Hope you all enjoy your Festivus. I aired some grievances today at work. Here are some articles you might find interesting from the News and the Globe.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Saturday, December 19, 2009
"Ok, I have to go and break the coffee table now..."
By mid June of last year I was feeling a bit burnt out. Teaching middle school had taken its toll on me, and I was feeling incredibly stressed about finishing the curriculum on time. With each passing day, my colleagues in the department were moving further and further past me with the material being covered. It had gotten so bad, that some of my students had begun to ask why their friends in other classes had finished this unit in May. My department chair had a meeting with me to discuss strategies of how I could catch up with everybody else. It was a professional low point.
Around May, my cell phone decided that it was no longer going to work. Essentially it became a nice little pocket watch. Texts and calls were not an option, but it was able to save all my phone numbers. Verizon was not to understanding, and basically my options were to tough it out for another month before I would get my phone.
Luckily, in the apartment was a rotary phone that I bought at a street fair in Brooklyn about two years ago. It was great to have, not as convenient as a cell phone though, but beggars can not be choosers. If I was having a whiskey on the rocks after work, I found myself making excuses to use the phone. I felt like I was on Madmen.
It was on the morning of the 11th of June that I went into work, tired, stressed, and annoyed. The Yanks had just finished their 7th consecutive loss to the Red Sox, and I had to listen to the gloating. It was crazy, they could not buy a freaken win against these guys. The AL East standings in my classroom would show that despite the run the Yanks had made, they were two games back the Sox, blowing away their AL East lead. At this point a play off appearance was about as likely as Ronny Rhodes winning the Biggest Loser.
When I got home from work, it became clear that I needed to let off some steam. From my last trip down to Long Island, I brought up some Blue Point Summer Ale. It had been sitting in my room for about two weeks now. 12 beers from my good friends at Blue Bell Beverages of Greenlawn.
I got out some quizzes and began to grade them while the beers cooled down in the fridge before game time. I was going to modify a plan that I learned from my very brief career as a bartender at the Artful Dodger.
A guy would come in around 7:30 on Tuesdays and order a couple of rounds of Killian's. Since he made up half the total population of the bar we would have some pretty good conversations. He was also a huge Yankee fan, and a great person to watch the games with. Didn't take up too much air time during the game, but had some really interesting anecdotes about going to the Stadium in the mid and late 90s.
During his "wild years" as he fondly called them, he and his buddies had developed a strategy to end any losing streak the Yankees were suffering through. A simple, two part formula that had to be followed was the key to their success.
I. You needed to consume one beer an inning. If you finished before the inning was over, you were not to pause, but continue.
II. Take a shot every time the Yankees score a run.
This slump buster, was apparently fool proof when all this buddies did this together as a team.
So, several years later and in the comforts of my living room, I took it upon myself to try his policy to stop the skid against the Sox.
As C.C. pitched, I pounded my Blue Points pretty quickly. It is amazing how much you can accomplish when you have a purpose. I would say by the 6th inning, the 12 pack was gone and I had raided the fridge for some Harpoons. Other than Ortiz's shot, things did not look to bad for the Yanks, and I relaxed a bit.
It was during the bottom of the 7th inning, flush from a 3 run Yankee attack, that I began to make some phone calls using the rotary phone. That was a challenge. Drunk and naturally uncoordinated people were not mean to use a rotary phone. Half way through dialing a number I forgot who I was calling, hung up and dialed my parents. (apparently for the second time that night)
When it fell apart in the bottom of the 8th, I was seething. I was talking to Billy at the time, and must have been on the phone with him for awhile. The title, was my apparent closing remarks before I hung up the phone on him.
*Note: I am not a violent person by any means, or a violent drunk for that matter. In the events that follow, I am completely out of character.
I threw the stuffed fake moose head we had at the wall by the T.V. This left a nice little dent in the wall. After that I flipped over the glass coffee table in the living room. It was at that moment, I realized that I was being a complete asshole. However, it was too late, there was a mound of shattered glass in the middle of the room.
I do not recall cleaning up the mess, but I did an outstanding job. No glass shards were ever found in the rug or anywhere for that matter. I also took the liberty to write an apology note to my roommates and hammer it (no nail was used, but a screw) to the entrance of the living room.
Work sucked the next day. This was left in my room, and I was hung over to boot. afterwards. I was mad at myself for acting like an immature ass and not having a lunch at work as well.
I know I am not the first fan to break furniture after a loss, but I plan on being a first time offender.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
"Buy any outfielders lately?"
I have to say that there is an aid that works in the building who is from Wellesley that I hate, and I do not use the turn loosely. Here is someone who has successfully found a way to irk me and get under my skin.
When he found out I was from New York, the Joe Torre book had just come out and he would ask me about that. I was reading it around the same time as he was, so our conversations were pretty civil and centered around the book. Things turned sour in the months of May and June. The former coffee table in the living room can attest to that.
When the Yanks could not buy a win against the Sox this spring, he was there busting my chops. If he wasn't such a douche bag, it probably would not have fazed me so much. I am not quite sure, but my bet is the last athletic things this guy did was a wiffle ball game in college with his other fagola friends.
