Not Not Untitled Field Trip: Red Sox at Camden Yards

On Friday night I was presented with a choice. It wasn't exactly Grady Little deciding between Pedro or the bullpen, but it more substantial than boxers versus boxer-briefs. This particular decision was between going to Baltimore for a Red Sox game at Camden or staying in and watching the Celtics potentially punch their ticket to the NBA Finals (and the Red Sox game).

The Quick Pros for the Sox Game made the decision easy:
+Josh Beckett pitching
+Manny Ramirez sitting on 499 HRs
+Great weather for a ballgame (80 and sunny)
+I still look 18 and can use my college ID for discounted tickets
+I'm starting to dislike watching these schizophrenic Celtics

Anyway the "decision" was made and I left work a little early to get on a train to the Chesapeake State. By 5:20 I was in Baltimore, had thrown on my Papelbon WS07 jersey, and quickly got a ticket. (Not so quick Tangent- So I am standing in the ticket line and a man in a Red Sox jersey comes up to me holding a ticket. Assuming he was trying to scalp me a ticket, I sorta shrugged him off. However he persisted and explained that his family had an extra they were gonna give away and figured since I had a Sox jersey on, I was the best candidate. He didn't want any money for it, and just said to stop by the seats during the game, buy him a beer and we'd be cool. Yadda yadda yadda, I wound up pretty buzzed by first pitch and fully drunk by the 3rd inning, enough to completely forget about my thirsty comrade. Totally a mistake on my part and I still feel horribly about it. Here's a family man with enough faith in people to give some guy a ticket, and I blew it. This is not an excuse; it was totally inexcusable and I hope karma isn’t as fickle of a bitch as fate is. And yes that is plagiarized from Lost.)

So here's the thing about Red Sox games at Camden, they're basically home games. The crowds are equal part red and orange, but the red is louder, prouder, and stays til the end. And the place where this is most evident is the pregame party.

Three bars in a line with full service outside and a temporary suspension of open container laws, Red Sox shirts and beers as far as the eye can see, and tents with freshly grilled ballpark meats. It feels like it could be Yawkee way if it Yawkee was more fun. Its three parties in one; three songs blasting from three stereos, three beer specials, three places to spit game at cute girls in Sox caps, three places that feel more like home than anything else in a 500 mile vicinity. For good measure today, there are lots of Celtics jerseys in preparation for the Game 6 closeout.

You can easy lose perspective of the scene when you’re standing in the middle of it all. To step back out of the mob is to admire the colossal glory and the magnitude of the event. Somehow only blocks away, we are emotionally miles away from the Baltimore portrayed in The Wire. Different grills, different hustles, different corners.

I met up with my friends here and walked back into the huddle that smells like barbeque and beer, looks like the party you always hope your party turns into, and sounds like R's disapperaing from vernacular. (It also sounds like a mix of Kanye’s Stronger and Guns N’ Roses’ Sweet Child o’ Mine, a surprisingly complimentary mix.) A few more beers each, a couple hot dogs, and a great game of trash can jenga later, and we’re ready for the game.

Inside the still-young Camden Yards makes your mind wander to the 8th circle of daydream hell: why a new Fenway might not be so bad. Tonight we’re sitting in the 200s, which is the first overhang along the third base line. We have the option of a waitstaff (unused), better food (used), and shorter beer lines (used and used). I wont continue with the boring details of the game (by far the lamest part of the night) and skip to our 10th inning decision to leave the game and head back to the pregame bars so we can watch the ending of the Celtics at the same time as the end of the Sox.

I don’t have to tell you how this one ended. Karma didn’t strike for my lack of good-will reciprocation and within the hour, the bar was chanting "Beat LA." I could have convinced myself that I had stepped through the Lost wormhole and returned to 1984 Boston. These were followed by some R-rated cheers, a round of Sam Adams pints, and some of the most inspired chest bumps I’ve ever witnessed from white people.

And that was my night in Baltimore-upon-Boston. I felt at home in a relatively strange city, stared down karma and didn’t blink, and enjoyed a male on male chest bump a little too much. Pretty memorable night.

Why So Serious?

There's a growing trend in sitcoms and I'm taking a stand.


Last night How I Met Your Mother, currently clubhouse leader for sitcoms, ended its season with a proposal from Ted Mosby, its lead character. If that wasn't enough, Barney, legen-DARY womanizer, decided to fall in love with Robin. In fact, the last few episodes of HIMYM, followed a "lets get serious about relationships" arc that I don't much care for. I know the show is eventually headed down a path towards marriage (as we figure out who the mother is) but unless the producers are only figuring one more season, I think they are jumping the gun here.


