We Win

These were my thoughts, from England, when the Red Sox won the World Series in 2004.

What a scene it was. A girl from France, a friend from Italy, and a man from Libya standing in my room, watching me dowse myself with champagne, and cry. Cry like a little girl with a skinned knee. Only, like, a good skinned knee.

No, these aren't exactly the folks who were in all those dreams I have had about this moment. But God knows most of you were.

Here, on my tiny Dell laptop, I have remained connected to this Nation for the last two months, nay, the summer. But here [in England] there is No Riv, no NESN, no Niels or Ted. No drunk phone calls to my sister, or Jason or Villa. Only me, and the occasional inquisitive European.

At the Sports Cafe, Haymarket Square's Riviera Cafe, during the announcement of the starting line-ups in game one, (just one of many moments where I was seen holding a beer and weeping) a man actually walked up to me and said, "I am from Greece, and I have never seen a baseball game before, can you explain the game to me?" Like form start to finish? Explain baseball?

Looking back at that question I think of this - Tony LaRussa was just swept out of the World Series by THE RED SOX!!! Wait, Tony LaRussa the Manager of one the greatest Cardinals Regular Season Teams ever, which puts them in the running for one of the greatest teams ever, just got swept out of the World Series by the Red Sox.

Oh and to get to this point, all the Red Sox had to do was come from behind, with less than six outs, with Mariano Rivera on the mound, twice. Then win two more. In the Bronx.
I'm sorry brother, but no one can explain baseball.

Can anyone explain why I am weeping so heavily or why I have slept an aggregate 60 hours in the last two and half weeks?

Can anyone explain how Derek Lowe, who managed to pitch just above .500 ball this year, four hit the Cardinals?

Can anyone explain how Pedro Martinez three hit the same Cardinals the night before? This man, who, in 2004 gave up more homers than in 1999, 2000, and 2001, combined!

Certainly not. This was, as I have said many times, The Year. That's the only way to explain it.

This day, actually, marks the fourth year that Katie McGlynn and I have known each other. After four years, Kathleen has now seen me cry more in the last few weeks than she ever thought she'd see a 'grown' man cry. From now on, if we disagree on a restaurant, or a movie, or directions, she can kindly retort, "What are you gonna do, cry about it? Fucking Sissy".

Everyone wants to talk about the lunar eclipse, but really, we should be talking about how Katie McGlynn tried to pick me up after a friend of mine suddenly passed away. It was four years ago that she asked, "Are you sure you should be alone tonight?"

But thanks to our passion for the Red Sox, yours and mine, and the internet, I am not alone tonight.

I am not alone in these thoughts.

I am thinking of my grandfather, a passive Red Sox fan, who never got to see this day.

I am thinking of all the people who have sent me a note in the past week, letting me know that I am the biggest fan they know, and just how happy they are for me.

I am thinking about two life-long dreams, seeing the Sox win the World Series, and living abroad, colliding. (I am for the God of the Old Testament. A very spiteful, and vengeful god. Ask and Yee shall receive.)

I am thinking about the first time I went to Fenway with my dad. We saw the Brewers when they were still an American League team.

And I am thinking about the first, and only, time I marched through the green monster and on to the field to be greeted by Bobby Orr.

I am thinking about the first time I went to HHH Metrodome in Minneapolis, and realized just how lucky I was to be raised thinking Fenway was the norm.

I am thinking about that marathon game in July, where the Red Sox were swept at Yankee stadium. The two young boys sitting in front of us, crying, wearing Nomar jersey's, while their idol sulked in the dugout. I am thinking of two old friends, sitting in those stands that night, still proud to be fans. Taking it in.

But really, I am thinking about not thinking so much. Not thinking during the games, "what if we had", or "what if we hadn't", or "what if we did", or "what if we didn't". I am thinking about just letting it go.

The questions will, and have already come. "What will you do now? Your identity is crushed."
What will I do? Go on being a fan of the greatest team in the history of sports. Dish it out to some Yankee fans. And oh yeah, finally get some freaking sleep.

I just want to hear it once. You were right, Shaun. This was the year.

...Nuf Ced!

END.

I'll be in the stands for Game One. This A Year! Go Sox!

