10 September 2005

Catchin' Up...

So I called in sick to check out the September 8th game at Fenway against the Angels, a game I had been looking forward to for a while. Since Erin, my mom and Colleen couldn't take up any of the four tickets, Mike asked two of his friends to join us- Kristen and the legendary, mythical force that is... Casey Cilio.

Anyway, I could bore with details of a game that, for the most part sucked remarkably hard. We had really solid seats out in right field, and an excellent view of both Trot Nixon's tremendous 4th inning catch into the crowd, and the subsequent appeal of Orlando Cabrera's tag-up to third. The umpire called him out, something I've actually never seen- in person or otherwise. Needless to say, it was almost a given multiple members of the Los Angeles coaching staff would get tossed. Mickey Hatcher, world-class horse's ass, was no exception.

On the ride up, Casey, Mike and I traded D3: Mighty Ducks scenes, Casey sang Preston Wilson's praises (again), and Kristen burned a hole in Casey's sweatshirt with a cigarette, which he demanded $5 for ("and I'll forget about it!"). There were also a lot of sexually inappropriate comments made from by Casey to Kristen, which are borderline un-printable.

Mike was pumped to wear his (exceptionally awesome) Sox jacket (that I'm ridiculously jealous of), and he did, flannel lining and all, as the temperature dropped to a balmy 65 degrees. "Dude, are you sweating? You can take the jacket off..."

"Ha! 'Jacket-off!'"

Also worth noting- the Slurpees I got on the way in and out of Fenway at the nearby 7-11 were astonishingly great- a mixture of the Watermelon and "Frawg" flavors... just ridiculous. It's now a new "tradition" for me going to Sox games, these Slurpees. Makes the 7-11 here in Fairfield that much more of a frigging embarassment...

On the ride home, we had to get from Boston to Fairfield (2 hrs, 30 mins) and I had to get BACK on the road and go from Fairfield to New York City (1 hr, 10 mins- more on why later). So as we moved down to the on ramp to I-90, we saw the entire thing caution taped- off and cop cars aplenty. So while we said real vulgar things and threw stuff around in anger- the whole time watching an 18 wheeler barely make a left turn right in front of us- I figured getting around to the other on ramp would take forever. It did! It took nearly 30 mins because of the traffic!

Then, when we finally got ourselves on the highway going the right direction, at about 1130, after 30 useless minutes, we drove 500 more feet... to get stuck in the bowels of the absolute worst traffic I've ever experienced in my entire life. We sat for approximately 1 hour and 45 minutes going from just outside Boston... to Framingham, MA where it more or less broke up. For what it's worth, that normally takes me 15 minutes under normal circumstances.

So to pass the time as we literally sat on the road staring into nothing, Casey started yelling to the other cars. Some samplings (which were a lot funnier when you consider we were all just ridiculously tired, and all had to get up mad early the next day):

  • "Yo, do you have any dickfors in that car?"

  • "Man, I got fuckin' school tomorrow! This blows!"

  • "Somebody better be dead up there, am I right?!"

  • "What'd aliens touch down? JEE-ZUSS!"

  • "Hey, got any cigs bro?"

  • "Grandpa? GRANDPA! GRANDPA!!!!"

  • The last one was shouted at an old man in a red Honda Civic. He ate it up!

    One guy noted that we were really fucking around and took a lot of enjoyment in yelling angry obscenities at us as we idled by. "Three-fuckin-fifty a gallon for this fuckin shit?" "Soon we're gettin the cocksuckers comin' out of the fuckin' Patriots game, FUCK!" "Did you see that terrorist motherfucker that just fuckin' cut me off?!" Colorful dude. We actually spotted him at the McDonalds we stopped at to piss in later... and avoided him completely.

    Later, a really cool black dude pulled up alongside us and was like, "yoooo! What's up, guys?! How are you?!" He was very strangely... happy. And nice. Most everyone else was understandably grumpy, especially to a carful of obnoxious under- 30s. The dude was awesome. He had us yell hello to his girl, who was on the phone. Then, we never saw him again. Most people, as well, were ignoring Casey's pleas for cigarettes, until a really cool girl offered him a clove, which he responded to by jumping out of the moving vehicle for. Awesome.