When he commented on another Yankee loss last spring, I kindly told him that he was wearing women pants and walked out of my cafeteria duty. Not the most professional thing to do in the work place, but what is done is done. Turns out they were not for women, but for preppy douches.
When the Yanks won the World Series, he was subbing in for someone and asked if I was feeling pretty good. "Probably as good as you did when you found a cheat code for Rock Band asshole" Ok, I left out the asshole part, but the first part is true.
When the Yanks signed Granderson, He made that comment to me in the hallway. I will be honest, he looked legitimately disappointed when he said it. Like he was in a class that was being punished but he didn't make fart noised behind the subs back. I told him that I was pretty shocked by it, and that was the way the game worked. If he didn't like it, don't watch. He shook his head at me, and sulked off.
For the last few weeks, the press hear having been sounding the alarms about the Sox and the Pats making awful front office moves. Everyday I looked forward to reading the Globe, and it was some of the best radio that I could have been listening to. The sound of New Englanders whining was music to my ears.
All that gloom and doom talk seems to be gone now. Hideki Matsui is now on the Angels, and there is a chance that Chien Ming Wang will not be back next year. The Red Sox has made a move in the arms race against the Yankees by signing John Lackey. Up here in Boston, the same people who were calling for Theo's head on a platter, are once again singing his praises.
I guess thats how it works in sport, one minute your being recommended for special ed, the next your on the honor roll.
Monday, December 7, 2009
"Joe DiMaggio was a better baseball player because he married Marilyn Monroe" or Fueling the Rivalry
I found a way to successfully bring a baseball debate into the classroom that had to do with my school curriculum. The 8th grade writes a paper on the mills of Lowell. There are several options for how the students can approach the Lowell paper but the most common essay topics are the following
1. was working at Lowell a good thing or a bad thing for the Mill Girls?
2. how did the factory owners at Lowell deny power to the Mill Girls? How did the Mill Girls respond?
For about one month, the kids are bombarded with primary and secondary sources on the Industrial Revolution and the city of Lowell. The process tends to burn us (the kids and the teachers) out, and grading tends to me slow going.
One of my major concerns with this project is that it is the first time these kids are writing a paper for Social Studies and many of them have a hard time defending or proving a thesis. Teaching writing has always been a daunting task for me, and I never am satisfied with my lessons. My goal was to teach my students how to use Primary Sources to defend a statement and have them write a brief paper before the Lowell essay.
Sports might be the most argued and debated topic in some places, even more so then politics. It would be the perfect lesson to teach my students how to defend an argument and to prove something. So, I turned to baseball.
Getting ready for the Walk a few years ago, I read about every available book that I could find on either the Yankees or the Red Sox including biographies of certain players. The debate over who was greater Ted Williams or Joe DiMaggio was often discussed in those books. Teaching exactly 11 miles from Fenway Park, I knew that I had my topic.
I broke several copyright laws over the next few days and made copies of pages from Teammates and Summer of '49, both by David Halbstram, Emperors and Idiots, and The Curse of the Bambino. I made copies of DiMaggio's obituary from the New York Times, as well as an article from when he retired that was available online. I also brought in copies of editorials and obituaries on Ted Williams.
I realized that having a third statement to support might be a good option to have. I thought about Pa, and how highly he spoke about Joe DiMaggio. My third essay topic became, "Joe DiMaggio was a positive role model for Italian-Americans." I found some editorials online that would help the students prove this case. To give them more sources, I highlighted several pages of Richard Ben Cramer's biography of Joe D.
The classes were divided into groups that were assigned one of the thesis statements and spent the first two days gathering evidence and writing opening paragraphs. Some of them got really into it, it was amazing. There were some rough spots, like the quote that is the title, but I was really happy with the results.
The debate was something that they were now apart of, something that the media and the fans would speak about for over 60 years. For most of these kids it was the first time that they actually saw the accomplishments of two of the greatest ball players that have ever lived. I was glad I could show them just how amazing both of those athletes were.
Kids who normally don't speak in class participated and shared their arguments and evidence with the class. I had one students bring in actual photographs of Joe DiMaggio his brother Dominic and Ted Williams that she found in her grandfather's basement. The topic seemed to bring even the shyest kids out of their shell for a bit.
But, In the end, it might have been the student wearing an Ortiz shirt writing how Joe DiMaggio was better then Ted Williams my most awarding moment.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
"See up here we like to win our World Series in 4 Games"
I am a superstitious person when it comes to certain things. At school, I need to park my car at a certain spot, and drink coffee from the appropriate mug on the right day. I do not know how it started, but it kind of just happened. When it comes to watching a game, I have my own little rituals and habits that I guess are not too uncommon in the world of fandom.
During the World Series I started to wear a gift my mom got for me on my 16th birthday, a commemorative 1998 New York Yankees World Series watch. The battery had died about 5 years ago, but other then that it was in excellent condition. I would wear the watch during the day, and once the game started it would be taken off and placed on the new coffee table in my apartment. (The coffee table being new is a different story) It was weird wearing a watch that didn't work, especially when somebody asked me what time it was and I replied that I did not know.
