I know it’s a cliché, but it really is true. I learned this during Game 7 of the American League Championship Series last fall. The Red Sox were down 3 games to 1 to the Cleveland Indians and battled back to tie the series, 3-3. I was lucky enough to score a pair of great seats to Game 7, which at the time, was the hottest ticket in town.

I wanted my cousin’s fiancée Devid to go to the game. I thought that he would truly appreciate the chance to see the Red Sox win a pennant and clinch a World Series berth in Fenway Park. How often does that happen? I decided to give him both tickets so he could take his bride-to-be. I thought it would be better if he shared the experience with her (also a diehard Sox fan). Before you even start, don’t cry for me Argentina. At that point, I had already been to all of the home ALCS games. It was time to spread the wealth.

Devid has been dating my cousin Leslie for quite some time and during that time we have really bonded. It was rare to meet someone as passionate and diehard about Boston sports as my brother and I. One time during a drunken stupor, Devid turned to us and said, “Even if things don’t work out with Leslie, we’re going to be boys forever.”

He is the rare type of guy who can actually verbalize his emotions to another guy without it feeling uncomfortable. During his bachelor party a month ago, he told me that I was like a brother to him. Even though he is marrying my cousin this weekend, I’ve considered him family for years now. Leslie, on the other hand, has been like a sister to me for as long as I can remember. I don’t think I could have hand-picked a better man for her to marry. I really don’t.

After offering them the tickets, I called the box office and asked if I could put the tickets in their name. The fine folks at Friendly Fenway told me that this wasn’t allowed. Since I had purchased the tickets with my credit card, I had to pick them up myself. This was a complete and total drag, but there was no backing out now.

As I walked toward the ballpark, I began to ask myself what the hell I was doing. There’s nothing like the buzz of Fenway Park on game day. Add in the “Game 7 of the ALCS” factor, and it became a baseball nirvana. There was probably no better place to be on the planet than in Fenway Park that night. The smiles, smells, excitement and atmosphere had the opposite effect on me; the mere thought of being near the park without a way into the game made my stomach turn.

I picked up the tickets and realized that I had some time to kill before I was supposed to meet Dave and Les. As I waited, and buzz of the park seemed to openly mock me. I wanted to get the tickets to them and get out of there. I slumped down on the curb and opened the envelope. Reading “American League Championship Series Game 7” on those tickets caused the pit in my stomach to grow. What the hell was I doing? I waited all season for this game, have a chance to go and I’m giving it away. I felt sick.

When I saw them in their Red Sox garb and looks on their faces, all of that anguish went away. My regret turned to glee and my sorrow turned to joy. It was one of the nicest things I have ever done for anyone else. Before entering the park, they both gave me a hug and after thanking me for what seemed like the hunderedth time, I watched as they passed through the turnstiles. I kept my eye on them until they disappeared into the horde of humanity inside the park and made their way to their seats.

At that point, I began the long walk back to the car. I inquired to a few scalpers along the way to see what a ticket would cost. After hearing what they were asking and considering what I just did, I could only laugh. I thought to myself, no matter what happens in the game tonight, I’ve already won. Nothing could diminish the joy I felt by doing something that nice for two people that meant so much to me.

Crossing the Brookine Avenue bridge, I looked back for one last glance at the park. The next time I saw Fenway, the Red Sox would either be in the World Series or done for the year. At that moment, my cell phone shook the inner walls of my pocket to tell me that I had a text message. It was from a friend who knew what I was doing and she asked if I had any luck finding a ticket. After telling her I hadn’t, she invited me over for the game. I accepted and ended up having a great time watching the Red Sox win the pennant at her place in Southie.

On the drive home, one of the texts I received was from Dave and it is still saved on my phone today:

“Thanks again, Big Mizzle. I will be forever grateful.”

It is definitely better to give than receive. If given the chance to do it all over again, I’d probably do the exact same thing.

