Happy Festivus

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.

"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. 

"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. 

"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.  

"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.