Mark Teixeira’s Soggy Pretzel Piles is totally my new fantasy team name

I have a theory about Mark Teixeira. I theorize that homeboy loves him some salty snacks but he still thinks carbs are bad for you so he enjoys nothing better than licking the salt off pretzels and leaving the carby-bits lying around. As such, I’m betting that people hate being assigned the locker next to Teixeira because they’re forever finding bits of his saliva-softened pretzel detritus all over the place. Therefore, the locker next to Teixeira is probably where the Yankees put the rookie they’re wanting to haze.

This really has nothing to do with last night’s game other than it serves as an example of what kind of nonsense my brain gets up to when plunged full on into baseball season courtesy of Chrissy and some sweet bleacher seats.

Also, as evidenced by the blurry picture of my scorecard above, I’m not yet in mid-season form and sometimes I blame “benevolent elves” for an out made my Curtis Granderson or “black magic” as the reason Mike Cameron somehow ended up on second. And when Chrissy took over scoring when I left for an inning and a half to get a Fenway Frank (seriously, get it together, Fenway vendors. People are going to want hot dogs. Perhaps you should have some pre-made), she editorialized the scorekeeping with things like “YAY!” for Victor Martinez’s home run and made note of show-offy Jeterian plays. Of which there were entirely too many if you ask me.

Additionally, we are so starved for a competent shortstop around these parts that we’ve already developed a game involving part of the park chanting “Marco!” and another section following up with “Scutaro!” which beats the stupid wave any day. Because if you are not clear on my feelings regarding the wave, allow me to share. It is stupid. It is pretty much always stupid. The only exceptions or times when it doesn’t make me angry are when there’s a blowout going on and not a whole lot to hold your attention. Know when that doesn’t happen? During the eighth inning of a tie Red Sox/Yankees game. Which is why I will thank you to leave me alone, girl who spent at least $60 on beer and got all pissy with me because I wasn’t doing the wave and was instead, watching the baseball game, despite the fact that I did not smack her during any of the seventeen times she got up and forced the entire row to let her out so she could get MORE beer.

I mean really, people. It’s not even good beer.

Anyway, all that said, it was a glorious night because we did not freeze until near the very end and the fans, despite the opposition, were mostly well-behaved. Perhaps we’re just all so happy to have baseball back that we’re in a perpetual good mood. I predict that lasts until, you know, tonight, but it’s a start.

Oh, and I think I have the solution to the Patriots lack of coordinator issues. I don’t know why it’s taken me so long to think of it. But, you guys? Jason Varitek. The man probably already has a warehouse full of Trapper Keepers. You’re telling me he couldn’t start cataloging info on opposing running backs and safeties? Let’s do it. Let’s get Bill on board. Let’s make it happen.

All’s well that ends after I go to bed

(Picture from Boston.com) Kinda missed that dude, actually.

So, to put it quite honestly, I am an old woman and cannot be expected to stay up until all hours to watch a baseball game. Especially when I did not sleep the night before and spent the first, oh, twelve hours of said game in back-from-New York traffic with Boston-affiliate radio stations deciding not to come in and New York stations assaulting me with John Sterling and Suzyn Waldman. Also, from what I heard – and the profanity I spewed in his direction – Joshua Patrick Beckett did not do much to inspire confidence. When I finally got home in time to see the Sox rally from being down 5-1 to tying it up, there was a glimmer of hope, only to watch that go up in smoke rapidly as the Sox bullpen decided it was more fun to be playing from behind.

However, I’ve decided that Marco Scutaro was a bright spot. Fielding two balls cleanly puts him above what we’re used to here in Red Sox shortstop land but he didn’t force us too far out of our comfort zone as I still heard the phrase “past a diving shortstop” which, quite honestly, is something we’re used to around these parts.

HJ and I did have an interesting discussion in the car wherein I questioned whether New York in general and Yankees fans in particular are in denial that Derek Jeter is aging and, one day, possibly not too long from now, he will not be able to play shortstop. “Yes,” HJ confirmed, “I think that’s true. They have occasional discussions about what they’re going to do with him once he can’t defensively play short anymore.”

Because I’m nice and because he was fully capable of slamming on the brakes and kicking me out of the car, I refrained from the Red Sox fan’s favorite comment about Jeter’s lack of range and instead wondered if they were going to bronze him and place him in centerfield so that small children can rub him for good luck. Come on, you know you can see it happening.

