We interrupt this travelogue to pay tribute to the toughest, clutchest (not a word but this is no time to nitpick), hairiest baseball team ever, my beloved Boston Red Sox.
I know I've been going on and on about "The Year of the Joel," but never did I think for a minute that the Sox would win it all. I mean even the most ardent fan would not bet on this hirsute group of lads defeating the likes of Scherzer, Verlander, Wainwright, and Wacha in about a week. That's just crazy talk right there. And to have it happen in the year of the bombing...well, truth is indeed stranger than fiction sometimes.
What does a maniacal follower of this crimson-stockinged troupe do if he happens to be traveling in Europe during all these proceedings? He stays up late, that's what! Yes, he turns on the ol' computer at midnight or one am and tries to not wake the nearby sleeping non-baseball fan as he silently cheers a spectacular play by l'il Dustin or becomes catatonic over a crazy interference call on Middlebrooks. He loses sleep by the bushel and tries to rally the next day for a walk to a beautiful Mallorcan lighthouse or an afternoon at a village open market. He puts up a good front, but a dearth of sleep will eventually catch up with him. He craves an afternoon nap so he can freshen up in time for Ellsbury's first at bat. Lack of sleep eventually renders him disoriented, even more than usual. He starts calling everyone he meets "Koji" leaving a slew of confused Mallorcans in his wake. Eventually day becomes night and vice versa. Time has no meaning. All is illusory.
Actually, that last bit may have been a little overdone. I was a little tired was all.
And very happy.
I shed tears of joy when the remarkable Uehara managed that last masterful strikeout. I was sitting in the beautiful living room of Steve and Carol Davidson in West Yorkshire, by the banks of the River Wharfe. It was 3:30 am. I was thinking about two people, a man and a woman, one an old Dorchester friend, the other Sam 'n Sara's beloved Nana, who, depending on your belief system, either missed this event or had the best seats in the house, and the tears just streamed down my face. In the quiet of this ungodly hour it was easy to hear the stairs creaking. Like a pair of kids on Christmas morning, Steve and Carol, two of Britain's most fanatical Red Sox fans, were coming down to see the final outs and the ensuing celebration. The three of us watched in complete joy as our Boys of Summer started jumping all over old Joe Mooney's hallowed ground, hugging, dancing, grabbing each other's beards to the mellow strains of "Dirty Water."
I learned a valuable lesson on this wonderful trip. As long as Dustin Pedroia is a member of the Boston Red Sox, don't plan any October trips.
Before I close this segment, let me pay proper respect to the city of Cambridge, England and its venerable university. As I mentioned in the previous entry, Jamie Davidson was beginning his studies at Cambridge and, upon arriving back in England from Mallorca, Nancy and I were going to be able to join Jamie's proud parents for a visit to this remarkable institution for a couple of days before heading up to West Yorkshire.
As you may know, Cambridge is actually a collection of colleges, the most famous of which are King's, Queens', and Trinity. Jamie was accepted to Queens' to study chemical engineering. Personally, I have no understanding of either of the two words in Jamie's major. I'm more of a baseball fan.
A walk around Cambridge is like a walk around Harvard only more so. The courtyards and buildings, some of which are more than 500 years old, have produced numerous illustrious graduates, including many Nobel Prize winners. John Milton, Charles Darwin, Erasmus, Coleridge and Wordsworth are just a few notable alumni.
Oh, in case you're wondering, Pedroia went to Arizona State.
The River Cam surrounds the University. One of the most popular activities is "punting" or floating on a gondola-like boat under the guidance of an experienced punter who uses a long staff to propel and steer the boat. The low fall temperatures combined with howling winds kept Nancy and me off the river, but there were still plenty of hardier souls floating along.
None of them looked sleep-deprived.
We spent the day wandering the ancient streets, soaking up the atmosphere, enjoying an afternoon wine in a cozy bar, and buying t-shirts for our Cambridge-bound grandkids.
All pretty routine stuff in The Year of the Joel.
Stay Boston Strong!
Ain't life grand?
J
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