Some people really don’t care about the steroids issue. I am someone who actually does. As I have written before, it has diminshed my love for the game. My cousin Euell’s son loves David Ortiz. He tries to swing his bat just like Big Papi. How can we, as adults, look at that kid and talk about Big Papi now? (If yesterday’s report is true) He is a cheater.
When putting together my thoughts on this news, I realized that I had already written a lot of my feelings on the steroid issue.
Yesterday was the end of the innocence for Red Sox fans. We can no longer bury our heads in the sand regarding the steroid issue. When I heard the news, my brother and I were in the car heading to grab lunch after the Patriots practice. At first, the news didn’t really phase us. Looking back on the day’s events, this is the part that worries me. Initially, we weren’t that surprised.
As the day went on, and as the news sank in, we began to realize the impact of the report. This one hurts. When Manny was exposed as a user, we had said our goodbyes and he was already sporting Dodger Blue. We had Big Papi to fall back on. Big Papi had become the face of the team and had inherited the “our guy” mantle. If we wanted to see a link to 2004 and 2007, all we had to do was venture down to Fenway Park and wait for the fourth batter in the Red Sox lineup.
Yesterday, that link was exposed as a potential cheat.
Baseball has a serious credibility problem. These announcements every few months only exacerbate this situation. To fix this, here is what I’d do if I were commissioner:
1) Release all results from any previous steroid test. Site some “good of the game/commissioner’s discretion” clause as justification for being able to do so.
2) Punish all the names released above accordingly, no matter when the offense occured. Also, asterisk all of their records/accomplishments/awards.
3) Retest every single MLB player (including minor leaguers) for any/all banned substances immediately and punish accordingly.
Without such stern, sweeping moves, there will always be doubt in baseball.
Get it done, Bud.
Save the game.
Have great weekend, everyone! Make the most of every day.
Thanks to the fine folks at Comcast, I’ve somewhat conquered my technical difficulties. Hooray!
An even bigger hooray is for today. I’ve been waiting for today for about eight months.
What is today, you ask?
It is the unofficial start of fall. The Patriots open training camp today. It is a great diversion for the perfect storm of suck the Red Sox have been trotting out for the past month. Hopefully, the ship will be righted after Halladay gets here. I really think the Sox will pull off a blockbuster trade before tomorrow at 4:15pm.
My brother and I are headed down to the Blade today to watch #12 run back on the field for the first time since last September. It will surely take my mind off of the Sox and this awful humidity that has hit New England.
Just a heads up, I’m having problems with both my laptop and my desktop. Bear with me as I straighten them out and/or shop for a new computer. Keep checking back…
Also, I forgot to post: Congrats to Mel and Kid Spin on the arrival of their daughter Kaya Monday! She’s beautiful, guys! The tree has grown again.
Lastly, I think the Red Sox will trade for Roy Halladay by Friday’s trade deadline. Stay tuned on that front…
One of our annual SoSH gatherings is held at my friend Chuck’s house. It is a night I look forward to every year and this year it was held Saturday night. Chuck is a big fan of tequila, so every year tequila is a big part of the festivites. It is the only night I actually allow myself to take shots of tequila.
I don’t care what Chuck’s inevitable comment below will say, but tequila is disgusting – even “good” tequila. Each year, his bar is stocked with some of the finest tequila around and each year I take these shots and wonder why people even do shots of tequila. It is seriously like drinking battery acid.
Anyways… The party is going off wonderfully (as always) and I proceed to set a personal record for number of tequila shots taken in one evening (8). I’m standing behind the bar and I notice an older woman staring at me. I’m horrible at this, but if I were to guess I would say she was in her late forties/early fifties. She wasn’t part of our group, she was one of Chuck’s neighbors. He always invites the neighbors (best way to alleviate complaints from a loud, rowdy neighborhood party) and many of his friends.