The Hunt

Listen Old Running Man from Staten Island. Don't try and resist the unstoppable running force that is, The Chappie. He will conquer you! The Chappie has been training for this moment his whole damn life.

While you are chowing down on Weetabix; I'm training.

Poppin' your FloMax; I'm training.

Watchin' the Matlock. I'm training.

Okay old man, joke is SO over. Don't f with me. Like the cold hands of death I am gaining on you every second.

You remember that day back in 1943, there was that french girl you never had the balls to kiss?

Yeah, buddy, I'm here to tell you the I kissed her! Oh yes, even though she is well over 80 now, I kissed her. Just to make to make you sweat.

Oh, yeah, nice head band. Real nice. Is that to make up for all the sweat that you got pouring down your head as I come closer to my goal: Your destruction, and humiliation?

Are those blue blockers? No? They look like blue blockers to me. I can't tell exactly from back here as I am, currently, behind you.

But not for long Old Man cause I am LOCKED in.

I see you have a little fight left in you Old Man. You been using the extra strength bengay?

How does it feel to be chased down by someone young enough to be younger than your oldest child, but proabably older than your grandchildren, if you have any. Hmmm? How does that feel?

And how does it feel to know that I SUCK at long division Old Man? That's right. Can't do it. Don't know how to change a $20 bill either.

Oh, and in my day we didn't walk ten miles through snow cause we had Snow Days motha fucka. That's right, snow days. You know what I did on my snow days? Train to whoop your ass.

Boy. I really thought I would have caught you by now.

You are not a man, you are like some bionic running zombie. You aren't close to death you are the undead.

You know what? Whatever! I was just, like, pacing myself for a more important race, you know? Don't want some old fart ruining my game.

Oh shit, is that a cramp? I think that's a cramp. Jesus that hurts.

Well, at least my girlfriend whooped your ass. How does it feel to be beat by a little girl pops? Huh?

How ... does ... that feel?

Getting on with it ...

You know what sounds really lame? Trying to describe this portion of my life. There is no good way for me to do it without out sounding like I am whining.

In the last two years and a half I have struggled to searched for jobs, found myself roughly $80,000 in debt, struggled to define a career, been to 16 weddings, moved back in with my parents, moved to New York City, endured a work related crisis, failed an exam, and questioned ever giving up on catholicism.

In the last two years I have also spent about two weeks in Italy, two weeks in France, lived smack in the middle of London, landed what is quite possible the best job I am likely ever to have, gotten health insurance, run two marathons/two triathlons, survived a work related crisis, NOT gotten married, and remembered why I am a retired catholic.

It is hard for people, those who have somewhat successfully made it to adulthood, to take my whining seriously given the latter.

David Brooks, the liberals' conservative, comments in the 10/09/07
New York Times about the section of life known as "The Odyssey", the transition from adolescence to adulthood (link is found here, but after a period of time a subscription will be required: David Brooks). Conveniently, 'tis exactly where I am right now.

We may be the most educated lot in the history of mankind. More people are attending college than ever before. And more places of employment are demanding it of us. In fact, when I was on the hunt for a job (er, career) the places that were the best fit (in my mind) were the ones that demanded education BEYOND undergraduate.

So what still leaves us/me so ridiculously unprepared?

Until now, there has been no way to practice the battle of boredom. Getting home and getting dinner on the table, can be boring. Feeling tired at 9:40pm is boring. Laundry? Boring. Making a budget, and sticking to it? Boring. Weddings, pretty boring, especially when just a year before you spent your extra cash on a trips to Prague, Barcelona and not on a punch bowl and a hotel room at a wedding factory in Jersey.

If you went to college with me, then you would know that getting housing OFF campus is made difficult until you are a senior. That means that laundry services, meals, social engagement, transportation all provided right on site.

My college was excellent at preparing me to think deeply about Descartes, Faulkner, the hidden truths of Economics, how to alter my ID.

But as I search for a new religion, a religion that teaches me to find meaning in the trials of everyday, I am fortunate to be guided by this movements spiritual leader.

Rumor is, when my girlfriend gets cleaning, shopping for wedding gifts, working with excel spread sheets, she communes with the Virgin Mary herself.

Making me reconsider my current position on catholicism.