Hello?
Wow it’s dusty in here. I should probably clean this place up. Football’s inaugural weekend is about to start.
I think I’ll come back on Monday, after I get everything tidy, and we can chat about what happened.
Someone move these boxes of old rags!
David Ortiz tested positive for something in 2003. We’ll find out what for soon, but as for right now, I’m just going to savor the fact that my gut instinct about Papi has been right. He suddenly became a masher, then fell apart in his early 30s. That’s drug use, world.
Happy Belated Father’s Day, Nerds.
My dad, in honor of both his special day and the best tournament in pro golf, took me to the U.S. Open at Bethpage. I soaked in the sights, sounds, and startling Golgotha-esque levels of mud and muck. For sake of both speed and thoroughness, I’m going to list out both the Stunning Highs (SH) and Astonishing Lows (AL) of my experience at the public course at Farmingdale. Here we go.
SH: The conditions of the fairways and greens. Everyone on the East Coast has been aware of the monsoon currently soaking the seaboard. What everyone is not aware of is that there are hundreds of men and women with hundreds of grass-drying tools constantly working to keep Bethpage playable. If nature was left to its own devices, the entire town would be underwater. But due to the magnificent interference of the bold water wickers, only about 99% of it is. The remaining 1% was where the best golfers in the world were.
AL: The mud has to go somewhere. And that somewhere was the grandstands and foot paths. I’m not mad or anything, since I was wearing a pair of throwaway sneakers. But still, being on your feet for seven straight hours and having those feet constantly in mud gave me a sense of what Valley Forge might’ve been like.
SH: The quality of the play. I saw Tiger nail a birdie, Phil nail two, and players from all over the world content with the conditions with impossible levels of skill.
AL: How terrible I am at golf. Watching the highest levels of play remind me why I hung up the soft cleats a couple years back. I can’t drive without an ugly slice. My short game doesn’t come into play until I’m already one over on the whole. And I keep equating my score with my self-worth.
SH: The food and drinks. Lemonade, stuffed pretzels, hot dogs, sandwiches of all sorts, served from concessions tents spread throughout the course.
AL: The press of people at those concession stands. The lunch rush was overwhelming, and since you couldn’t bring in food or drink, there’s a good chance you could wait in line for an hour to get water. Seems dangerous, considering the number of older folks that had been hoofing it around all day.
SH: An efficient bus transportation network that connected all of the satellite parking lots.
AL: Having to pay $35 to park at a gas station due to flooding.
SH: Seven hours with my dad.
AL: Seven hours trying to keep up with my dad.
SH: The noise from the New York gallery.
AL: The failure of the golfers to keep a straight face when hearing some of the comments.
And the biggest SH of all: My clubs are now in the trunk of my car.
David Ortiz hit a homerun last night. His second of the year. He’s not back, and if you say he’s back, you haven’t been watching your baseball.
The Bruins, Celtics and Red Sox all won. The Portland Sea Dogs did as well (I was there, so I know). Happy Mother’s Day, Boston.
Boston College’s own Ron Brace was drafted by the New England Patriots this past week. In other words, a player from my favorite team has been drafted by my girlfriend’s favorite team. We’re getting matching jerseys. So if you see us, don’t make fun. Yes, we’re that couple now, but we have a very good reason.
Thank you, and Let’s Go Eagles.
So here’s what’s happening today in Boston.
9:30 a.m. – The Boston Marathon began.
11:00 a.m. – The Red Sox play the only morning game of baseball in MLB.
7 p.m. – The Celtics take on the Bulls at the Garden.
7 p.m.- The Bruins try to extend to a 3-0 series lead against Montreal.
See that, right there? That’s what happens when you live in a sports city. You start wondering how the heck you’re going to watch the marathon and the Sox game at the same time, and then you spent three hours deciding which bar to go to (my vote is Common Ground in Allston Rock City) to see both the B’s and the C’s play their way through the postseason.
Find what your city does well and embrace it. That’s the way to love where you live.
… I’ve already had to use my cell phone to make a last minute roster change.
… I’ve already had a baseball-related bad dream.
… I’ve already lamented (only half-jokingly) that my season is over.
… I’ve already begun to think about this year’s keepers.
… I’ve already said out loud “thank god baseball’s back.”