Additionally, I feel like we missed an oppurtunity for Pedro Martinez, after throwing out the first pitch, to bean Posada from the dugout. Because you know he wanted to.

That said, I am glad things turned out as they did and can only hope the outcome further pissed off the idiot New York sports commentator on WFAN yesterday who talked nothing but trash about Fenway Park. I shall be in attendance at tomorrow’s game and will, actually stay awake for that whole thing.

Baseball’s back, you guys. And just in time.

Miller Time

(Photo from ESPN.com)

A few disjointed thoughts immediately upon watching Team USA defeat Team Canada 5-3 in tonight’s game.

First, I get that this wasn’t a medal game and that’s fine and all, but that was surprising. I’d never go so far as to say that Team Canada was taking anything for granted but I’d venture that no one expected that. Of course, it’s not like Team USA is a bunch of no names, they’re all NHL players who make millions of dollars and have tens of millions of fans worldwide. Let’s not pretend that this is a pond hockey team from Billerica taking on the big, bad Canadians. That said, nice work, boys. You done us proud.

MIKE ERUZIONE!

Sorry, can’t help it.

Also, Ryan Miller looks like he should be hanging out in Central Square and bumming cigarettes in front of the Middle East rather than standing on his head in goal for Team USA during the Olympics. I was mostly hoping they’d let the poor boy sit down immediately after the game instead of insisting on interviewing him and expecting him to form a cohesive thought other than, “Seriously? I need a drink. And a nap. And a chiropractor.” But he done good. Of course, my heart wants to see Tim Thomas in goal but I surely understand the reasons and I’m proud of my team.

Team USA is now undefeated and with this loss coupled with their just barely eking out a shootout win over Switzerland the other day, Canada is looking anything but bulletproof. Plus, the Russians have lost to Slovakia and don’t have the swagger they once did. And the US is playing like they do not care to be thought of as underdogs or also rans, thank you very much. And I don’t know about you, but I like my hockey teams with a bit of attitude.

So this is the beginning. They haven’t proven anything tonight. But it’s a good start. Nice work, boys.

Oh, Canada (shakes head)

(Photo from Deadspin)

I have several questions about Vancouver’s shall we say, lackluster opening ceremonies on Friday night (and into Saturday morning because, damn, Canada, it’s not like any of us need to sleep or anything.)

For instance, I’m fine with First Nations and giving tribute to your ancestors and all that. Really, that’s cool. I can get with that. I can even get with a giant glowing statue of a bear because, while it’s not quite as awesome as the Alaskan ice bear or the other Alaskan ice bear. Or the Alaskan ice bear turned fighter pilot (seriously, watch those videos. You will thank me), I can get with some ursine imagery.

But slam poetry? Come on, Canada, you can do better. It’s not bad enough that we had to listen to Bob Costas proclaiming Canada a warlike nation before the actual ceremonies got underway, but then we had to listen to a Canadian slam poet telling us that Canada is not a joke, thank you very much and respect us, dammit. I mean please. If that’s okay with you.

Because the thing is, I totally respect Canada. It’s lovely and every time I’ve been the people have been nothing but friendly and welcoming and wonderful. But if your Prime Minister needs to hold a press conference to tell the Canadian people to not be afraid to be loud and boisterous while cheering for their athletes (essentially: “Don’t be scared of the obnoxious and batshit Americans”), then come on, Canada. It’s something you shouldn’t have to be told. We’re all for politeness and we do appreciate you hosting the world for this Olympics party but Canada, I have to tell you to grow a pair.

We like you, Canada, we do. Many of us have threatened to move there time and time again and we certainly do appreciate the influx of your hockey players. But stand up for yourself, dammit. And stop being so polite.

Buck up, little camper. We all like you just fine.

That said, my primary question about the opening ceremonies, other than it often resembled a second grade talent show where everyone who wanted to tap dance or spin plates got a chance, was that the organizers totally blew it when it came to lighting the cauldron. No, I don’t mean the technical malfunction, that can happen to anyone. I mean the actual manner of lighting it. Because what’s awesomer than a flaming arrow shot into the cauldron by an Olympic archer like in 1992 in Barcelona? What’s cooler than a scrolling screen of fire like 2008 in Beijing?

A flaming slap shot, obviously!