Another element of crazy that I started to do, actually began during the playoffs. During the games I would only drink two different beers, Rolling Rocks and Ballantines. The reasons being, Rolling Rocks were the favorite beer of my grandfather, who is the whole reason I am even a fan, and Ballantine Ale used to be the official sponsor of the New York Yankees. A home run in Yankee Stadium used to be called a "Ballantine Bash" by former Yankee announcer Mel Allen. Needless to say, there were some long playoff games that lead to rough days at work the next day.
Finally, there was a family jinx that I felt I needed to rectify. I could easily be mistaken with the year that this event occurred, regardless here is the story:
My brother and I went to a party in the summer of 2001. We were both working at a summer camp, and parties at a staff members were very quick to throw a party when parents were gone for a weekend. At this party, my brother Vinnie went into the fridge and found a bottle of champagne. To the delight of all but the residents of the house, Vinnie opened up the bottle of champagne and started to spray it all over the kitchen. He jumped up and down shouting, "I'm the New York Yankees!!" We got the pictures to prove it.
The playoff story of the Yankees up until this year did not end with a champagne shower.
So, the afternoon of Game Six, I went to pick up some more Ballantine and Rolling Rock, and purchased a bottle of cheap champagne . I told myself, "If they win, I am spraying champagne and canceling out Vinnie." I even talked to Vinnie on the phone when I made my purchase. My fear then became that the bottle of champagne would remain uncorked and become a symbol of my stupidity. If this became a Buckner game, I would have blamed myself.
When Jobba came in for Petite in the sixth I began to get ready. On my itunes I got New York, New York ready to play. (something I regretfully did in Game 4 in the ALCS) I cord plugged ithe laptop nto the T.V. so it would be loud enough for my neighbors to hear Sinatra. I got my champagne bottle out of the fridge and opened the window in anticipation.
When the final out was made, I threw the window open and popped the champagne bottle. I yelled, "Fuck you Boston!", and blasted Sinatra. The volume was as loud as possible, and thanks to the bass the walls shook a bit.
Then I stood there, and watched the post game celebrations on the field. A-Rod awkwardly running with his hands up, Jeter's fist pump, the dugout clearing were all played out to Sinatra's voice. When I saw the coaches hug each other, I felt proud of Girardi.
Suddenly, I became reflective about how much had changed for me, since the last time the Yankees won.
The last time the Yankees won I watched the World Series with my grandfather. I was a senior in high school, and had not even applied to any colleges. Pa was rooting to Mike Piazza during that series because he was Italian, and a Roman Catholic. The last World Series game my grandfather watched, was Game 6 of the 2003 World Series.
My cousin Nicky wasn't married yet. Now, he has a beautiful wife Liz, and two sons, Lucca and Jude. Jude was born the day the Yankees won the pennant this year.
My aunt Judi was diagnosed with brain cancer last year, and was to weak to make it to the last game at Old Stadium. Now, a year later, she was at the New Stadium watching the Yankees celebrate first hand, and taking part in the "Whose your Daddy?" chants.
My sisters, Anastasia and Zina were not even here when the Yankees won in 2000. They were both toddlers living in Russia.
My father was not yet a lieutenant in the FDNY. He was taking courses to study for the exam.
I went from being on Cloud 9 to suddenly very, very homesick. I wanted to be at St. Anthony's tomorrow, talking to the other Yankee fans about it. Making plans for the parade with people. I wanted to listen to Mike Francessa talk on the FAN about the Series. I wanted the Daily News, and CBS 880, Eyewitness News in the morning with Joel Nolan and Bille Evens telling about parade day traffic and weather.
Instead I went to bed and woke up to 98.5 the Sports Hub. I had Toucher and Rich talk about the Yankees win, and WBZ tell me about the weather in New England. I did wear my Derek Jeter jersey to work that day, which is what prompted that title comment from a student. That pissed me off. This little shit was ignorant of the World Series in 1947, 1967, 1975, and 1986. Which I enlightened him in class, then I asked him where Pedroia and Varitek were.
The payroll came up in conversation several times. I don't care if the Yankees had C.C. or Texiera, or a Babe Ruth clone. They did it, and that was all that mattered to me. You don't like it, well don't watch and Fuck you. I am enjoying my moment.
Some of my colleagues were gracious enough to congratulate me during the day, something I could have never done. Only one real person gave me a hard time that day, a guy who works at the Italian deli in Wellesley. We get lunch there probably once a week, it is amazing. The dialogue went something like this:
Deli Guy: (seeing my Jeter jersey) oh, you gotta wear that in here today!?! What are you showing off?
me: What? How am I showing off? If your team won would you be showing off?
D.G.: well..
me: no! Then why am I a show off?
D.G: come on get outta here
me: if you want me to leave I will, but you damn well know that I got like a $40 lunch order going right now. You know you want my money
D.G.: alright
me: let's face it. You wanted us to win, you needed us to win. You want me on that wall. You need me on that wall!
