Now, it's "they didn't say it like they meant it." This sums up the media's reaction to the mea culpas offered by Josh Beckett and John Lester. This is beyond the pale and maybe I should consider just letting it go, or say something like, "I won't even dignify that with a response."
Morons, all.
Final word on the subject from me.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Monday, February 20, 2012
Chicken 'n' Beer or, Much Ado About Nuthin'
Ok, it’s time for me to weigh in on the “chicken-and-beer” controversy, which has become a trope amongst the media who cover the Red Sox and has worked its malevolent way into the daily discourse of the so-called “Red Sox Nation” (a cult that I have resisted joining), many of whom troll the Interwebs and contribute to the daily noise heard on local talk radio --- the infamous shut-ins who have earned my wrath in the past.
That was a long sentence. Rants are often characterized by them. This post is not a “musing”, by definition.
I hope it will be amusing. Ahem…
Anyway, to my point --- there is one, please be patient. And thank you to those of you who have hung in, awaiting an anti-timesucking payoff.
Listen, I was upset as anyone by the jaw-droppingly awful end to the 2011 season. It was like watching a slow-motion train wreck that took an entire month to unfold; its end was as sudden and shocking as a slap in the face. On the last night of the season, as I watched the denouement unfold in my man-cave, flipping between NESN, the MLB Network and ESPN, swearing as I did so (“son-of-a-BITCH” being my epithet of choice) I predicted that this was gonna end badly. Red Sox fans know this feeling, a collective feeling of inevitable heartbreak and doom. Now, though, for me, it is not tinged with melancholy or self-pity --- two World Series wins in the last seven seasons have made all that go away. Yankees fans have lost all “hand” --- their 2004 team is the poster-child for “sucks for all time”. It is a mantle they can never shed. Even if another team chokes as badly as they did, the 2004 Yankees are the standard-bearer.
Anyway, I digress. After Evan Longoria touched first base after slamming that line drive over the wall, I snapped off the TV and hummed the remote into the couch cushions. I uttered one last “son-of-a-BITCH” and stomped upstairs to commiserate with Deb and Sarah, who also wondered what the hell just happened. (Later, I couldn’t help myself and returned to the MLB Network and renewed my jealousy of those guys’ jobs, getting paid to watch and talk about baseball and laughing their heads off at the amazing events of this particular evening.)
Days (weeks?) later, the “chicken-and-beer” stories began to emerge, amidst the resignation/firing of Terry Francona, the fleeing of Theo Epstein and the inevitable blame-placing and finger-pointing by the media and “Red Sox Nation”. It’s no surprise that Francona and Epstein both took the high road, despite the hateful stuff written and said about them as they left the Red Sox stage. This happens all the time (Mo Vaughn, Roger Clemens, Nomar Garciaparra, Pedro Martinez, Manny Ramirez, et al). TWO World Series trophies came to Fenway under their watch; perspective apparently is something that is anathema to most of Red Sox Nation.
So, as this story evolved and trickled down to the locker room, Beckett, Bucholz and Lester became the villains-du-jour, fodder for every snarky radio-show host, columnist and blogger within a 500-mile radius (and sometimes beyond) of Fenway Park. Universally spitting venom and taking on a holier-than-thou stance, these poor miscreants of the airwaves and the Interwebs both were laughable and anger-inducing to this typist. My initial take was --- and still is --- that the clubhouse shenanigans would have been a non-story had the Sox won just two more games at the end and won a game or two in the playoffs. (That’s the most any of us could have expected --- this was a tired, injury-riddled team with major flaws, after all.)
Instead, this story, despite the Patriots’ great season, festered all winter. The self-righteous among “Red Sox Nation” began to demand “accountability” from the ringleaders and it became a sort of keening wail, usually reserved for funeral mourners. It’s patently obvious to me that these moaners need to get a grip and move on. But nooooo…
OK, finally, here’s the thing, “Red Sox Nation”:
Step away from the ledge. Perhaps you'll be happier when the Sox brass announce the Beckett/Lester/Bucholz Every-Fan-In-New England-Personal Apology Tour. They've got all that time between starts and it's obvious they can't be trusted alone in the clubhouse, so they can hit 37,000 fans a night on their off-days at home.
I'll be skipping the tour, though, 'cause none of those guys --- not one --- owe ME a @#%&*# thing.
Perhaps, if you pull some strings with ownership, you can get at the head of the line to get that tearful apology and a warm hug.
There. I feel better, now.
Some predictions, as a bonus for having read this far.