As I’m pouring a round of shots, I realize that her gaze is intently fixed on me – no matter where I move behind the bar. She’s fairly attractive, but about 25 years too old for me. I am quite steadfast in my belief in the universally accepted and commonly used “half plus seven” rule (hello 25 year olds!).
Finally I make eye contact with her, and she says:
“I have to ask: What nationality are you? Are you Hawaiian? The reason I ask is that you have the most beautiful face.”
Now I’ve heard many compliments in my day, but nothing like this. To be honest, it was completely out of left field; I’m not exactly sporting a Vinny Chase visage these days.
Caught off guard, I politely thank her, tell her my parents are from the Philippines and make a joke questioning her level of intoxication. At this point of the night, the majority of the guests wouldn’t exactly pass a field sobriety test. After trying to diffuse the cougar (this might be my new favorite saying, btw), she still continues to persist on her original statement. She also continues to stare and after administering the round of liquid pain, I quickly stumble off to another area of the party.
Perplexed, I approach my friend Megan and tell her what happened. I also ask if said cougar was correct or if she was just drunk. I trusted Megan to be the arbiter on a matter of such great importance, and figured that her answer would solve the question at hand.
As for me, everything isn’t perfect. All things considered however, life is pretty damn good right now.
As I was driving Miley to the dog park, I thought about these sentences I wrote yesterday. And then it hit me….
I know the meaning of life!
It was so easy, simple and I can’t beeeeeelieeeve I hadn’t thought of it sooner. I was so excited to figure it out that I wanted to turn the car around and head home to write about it. But then I looked at her excited puppy dog face, and thought of our friends waiting for us at the dog park, and stayed on course (you’re welcome Chuck and Archie!).
Because you guys are such awesome readers, I am going to share it with you. If you don’t want to know that ever-elusive definition of the meaning of life, please stop reading now.
The meaning of life is quite simple, actually.
The meaning of life is: Everything we do, every dream, thought, hope, action, and every word is done to make our lives perfect. This is what we strive for. This is what we wake up every day hoping to achieve.
We strive to be perfect friends, brothers, sisters, cousins, fathers, mothers, sons and daughters. We strive to be perfect at our jobs. We strive to be perfect in our decision making. We strive to be perfectly happy with ourselves. We strive to be perfect at everything we do.
Realistically however, complete perfection is impossible. The funny thing about humanity is that we are inherently flawed. We live imperfect lives in an imperfect world. Perfection is impossible – just ask the 2007 New England Patriots (sorry fellow Pats fans).
As I was writing this, I learned that Mark Buehrle of the Chicago White Sox threw a perfect game. He faced 27 batters an retired them all. Yesterday, Buehrle was a perfect baseball player. This is the first perfect game thrown in like five years and the first attempt by a MLB player to sabotage my blog.
Mark Buehrle was perfect on the mound yesterday; he still isn’t perfect at life. It is just not possible.
Even though perfection is impossible to achieve, this doesn’t mean we stop trying. We spend every day trying to get as close to perfection as we can. The day we stop trying is the day we stop living.
Friends, be fabulous. Be perfect.
(or be as perfect as you can be!)
Have a great weekend everyone! Make the most of every day.
Wow. I haven’t stepped behind the line in a long, long while.
Let’s fire one up, shall we?
1) As I said on Twitter yesterday, the one thing I hate most about being a Red Sox fan is how damn fickle we are. Dear “Red Sox Nation” (whatever that means):
Today is July 23rd.
2) I was hanging out with Phil last night. Over a few beers, the inevitable “So, have you talked to (insert respective ex-wife here)” came up. It always comes up and it never fails to make me laugh. I’ve known him for about twenty-five of my thirty-six years. Never once did I ever envision that we’d be sitting around some day comparing notes on our ex-wives.
Life is funny like that. It throws you curve balls and you have to re-adjust, re-assess and move on. You have to keep swinging and keep that OBP at respectable, above replacement-level levels.