D.G: I would never root for the Yankees
Hey, he and I both know that we need each other, I wasn't leaving since he's got great prosciutto from Parma, and he wasn't kicking me out since I am paying his kid's college tuition.
During the World Series I started to wear a gift my mom got for me on my 16th birthday, a commemorative 1998 New York Yankees World Series watch. The battery had died about 5 years ago, but other then that it was in excellent condition. I would wear the watch during the day, and once the game started it would be taken off and placed on the new coffee table in my apartment. (The coffee table being new is a different story) It was weird wearing a watch that didn't work, especially when somebody asked me what time it was and I replied that I did not know.
Another element of crazy that I started to do, actually began during the playoffs. During the games I would only drink two different beers, Rolling Rocks and Ballantines. The reasons being, Rolling Rocks were the favorite beer of my grandfather, who is the whole reason I am even a fan, and Ballantine Ale used to be the official sponsor of the New York Yankees. A home run in Yankee Stadium used to be called a "Ballantine Bash" by former Yankee announcer Mel Allen. Needless to say, there were some long playoff games that lead to rough days at work the next day.
Finally, there was a family jinx that I felt I needed to rectify. I could easily be mistaken with the year that this event occurred, regardless here is the story:
My brother and I went to a party in the summer of 2001. We were both working at a summer camp, and parties at a staff members were very quick to throw a party when parents were gone for a weekend. At this party, my brother Vinnie went into the fridge and found a bottle of champagne. To the delight of all but the residents of the house, Vinnie opened up the bottle of champagne and started to spray it all over the kitchen. He jumped up and down shouting, "I'm the New York Yankees!!" We got the pictures to prove it.
The playoff story of the Yankees up until this year did not end with a champagne shower.
So, the afternoon of Game Six, I went to pick up some more Ballantine and Rolling Rock, and purchased a bottle of cheap champagne . I told myself, "If they win, I am spraying champagne and canceling out Vinnie." I even talked to Vinnie on the phone when I made my purchase. My fear then became that the bottle of champagne would remain uncorked and become a symbol of my stupidity. If this became a Buckner game, I would have blamed myself.
When Jobba came in for Petite in the sixth I began to get ready. On my itunes I got New York, New York ready to play. (something I regretfully did in Game 4 in the ALCS) I cord plugged ithe laptop nto the T.V. so it would be loud enough for my neighbors to hear Sinatra. I got my champagne bottle out of the fridge and opened the window in anticipation.
When the final out was made, I threw the window open and popped the champagne bottle. I yelled, "Fuck you Boston!", and blasted Sinatra. The volume was as loud as possible, and thanks to the bass the walls shook a bit.
Then I stood there, and watched the post game celebrations on the field. A-Rod awkwardly running with his hands up, Jeter's fist pump, the dugout clearing were all played out to Sinatra's voice. When I saw the coaches hug each other, I felt proud of Girardi.
Suddenly, I became reflective about how much had changed for me, since the last time the Yankees won.
The last time the Yankees won I watched the World Series with my grandfather. I was a senior in high school, and had not even applied to any colleges. Pa was rooting to Mike Piazza during that series because he was Italian, and a Roman Catholic. The last World Series game my grandfather watched, was Game 6 of the 2003 World Series.
My cousin Nicky wasn't married yet. Now, he has a beautiful wife Liz, and two sons, Lucca and Jude. Jude was born the day the Yankees won the pennant this year.
My aunt Judi was diagnosed with brain cancer last year, and was to weak to make it to the last game at Old Stadium. Now, a year later, she was at the New Stadium watching the Yankees celebrate first hand, and taking part in the "Whose your Daddy?" chants.
My sisters, Anastasia and Zina were not even here when the Yankees won in 2000. They were both toddlers living in Russia.
My father was not yet a lieutenant in the FDNY. He was taking courses to study for the exam.
I went from being on Cloud 9 to suddenly very, very homesick. I wanted to be at St. Anthony's tomorrow, talking to the other Yankee fans about it. Making plans for the parade with people. I wanted to listen to Mike Francessa talk on the FAN about the Series. I wanted the Daily News, and CBS 880, Eyewitness News in the morning with Joel Nolan and Bille Evens telling about parade day traffic and weather.
Instead I went to bed and woke up to 98.5 the Sports Hub. I had Toucher and Rich talk about the Yankees win, and WBZ tell me about the weather in New England. I did wear my Derek Jeter jersey to work that day, which is what prompted that title comment from a student. That pissed me off. This little shit was ignorant of the World Series in 1947, 1967, 1975, and 1986. Which I enlightened him in class, then I asked him where Pedroia and Varitek were.
The payroll came up in conversation several times. I don't care if the Yankees had C.C. or Texiera, or a Babe Ruth clone. They did it, and that was all that mattered to me. You don't like it, well don't watch and Fuck you. I am enjoying my moment.
Some of my colleagues were gracious enough to congratulate me during the day, something I could have never done. Only one real person gave me a hard time that day, a guy who works at the Italian deli in Wellesley. We get lunch there probably once a week, it is amazing. The dialogue went something like this:
Deli Guy: (seeing my Jeter jersey) oh, you gotta wear that in here today!?! What are you showing off?
me: What? How am I showing off? If your team won would you be showing off?
