(photo from Yahoo! Sports)
Wake with the wheels!
So I get home on Friday around 12:45 (gotta love summer hours), and wait for the Comcast dude to show up. The last time he was supposed to come, he rang the doorbell once, waited for approximately .4 seconds, stuck a note in the door and booked it out of there all “Sorry we missed you! You’ll be without cable, internet or contact with the outside world for the foreseeable future until we can further inconvenience you!” So this time, after speaking in a controlled and yet stern voice to the Comcast dispatcher, “No, you will not come on Tuesday between noon and 3. You will come on Friday between 1 and 3 because that is when I will be home. I work for a living. At an office. And you will not leave until I have cable and internet. Understand?” I spent the time waiting by painting my bedroom walls in an ADD type manner. But I was afraid to turn on the radio or the ceiling fan lest I drown out the sound of the doorbell. Oh, and did I mention that it was 8,000 degrees centigrade on Friday? And that I’d spent a few hours inhaling paint fumes? And that the trees outside my windows (Trees! In the city! I know!) have seen fit to mate and spew a thick coat of pollen through my windows and onto everything I own, giving all my possessions a faint yellow tinge? Yeah, so, Comcast dude rings the bell, I nearly break my neck climbing down from a stepladder like a not particularly agile gibbon monkey, run down the stairs, paintbrush spraying hunter green dots all over everything and I fling open the door for him:
“Um, I’m here from Comcast?” he says, eyeing my warily.
“Yes!” I say, resisting the urge to add, “about bloody time!” “I’m glad you’re here. The Sox/Cubs game starts in half an hour.”
“Okay,” he adds, edging past me like you’d circle around a particularly rabid looking dog tied to a fire hydrant. “I should be able to hook it up by then.”
“BASEBALL!” I yelled.
Poor guy. I very nearly hugged him.
When he left forty minutes later, I did indeed have cable and some “basic” instructions on how to install my internet so that I wouldn’t have to pay him the $49.95. Oh, and just a helpful side note from me to you: just pay the bloody $49.95. You’ll spare yourself a frustrating hour and half monkeying around with wires and cables and wireless modems, all culminating in you either a) dropping your entire laptop on the hardwood floor when John Halama, on your shiny new cable, gives up a home run to a freakin’ pitcher, or b) calling Comcast customer support, having the guy on the other end tell you “Oh, I’ll just remote start it from here,” and spewing vile in the form of “It would have been helpful if someone told me YOU COULD DO THAT! NOW WAIT, UNTIL MY COMPUTER STARTS UP AGAIN!” Or possibly both.
Of course, after watching the first two bloodbaths, I very nearly called Comcast and demanded my money back.
You know what that means? That means it’s time for a brief missive to the Sox again.
Dear Red Sox,
Hi, yeah, it’s me again. Listen, I’ve done my part. I’ve not been to Fenway or anywhere else to watch you play since the last time you made it very clear that you don’t want me there. I haven’t even watched all the games lately owing to lack of cable. And yet, this doesn’t seem to matter to you. You’re all, “Hey, you know what would be fun? If we lost 9 of 11. That would be ace!” So, what? The World Series wasn’t enough of a challenge for you? You wanted to give St. Louis fans something to brag about? That’s charitable and all but you are the World Champion Boston Fucking Red Sox! Perhaps it’s time to play like it?
Also, the Yankees? Not exactly on fire. In fact, if “on fire” is good, the Yankees are pretty much absolute zero. Like, they’re sucking. Hard. Joe Torre is pissed. He’s yelling at them. Jeter’s crying in the dugout. NYYFans.com is actually BANNING PEOPLE FROM THEIR GAME THREADS FOR EXCESSIVE NEGATIVITY. (Leading to some mighty barren game threads, I would imagine as aside from “pinstripes are kind of slimming” there really isn’t much in the way of positive comments one can make about that giant hole of suck New Yorkers are calling a major league baseball team.)
Plus, the Orioles are finally starting to show signs of giving up the ghost and pretending like they’re an actual grown-up, big person baseball team who expects to contend. Even the Blue Jays are faltering. And Tampa Bay, well, yeah. We must take advantage of these things, boys. We must be winning while the rest of the division is losing. You’ve even gone and pissed Theo off and I think we all know what happens when you piss Theo off. He curses you and important body bits start to fall off. Don’t believe me? Ask this guy.