He’s now re-married and his wife is expecting their first child in October. I’ve watched him go from bloody noses to preparing for baby diapers and I couldn’t be happier for the guy.
As for me, everything isn’t perfect. All things considered however, life is pretty damn good right now.
Mabuhay (pronunciation: mah-BOO-hahy) is a word from Philippine languages including Tagalog. It is used to exclaim “long live” or the Filipino version of live long and prosper. Comparable to the Romance language expression “Vive, Viva”, This expression is most often used at toasts during gatherings and parties. It is also an expression used in welcoming guests and a way of showing hospitality by Filipinos.
Littleton, New Hampshire is a sleepy, main street town. When I drove through, it felt like I was driving a time machine. The reason for this is the place probably looks the same as it did 30 years ago.
With that in mind, you can imagine my surprise when I came across this store:
This is my new favorite store. Ever. I so wish it was open when I saw it. What fun it would have been!
I almost drove off the road from laughter. I have never seen a market named “Mabuhay” anywhere, let alone approximately 180 miles north of Boston. When I googled it, I came across this description:
Mabuhay Oriental Store
Fresh produce; meat; fish; specialty food;
Martial arts supplies; Filipino products
240 Main Street, Littleton, NH 03561
I gotta be honest here: There can’t be many “Orientals” in Littleton, New Hampshire. I also have to believe that it is probably one of the worst revenue-generating stores in town. No matter how often they greet their customers with “Mabuhay!” it won’t help the fact that there probably isn’t much of a demand for “Groceries and Gifts from the Far East” in the White Mountain region. It also doesn’t seem like an area that would require many martial arts supplies.
I’m just glad I was able to snap a picture of it before its inevitable closure.
EDITOR’S NOTE: Get well soon, Sarah! My blog simply isn’t the same without you reading along.
People tell me I go to a lot of weddings. I don’t know if this is true or not and there really is no way to quantify it. After my divorce, I had a hard time going to weddings. I’d try and think of excuses why/ways I couldn’t go, but always ended up going.
It was that whole, “till death do you part” stuff that always got me. I’d cringe and literally have to think of something else while those words were said. It was like I was becoming more cynical with each passing wedding. I thought to myself, how can people get so damn excited about weddings when the divorce rate in this country was an astonishing 55%? It didn’t make sense and all seemed like a sham to me.
(As an aside, the whole Pollyanna-dude becoming cynical is an ugly scene – think of Spock’s blood boiling in the third Star Trek movie. OK, maybe not that bad.)
This past weekend I went to my friend Emily’s wedding up in the White Mountains. In addition to my normal wedding issues, I was slightly worried about attending this one because the only people I’d know there were the bride, her immediate family (parents, brother) and the groom. I can have a good time anywhere and am pretty good interacting with strangers, but there is nothing worse than having a bad time at a wedding; You can’t escape. Mr. Baseball and I were once at a wedding where we were seated at the same table as the band. We both shared a laugh when we learned that they sit the “B list” guests with the band.
(As another aside, I don’t know why I don’t go up to the White Mountains more often. It is so beautiful up there and not far of a drive at all.)
It turns out my fears were unfounded. I had a really great time. The rain seemed to have a copy of the schedule of the days events, because it held off just long enough for the ceremony to be held outside. Emily’s family (especially her mother and brother) was so nice in introducing me to everyone. I entered not really knowing anyone and left with a whole bunch of new friends, an invitation for steaks, crabs and a place to stay in Baltimore, smoked a great cigar, too many free drinks (gotta love open bars), funny family stories, Red Sox/Yankees trash talk and an extra box of homemade Kolachki (yum). They were all so nice that it felt like I was part of the family.
(As an even another aside, my new comeback for the whole “26 World Series Rings” thing that Yankee fans love to trot out is that NONE of them were broadcast in HD – Yeah, you can go ahead and use that one as your own.)