Bobby Valentine will soon prove to be a bad choice. His selection was obviously forced down poor Ben Cherington’s throat by L. Lucchino. Valentine IS a polarizing figure (he says he doesn’t understand the word or its use to describe his character) who will take all the credit and be quick to assign blame. He is a shameless self-promoter and loves to hear himself talk. He is NOT Dick Williams. I’m not sure why the media and bloggers believe him to be a taskmaster and ass-kicker --- he is the opposite of that. There’s a reason why he hasn’t had an MLB managers job in nine years. He’s no Terry Francona, that’s for sure, who was the best manager in Red Sox history (this will go up my father-in-law’s ass, hahahaha). For me to forget Tito, Bobby V is gonna have to win THREE World Series.
The Sox will finish a poor second in the AL East, behind Tampa Bay. Joe Maddon is now the best manager in the division (arguably in the American League), leading a young club loaded with talent.
The Yankees got better, but not in the way everyone thinks. A. J. Burnett is now a Pittsburgh Pirate, so the Yanks got better by subtracting. This guy Pineda, whom they traded for from Seattle, will NOT be the stud this year that everyone assumes he will be. He was good up until the All-Star break in 2011 and then he fell to earth. His presumed Cy Young award and installation in the Hall of Fame is based upon a three-month sample size of pitching well in the AL West. Please stop it. The Yankees are an ordinary team with a boob running it.
Not predictions, but random musings:
I hate, hate, HATE the New York Giants.
I am going to see Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band on March 26. The new album (Wrecking Ball) is due on March 6. Can’t wait.
I’m not fond of reality TV, but “Comic Book Men” on AMC is in my sweet spot. Comics, collectibles and pop-culture snark --- a perfect blend. I just watched the first episode and laughed my fool head off. It’s OK if you don’t get it. It’s not you, it’s me.
I love my Nook Tablet. Books, magazines, newspapers, the web and Netflix on one amazing device. I was crushing on it right from its announcement. You will have to pry it from my dead hands…
…unless you’ve got an iPad in yours, for which I will willingly exchange. Two of my brothers own iPads and I am not-so-secretly envious.
Speaking of magazines, I received my SI Swimsuit issue four days late, on Saturday. It came in a plastic bag with a printed apology from the US Postal Service. It was badly damaged by a robotic sorter. The cover (poor Kate Upton and her barely-there bikini!) and about 25 pages were torn and the spine broken. It was just this side of confetti. They even attempted a half-hearted repair with Scotch tape! I immediately accused my wife of conspiring with the USPS to deprive me of the coveted issue. She did not deny it.
Such is my life.
That was a long sentence. Rants are often characterized by them. This post is not a “musing”, by definition.
I hope it will be amusing. Ahem…
Anyway, to my point --- there is one, please be patient. And thank you to those of you who have hung in, awaiting an anti-timesucking payoff.
Listen, I was upset as anyone by the jaw-droppingly awful end to the 2011 season. It was like watching a slow-motion train wreck that took an entire month to unfold; its end was as sudden and shocking as a slap in the face. On the last night of the season, as I watched the denouement unfold in my man-cave, flipping between NESN, the MLB Network and ESPN, swearing as I did so (“son-of-a-BITCH” being my epithet of choice) I predicted that this was gonna end badly. Red Sox fans know this feeling, a collective feeling of inevitable heartbreak and doom. Now, though, for me, it is not tinged with melancholy or self-pity --- two World Series wins in the last seven seasons have made all that go away. Yankees fans have lost all “hand” --- their 2004 team is the poster-child for “sucks for all time”. It is a mantle they can never shed. Even if another team chokes as badly as they did, the 2004 Yankees are the standard-bearer.
Anyway, I digress. After Evan Longoria touched first base after slamming that line drive over the wall, I snapped off the TV and hummed the remote into the couch cushions. I uttered one last “son-of-a-BITCH” and stomped upstairs to commiserate with Deb and Sarah, who also wondered what the hell just happened. (Later, I couldn’t help myself and returned to the MLB Network and renewed my jealousy of those guys’ jobs, getting paid to watch and talk about baseball and laughing their heads off at the amazing events of this particular evening.)