Dudes, Wayne Gretzky was RIGHT THERE. He was holding the fire even! No one thought to give that man a stick and a flaming puck and have him launch the Olympic flame into that cauldron to light the torch for the next two weeks? No one realized that not only would that be incredibly Canadian but also totally badass and it would make everyone forget about the slam poetry and the odd Riverdancing and the children wearing Christmas lights? Come on, Canada, I expected more from you.

Victory tastes like Jambalaya

(Photo from Boston.com)

Beth, a family friend who is really more like family and who has lived in New Orleans for the past ten years called me with about six minutes left in the fourth quarter.

“I had to call someone who understands because I needed to talk to a football fan and oh my god, we might actually win this and I don’t know what to do and I’m freaking out and holy shit this is awesome and I think I might die!”

I asked her where her boyfriend, Kevin, a life-long New Orleans resident was.

“He had to put himself in time out because he was afraid he was going to hurt himself or someone else because he can’t take this because OH MY GOD WE MIGHT WIN THE SUPER BOWL!”

“I will tell you two things,” I said. “One, when a Manning is involved, don’t celebrate until the very last second because they have a way of stealing all your fun and ruining everything and 2) go party. Enjoy this one. And tell New Orleans I said congratulations.”

Because it’s true, I can’t remember being happier for a team that isn’t actually my home team, um, ever. And the airwaves and interwebs are sure to be flooded with “Saints Save New Orleans” stories for the next year now, but you know what? I’m fine with that. We all know that a football team can’t save a city on its own, but it has been a long, hard five years for the Big Easy and she deserves this party. I mean, think about it. The team who calls the Superdome it’s home – the same building that served as a tomb for so many people five years ago – has won the Super Bowl and brought a lot of joy to that city. And maybe I’m a giant sap and am too easily swayed by these kinds of stories, but I’ve always been a sucker for the healing power of a common interest, sports included. New Orleanians are special, resilient, unique people. And they should enjoy this as much as they can. They’ve spent the past five years earning a moment in the sun and they deserve it.

So congratulations, Who Dat Nation. New England would like to shake your hand.

“Who dat say dey gonna beat dem Saints?”

This week’s NESN piece in which I explore, with the help of two of my very favorite New Orleanians/New Englanders, just why, exactly, we should all be rooting for the Saints.

Look, even I understand that sports is only sports and no game is capable of saving the world. But sometimes, it really does mean more. I’ll leave it to Ryan to make that point for me:

“I tend to think that the Saints reflect the recovery that has been happening in New Orleans. We are fighting not to get back to where we are, but to what we can and should be. The city is by no means perfect: the city government is often inept, crime is rampant, poverty in some areas is crushing, and flagrant inequalities rarely are questioned on a large scale.

The same, in a much lighter way, goes for the Saints. It often seems they underachieve. This year, however, we have an offense that can trounce anyone in the league, a quarterback with better accuracy than an Olympic archer; yet, when a starter on defense goes down, it’s immediately noticeable, and folks like Jason Campbell look like ’07 Brady and the team is losing to the Buccaneers at home. Yet, criticize our rebuilding or our team, tell us we’re failing or don’t deserve to rebuild, tell us our team is overrated. Where are we? Fighting. We’re fighting for home, and many of us are back or working with neighbors to get our communities back; then we’re gonna work to get even better. In the past the Saints fought to have a winning record; now they are fighting for the Super Bowl crown. We’re winning, bit by bit. We say “Who dat say dey gonna beat dem Saints?” but, the connection between team and town is so strong that we can easily ask “Who dat say dey gonna keep us down?” And even when we’re 3-13, we know the answer: no one. New Orleans right now has the potential to be a theatre for great, positive social change. The Saints, within the confines of the NFL, mirror that.”

What he said. And Geaux Saints!

Geaux Saints!

(Photo from Washington Post)

Well good job, New Orleans. Well done. Those of us in New England certainly know what it’s like to celebrate a kicker’s heroics and it couldn’t have happened to a better team. Now, I think I can speak for most New Englanders and Patriots fans when I say, please march into Miami and beat the stuffing out of Peyton Manning and his band of prancing ponies.

HJ, who looked so sad and bereft in his Jets jersey yesterday, and who is normally so measured and rational about these things (I know, right? So weird), responded to my question about how he felt about the Super Bowl with, “I hope Drew Brees annihilates the stupid Colts.” Which is something we can totally agree on. He also had great fun using my new gift from Chrissy, the world’s best shark mittens, to work out some residual angst. “I’m Peyton Manning. La la la. CHOMP!” And who among us doesn’t love that idea?