Well Dave, it did work out with Leslie and worked out for the Red Sox on October 20th last year. I’d welcome you to our family, but you’ve already been family to me for a long while now. I hope everything goes smoothly tomorrow and your wedding is everything you’ve ever dreamed it would be. I love you guys and wish you nothing but the best as you begin your lives together.

Congratulations.

One of the coolest things that has happened since the inception of Sexual Chocolate, is that some of you have been sending the link to friends and relatives. I really, really appreciate this. I appreciate this almost as much as the comments you guys have been leaving on the site (keep ‘em coming!). Considering that sexualchocolate.com and .net are both porn sites, you’re really putting yourself out there by sending this link to someone. Just remember to include the “the” at the beginning of the address. This will keep your browser porn free. For those of you interested in internet porn, please drop the “the” from my url.

To those people who have received this link from a friend or relative, I think it is only common courtesy for me to introduce myself. I’ll start by tackling the toughest question first. Hopefully as you read on, you’ll learn more about me through the verbal diarrhea I spray all over the walls of Al Gore’s greatest invention: the internet.

The toughest question I get about myself is….

(drum roll please)

“What nationality are you?”

I always wince when I get this question. I usually lighten the mood by turning into a game. I do this by turning the question back onto the person who made the inquiry and ask said person to guess my nationality. I’ve been called almost every nationality in the book including (but not exclusive to): Hawaiian, Samoan, Mexican, Alaskan, Chinese, Japanese, Okinawan (Miyagi!!), Korean and American Indian. Hell, my ex-wife thought I was Japanese-Mexican when she met me. Think about that. Japanese-Mexican! What the hell is that??!? Sushi-burritos, anyone?

I’ve been called so many different nationalities that I’ve stopped correcting people and just tell people that I am the nationality of their first guess. Part of the game is acting all happy and surprised that said person guessed it. I’m so many different nationalities to so many different people that I can’t even remember what I am to whom anymore. I’ll get a laugh every once in a while when I’ll hear one of my friends talking about me to someone else (“My Mongolian friend Mike also lives in Pleasantville”).

During another period of my life, I just started telling people I was Dutch. Dutch! I never thought anyone believed that until just recently when my friend Z told me he thought I really was Dutch. Dutch! Like windmills and wooden shoes. Dutch!

In short, I am everyman. I’m a living, breathing, blogging, walking and talking United Nations conference. Actually from this point on, I might just adopt a “don’t ask don’t tell” policy regarding my nationality.

I come from a pretty big family and a lot of us are spread all over the continent. As you can guess, the excitement level for the wedding this weekend is hitting a fever pitch. Just like any family reunion, chicanery, laugher and nonsense will be an integral part of the festivities.

One of the things I’m looking forward to most this weekend is celebrating my cousin NEIL’s 21^st birthday….. again. He’s turning 27 this August, but if you were around us during a family reunion, you’d never know it. In my family’s vernacular, “Happy 21^st Birthday NEIL!” translated means “Let’s do shots!” We’ve celebrated NEIL’s 21^st birthday at Christmas, going away parties, other people’s birthdays, cookouts, baptisms, wedding showers and just about every big family function we’ve held over the past six years. Last week, a bunch of my cousins and I were trading emails about plans for the weekend. In one of the emails, one of my cousins asked, “NEIL… how many times a year do you turn 21??”

When you’re out at a bar, yelling “Happy 21^st birthday!” is an instant adrenaline rush. It’s like pouring gas on a fire. Mix in a little applause and a little yelling to make just enough of a scene, and the party will explode. People just love to watch others get completely obliterated on the very first possible day it is legally permitted. Stories of their own 21^st birthdays come out. These stories usually littered with mix and match catch phrases such as “puked everywhere,” “three wise men,” “greased-up farm animals,” and “passed out before 8pm” to name just a few. If you play your cards right, you might even be able to score some free drinks out of the whole donkey show as well.