So come on, gentlemen, no more of this “let’s flirt with .500!” baseball. I’m tired of it. You’re the goddamn Boston Red Sox. Act like it.
Last night was promising. Last night was good. Wake got his binky back and I think we all know how I feel about Jason Varitek, (I mean, we all know how I feel about Jason Varitek in a purely professional and family-friendly manner), but dudes, Wake needed his BelliBinky. I won’t deny it. The differences between his previous bunch of starts with Tek catching and then last night with Doug E. Fresh behind the plate was startling. And I’m sure no one is happier about this than Varitek. I do feel a bit bad for Kelly Shoppach who never did manage to get his first major league hit while he was sitting in Dougie’s stead but he’ll get another chance.
Also? Manny with the bat? Indeed. This is what I like to see. I like to seen Manny hitting balls clean out of parks. All “You ain’t throwin’ this one back, bitches.” And Youks with the home run. And Damon also. And JAY PAYTON! There was some serious anger and vitriol being spewed over at the SGMB game thread last night in regards to Miller and Morgan’s ESPN commentary. Could have been that the heat was making us all a bit persnickety but it could have also been that Miller and Morgan were sucking especially potent ass. Like, is it necessary to sing “Duke of Earl” in the middle of an at-bat? Really? And could we maybe get a bit more excited about Jay Payton’s home run? I seriously didn’t know that ball even had a shot until it landed in a fans outstretched hands. “Oh, that’s gone. *Yawn.*” Asshats. Just because the Red Sox are no longer America’s lovable losers does not mean we need to be all “Le sigh, they’re so last year” about them now. Yeah the Cubs are our brothers in suffering and now we all need to cheer them and blah, blah, historycakes. But dude, I don’t care how bloody lovable and squishable and smurfy the Cubs are, I’m not cheering for them at the expense of my team. That’s madness. I would prefer it if the announcers adopted at least an air of bipartisanship as well.
Although, I gotta admit, a cool thing happened during the game on Saturday. As is the tradition at Wrigley Field, some local celeb or athlete or personality or what have you gets to lead the crowd in singing “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” during the seventh inning stretch. On Saturday, they had Chris Chelios (formerly of the Chicago Blackhawks. That’s hockey, y’all), and Jack O’Callahan, (former Boston University defenseman for the Miracle on Ice team of 1980) leading the singing. Chelios was wearing a Cubs hat and O’Callahan, despite now living in Chicago, stayed true to his Charlestown roots by sporting a Sox cap. When they got to the “And it’s root, root, root for the home team…” bit wherein the crowd always inserts the name of their team, O’Callahan hijacked the microphone and screamed “RED SOX!” confounding the hell out of Chelios and the rest of the people in the park. The poor Cubs fans are so polite they couldn’t even find it within themselves to boo. Imagine if that had happened at Fenway? Anyway, it tickled me to no end, not the least of which because I went, “Awwww, hockey…” So good on ya, Jack O’Callahan.
Tonight, the boys are back at home where I think they need to be. This will undoubtedly make my commute a bit, shall we say, stuffier with all the Fenway partygoers but it never bothered me too much when I lived in Kenmore Square. After all, Sox fans are my people. We understand each other. Matty’s back at it and looks to rebound from his last outing wherein he was nearly bitchslapped by a frustrated Varitek. And rightfully so. Cincinnati’s in the house for the first time since the 1975 World Series and perhaps the most demure championship celebration ever. So come on, boys, let’s show these guys how a real championship team plays.
Oh, also, the Pats got their rings. Again. And it was, as it continues to be, awesomeness. Richard Seymour showed up to get his shiny quelling speculation that he didn’t show up for training camp because he’s you know, dead. One can only hope that he ends this childish holding out game because you DO NOT continue to be Kristen’s Patriot Baby Daddy if you act in such a petulant manner. Just something to think about, Big Sey. Also, meep! God, I miss that guy an unnatural amount. The new one is oval-shaped one in the middle. Been a lot of sparkly thrown around Boston of late. Just sayin’.