In reality, this is likely the matchup the NFL wanted since it pits the two teams who have performed the best all season against each other. And that’s fine and dandy and all, but the thought of Peyton Manning being within spitting distance of another Super Bowl turns my stomach. I mean, I’ve walked past the Manning house in the Garden District in New Orleans. There was a Colts flag flying outside (this was before they were acknowledging Eli as one of their own). Think Papa Manning is going to feel conflicted about this? I’m sure I’m not the first to bring that up and I certainly won’t be the last. Odds are there will be thousands upon thousands of articles written about that in the coming weeks and I might just find myself a nice rock to crawl under to get away from it all. Because the fact that the Mannings are all over both sides of this Super Bowl means more Manning coverage which is just fantastic. ESPN is about thisclose to starting an All Manning, All The Time Network. I may have to go into sensory deprivation to keep from destroying HJ’s very expensive television.

The flip side of this, of course, is the Brett Favre storyline. Because it’s ever so fitting that his career ended (maybe), for the second time on a game-sealing interception in an NFC championship game but homeboy is running out of teams with whom to attempt to win a Super Bowl. Though, as Chrissy pointed out, “The Bears would probably take him next year if he wants to keep being an asshole.” She’s probably right.

Here’s what I wonder though, about Old Man Favre. Everyone keeps talking about his quest to win a Super Bowl as though he’s never done it before when in fact, he has. His 1997 Packers team beat the Patriots 35-21 at the Superdome and some of us remember that, Brett. So it’s not like he’s been playing for nigh on seventy years now without a shot at a championship and I don’t know why we’ve been talking all season like this was his last, best shot. So if he really does retire (again), I think he can go back to selling Wranglers and big screen TVs at Sears and not be thinking about the Lombardi trophy that got away because he already has one. Which is one more than most people have. What I’m saying is, the Brett Favre Pity Train is leaving the station.

The Saints, however, could do with a Super Bowl. And while I agree that if they were to win a few short weeks before Mardi Gras, it’s entirely possible the whole city will remain drunk for a good seven to eight months, I can’t really think of a city that deserves a therapeutic victory parade more. And any opportunity to turn the Colts into the national bad guy is one I plan to embrace wholeheartedly. My point being, go Saints!

Who do you play for?

(Photo from On Frozen Blog)

You guys might not know this about me, but I am a total sucker for true-life, inspirational sports stories. Like the kind that Disney would reject as too schmaltzy (except, they, um, usually don’t). The Rookie, Rudy, Friday Night Lights, all of that stuff. I eat it up. Maybe it’s because I’m an easy mark and I always want to believe in the scrappy underdog but I can’t help it, those kinds of movies usually have me crying myself dehydrated. The worst (or best) among them, though, is Miracle. I am telling you, that movie hit me where I live. Could be because I grew up a hockey fan, or that as a New Englander, the accents had a way of making me homesick when I wasn’t far from home. Or that Kurt Russell and the boys playing his team did such a good job of getting a normally level-headed, politically considerate person to stand up and chant “USA! USA! USA!” by so convincingly villainizing the Russians. I don’t remember the original Miracle on Ice as I was, um, less than four months old at the time, but man, I could watch that movie every day and never get sick of it.

This is all by way of saying the Olympics are starting soon! And with them, men’s ice hockey. Which is, in a word, AWESOME. I wrote a preview piece for NESN today about the primary players in the games. And while it’s unlikely that we’ll get another Miracle situation simply because we’re letting professionals play in the games, that doesn’t mean I’m not excited about it. To whit, a conversation I had with Chrissy yesterday:

Me: We have to watch Olympic hockey this year because the NHL has not agreed to participate beyond the 2010 games. So they might be back to amateurs after this.

Chrissy: BUT THEN WE CAN HAVE MIRACLE AGAIN.

Me: True. Although, do we hate the Russians now? We don’t, right? I mean, who else could we beat that would be as satisfactory? I don’t think the Taliban fields a hockey team.

Chrissy: It’s true. It’s hard.

Me: Well, Zdeno Chara is playing for Slovakia. I don’t know why but that makes me happy. I might secretly root for Slovakia.

And then we proceeded to shout Miracle quotes at each other for the better part of two hours.

As you do.