D.G.: well..
me: no! Then why am I a show off?
D.G: come on get outta here
me: if you want me to leave I will, but you damn well know that I got like a $40 lunch order going right now. You know you want my money
D.G.: alright
me: let's face it. You wanted us to win, you needed us to win. You want me on that wall. You need me on that wall!
D.G: I would never root for the Yankees
Hey, he and I both know that we need each other, I wasn't leaving since he's got great prosciutto from Parma, and he wasn't kicking me out since I am paying his kid's college tuition.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
"Hey, Gehrig batted after Ruth...No worries!" (punctuation mine)
The title of this blog is a text I got from John after a more ominous and threatening message that read:
"blog or no sandals"
I told John that after reading his last two posts I couldn't possibly blog ever again...anywhere on the internet. Well, it wasn't that dramatic, but you get the idea. Anyway, John inspired me with his words of encouragement about Gehrig and Ruth and then Meagan kept badgering me to blog as well, so here I am blogging to close out the trip...A week later.
The last day was pretty humdrum in comparison to the other days. Meagan's knee was still bothering her and she joined us about 12 miles in at the beginning of the Boston Marathon Route for the remaining 25+ miles. The start of the ride was hilly, but not asskicking hilly...With the only exception being one hill on Main St. in Hopkinton in which I unsuccessfully tried to goose John, bumped into his tire causing him to lose momentum and forcing him to walk up the hill (I made it to the top...I apologized to him afterwards).
The Marathon route consisted of a beer at the Happy Swallow, a delightful lunch and one final (albeit incomplete) game of "I Went to Fenway Pahk"...I can't remember the whole thing, but there was an Ahdvahk (like an anteater), My Brother Tawmmy, The Green Mawnsta, Ice Cream Bahs, Those Damn Red Sawks, Manny Hair, A Friggin Sweet Hat and most importantly, Timy brought
THE HURT!
This game helped to distract us for a good portion of the ride, although I'm sure the fact that it was the last day was always in the back of all of our minds. But it wasn't until we saw the Citgo sign by Fenway that it dawned on me that we had actually done it...We had completed the ride...Or had we?
That's right loyal readers (aka Mrs. Letson)...Although we did indeed make it from Point A (Yankee Stadium) to Point B (Fenway), did we actual COMPLETE the ride? The answer is, no...We didn't. And in fact, nobody has!!
That's right...NOBODY. Sorry Liz...Sorry Bea...But it's a fact. Yes, mileage-wise MAYBE the two of you did, BUT...Not a single rider over the last two years has rode his or her bike from the starting point of every day to the end point of every day. I know I got us lost on day one last year, and I still feel bad but we didn't finish the day.
Don't get me wrong...There's no better feeling in the world on the ride then getting to Fenway and placing your hand on that rollup garage door. At the same time, what we accomplished is not diminished by the fact that we did not ride the entire route. It is still a tremendous feat of skill, strength and will.
What does it mean?
Simple...We have to do it again.
As I said last year, and ad nauseum this year, everything happens for a reason...So the cab rides each of the last two years were unavoidable...The results of our decisions AND events beyond our control. If we're determined to finish this ride, we'll do it again. Unlike last year, I'm not hesitant to commit to the ride again a week after having finished it. I would gladly do it again, and fully intend to if there is a willing contingent of riders with whom to take the journey.
In the interim, I'll prepare myself and hope for the best.
I had a blast this year and shared some great experiences with some really amazing people and I loved every minute of it...EVERY minute of it...The good, the bad AND the ugly. Until next year sports fans...Or maybe if I post once more...
So it goes...
"blog or no sandals"
I told John that after reading his last two posts I couldn't possibly blog ever again...anywhere on the internet. Well, it wasn't that dramatic, but you get the idea. Anyway, John inspired me with his words of encouragement about Gehrig and Ruth and then Meagan kept badgering me to blog as well, so here I am blogging to close out the trip...A week later.
The last day was pretty humdrum in comparison to the other days. Meagan's knee was still bothering her and she joined us about 12 miles in at the beginning of the Boston Marathon Route for the remaining 25+ miles. The start of the ride was hilly, but not asskicking hilly...With the only exception being one hill on Main St. in Hopkinton in which I unsuccessfully tried to goose John, bumped into his tire causing him to lose momentum and forcing him to walk up the hill (I made it to the top...I apologized to him afterwards).
The Marathon route consisted of a beer at the Happy Swallow, a delightful lunch and one final (albeit incomplete) game of "I Went to Fenway Pahk"...I can't remember the whole thing, but there was an Ahdvahk (like an anteater), My Brother Tawmmy, The Green Mawnsta, Ice Cream Bahs, Those Damn Red Sawks, Manny Hair, A Friggin Sweet Hat and most importantly, Timy brought
THE HURT!
This game helped to distract us for a good portion of the ride, although I'm sure the fact that it was the last day was always in the back of all of our minds. But it wasn't until we saw the Citgo sign by Fenway that it dawned on me that we had actually done it...We had completed the ride...Or had we?