I don’t know anyone who has had a bigger celebration for their 21^st birthday than my cousin. We’ll still be celebrating NEIL’s 21^st when he’s old and gray. Sitting around bottles of Geritol, “Price is Right” reruns and in the presence of a battalion of walkers, someone will wish NEIL a “Happy 21^st Birthday” and the shots will pour like a raging river.

You may be asking, why do we do this? NEIL is one of the younger cousins in our generation. Our failure to recognize his true age is probably an attempt to keep a 21^st birthday celebration alive in our family, at least until our kids reach that age. Also, anytime we need to get the party going, we have an established code to kick start the action.

They say that you’re only as old as you feel. If that truly is the case, NEIL will be 21 for the rest of his days.

Happy 21^st NEIL! The shots will be waiting for you when you hit town. Again.

I am missing life because I am too busy text messaging.

It’s true. A few weeks ago, I checked my Verizon bill online. It told me that for my last billing period, I had 1290 texts. 1290! That is an average of about 43 per day. There are teenage girls at the Marshall Simonds Middle School here in Pleasantville that would kill for that number.

Honestly, I don’t blame myself. Texting might be the most effective method of conveying messages on the planet. It’s quick, to the point, and there’s no uncomfortable silence. I also think it is a more courteous way to communicate because you give your recipient as much time as they need to respond. Furthermore, it is great for places where you can’t use the phone (work, sporting events, movies, church, while driving, etc.). I used to say that I’d rather email someone than call them. Now, text messaging has taken over as my current modus operandi of communicating.

My only problem with texting is the abbreviations. Text messaging is turning us into a nation of lazy, idiotic-sounding people. As a “word-nerd,” I’m really not a fan of some of the abbvs. Admittedly, my phone has a full keyboard (QWERTY!). I realize that most don’t and abbvs. save both time and hassle. My thoughts are that if you’re only saving one or two letters, abbvs. aren’t really worth it. I know I am opening myself up to a slew of unfunny texts by saying this, but here’s some stuff that really irks me:

ur – is it really that hard to type two more letters?
b/c – totally annoying in emails and texts
nu – for “new” – are you kidding me? Seriously?? You’re saving one letter!!!
ppl – for “people” – totally lame

So, dear members of Sexual Chocolate nation, please think twice before abbreviating on that next text message. The fate of the entire English-speaking world depends on it.

ttyl

On Memorial Day, I think it is important to honor the men and women who serve/have served this great country of ours. I’m going to do so by spotlighting my friend Jamie.

I met Jamie through the Sons of Sam Horn, which is an internet messageboard dedicated to the Boston Red Sox. He has served two terms over in Iraq: one in 2004 and another a year ago. If those two years sound familiar, it is because it is the last two years the Red Sox have won the World Series. The Red Sox always win the World Series when Jamie is in Iraq.

Through SoSH, Jamie was able to keep up with the Sox even though he was halfway across the world fighting in a war. We became closer during his second tour and would sometimes trade emails about how the team was doing. It struck me how close he was able to follow the team. He would have pretty insightful comments and questions about the players and games.

After the Red Sox won the World Series last October, one of the members of SoSH (named Scott) contacted the Red Sox to see if he could get Jamie into the Opening Day ceremony. This was a pretty big deal this year because it was ring ceremony and the honoring of the 2007 World Series champs. After many emails and phone calls, Scott was successful in his efforts to get Jamie into the ceremony. He was going to hold the Iraqi flag in a parade of flags representing Red Sox fans all across the globe.

I met up with Jamie and his wife Kristine for lunch on the Sunday before Opening Day. They were down at Fenway Park for the rehearsal of the ceremony. He was excited as a kid in a candy store and his excitement rubbed off on me. How cool was it that he was going to be on the field for Opening Day? Nobody deserved it more.

Opening Day at Fenway is one of my favorite days of the year. For me, it marks the end of winter and the beginning of spring. Each year, I look forward to my first glance at the Fenway lawn as I walk through the tunnel. This year, I was running a little late and happened to walk through the tunnel just as Jamie was walking by my section with his flag. I called out to him and we exchanged waves. It was perfect timing and a perfect way to start the 2008 season.