It is that type of communal spirit that makes weddings great. They are a re-affirmation of love and are always mini-family reunions. Everyone (usually) looks great, there are kids running around, and smiles rage through the room like a rushing river. Furthermore, weddings usually always have great food, good drinks, good music and bad dancing.
After the last dance of the evening, the DJ guy directed everyone outside. As first I was really confused, but I overheard someone say that it was time for the fireworks. It turns out I overheard correctly. All of the wedding guests were treated to a 10-15 minute fireworks show. It was done by the bride’s parents and both Emily and Tim were quite surprised by it.
Knowing how much Emily loves fireworks, it was a great touch. Out of all the weddings I’ve been to, I’ve never seen a fireworks show. It was even better nestled in the middle of the Presidential Range of the White Mountains. When we got outside, it seemed like every constellation in the universe was visable. It was one of those sights you don’t see living near the city.
(As my final aside, it is always funny to listen to people’s reactions to fireworks. They ooh and ahh as if the exploding thingys can actually hear you.)
As those fireworks went off under all of those stars, my faith in weddings was re-affirmed. Sure there are a lot of marriages that fail, but for all those marriages, many actually work out. Just because some marriages end in divorce, it doesn’t mean people should stop getting married. Every new marriage is an attempt to right the wrongs of past failed marriages. Love never stops trying and will always find a way.
The best part about the marriages that work out is that they last years and extend into forever.
EDITOR’S NOTE: Congrats to Emily on her nuptials this weekend!
So, I’ve been having some dudes over to give me some estimates on replacing some carpet. Miley (and my ex-dog Tiger) has left her mark on the carpet in my living room (I think – I can never tell the difference between what is considered a living room and family room). The main offenses are in the room right as you walk in the front door. Since I’m trying to sell the house and I’m all about first impressions, I figure some new carpet would help me out in the house selling endeavor.
The other day, this “salesman” comes over from National Floors Direct. At first he is nice enough, dropping the small talk, commenting on how nice the neighborhood is, etc. I tell old man river that I am interested in getting one room done – maybe two at the most.
MISTAKE #1 – So, I ask him how business is. He says, “Business is great. I have six appointments today and I’m glad to be tired when I get home at the end of the day.”
My bullsh*t detector immediately starts ringing off the hook. I am willing to bet my unemployment check that this isn’t a record time for carpet sales. Furthermore if you’re looking to sell carpet, why act as if business is booming? Why act like it doesn’t matter if I buy or not? I rather he play the “poor” card so I could at least feel some sympathy for the guy.
MISTAKE #2 – While he’s measuring up the rooms, Miley (who’s been placed in screened porch exile) decides to go on a barking rampage. As I go to check on her, the “Dwight Schrute of Carpet Sales” decides to start measuring up the office. The office wasn’t even mentioned in the collection of rooms I told him I was interested in getting a price on.
MISTAKE #3 – When rug burn decides to finally quote me, he gives me a price for three rooms, not the one or two I had originally asked for. His price was $1995 and it was for a package (heh) I was not even interested in.
MISTAKE #4 – When I ask the bottom dweller for a copy of the quote, his card and tell him I want to think it over, he immediately becomes defensive. At this point, I should have released the Miley hound and had her chase him off. To stop his whining, I tell him that I had a guy come over and quote me $700 for the two rooms I was interested in doing.
MISTAKE #5 – In a huff, leaves me a quote for $1100 for the three rooms and matches the $700 two room quote that I mentioned. The three room quote is $900 less than his original quote. We didn’t even talk about a cheaper carpet. This quy quoted me the same materials and work for almost half the price within about five minutes of his first quote. (and this was all for a bill of materials I didn’t even want!)
Are there people out there stupid enough to fall for schmucks like this? I would like to hope not, but I fear that there are based on his shock when I balked at his outrageous price.
MISTAKE #6 – He questions if I am even ready to make a decision on the carpet.
MISTAKE #7 – He asks, “If I said I could do both rooms for $500, would you do it?”
