Ever get annoyed? Ever feel like someone needs to be told where the dog died? Or handed a crowbar and a tub of Elbow Grease to help them pry their head out of their arse? Congratulations--you've come to the right place.

And when I'm not commenting on the latest thing to piss me off, I'm trying to figure out my own twisted life. Because, hey, I'm like that.

On a gentler note: for anyone dealing with depression, anxiety, and other assorted bullshit: You are NOT alone.

And if you're looking for a laugh, search on the key word "fuckery." It's just my little thing (as the bishop said to the actress).

Friday, April 8, 2011

"They sang another victory song..."


Tessie, 'nuff said, McGreevy shouted,

"We're not here to mess around.

Boston, you know we love ya madly

Hear the crowd roar with the sound

Don't blame us if we ever doubt ya

You know we couldn't live without ya

RED SOX! You are the only, only,

Oh, there is joy in Mudville today, my cherished blurkers. The Red Sox had their home opener against the Evil Empire (aka the NY Yankees) and kicked arse, winning 9 to 6.

Considering the bastards lived up to their old nickname of the Dead Sox (or the Hahtbreak Kids) this past week--losing SIX FUCKING GAMES, oh, boys, PLEASE! All the fans were saying prayers to the Gods of Baseball that they'd pull their bats out of their arses and swing for the Green Monstah.

OK, I realize that I have just lost almost all of my chick street cred by writing this, but, please understand that, as much as I hate professional sports (with the exception of hockey), the Red Sox are something else. They're almost a religion here, something that everyone from the sweetest little white-haired Nana to the droopy-drawered kid on the street loves.

And, by the Gods, we love our Sox. Bostonians talk about them like they're next door neighbors, either using their nicknames--Papi, Tek, Tito, Pap, YOOOOUKKK!--or their last names--Pedroia, Drew, Crawford--and always in the thick Bawstin accent. So, for Ortiz, it's pronounced "Paaahpee," fer instance. The best Sawx player's name evah rendahed in a Bawstin accent was Nomah Gahceeahparrah. We were all sad when Nomar got traded to the Cubs (and then the Sox won the Series; poor bastid), but he came back for a day to retire a Sawx.

Yes, I have dropped into my native accint. I'm tawkin' about THE SAWX!

'FNX played "Tessie" by the Dropkick Murphys this afternoon around 5. "Tessie" was released in '04, and for me, that song will always be the song of that year. I can't hear it without tearing up a little--'04 was a magical year in Boston. We reversed tha curse.

"The Curse" was the legendary (and semi-mythical) Curse of the Bambino, Babe Ruth, traded from the Sawx, leaving them to nevah win anothah series evah.

Until 2004.

Fuckin' magical, that year. To stage the greatest comeback EVAH, EVAH, EVAH INDA HISSTAREE OF BASEBALL! To come from three games down to the fuckin' Yanks in the ALC East to beat the shit out of them and win, win, WIN THE CHAMPIONSHIP! Holy mutha Mary, you nevah saw such a celebration! Fenway, Kenmore... madness on the TV.

And then... the series.

It looked almost like it was going to be a one-of-a-kind, holy-fuck-NO-ONE-can-win-this-one when the Cubs were doing really well (and then their curse kicked in, poor sonsabitches). I mean, there were a few of us going, "Shit, BOTH teams deserve it--just call the fuckin' series and give 'em both the trophies."

But then, the Cahds (excuse me, the St. Louis Cardinals) who made it from the National League. The World Series was almost anti-climactic after the ALC; I mean, we shut down and shut up the fuckin' Yanks. (Which is why, for me, I don't give a rat's ass about the rivalry any more.) But the World Series... I called my best friend Keith and just said, "How 'bout dem Sawx?" Outside there were people running up and down the street--people came out of their houses, just to share the moment, just to say, "We won!"

Some crazy bastid ran down my street (which is a main street in my city) high fiving every single person.

It was the balls. It was history. All the faith... paid off.

Our Boys did it. And we LOVED that team... Damon. Tek. Papi. Pedro. Manny. Schill.

And there wasn't a one of us long-time fans, fans that grew up here in houses full of Sawx fans, who remember being taken to a game by their father, grandfather, mother, grandmother... someone long gone, who didn't say, "I wish s/he was alive to see this." Any cemetary you visited that year, you'd find Sawx hats, pennants, something, draped on graves, because even the dead needed to know that The Hahtbreak Kids had broken our hearts again, but this time with joy.

Nike ran a commercial that year... I remember talkin to a bud at work about it, both of us had teared up because it showed a family progression over the years from 1918 to 2004, going to Fenway, sitting in the bleachiz, both of us wishin' someone had lived to see it.

That's why when they won again in 2007, we were all like, yeah, '04 was for histaree, this one is for US! Never forget Pap and Tek... that monstah hug on the mound... Magic. Just magic. Mike Lowell. Dustin Pedroia. Jacoby Ellsbury. Kevin Youklis. Papi, Big Papi. Pap dancing on the truck in a kilt with the Dropkick Murphys, and the whole city, the whole damn state, turning out to welcome them home and show 'em the love.

That's the thing... we love our Sawx. There's something special about the Red Sawx. Boston fans... we're... well, we're fanatical. Some of us are fuckin' idiots, to be honest, but most of us... the Sawx are a paht of growin up. They're a paht of life. Y'got three seasons in Bawstin--wintah, baseball, and post-season. The rest... the rest don't mattah. You'll also notice one othah thing 'bout the Sawx and the playahs we love the most--they're good guys. Decent guys. The kinda guys you'd buy a beeyah for down th'pub. The kinda guys who give back--who take their paht of their salaries and staht charities, who support people who need it. Guys who give back. (There's a reason Rogah Clemmins ain't liked in Bawstin; ditto, Manny Ramirez--they're JERKS who treated people lousy and didn't act like gentlemen. In short, they didn't act like Sawx.)

And it also don't mattah if they don't make it ta th'Series. Just so long as they play their hahts out.

(And don't give me any shit about the color of your cap means the kind of fan you are--I'm a GIRL, ASSHOLE--I LIKE PINK! and red clashes with my hair, so fuck off. *rolls eyes*)

And while normally you couldn't drag me to Fenway unless I was bound, gagged and sedated, the Cubs are coming in next month. THAT could be wikkid frickin awesome.

So, fah me, Spring has sprung. Tha Boys are back at Fenway, the bats are swingin' & crackin', and all is right with the world.


Today's pic is the joyous hug between Jonathan Papelbon and Jason Veritek after the final out of the 2007 World Series. I still get a little choked up when I remember that moment... the young pitcher and the solid team captain, the moment of victory that was just pure, unbridled joy, a "WE DID IT!" I wish they'd made an action figure of that moment. It would be on my desk.

1 comment:

  1. Congratulations to the Red Sox on finally winning a game in the 2011 season! When you score 9 runs, have a batting average of .333, and go 6-for-10 with runners in scoring position, you have a good chance of winning the game. In their prior six games (all losses), the Red Sox averaged 2.7 runs per game, had a batting average of .181, and were 7-for-44 with runners in scoring position, so Friday’s game was a huge improvement.