Save for a rogue airplane pilot, the ceremony went off without a hitch. Most of the time my stare remained fixated on the bald guy out in left field holding the Iraqi flag. I don’t think I’ve ever been prouder to be an American than on April 8^th of this year. At different points during the ceremony, I’d sneak a peek over at Kristine and watch as her eyes welled up with tears. The absolute highlight of the afternoon was when she leaned over to me and said something I’ll never forget:

“This totally makes up for all the days when Jamie was away.”

Cue Lee Greenwood, it just doesn’t get any better than that.

To Jamie, Lance Corporal Greg MacDonald, and all the other men and women who have served in our armed forces, I offer my most sincere and humble thanks.

Happy Memorial Day, everyone.

For about the past three years, Jon Lester has been my favorite baseball player. I started closely following his career when I learned that we were both born on the same day, January 7^th.

I’ve always had a fascination with birthdays and as a kid I would flip through baseball cards to just to see when each player was born. Most kids would look at batting average or the number of home runs. I searched and searched for a player with my birthday. I wasn’t until years later when finally found one (on my team, no less!) in Jon Lester.

In August 2006, Jon Lester was diagnosed with anaplastic large cell lymphoma which is a form of cancer. He battled all the way back into the Red Sox rotation and even started and won the clinching game of the 2007 World Series. If he never won another game, he would have retired a success. Battling back from cancer to pitch (and win) the biggest game on the biggest stage is quite remarkable.

Last Monday night, I got a text message from a friend of mine at the game. I had the game on, but really wasn’t paying attention. I also was interested because we had some people from our corporate office in town attending their first game at Fenway Park. The text message hinted at what was going on.

Just a few days prior, I had gotten the news that a relative was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. The more I read on pancreatic cancer, the sadder I became. These thoughts ran threw my head as Lester inched closer and closer to baseball immortality.

When the game finally ended, a wave of emotion overtook me. Jon Lester had thrown a no-hitter for the Boston Red Sox. No hitters in baseball are pretty rare in their own right but (because of Lester’s story); this one might end up being the most special of them all.

It gave me hope. If a 24 year-old kid from Tacoma could do something like this, maybe my relative could do something just as remarkable.

No matter what happens for the rest of the way, Jon Lester’s no-hitter will be the story of the year for me. He is an inspiration for both young and old, and cancer patients everywhere.

Before I start, I’d like to thank everyone for the kind words of support (especially the comments!) regarding the new blog. It really means a lot to me.

If you’ve followed the Celtics at all this postseason, you know they’ve had their struggles on the road. Before last night, they lost every playoff game away from Boston. This has been hard to figure because they were the best road team in the NBA during the regular season. The logical explaination is that the playoffs are a different animal than the 82-game grind of the regular season. The intensity level is night and day different. This (relatively) new team (as far as playing together) needed to take its bumps and bruises on the way to learning how to win away from home in the playoffs.

I have a different explanation: It’s because my mom hasn’t been here during one of these road playoff games. Yesterday, my mother flew into town for a visit and a family wedding next weekend. After picking her up at the airport (and the obligatory post-Logan Santarpio’s visit), I got a text message from my boy Devid, the groom-to-be for said wedding. Devid wanted to know what my plans were for the Celtics game. I told him I was probably staying home because Mom just got into town. The past year has been tough on her and I wanted to spend every minute I could her while she was here. He responded with a funny text:

“Nice. No way the C’s lose today with Tita Prosy in town.”

At first, I laughed him off. Next, I invited him over for the game. The invite then got passed along to other family members and what was initially a three person viewing party blossomed to close to fifteen. I guess my brother and I weren’t the only people who were excited that Mom was in town.

