After the boys of summer have gone

So, apparently, I miss baseball. This shouldn't surprise anyone, even though my Sox love will never be as strong and ever-present as in 2003-2004. Bygones. The point is this: Last night, I dreamed that the Sox needed me. They needed me to play. Apparently, in my fantastical dreamland, I am a catcher, but when they told me I was getting in the game, I panicked. Because I had forgotten all the signs. So I had to talk frantically with the pitcher, trying to decide if one finger down means the fastball or two fingers. And then I woke up, because that was some stressful shit.

Accomplished

I think we all know that I like to set myself reading challenges. Read the complete works of Jane Austen? Sure. Finally finish War and Peace? You betcha. So I jumped at the opportunity the Book Riot Read Harder challenge presented. And great day in the morning, people! Today, I completed the challenge by finishing Faithful by Stewart O'Nan and Stephen King (added bonus: It's been on my to-read shelf since 2005!).

And to make myself even more super-gloaty, I'm ahead of my regular "read X number of books" challenge (I set it to 63, and as of today, I've read 66 books and you know I've got lots of reading left in me before the end of the year).

Here's my complete challenge list:
A book written by someone when they were under the age of 25:
White Teeth, Zadie Smith
A book written by someone when they were over the age of 65:
MaddAddam, Margaret Atwood
A collection of short stories: The Love of a Good Woman, Alice Munro
A book published by an indie press: Once I Was Cool, Megan Stielstra (Thanks, Duff!)
A book by or about someone that identifies as LGBTQ:
The Daylight Gate, Jeanette Winterson
A book by a person whose gender is different from your own:
Beautiful Ruins, Jess Walters
A book that takes place in Asia: Snow Flower and the Secret Fan, Lisa See
A book by an author from Africa: Things Fall Apart, Chinua Achebe
A book that is by or about someone from an indigenous culture:
The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian, Sherman Alexie
A microhistory: Faithful: Two diehard Boston Red Sox fans chronicle the historic 2004 season, Stephen King and Stewart O'Nan
A YA novel: We Were Liars, E. Lockhart
A sci-fi novel: The Martian, Andy Weir
A romance novel: Never Judge a Lady by her Cover, Sarah MacLean
A National Book Award, Man Booker Prize or Pulitzer Prize winner from the last decade: The Sense of an Ending, Julian Barnes
A book that is a retelling of a classic story: Beauty, Robin McKinley
An audiobook: Jennifer Government, Max Barry
A collection of poetry: Local Visitations, Stephen Dunn
A book that someone else has recommended to you:
The Rosie Project, Graeme Simsion
A book that was originally published in another language: Blindness, by José Saramago
A graphic novel, a graphic memoir or a collection of comics of any kind:
Sandman, Vol. 1, by Neil Gaiman
A book that you would consider a guilty pleasure: Now You See Him, Anne Stuart
A book published before 1850: The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, Anne Bronte
A book published this year: The Secrets of Sir Richard Kenworthy, by Julia Quinn
A self-improvement book: The Complete Idiot's Guide to Overcoming Procrastination, Michelle Tullier  

Reading Faithful has been so much fun, because who doesn't want to relive one of the greatest moments in Red Sox history? (I went back and forth over whether or not it was a true microhistory, but since the layman's definition of it seems to be so broad and vague, I went with it.) Other things I learned? I do not like audiobooks. And I'm not big on the self-improvement genre, but other than that, these were all books I might have read on my own anyway.

Not quite like the old days

Whilst many in the Boston area were enjoying yesterday's victory parade, I was mourning the loss of my beloved willow tree. We had a wind storm (a somewhat common occurrence here in the Pacific Northwest), and it just knocked our beautiful tree over. Luckily, it didn't hit our house, our neighbors house, or the car. This did mean, however, that I would not be spending my Saturday following the parade on TV, watching massive episodes of my new-found love, Supernatural, or anything else fun or relaxing. Also luckily, J.R. and I've got some awesome friends who came over to help with the work of clearing the driveway and removing enough of the tree to make our lives livable until we can get a professional out to take it all away.

Anyway, yesterday's parade reminded me of how happy I was during the 2004 parade, and also how wet. Yesterday, I was quite wet, as well, but not nearly as happy.

Yoooooooooouk

I feel like I hardly know the Red Sox anymore. One more member of the 2004 championship team is gone, this time via trade to the White Sox. It's no question that Youk is getting older, but I always loved his scrappy and emotional style of play, determination, and of course, his beard variations. I know it's time to get to know the new players (this Middelbrooks kid looks pretty good), but some part of me knows that it will never be the same. I'll miss you, Kevin Youkilis. May you continue to leg out triples, draw walks and the ire of opposing pitchers, and do well against every team in the league (except the Red Sox).