    So we left at 11 from the Park... got on the road at 1130... and got back to Fairfield at FOUR THIRTY IN THE MORNING. Read that again. Slowly. Grab a calculator if you need to. OK, you're back. I know. It was five hours.

    PLUS, I had to get back to NYC. So I jumped on the road immediately, and after a missed exit, coming up short on a toll and a tiny bit more traffic on the FDR South... I found a parking spot near my 80th St apartment at 515 in the morning. 515. 515. I haven't seen 515 since 'Nam (sorry Mike).

    The REASON I had to get back to NYC was because Friday, September 9 was Erin's 24th Birthday. So I want you all to logon here to BSMemorial, and follow the link to wish Erin a happy birthday. Do it. DO IT!

    Anyway, Erin and I went on over to Wo Hop in Chinatwon, my favorite Chinese food in the world- somewhere Erin had never been. See, up by where we live, good Chinese food is really tough to find for some reason. This was a great chance to take Erin out, get her some good Chinese food at a place she'd always wanted to go to.

    After that, we went over to the purveyors of the World's Greatest Ice Cream (my title, not official), the Chinatwon Ice Cream Factory. For me, it's a battle between the choice of two flavors there- the Almond Cookie, or the Oreo. Very, very difficult, but ultimately, I go with the off-on ritual. Last time, when I went with Bill, I'd gotten the Almond Cookie. So Oreo it was. Then, Erin orders, and drops a BOMB on me- she gets one scoop of each! I was so pissed. I dropped the ball on that idea. Of course, the waffle cone made me feel better.

    The Sox didn't exactly comply for Erin with a b-day victory, but they did make it up today (more on that latah!).

    Point of the story... HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ERIN! Love you...

    BOS 9
    NYY 2
    WP- Curt Schilling (6-7)
    LP- Shawn Chacon (4-3)
    HR- M Ramirez (34), J Olerud (7), J Giambi (28)

    This was a truly huge game- today was the difference between guaranteeing at least a 3 game divisional lead and a chance for 5 games, or facing down a sweep at the hands of Randy Johnson for a platry one game lead. It was only natural, I thought, to worry coming into this one, what with Schilling's results up to this point. He did seem to really turn a corner on Labor Day against Chicago... and give up 5 runs. This was the Yankees though.

    Further, Shawn Chacon was enrolled in the Aaron Small School of Dumbshit Pitcher's Luck and looked poised to post yet another inexplicably dominant start against an AL team. Instead, Chacon couldn't get his fastball over, wasn't challenging hitters, and after Manny parked a 2-2 pitch into the Boston bullpen, he really didn't show anything thereafter.

    Of course, trying to pick a favorite moment in the 4th inning would be like choosing your favorite child- Olerud's bomb HR? Matsui's dropped flyball? Felix Rodriguez (former IF) nearly throwing an easy DP away, lengthening the inning? Trot Nixon's 2-R single... off lefty Al Leiter? Robinson Cano launching a Knoblauch into the third row on a DP attempt? At the end of the day, I think I'll take Manny's opposite field single, which lead to this little bit from Tim McCarver:

    "Manny Ramirez, taking this pitch low and simply serving it the other way... of course these New Yorkers this week are well familiar with 'serving' a ball- the US Open happening as we speak in Flushing. So we can call Ramirez 'Manny Federov' now, I guess. Manny Federov! He served that ball."

    Federov. Manny Federov. Much like the "Brandon" Arroyo reference earlier in the game, this was a(nother) missed name, and a fairly sad one at that. You almost have to feel bad for the guy.

    Great game. Also, fun note- Shawn Chacon and Curt Schilling, today's starters, were both born in Anchorage, Alaska- birthplace as well of my mom. See? You were wondering why you come here. I wish I'd heard that on the radio, but I didn't- I realized it reading up on matchup numbers last night. So I'm a loser, big whoop.

    ______________________________ |