"Frozen" being the operative word

(Giant foam fingers make everything awesome)

The good gentlemen over at Stadium Journey have already done a review of our beloved Fenway Park. But what is it like when a 98-year-old baseball park hosts a hockey game? Well, I’ll tell you! Thanks to Chrissy and her BU connections, she scored us seats for Frozen Fenway, the game between BU and BC last Friday evening. Yours truly reviewed the experience and rated how the park stacked up for Stadium Journey.

Have a look and let us know what you think! And if you’re one of the many shirtless and intoxicated gentlemen we saw that evening, could you kindly let me know if your nipples have thawed?

Great Googly Moogly

(Photo from Boston.com)

I don’t know how you guys feel about it but I’m perfectly willing to blame yesterday’s travesty on Bill Belichick’s choice of headwear. Because it’s really hard to look fearsome or intimidating while sporting a pom pom hat. It’s just fact. The hoodie, as always, was a nice touch but the man is supposed to be a robot, impenetrable to cold, heat or human emotion. A kicky chapeau is not really the rallying cry we’re looking for here, Bill. Maybe next time, wear a hard hat.

As I explained to HJ this morning while moping around the apartment and trying to release the tension that’s been residing between my shoulder blades for a week, it’s one thing if your team loses a game that they played well and hard. It’s one thing if they are merely outplayed or outcoached. It’s one thing if the other team just has one more play in them. In any of those cases, you can at least go into the off-season confident in the fact that your team put it’s best foot forward and it just wasn’t enough. But yesterday wasn’t like that. It wasn’t like that at all. Yesterday, the Patriots were hapless, hopeless and, at times, downright embarassing. Which is not to take anything away from the Ravens who capitalized on every mistake the Patriots made. Which were many. In fact, the Ravens were playing like the Patriots of old. Which, in addition to angering me, made me wonder what had happened to our defensive-minded football team. The one who used to turn an opponent’s weaknesses against them and forced them to make mistakes. Because that is certainly not the team we have now.

And yes, Wes Welker was hurt and he was brought out for inspirational talks prior to the game, looking for all the world like Tiny Tim on his crutches. But you know what? It didn’t work. And I’m sure it wasn’t for lack of trying on Welker’s part but there’s only so much an injured slot receiver can do. And while I wouldn’t have put it past Welker to drammatically toss aside his crutches, rip open his jacket to reveal his familiar #83 jersey and take the field in a gutsy and heartrending show of scrappiness, I’m not even sure that could have saved the Patriots. They just did not have it in them.

For his part, I hope that Julian Edelmen’s mom taped the game as her son appeared to be the only player on the field even trying yesterday and he deserves his own highlight reel. But he’s the only one.

After the game, I got an email from Greta in Baltimore, “Hi, Muffin,” she said, “I’m really sorry it had to go down like that. We can still make Old Bay Bloody Marys and curse the name of the Irsay family next week, right?” To which I replied, “Dude? Take those fuckers DOWN.” Because at this point, I will root for anyone who plays Indianapolis. And if there’s anyone who hates the Colts more than the Patriots, it’s the Ravens. So the enemy of the enemy is my friend and all that. Plus, early in the game yesterday they cut to commercial and it starred – surprise, surprise – Peyton Manning and I yelled, “This has nothing to do with you! Take your goofy forehead and hillbilly face and go away until next week!” My point being, I clearly have some unresolved issues with Peyton Manning and if Ray Lewis wants to take care of that for me, that’d be delightful.

Look, I’d be lying if I said that I thought the Patriots were going all the way this year and that this season would finally redeem the 2007 Super Bowl loss. I never really felt that way. All season something just seemed off. The timing wasn’t right or there were undisclosed injuries or questionable coaching moves. Perhaps Randy and Tommy are still working on getting back in synch after missing last season together. Perhaps some of them have lost a step. Perhaps Billiam really is getting a bit too big for his britches and needs to hire himself some coordinators STAT so as to take away some of the coaching autonomy which is clearly not good for him. At the very least, he needs someone to choose better hats.

At this point, we’re not left with much. Who knows how long Welker’s recovery will take or what shape the team will take next year? And as Brady’s genetically-bred miracle children aren’t quite big enough yet to run a slant route, we’ll have to wait a big longer for the kids to go into the family business. For now, I guess we’ll just have to watch the rest of the playoffs and root for Baltimore. Or don’t. Or start watching hockey. Or basketball. Or take up knitting. Whatever we do, it’ll take a while to get this bad taste out of our mouths.