That's right loyal readers (aka Mrs. Letson)...Although we did indeed make it from Point A (Yankee Stadium) to Point B (Fenway), did we actual COMPLETE the ride? The answer is, no...We didn't. And in fact, nobody has!!
That's right...NOBODY. Sorry Liz...Sorry Bea...But it's a fact. Yes, mileage-wise MAYBE the two of you did, BUT...Not a single rider over the last two years has rode his or her bike from the starting point of every day to the end point of every day. I know I got us lost on day one last year, and I still feel bad but we didn't finish the day.
Don't get me wrong...There's no better feeling in the world on the ride then getting to Fenway and placing your hand on that rollup garage door. At the same time, what we accomplished is not diminished by the fact that we did not ride the entire route. It is still a tremendous feat of skill, strength and will.
What does it mean?
Simple...We have to do it again.
As I said last year, and ad nauseum this year, everything happens for a reason...So the cab rides each of the last two years were unavoidable...The results of our decisions AND events beyond our control. If we're determined to finish this ride, we'll do it again. Unlike last year, I'm not hesitant to commit to the ride again a week after having finished it. I would gladly do it again, and fully intend to if there is a willing contingent of riders with whom to take the journey.
In the interim, I'll prepare myself and hope for the best.
I had a blast this year and shared some great experiences with some really amazing people and I loved every minute of it...EVERY minute of it...The good, the bad AND the ugly. Until next year sports fans...Or maybe if I post once more...
So it goes...
Monday, August 10, 2009
"Welcome to the Audi Club"
Over the past few months there have been reviews of the New Stadium by papers, magazines, current and former players,T.V. stations, and countless bloggers. This isnt about the Stadium but about my family.
My Aunt Judy was a season tickt holder since the early 70s. After Pa, I would say that she is the biggest Yankee fan in the family. Her seats were simply amazing. Overlooking the Yankees batter box you were so close you could see individual sweat drops beading down Giambi's neck. I have gotten to go to some games with my cousin Mary or my Aunt, and I will never forget them. When the new Stadium plans came out, the Yankees left her and many other fans in the dark. Her seats were no longer affordable. After over 30 years of loyal patronage, no bargain, no discount, no nothing. Out in the cold, to make room for corporate sponers and company seats. When I hear about the empty seats in first rows of the Stadium, I think serves them right. They boxed out good people, and kharma is a bitch.
My Aunt was diagnosed with brain cancer last fall. I found out shortly after I moved up to Boston and started working at the Middle School. I was floored, and a million thoughts rushed through my head. I never felt so far from home in my life. In the past, I felt that I had always been able to step up to the plate when the family needed me, now it was as if I was useless.
The next few weekends I drove down from Boston to home on a regular basis. I went to the hospital, baby sat, and did whatever I could to try and help. The Yanks were out of the play off race, letting her down again. She was to sick to make it to the last game at the Stadium, and most of my family had no intrest in watching it anyway. (I think the tickets are still in her house)
I am happy to say that she has rebounded, and was strong enough to make it to Opening Day at the New Stadium. I do not know if it was irony or fate, but she has been getting treatment at Sloan Kettering, a charity that we gave money to last year. The people at Sloan are really exceptional, and for me the trip now meant more to me.
As Judy, myslf, my cousin Nicky, and his son Luca, walked into the Great Hall before the game there was a Dinseyesque atmosphere to the place. Sox and Yanks fans milled around gazing at the banners of Yankee greats, or stared at the jumbo tron showing batting practice. Sons and fathers posed under signs, as we headed towards our seats. Seeing my cousin with his son on his shoulders made me so happy. Luca was taking it all in, excited to see Derek Jeter, and more excited about his new shirt. He called the Yankees his team, and I hope it stays that way.
The seats were given to my Aunt by her friend Billy. Billy had reserved seats in the Audi Club for the four of us for 7. Judy said we would go up after the first inning. Walking around the Stadium, I could see the old one out of the corner of my eye. It was covered in a black screen, in preperation for the dismantling, it looked like it was wearing a mourning veil.
My Aunt and I attempted to make it to the Yankee Museum and were greeted by a 90 minute wait. She was willing to stick it out, but I was not. Im not going to make her stand there and miss the first few innings.
After a very quick first inning, we went to the Audi Club. A private elevator and an air conditioned lobby greeted us. Inside the lobby was a statue of George M. Steinbrenner III, sternly guarding the entrance way. I laughed out loud, as I passed the Boss and was greeted by an elevator operator. Judy and I then went to the Audi Club, and were given a warm reception.
The seats were plush, and we found a view with several flatsreens on the wall. Nicky and Luca came up a few minutes after us, and I could tell by Nicky's eyes that he did not want to stick around. Luca could not sit still, and thought that he would not get his seat by the field back, so Nicky went back to the seats. I was staying, I saw that there was sushi.