I say no. At this point, there is simply no way Mr. Magoo is getting my business. I tell him that I have another guy (who was highly recommended by two people, by the way) coming and I promised said guy he could take a look at the job. I told Soupy Sales-man that I do not go back on my word.
MISTAKE #8 – As he’s leaving, he asks if the other decision maker isn’t home. This is after I told him I was the only person who lived here about 15 minutes previous to his question. It’s almost as if he knows he has screwed up the call and is now taking shots at me on the way out (which is kind of cool, actually).
Net net: On principle alone, even if his installers were hot naked women and he paid me, I wouldn’t let this jamoke touch my canine-pee-stained floors.
Have a great weekend everyone! Make the most of every day.
EDITOR’S NOTE: For the love of bivalves, please check out the SoSH Auction. It is my Bastille Day wish for you to do so.
I had a hankerin’ for (a hunk of cheese?) some fried clams last night. To cure this hankerin, a friend and I took a ride up to the Clam Box in Ipswich. The Clam Box is located on a stretch of Route 133 where three of the best clam shacks in the area reside.
Anyways, during dinner the following exchange was overheard at the table next to us:
MIDDLE-AGED MAN: “Christine’s facebook said something about getting birthday sex tonight.”
MIDDLE-AGED LADY: “It’s not even her birthday.”
M-A MAN: “Really. When is her birthday?”
M-A LADY: “February.”
M-A MAN sports a perplexed look while M-A LADY works on a scallop.
Aaaaaannnnd SCENE.
Now it may be just me (and it usually is), but this was funny on many levels. I tried my damned-ness not to choke on my tartar sauce after hearing this morsel of dinner conversation goodness. My friend had to kick me under the table to remind me not to draw attention to the fact that we were eavesdropping. She was not amused at my lack of self-restraint.
Let me try and explain my madness:
1) This middle-aged couple was probably “Christine’s” aunt, uncle or presumably some type of relative. It is very funny how Web 2.0 (specifically Facebook in this case) has changed the way people stay in touch. Back in the day, Mr. and Mrs. Middle-Aged couple would have enjoyed their dinner without knowing the (presumed) sexual exploits of their niece. With the advent of this great, semi-new technology, they now get to enjoy their fried seafood while picturing their relative riding the pink pony of love.
Good, no great times.
2) Why, in her right mind, would “Christine” post such a thing as a status update? Why would she do it especially knowing that people like M-A Man and M-A Lady would have access to such thoughts? Who knows what the back story is behind it was? It was probably a joke, but she probably never intended for her (presumed) aunt and uncle to be discussing it over their greasy, unhealthy shellfish.
3) While Woodman’s remains the best clam place on the “Miracle Mile” of fried clams (I simply will NOT argue this, so don’t even try). The Clam Box has now taken over as the best place for overheard dinner conversation in the Cape Ann area.
4) The fact that this happened at a place called the Clam Box has kept my inner adolescent giggling for hours.
5) I had this hankerin’ because I saw someone’s (Kate) Facebook status mention fried clams. It’s like raaaain on your wedding day….
6) I used the word “hankerin” wayyyy too much in this entry.
Say it ain’t so, Papi…
Thanks to the fine folks at Comcast, I’ve somewhat conquered my technical difficulties. Hooray!
One of our annual SoSH gatherings is held at my friend Chuck’s house. It is a night I look forward to every year and this year it was held Saturday night. Chuck is a big fan of tequila, so every year tequila is a big part of the festivites. It is the only night I actually allow myself to take shots of tequila.
As I was writing this, I learned that Mark Buehrle of the Chicago White Sox threw a perfect game. He faced 27 batters an retired them all. Yesterday, Buehrle was a perfect baseball player. This is the first perfect game thrown in like five years and the first attempt by a MLB player to sabotage my blog.
EDITOR’S NOTE: Get well soon, Sarah! My blog simply isn’t the same without you reading along.