One shy of the cycle

I got back from my annual sojourn to the homeland(s) early Tuesday morning (2 a.m., in fact, due to a slight delay leaving Boston), and I feel like I haven't stopped since then. We had three sporting events in three days this week -- Thursday was the Storm, Friday the Red Sox, and Saturday was the Storm again. We won the first two, but sadly, the Storm had their asses handed to them Saturday, leaving me one shy of the trifecta. (I did, however, get a commemorative Sue Bird decade bobblehead doll, so I really shouldn't complain.)

In short, I'm spent. And now I have to go back to work. I think I need a weekend to recover from my weekend.

At a loss

It feels like I don't really have anything to say anymore (though that never stopped me before). Maybe I'm just in a funk because I've been sick so long. Or perhaps because the Red Sox didn't get the "spring training is over" memo. Whatever it is, I have the April blahs. I read the latest Kate Atkinson with a quickness, and I liked it, but it's pretty much more of the same, so nothing newsworthy there. I don't know what to read next. J.R. and I have actually managed to almost completely empty the DVR (just a few more episodes of The Good Wife to go, plus my extremely old Lost episodes). I don't feel like watching any of the movies I've got queued up at Netflix. I'm at a loss here, people.

No. 25 in your program, number 1 in your hearts

I know Mike Lowell hasn't been at top form for awhile and I knew it was time for him to retire, but I'm still sad to see him go. Reading Beth's tribute to him made it all sink in. There will be no more heroics from Scenic Lowell for the Sox.

So I did a little digital searching of my own. He grabbed my heart pretty early on, despite replacing my beloved Billy Mueller. When he and Youkilis anchored first and third, it was pure poetry. The man could turn a mean double play. He also knows the hidden-ball trick. Three letters: MVP. I just wish he could have really played third base forever.

A game and a half

Okay, that did not go exactly as I planned it. Well, to be fair, it was going fairly well until the bottom of the ninth. The Sox were up, 6-1, and all we needed was three measly outs to be singing "Dirty Water" softly to ourselves as we walked back to the parking garage. However, Manny Delcarmen had other ideas. Tito had other ideas. Scutaro and Bill Hall? Other ideas. Ideas that included not throwing strikes, giving up a two-run blast, not having someone warming up so you could yank Delcarmen (freshly off the DL) at a moment's notice, and then, why not? Infield errors. Paps finally came in, but he was off his game, too, and fuck it all to hell and back, we're tied, 6-6, at the end of 9. It was awful. I felt like someone kicked me in the gut. I was sure there was no way were were going to win -- I mean, John Lackey was throwing a no-hitter into the 8th! We were up by 5! To the Mariners! I'm pretty sure if NESN was still airing this debacle they showed my "WTF!?!" face multiple times. And as extra innings went on to extra innings, they surely got a glimpse of my "Please god, just let this end" face.

Inexplicably (after Okajima miraculously worked out of a bases-loaded, 1 out situation), the Sox won. Some guy named Patterson hit a 2-run double in the 13th. Ramon Ramirez managed not to suck and got three outs. And it was over. And I still felt sick, because that was some ugly fucking baseball right there. I can forgive bad pitching. Hey, it happens. I'm not as happy about the errors (you heard me, Bill Hall and Marco Scutaro -- no, your homeruns won't save you). And I'm not as happy about Tito putting too much faith in Delcarmen, and not having back-up at the ready. But we won. And we need to do it again. Today.

Happy days are here again

Today, I am happier than I have been in a long, long time. Because today, I will see my beloved Red Sox live and in person. Sure, it'll be at Safeco, a poor substitute for Fenway. Sure, I'll mostly be seeing AAA Pawtucket out there. But they wear the Red Sox uniform, and for that, they are my boys. We're hurting (literally). We're down. But we are not out. Oh, no, we are not out. The season starts now! We win tonight! (Please?)

It's the time of the season

Oh, it begins tonight. (My personal attempt at the steely eyes, but you can see why I'm not the closer, people. That, and I've got no movement on my curveball.)