A whole dinner table filled with sushi. Rows and rows of beatiful looking tuna, slamon, shrimp, and California rolls waiting for me. Now, I did not know that the sushi was not self serve, so I walked over with my plate and started filling my plate as if I had just escaped a famined nation, I was approached by a server who loudly told me, "hey! You have to get served You can't touch the fish." I quickly said I was sorry, and saw that only five people were staring at me shaking their heads. So it could have been worse. By the third time I made it up to the sushi, the server was my buddy and hooked it up.
Judy looked relaxed and seemed to enjoy the a/c and the comfy seat. On her plate was some leftover Yankee potroast sliders and a piece of dessert. She encouraged me to eat more, which I olbliged. (Hey, you got to get your money's worth"
Around the fifth inning (don't judge me) we made it back to our seats. With my mercury level probably at an unhealthy level and my stomach filled with filet mignon I limped along my aunt, perfectly content. Then, I saw the black veil, and I felt so guilty. I was a bleacher guy at the Old Stadium, and here I was fresh from the Audi Club. I felt like Fredo being confronted by Michael, I did something wrong and was caught, the boat ride could not have been to far off.
Back at the seats Judy and I heckled the Sox players. She agreed that Pedroia looked like a smug asshole in his picture on the big screen. She also said that Youk looked like a child molestor. I told her about Varitek and the affaisr he had with the woman from NESN, that was interesting to her. Oh, and three rows in front of me, Stephen Colbert. Yeah, from the Report. He drank Bud Light, has two young sons, and a daughter, probably in high school. He sang God Bless America, wears Gap Jeans, and has an iPhone, with a Star Wars Storm Trooper decal on the back. No, I didn't yell his name but I did make him laugh with my heckling.
We left at the top of the 8th one of the greatest and longest games between the Sox and Yanks. *Hey, Luca is 3. If it was up to me, we would have stayed until the 15th, and he could have napped in the chair. I watched the rest of the game in my recliner at home, thanking God I saved my ticket.
In one of my classes this summer, an assignment was to use clay and create a memorial for anything we wanted. We had about 45 minutes, and were supposed to write on a piece of paper a brief description of what it meant. I am far from artistic, and my abilities range from stick figures to drawing Garfield. I did know what I wanted, and now I wish I took a picture but I will desribe it.
It was a baseball diamond, complete with foul poles. On first base, was what was supposed to be a wooden chair. On second base there was a more modern looking chair. Third base had a bench on it, and home plate was left alone.
One the card was my description:
Yankee Stadium 1923-2008
Three Generations of Yankee Fans
First Base: "The Old Stadium"
My Grandfather was the first Yankee fan in my family. He went there to watch his favorite player Joe DiMaggio play. He is the one who started it all
Second Base: "The Bronx Zoo"
My mom went to the games in the 1970s during the heyday of the "Bronx Zoo". She watched Guidry pitch, and Munson catch. She continued the flame
Third Base "The Bleachers"
I love the bleachers, and spent most of the games that I could afford out there. I took my sisters to their first game in the left field bleachers, and got a package deal for the Last Season.
Yankee Stadium had entertained, intimidated, thrilled, dissapointed, and exhilerated three generations of my family. We all could count on sharing that one common experience of a Yankee game as if it was one of the Sacrements of growing up. For that, I am eternally grateful for but also sorry for. My children and grandchildren will only know about the "House that Ruth Built" from stories and photgraphs. Like love one that has passed away, the experiences at the Stadium become somthing larger then life. The Yankees have been apart of my family since my grandfather was a small child in Little Italy, and will continue to be as his grandchildren grow up and have families of their own.
My Aunt Judy was a season tickt holder since the early 70s. After Pa, I would say that she is the biggest Yankee fan in the family. Her seats were simply amazing. Overlooking the Yankees batter box you were so close you could see individual sweat drops beading down Giambi's neck. I have gotten to go to some games with my cousin Mary or my Aunt, and I will never forget them. When the new Stadium plans came out, the Yankees left her and many other fans in the dark. Her seats were no longer affordable. After over 30 years of loyal patronage, no bargain, no discount, no nothing. Out in the cold, to make room for corporate sponers and company seats. When I hear about the empty seats in first rows of the Stadium, I think serves them right. They boxed out good people, and kharma is a bitch.
My Aunt was diagnosed with brain cancer last fall. I found out shortly after I moved up to Boston and started working at the Middle School. I was floored, and a million thoughts rushed through my head. I never felt so far from home in my life. In the past, I felt that I had always been able to step up to the plate when the family needed me, now it was as if I was useless.
The next few weekends I drove down from Boston to home on a regular basis. I went to the hospital, baby sat, and did whatever I could to try and help. The Yanks were out of the play off race, letting her down again. She was to sick to make it to the last game at the Stadium, and most of my family had no intrest in watching it anyway. (I think the tickets are still in her house)
I am happy to say that she has rebounded, and was strong enough to make it to Opening Day at the New Stadium. I do not know if it was irony or fate, but she has been getting treatment at Sloan Kettering, a charity that we gave money to last year. The people at Sloan are really exceptional, and for me the trip now meant more to me.
