Those Damn Sox

As a young boy some of my first memories of life on the planet were of the Red Sox in 1975 losing the World Series to the Reds. Three years later, the Sox would break my heart even more by losing the division after a huge 14 game lead to Bucky Dent and the Yankees. If it hadn't been for the Celtics, Boston as a sports city would've sucked.

Well now it's the Celtics who suck (though suddenly not anymore-- thanks Kevin McHale), and the Red Sox do weird shit like not losing divisions to the Yankees after 14 game leads and actually beat teams like the Indians after I'd written them off when they were down 3-1. Of course, this wasn't any of the Sox's doing. They would've lost against the Indians if Matty, my personal biographer, hadn't stopped watching and written them off for dead. Once he did that, their fortunes changed.

While Mads, my Norwegian companion, and I were watching The Hills that night, we reflected on the game.

"Until the Sox beat the Rockies, there's nothing yet to differentiate this season from '86."

He made a great point. They still had some work to do. I got on the horn to Matty.

"So, you know how when you stopped watching the Sox they started winning."

"I keep telling you they actually lost game four and I'd stopped after game three. Your superstition doesn't hold. Not only that, but I watched game seven."

I felt betrayed. His little stunt could've cost the Sox an 11th trip to the Big Show.

"I better not find out you've watched game one on Wednesday if they end up losing."

"Beckett's pitching... even I can't jinx that."

"Whatever, just don't watch it."

"I'll get right on that."


So they won number seven, and now they start this season with a good look at number eight. Maybe Matty will help us out down the stretch.

Mads: Velkommen Beckham

As a fan of the beautiful game, I can't be unexcited by the prospect of David Beckham coming to play for the LA Galaxy. Here in Boston, in order to see him play without pulling strings, I'd have to buy tickets for four games. Luckily I have strings that can be pulled.

I had a chance to meet Becks once, in 1999 after Man U won the treble. I was invited to a lunch with the Queen the same time the team was. Unfortunately, I had a bit too much of the Bulgarian Cocktail the night before, and slept right through my alarm. I was disappointed.

I asked my Boston friend what he thought of Beckham's arrival.

"Dude, the Sox're in first place, and barring another '78, they got a chance to win the whole thing. Fuck soccer. Tell me when Mike Greenwell's coming back to town, and then I'll care."

He had a point: no matter how cool Beckham is, he's no Mike Greenwell, the Gator, who patrolled left field for the Sox in the late 80s and early 90s. Welcome to America, Becks.

Andy Messersmith, of course

I was watching the Dodgers/Rockies game the other day, and the Afflack trivia question asked who the last four Dodgers starters to lead the NL in wins before Lowe and Penny were. I knew Oral Herscheiser, Sandy Koufax, and Don Drysdale. I thought the fourth was Fernando Valenzuela (sp?), but it was Andy Messersmith. Of course... Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!

I was on a date with a really hot Native American chick named Naomi, and missing the trivia question was still in my mind.

"What does it matter?" She said.

"I know in the grand scheme of life it's not so big a deal, but it's good to have stuff you care about like that, you know?"

"Well, I just think baseball's boring. I mean it's cool when the Sox are doing good, but after that..."

"Boring, huh? Well, I think we're going to have to remedy that."

Cue the montage...

Except the montage music was Disturbed: highly inappropriate. I looked through my iPod. Kenny Loggins, "Meet Me Halfway", Journey stuff, "Take it to the Limit" off the Scarface, soundtrack... too obvious. I settled on Ashley Simpson's "Pieces of Me".

Now cue the montage. I took her to some games, showed her some books, watched Baseball Tonight with her, saved someone's life using my glove, played catch... all in the space of the length of the song.

"Man," she said. "I didn't know baseball could be so good."

"Few do."

"So you think the Sox's problem at the bottom of their lineup will hurt them more than the Yankees' starting pitching woes?"

I looked at the camera and winked. We froze, and the credits rolled.

Dice-K's 21 Strikeouts

I was sitting in my livingroom, eating some fresh, pan-seared scallops a guy a knew who worked on a boat smuggled for me that day, when Sir Ian McKellen burst into my apartment.

"You'll never believe the dream I had last night."

"Try me. We'll see what I will believe and what I won't."

"I had this dream that I was hanging out with some people, watching SportsCenter. They were reporting on Dice-K striking out 21 batters, which is some kind of a record, right?"

"Okay...?"

"Yeah, then Lauren from The Hills called me over. I was sitting on the floor and she wanted me to cuddle with her on the couch. When I got over to her, she licked my face. Can you believe it? What does it all mean?"

"I must say, my man, being the limey that you are, I'm rather impressed that you know the Major League record for strikeouts in a game is 20. I'd say the dream can mean only one thing."

"No, you can't be saying..."

"Yep: Road Trip!"

We rented a red convertible and drove down to Des Moines, Iowa.