Days (weeks?) later, the “chicken-and-beer” stories began to emerge, amidst the resignation/firing of Terry Francona, the fleeing of Theo Epstein and the inevitable blame-placing and finger-pointing by the media and “Red Sox Nation”. It’s no surprise that Francona and Epstein both took the high road, despite the hateful stuff written and said about them as they left the Red Sox stage. This happens all the time (Mo Vaughn, Roger Clemens, Nomar Garciaparra, Pedro Martinez, Manny Ramirez, et al). TWO World Series trophies came to Fenway under their watch; perspective apparently is something that is anathema to most of Red Sox Nation.
So, as this story evolved and trickled down to the locker room, Beckett, Bucholz and Lester became the villains-du-jour, fodder for every snarky radio-show host, columnist and blogger within a 500-mile radius (and sometimes beyond) of Fenway Park. Universally spitting venom and taking on a holier-than-thou stance, these poor miscreants of the airwaves and the Interwebs both were laughable and anger-inducing to this typist. My initial take was --- and still is --- that the clubhouse shenanigans would have been a non-story had the Sox won just two more games at the end and won a game or two in the playoffs. (That’s the most any of us could have expected --- this was a tired, injury-riddled team with major flaws, after all.)
Instead, this story, despite the Patriots’ great season, festered all winter. The self-righteous among “Red Sox Nation” began to demand “accountability” from the ringleaders and it became a sort of keening wail, usually reserved for funeral mourners. It’s patently obvious to me that these moaners need to get a grip and move on. But nooooo…
OK, finally, here’s the thing, “Red Sox Nation”:
Step away from the ledge. Perhaps you'll be happier when the Sox brass announce the Beckett/Lester/Bucholz Every-Fan-In-New England-Personal Apology Tour. They've got all that time between starts and it's obvious they can't be trusted alone in the clubhouse, so they can hit 37,000 fans a night on their off-days at home.
I'll be skipping the tour, though, 'cause none of those guys --- not one --- owe ME a @#%&*# thing.
Perhaps, if you pull some strings with ownership, you can get at the head of the line to get that tearful apology and a warm hug.
There. I feel better, now.
Some predictions, as a bonus for having read this far.
Bobby Valentine will soon prove to be a bad choice. His selection was obviously forced down poor Ben Cherington’s throat by L. Lucchino. Valentine IS a polarizing figure (he says he doesn’t understand the word or its use to describe his character) who will take all the credit and be quick to assign blame. He is a shameless self-promoter and loves to hear himself talk. He is NOT Dick Williams. I’m not sure why the media and bloggers believe him to be a taskmaster and ass-kicker --- he is the opposite of that. There’s a reason why he hasn’t had an MLB managers job in nine years. He’s no Terry Francona, that’s for sure, who was the best manager in Red Sox history (this will go up my father-in-law’s ass, hahahaha). For me to forget Tito, Bobby V is gonna have to win THREE World Series.
The Sox will finish a poor second in the AL East, behind Tampa Bay. Joe Maddon is now the best manager in the division (arguably in the American League), leading a young club loaded with talent.
The Yankees got better, but not in the way everyone thinks. A. J. Burnett is now a Pittsburgh Pirate, so the Yanks got better by subtracting. This guy Pineda, whom they traded for from Seattle, will NOT be the stud this year that everyone assumes he will be. He was good up until the All-Star break in 2011 and then he fell to earth. His presumed Cy Young award and installation in the Hall of Fame is based upon a three-month sample size of pitching well in the AL West. Please stop it. The Yankees are an ordinary team with a boob running it.
Not predictions, but random musings:
I hate, hate, HATE the New York Giants.
I am going to see Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band on March 26. The new album (Wrecking Ball) is due on March 6. Can’t wait.
I’m not fond of reality TV, but “Comic Book Men” on AMC is in my sweet spot. Comics, collectibles and pop-culture snark --- a perfect blend. I just watched the first episode and laughed my fool head off. It’s OK if you don’t get it. It’s not you, it’s me.
I love my Nook Tablet. Books, magazines, newspapers, the web and Netflix on one amazing device. I was crushing on it right from its announcement. You will have to pry it from my dead hands…
…unless you’ve got an iPad in yours, for which I will willingly exchange. Two of my brothers own iPads and I am not-so-secretly envious.
Speaking of magazines, I received my SI Swimsuit issue four days late, on Saturday. It came in a plastic bag with a printed apology from the US Postal Service. It was badly damaged by a robotic sorter. The cover (poor Kate Upton and her barely-there bikini!) and about 25 pages were torn and the spine broken. It was just this side of confetti. They even attempted a half-hearted repair with Scotch tape! I immediately accused my wife of conspiring with the USPS to deprive me of the coveted issue. She did not deny it.
Such is my life.
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