As Judy, myslf, my cousin Nicky, and his son Luca, walked into the Great Hall before the game there was a Dinseyesque atmosphere to the place. Sox and Yanks fans milled around gazing at the banners of Yankee greats, or stared at the jumbo tron showing batting practice. Sons and fathers posed under signs, as we headed towards our seats. Seeing my cousin with his son on his shoulders made me so happy. Luca was taking it all in, excited to see Derek Jeter, and more excited about his new shirt. He called the Yankees his team, and I hope it stays that way.
The seats were given to my Aunt by her friend Billy. Billy had reserved seats in the Audi Club for the four of us for 7. Judy said we would go up after the first inning. Walking around the Stadium, I could see the old one out of the corner of my eye. It was covered in a black screen, in preperation for the dismantling, it looked like it was wearing a mourning veil.
My Aunt and I attempted to make it to the Yankee Museum and were greeted by a 90 minute wait. She was willing to stick it out, but I was not. Im not going to make her stand there and miss the first few innings.
After a very quick first inning, we went to the Audi Club. A private elevator and an air conditioned lobby greeted us. Inside the lobby was a statue of George M. Steinbrenner III, sternly guarding the entrance way. I laughed out loud, as I passed the Boss and was greeted by an elevator operator. Judy and I then went to the Audi Club, and were given a warm reception.
The seats were plush, and we found a view with several flatsreens on the wall. Nicky and Luca came up a few minutes after us, and I could tell by Nicky's eyes that he did not want to stick around. Luca could not sit still, and thought that he would not get his seat by the field back, so Nicky went back to the seats. I was staying, I saw that there was sushi.
A whole dinner table filled with sushi. Rows and rows of beatiful looking tuna, slamon, shrimp, and California rolls waiting for me. Now, I did not know that the sushi was not self serve, so I walked over with my plate and started filling my plate as if I had just escaped a famined nation, I was approached by a server who loudly told me, "hey! You have to get served You can't touch the fish." I quickly said I was sorry, and saw that only five people were staring at me shaking their heads. So it could have been worse. By the third time I made it up to the sushi, the server was my buddy and hooked it up.
Judy looked relaxed and seemed to enjoy the a/c and the comfy seat. On her plate was some leftover Yankee potroast sliders and a piece of dessert. She encouraged me to eat more, which I olbliged. (Hey, you got to get your money's worth"
Around the fifth inning (don't judge me) we made it back to our seats. With my mercury level probably at an unhealthy level and my stomach filled with filet mignon I limped along my aunt, perfectly content. Then, I saw the black veil, and I felt so guilty. I was a bleacher guy at the Old Stadium, and here I was fresh from the Audi Club. I felt like Fredo being confronted by Michael, I did something wrong and was caught, the boat ride could not have been to far off.
Back at the seats Judy and I heckled the Sox players. She agreed that Pedroia looked like a smug asshole in his picture on the big screen. She also said that Youk looked like a child molestor. I told her about Varitek and the affaisr he had with the woman from NESN, that was interesting to her. Oh, and three rows in front of me, Stephen Colbert. Yeah, from the Report. He drank Bud Light, has two young sons, and a daughter, probably in high school. He sang God Bless America, wears Gap Jeans, and has an iPhone, with a Star Wars Storm Trooper decal on the back. No, I didn't yell his name but I did make him laugh with my heckling.
We left at the top of the 8th one of the greatest and longest games between the Sox and Yanks. *Hey, Luca is 3. If it was up to me, we would have stayed until the 15th, and he could have napped in the chair. I watched the rest of the game in my recliner at home, thanking God I saved my ticket.
In one of my classes this summer, an assignment was to use clay and create a memorial for anything we wanted. We had about 45 minutes, and were supposed to write on a piece of paper a brief description of what it meant. I am far from artistic, and my abilities range from stick figures to drawing Garfield. I did know what I wanted, and now I wish I took a picture but I will desribe it.
It was a baseball diamond, complete with foul poles. On first base, was what was supposed to be a wooden chair. On second base there was a more modern looking chair. Third base had a bench on it, and home plate was left alone.
One the card was my description:
Yankee Stadium 1923-2008
Three Generations of Yankee Fans
First Base: "The Old Stadium"
My Grandfather was the first Yankee fan in my family. He went there to watch his favorite player Joe DiMaggio play. He is the one who started it all
Second Base: "The Bronx Zoo"
My mom went to the games in the 1970s during the heyday of the "Bronx Zoo". She watched Guidry pitch, and Munson catch. She continued the flame
Third Base "The Bleachers"
I love the bleachers, and spent most of the games that I could afford out there. I took my sisters to their first game in the left field bleachers, and got a package deal for the Last Season.
Yankee Stadium had entertained, intimidated, thrilled, dissapointed, and exhilerated three generations of my family. We all could count on sharing that one common experience of a Yankee game as if it was one of the Sacrements of growing up. For that, I am eternally grateful for but also sorry for. My children and grandchildren will only know about the "House that Ruth Built" from stories and photgraphs. Like love one that has passed away, the experiences at the Stadium become somthing larger then life. The Yankees have been apart of my family since my grandfather was a small child in Little Italy, and will continue to be as his grandchildren grow up and have families of their own.
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