Sawx Re-revisited: April 2013

I knew it all along.

I knew that Shane Victorino would be the perfect number two hitter, getting on base, moving runners along, even knocking them in when he got a chance.

I knew that Dustin Pedroia would regain the form he demonstrated in his first few years, hitting everything he sees, swinging his elegant uppercut with with reckless abandon.

I knew that Daniel Nava would serve as the inspiring personification of the concept of never giving up and using every ounce of one's talent.

I knew that Mike Napoli would be the reincarnation of Jimmy Foxx, knocking in runs at a laughable pace, hitting each ball HARD, scratching, spitting, cursing, laughing, just like a real ballplayer.

I knew that Lester and Buchholz would return to form and become this year's version of Spahn and Sain, Koufax and Drysdale, or Martinez and Schilling.

I knew that John Farrell would MANAGE the club and take pitchers out when they sucked (see Daniel Bard), pinch hit for guys when necessary (see Johnny Gomes) and run the bases whenever possible.

I knew that David Ortiz would pick himself up off the scrap heap, wrap his Achilles tendon, and hit .500 for the month of April, reminding us of 2004 all over again.

I knew that Andrew Bailey would be a perfectly reliable closer in the event that Joel Hanrahan would not be so.

I knew that the Japanese contingent in the bullpen would be almost unhittable and would be a very reliable bridge from the starting pitcher to the closer.

I knew that Aceves would be a dick.

I knew that Jacoby Ellsbury would make his last year in Boston a productive one at the plate, on the bases, and in the field.

I knew that there were never any weapons of mass destruction.

I knew that Will Middlebrooks would get off to a slow start, but would eventually make us forget everything we ever knew about Kevin Youkilis.

I knew that, David Ross, Mike Carp, and Pedro Ciriacco would be the kind of valuable bench players that every winning team needs over 162 games.

I knew that John Lackey would come back in excellent shape and become a much more than adequate #5 starter.

I knew that despite his curls, Saltalamacchia's hairline would recede at an alarming rate.

I knew that the Houston Astros would suck.

I knew that, despite their aggressive spending, the Toronto Blue Jays would still suck.

I knew that the end of the sellout streak at Fenway would not last very long and a new sellout streak would soon begin.

I knew that with youngsters like Jacky Bradley Jr., Xander Bogaerts, Rubby De La Rosa, and Allen Webster, the future of the Boston Red Sox looks quite bright.

I knew that Louis C.K. is very funny, especially when he is talking about the bogus way his daughter plays Hide 'n Seek.

All of which goes to explain why I knew that it would be smart to invest $99.95 with MLB.com so that I could watch all of the Red Sox games on my computer again this year. Certainly this is one of the best financial decisions I have ever made. Talk about "bang for your buck."

With this new found confidence in my ability to spend money wisely, I believe a promising era of fiduciary brilliance may be upon me. I may start reading the financial sections of major newspapers, subscribe to esoteric, insider financial newsletters like "The Madoff Report" or "Stuff that Buffett's (Warren, not Jimmy) Cleaning Lady Overhears". I may start saying things like, "It's going to be a good quarter," and not be talking about a basketball game. Possibly I will even be able to finally overcome the terrible financial losses I suffered when I invested heavily in Pez Dispensers (cute, I thought) and the nation of Peru (I liked the hats).

Hey, it's 2013...the year of the Joel.

And the Red Sox!

Ain't life grand?

Play Ball!
J

This is Our F---ing City! April 2013

 

That's how Red Sox slugger David Ortiz put it when he addressed the exuberant crowd at Fenway the day after the second Marathon bomber was caught. While his sentiments may be considered a bit indelicate, anyone who grew up in Boston would understand exactly what he f---ing meant!

When the bombs exploded on Boylston Street, some lives were lost and many lives were changed forever. We could all see this as the television reporters gave us the increasing injury counts over several days. What we couldn't see, what was not as "reportable", was the fact that the blasts from those two disgusting devices ripped open a seam buried deep down in every Bostonian's consciousness and, once opened, that seam poured forth a tremendous amount of wonderful stuff. Out of that newly ripped seam came Ashmont Station with its fabulous complex of ramps and rails, Eggleston Branch Library and one well worn copy of My Turn at Bat, Codman Square and Colstone's restaurant, Jake Wirth's and its sawdust on the floor, White Stadium and Friday afternoon football games against Tech, Gary Geiger, Larry Siegfried, Pie McKenzie, Ross O'Hanlon and all the other non-stars who have worn our teams' uniforms. Out of that seam flew an order of onion rings from Simco's, which was the first destination this old Bostonian chose once he got his driver's license, an apple pie from Jordan Marsh, a bowl of clam chowder from The Union Oyster House, and a couple of dogs from Joe and Nemo's across from the Garden, mustard and relish please.

Those explosions also released a fleet of trackless trolleys from Blue Hill Avenue, a spirited game of boxball on Nantasket Beach, another order of onion rings (What was it about onion rings?) from 7-E's in Quincy, two tickets to a Kim Novak movie at the Paramount, a pickle from the Essex Deli, and a hard salami on pumpernickel  from the G and G.

Forced up from the depths of Boston's collective memory were Ben Scully, standing eerily erect in front of his room at Latin School, Sunday editions of the Globe being sold out in front of Saint Leo's Church on Esmond Street and by vendors at the intersection of Morton Street and Blue Hill Ave., buses, affectionately known as Brighies for their Brigham Circle destination, leaving Dudley Station packed with students, plastic coated book covers from Ivy League colleges, and several 1960's vintage cars with curiously fogged up windows from the MDC skating rink in Milton.

Flowing through all of this stuff, binding it all together, was a remarkable Boston adhesive made of equal portions of love and pride for a city and its people and places.

It's the strongest adhesive known to man. Not even ten thousand pressure cooker bombs could blow it apart.

Boston Strong forever.

Ain't life grand?

J