Take a look back to recent sitcoms and how the whole "Lets marry off our funny/cool/interesting" characters and see how it goes:

• Friends- Lambaste the show if you want, but when critics and ratings are both so strongly in favor, its useless to dissent. In a mostly post-Seinfeld sitcom world, Friends was king. It had a simple premise, great writing, and outstanding character relationships... that was until the dreaded season 7 finale, The One with Chandler and Monica's Wedding. This watershed moment changed all of the chemistry and dynamics of the group. The Joey-Chandler relationship was dunzo. The Monica and the girls relationship, c'est la vie. Chandler was less snarky, not as nebbish, and stopped goofing around, all the things that made him great. Instead of 6 friends hanging out, episodes would be 3 sets of 2 friends and their "hilarious" hijinx.

• Scrubs- From season 2 until season 6, Scrubs was my favorite show because Bill Lawrence, the show creator and lead writer, found a way to be goofy and light-hearted while telling some serious hospital stories. Scrubs was my favorite 30-minutes of the week during this time, as it delivered almost every week. The JD and Turk friendship (best shown in the My Musical episode Guy Love song) was genuine and fresh and wasn't spoiled by Turk's serious relationship, because Lawrence made sure that for Turk, JD always came first. However, Lawrence couldn't stay true to guy love once Turk and Carla had a baby (Season 6 aka the Tipping Point) and at this point, Scrubs' tomfoolery and witty shenanigans took a backseat to the serious reality of being a parent. Since then, and through this season's finale, Scrubs has become borderline unwatchable. Turk isn't fun loving anymore, JD has also recently become a father also and **SPOILER ALERT** he stinks now too. (I never thought I'd say this but Braff's JD character is a distant fourth to JD Drew, JD Salinger, and Jack Daniels on the "My Favorite JD's" list. For the record, it's still ahead of JDate.)

• The Office- Everyone who watches. loves almost every character, from Michael to Dwight to Kelly (who has been the best character all year). However when it comes to favorites, most people really care about Pam and Jim. That's also why most people are stupid. Go back and watch episodes from the first three seasons and remember how cool Jim was (a foil to Dwight, the rampant office pranks, the nerdy sexual tension we could all relate to). Picture Jim now, whining to clients on a golf course, stinking at ping pong, and seriously caring about his job. All I know is if 2005 Jim met 2008 Jim in a dark Scranton parking lot, 2005 Jim would kick his ass (or least put his stapler in a jello mold and posted a Reward Poster for his missing cahones). Now lame relationship Jim spends his work time working... BORING.

This isn't some sort of brilliant realization I've had, its art imitating life. Everyone knows how much worse friends become when they get serious girlfriends. Suddenly they cant get black out drunk, play video games until substantial thumb injury, or frequent the gentleman's establishments anymore. Same goes for sitcom characters; once the woman in their life is locked down, there is no more delicate balance. They can't continue to be a cool guy and navigate through a successful relationship. Seinfeld never made Jerry or George get serious and it never lost its way. Half of sitcom is comedy, and writers should remember that more often; I don't want to lose How I Met Your Mother, like I lost all the others, to a needy girlfriend.

Rebuilt!

I am as happy as anyone can be who just spent three hours chewing their fingernails down. This was one of those "hero's journey archetype" games where everything worked out the way it was supposed to, but it never looked like it would. Check out the scene at the end of the game.

Paul Pierce, the captain, the only Celtic who has been here since the last time we enjoyed the C's, had the ball in his hands. New additions Kevin Garnett and Ray Allen yielded to Pierce frenzied possession after frenzied possession; it was a game that the Truth was going to win or lose; it was up to him. On a night when he exorcized his LeBron James demons, Pierce also made his return to the conference finals. He made the big plays, consistently hitting pull up jumpers that he never doubted and I never expected to keep falling. LeBron beat Pierce up and down the floor statistically, but when it counted and where it counted, Pierce reigned over King James. And again, the man who has muddled through Celtics mediocrity (at best!) the last five seasons is reborn into elusive playoff territory with a team who's rebuilding is finally complete.

How cyclical that five years after the last inspired Celtics playoff run and subsequent post-season schism, that Pierce again captains a set of contenders, that the Garden is again loud and filled with Red Auerbach's spirit, and that there is once again banner banter. Danny Ainge's self-proclaimed, widely-scrutinized rebuilding process is complete. And in slightly less time than the Big Dig took, and with one less casualty (unless we're counting Antoine Walker's career).