Two directions

I'm torn between blogging a review of Rachel Getting Married (Anne Hathaway can act!) and posting about my new found fantasy baseball obsession. Obsession may be overstating it -- I just like to check my draft status periodically and then second- and third- and fourth-guess my draft picks. I mean, I can't really go wrong with "draft as many Red Sox players as possible" as my strategy, because no matter what numbers they put up, I'll still love them. I can't say the same for Brian Roberts (my new second baseman who needs to have a monster season yet still manage to lose every time he faces the Sox). Actually, I can't say the same for J.D. "Nancy" Drew who I warily drafted in a later round, as he's never won my heart despite that grand slam a while back. I could have drafted Anne Hathaway as her acting abilities might have enabled her to pull off the elusive "hidden-ball trick," but she was unavailable.

It's getting close

Soon, soon, my friends, sports heaven will be upon me: March Madness, the WNBA draft, baseball's opening days. Oh, man, I cannot wait. It seems like football has been over forever (since 2 minutes into the season, really), and I can't wait to see my boys on the field again. Fu Manchu and everything. Also, I'm totally doing fantasy baseball this year -- although my scientific draft order goes something like this: All Red Sox first, and all Yankees last, and everything in between? Eh. I'm totally winning this league, people.

Things I love tonight

Red Sox playoff baseball.
NCIS. Tony, I've missed you so.
Trashy romance novels brought home by the greatest boyfriend in the world.
Honeycrisp apples.

Paps for president

It was a nice change to see the Sox win one at Safeco tonight. Plus, it's always a pleasure to attend a game where pleasant, yet still drunken, Canadians compliment your team and assure you that they see the boys back in the Fall Classic.

After Matsuzaka let things get a little dicey in the 8th (I told Tito to take him out at pitch 99, but he didn't listen), Papelbon came in to save it all in the 9th. Since he was without his usual Fenway fanfare, the Boston fans in the bleachers cheered him on, including an adorable child in a Paps t-shirt who danced in the aisle. After the win was safely away, Sam commented on how cute the kid in the "Obama shirt" was. Now that's a ticket I'd like to see. Paps can just give any country who attempts to fuck with us the steely eyes, and then we can all go home.

Third time not a charm

Fuck you, Safeco. That fucking field is like Red Sox kryptonite. Two measly hits? That's it? That's all you can do when Wake pitches a gem? There are no words, people. None.

Red Sox West

J.R. surprised me with tickets to tonight's Sox/Mariners game, which was awesome, because I thought we were only going to tomorrow and Wednesday's games. It was also awesome because the Sox finally f-ing won one against the M's, unlike last year. Colon pitched great, Papi hit a bomb, and the rest of the bats showed up in the 8th (or Hernandez finally got tired, one of those two). Papelbon made it a little more interesting than I would like in the 9th, but all in all, good times. There were lots of Sox fans there, and for the most part, the obnoxious level was kept to a minimum. J.R. and I got there extra early, and we got to see batting practice and all the boys up close like.

The return of El Guapo

Okay, he's no Rich Garces, but I'm glad to see the Sox are back to their old ways. After we lost El Guapo, and then big man David Wells, I feared our boys were all going to be string beans (not to be confused with that skinny bastard) like Buchholz. Welcome, Bartolo Colon, to the Red Sox and all their gloriously insane fans. If you pitch half as well as you used to, you're more than welcome here. Of course, if you hoover it up like Gagne last year, prepare for the pain, my friend.

Baseball, I'm so glad you're back.

Welcome back, welcome back, welcome back

Despite how hard it was to actually get back to Boston (has Amtrak ever actually been on time?), once I stepped foot on true Massachusetts soil, all was right with the world and Mike Lowell was at third base forever and angels sang and a Dunkin's was on every corner and I flipped people off in traffic and swore a wicked blue streak.

It's good to be home.

I give you the Boston Red Sox, World Series champions

Oh, hell yeah! That was a thing of beauty, from Lester's terrific pitching to Kielty's pinch-hit bomb to Paps fire-breathing five-out save. And scenic Lowell as MVP? Perfect. Fucking sign that man, Theo.

It's hard to be this far from Boston during the post-season, but it was nice to have Melanie here for the deciding game, like our own little outpost of Red Sox Nation.

Thanks for a great season, boys. See you next spring.

Red Sox Nation

Last night, J.R. and I had to stop watching the Sox game to go pick Melanie up from the airport. (Yes! More visitors.) After some desperate flipping on the AM dial, we finally managed to pick up the game, which then proceeded to go in and out during the ride. Wait, why is Okajima out? Is it still 2-1? Did that guy get on first? Did they just say Paps picked the runner off? Seriously? We arrived at the airport with one out in the top of the ninth, and Melanie's plane had just landed. I knew she would understand, however, so J.R. drove around the parking garage until we go decent reception, and we listened to the glorious final outs.

And then we went to fetch Melanie, and we knew by all the Sox hats which was the plane from Boston.