing up with me as a father, will probably report me.

It didn’t take long before my standard response to hearing Santa brought up was, “That fat bastard owes me money.” Will would just shake his head and walk away, but my wife, Mary, would let me know how wrong it was that I would say this to a young child. I didn’t stop, however, and soon she became desensitized and would just shake her head and walk away, as well. As Will got older it became a staple for the holidays – hey, every family has to have traditions – and both son and wife effectively ignored me. I even came up with a story about how Santa’s debt came to be. We had a place on Kauai where I had a friend named Angel. Angel was a 300 plus pound baseball cap collecting Samoan. He’s a great guy, but when he drank, which was quite often in those days, he sometimes had a temper – a violent temper. Did I mention how big he was? In those days Angel would hang around at a local bar, the Koloa Broiler, and bet anyone (especially tourists unwise enough to venture into that establishment) that they could not move some number of matchsticks to make some shape in some number of moves. He never lost, and was effectively able to keep himself flush in Tequila stingers most nights without spending a dime. Will met Angel a few times when he was very young, and heard the stories about his matchstick games, and his propensity to start a barroom brawl over a baseball cap he really wanted that someone else had on their noggin.

The story I told my poor son was that I was drinking with Angel at the Broiler one night in June when the waves were sweet on the south shore and lo and behold, in walked a vacationing Santa. Santa was a pretty cool guy and he sat with us and had a drink or three when Angel took out the matchsticks. Santa, who was pretty buzzed by this point in the evening, was positive he could move one matchstick to make a square and bet Angel $20 that he could do it. He couldn’t, and he didn’t have $20. Angel was furious and wanted to kick his fat haole ass right there, but I intervened. I didn’t want to see Santa take a beating, so I loaned him the $20. That fat f*ck never paid me back, though, and so came the debt. The kid never believed the story, but I kept it up.

When Will got to be around the age when kids stop believing in Santa, a sad time even for me, I had a bright idea. Genius comes in many forms, and this seemed brilliant, twisted, but brilliant. He was going to school in Wakefield, Mass then, and every Christmas season that town parks a trailer at the head of Lake Quanapowitt where kids can visit Santa. I went in to talk to this Santa before picking Will up from school one day and told him I would donate a nice sum to his charity if he repeated a few lines I gave him and handed me an envelope I had with me when I came back to see him later that day with my son. He was confused, I didn’t tell him the whole story for fear of repercussions, but I made it worth his while and he agreed. When I picked Will up after school I told him we should go see the Santa at the lake, that I had heard this might be the real one. He dismissed me, saying he was too old to see some fake Santa, but I was driving so he had no choice and off we went. We waited in line for a while, and when we got to Santa he said, “Chuck, it’s so good to see you. Thanks for helping me out in Kauai. This is for you.” He then handed me the envelope I had provided an hour before. Will was flabbergasted – there’s a saying in Kauai, “Wop yo jaw” that really described the look on the kid’s face. He talked with the “real” Santa for a while, telling him what he wanted for Christmas, but all the while was looking at the envelope that fat bastard had given me. As soon as we got outside I let him open it. Inside was a twenty-dollar bill and a note that read, “Thanks for the help in the Broiler, Chuck. You really saved the day. Santa”

The poor kid didn’t know what to think. He now believed in Santa again, and would for years after other kids had abandoned the notion, but really couldn’t tell his pals why. How do you tell other kids that your dad saved Santa’s ass from a 300 pound drunken Samoan in a Hawaii barroom? I let this go on for a while, but a few years later I told him the truth. He took it well, I think.

But I’m not sure he wanted to really know the truth. It’s more fun to believe.

EDITOR’S NOTE: ***THIS IS NOT REAL*** and done for effect. Sorry for the alarm and sorry for the 7am phone call that my co-worker Dan got this morning.

Hello everyone.

This is Mike’s brother John posting.

I have some sad news. Around 10pm last night, I got a call from Boston police. My brother was killed in a car accident driving home from dinner. This is a very tough time for my family (as you can imagine), please respect our privacy as we deal with this most tragic circumstance. I haven’t slept yet but am finding comfort in writing here, a place my brother loved so much.

My mother is on a plane to Boston now and we’ll be working on funeral arrangements today. When they are complete, I’ll post them here. I wrote up a rough draft of the obituary and it can be found in the post below this one. Please take a second to read it. If there is anything you think I should add, feel free to email me. My email address is john4513@hotmail.com and I’ll be checking it frequently.

Mike gave me this login to the site about three weeks ago. He said that if he were to ever die, he wanted people to find out through his blog. He said that the people that mattered most to him (and cared the most about him) were the ones that read the site now, before he made it big. As most of you know, my brother was a joker. I really didn’t think anything of it and I never really thought I’d even use the login.

On behalf of my brother, mom, and I, thanks to everyone for their support and friendship not only through the years, but during this trying time. He truly appreciated the people in his life and loved writing here. Since he started the blog, I noticed a newfound energy and spirit in him.

My brother’s favorite musician was Billy Joel. “Only The Good Die Young,” indeed. You were truly one of the good ones, brother.

R.I.P. Mike. I love you and I’ll miss you.

Always.

January 7, 1973

June 24, 2008

Now, please read part two, “Obituary.”