After watching the postseason road anomaly known as Celtics 94-Pistons 80, I turned to my mother and told her that I wasn’t letting her leave town until after the NBA Finals were over. Maybe Mom had something to do with it, maybe (probably) not. The one thing I do know for certain after last night’s game is that nothing, absolutely nothing, beats good times with the people that matter.

Cherish each and every one of those moments.

In honor of Memorial Day weekend, the staff here at Sexual Chocolate would like to recognize an American hero. Today, we would like to spotlight Latarian Milton.

Here’s his story in the form of a youtube.

This kid epitomizes what it means to be an American. As someone so aptly described on my Celtics messageboard, Latarian is “all business.”

“It’s fun to do bad things.”

Isn’t this the very core of what being an American is all about? Even if it is “hoodrat stuff” with your friends, who doesn’t delight in doing things you aren’t supposed to do?

Latarian Milton, from one hoodrat to another…

God Bless America.

Happy Memorial Day weekend, everyone!

Last Tuesday night, my friend Chris and I went to the Celtics game. It was the first game of the Eastern Conference Finals against the Detroit Pistons.

Before the game, we stopped into a bar to grab a drink and watch the NBA Draft Lottery. Last season, with only 24 wins, the Celtics were one of the favorites to win the draft lottery. This season, they lead the NBA with 66 wins and were playing on draft lottery night. Quite a reversal for the Green.

At the bar, we met a lady in a denim jean jacket (DJJL) sitting by herself. She struck me because it was the first time I had seen one of those type of denim jackets in a while. She was middle-aged, had some mileage on her and definitely seemed more like the “Bruins fan” (read: Roberta from Revere) type than a C’s fan. While we were talking, the DJJL revealed that she is also going to the game.

“I told myself that if they made it this far, I was going,” she proudly proclaimed.

We asked her how she got tickets. She said she called a friend at a ticket agency and his offerings consisted of a $100 balcony seat, $150 Loge seat or a $300 seat in a luxury suite which also included beer/food. Being the badass that DJJL was, she obviously bought the seat in the suite. She said she’d never tell her friends what she spent on the ticket and seemed apprehensive about it. We tried to her allay DJJL’s concerns by telling her we were both “experience” guys.

Chris summed it up best when he said, “Think of it this way, what would you spend that $300 on otherwise? In 10 years, would you remember what you did with it? You’ll definitely remember this game and the time you had in the suite.”

She responded, “Well, I really could use some new bras and stuff, but this is more important.”

Here’s to you DJJL, wherever you are. The Celtics won a great game and you’ll have a memory forever. Your boobs might not be as properly supported as they would have been had you not gone, but I still think you made the right decision.

During the 35 years I’ve spent on this planet, the most important lesson I’ve learned is:

People matter.

Simple, succinct, yet so very true. People matter and nothing else. When it all comes down to it, the most important facet in your life is the people who are in it. It’s not what you own, where you go, what you see or what you hear. You could own everything in the world, but if you don’t have close family and friends to share it with, it means absolutely nothing.

I learned this lesson this past February. As most of you reading this know, I’m a sports fanatic. My football team, the New England Patriots, just had a season for the ages. They won their first 18 games, which no other team in the history of the league had done before. Unfortunately (or fortunately depending on how you like your pigskin), they lost the game that mattered most. At first, I was actually OK with it. The Giants were the better team that day and you simply can’t win every game. I was really surprised with my reaction.

The loss set in for me when I saw how badly it affected many of those around me. Seeing people I loved so hurt by this was worse than the Pats blowing the chance of immortality itself. To me, the self-proclaimed sports fanatic, this was simply astounding. It actually changed the way I view sports and life in general.

In All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarden, Robert Fulghum says:

“There are those who depend on us, watch us, learn from us, take from us. And we never know. Don’t sell yourself short. You may never have proof of your importance, but you are more important than you think.”

I first read this book in high school and this quote has stuck with me ever since. There are people in our lives who are important to us, but don’t really know how important they actually are.

Don’t ever miss out on the chance to tell them, because you just never know.

With each passing day, those chances become smaller in number.