#34 wasn't the only hero and wasn't the only Celtic who's character arc came full circle in today's Game 7. How about Eddie House who had been relegated to a front-row spectator for the first five games? It seemed only Doc Rivers couldn't see the problem with Sam Cassell hogging the minutes and shots early in the series. House, an emotional leader and offensive spark-plug all year, literally and figuratively came to play in Games 6 and 7. To those looking back, his stats will never resemble the game he played today, but in 15 minutes House did almost everything right. A huge jumper, the extra passes to free up teammates, and the gutsiest play of the game, diving on a loose ball destined for out of bounds and turning it into James Posey free throws. There weren't enough imaginary Tommy Points that could have validated the "jump-out-of-your-seat-ness" of that play. House even made his presence felt on the bench, emphatically clapping in LeBron's ear during a wide open 3-pointer, and throwing him out of rhythm. And how appropriate that Eddie hit two humungous free throws you would expect from someone like Sam Cassell and was the one left holding the ball as the final horn sounded. Meanwhile, as House was celebrated by his teammates, Sam Cassell could be seen talking to Damon Jones, likely comparing each others uselessness.

Finally our role-players are playing the correct roles (Rondo 8 points, 8 assist, 8 rebounds; PJ Brown 10 points, each one somehow exponentially more clutch than the previous). And while no team wants to get stuck in a Game 7, this team may have been helped more than it was hurt from the extra 48 minutes. Even if two of the Big 3 Celtics headline acts had subpar performances, the team learned that it can count on some of the overlooked nuts and bolts of a well-oiled homecourt machine. Maybe we cant expect any more big games from Ray Allen (star of He Got Lame) or another career resume game from Pierce, but we know understudies like Powe, PJ Brown, Rondo, and Posey all will help the team in their way. You could argue that these long series are making our older veterans older for the worse or you could argue its making our younger players older for the better.

Detroit will be by far the best team the Celtics have played in the playoffs so far, and the most well-rounded. This is a team without one of two prime scorers and a team that resembles our own. Win or lose now, the Celtics wont have disappointed too many fans. Most, myself included, are just happy to have a hometown basketball team that makes us proud more often than it doesn't (like, in say, 4 of 7 games).

Do I feel like the last two weeks have given me more indigestion and pit-stained t-shirts? Absolutely. Have I pounded down a few more beers out of bitterness and frustration? At least 10. And now it will continue for another week, at least... and I'm pretty excited about it.

Rome wasn't built in a day, neither were the 2007-8 Celtics and even if we have to do this in stressful 7-game segments, I'm done complaining.

Snot(ty) Rocket

On May 5 2004, Roger Clemens struck out his 4137th batter, making him second all-time behind Nolan Ryan.

Today Roger Clemens made even more history four Cinco de Mayo's later. In what can timely be described as mucho douchebaggery, Roger Clemens' spokesman issued a statement on behalf of the recently disgraced pitcher. "Even though these articles contain many false accusations and mistakes, I need to say that I have made mistakes in my personal life for which I am sorry. I have apologized to my family and apologize to my fans. Like everyone, I have flaws. I have sometimes made choices which have not been right."

Um I have a lot of questions. Number one, how dare you?

Seriously how audacious is this guy? Lets get all K-zone on that last paragraph and break it down pitch by pitch:

• Roger Clemens' spokesman- Roger Clemens did not show up
• Issued a statement- Roger Clemens did not actually apologize
• These articles contains many false accusations- Roger Clemens has problems accepting responsibility
• I have made mistakes in my personal life- Roger Clemens has done some way worse stuff than has been printed
• Like everyone, I have flaws- Roger Clemens is again passing the buck and trying to remind us of our own flaws... classy.

It's a BS apology, worse than Larry David's apology over the phone while snacking on pistachios. Its really even worse because its not an apology, he sent someone to do his bidding for him. This isn't too surprising though considering Clemens left his mark on American League batters literally, with beanballs that would be re-paid only to his teammates.

Normally this would be a good thing for men everywhere, as The Rocket continues to lower the bar for the rest of us. Oh you forgot we were meeting up for dinner? Whatever at least you didn't sleep with a 15-year old country singer... You didn't call on my birthday? At least you didn't cheat at your job for more than 10 years.

You get it. Basically this Clemens things is turning into a bizarre Mad Libs game:
Roger Clemens is guilty of ________ (a crime or one of the 10 Commandments) with ______ (person or group of people) in ______ (place).

This little trick can explain how he could commit perjury with former teammates in Washington DC. Or how he could sleep with a minor who is a country music singer in Boston. Or how he could commit adultery with John Daly's ex-wife in Texas (meanwhile odds are that if you've slept with a woman in Texas, it is probably one of John Daly's ex-wives). If we find out next that Clemens broke and entered a Labatts Plant in Toronto with Bryan Adams, or coveted thy neighbor's wife in New York with Rudy Giuliani, I am calling the FBI tipline. The options are really endless.

There's only one way this thing can end, and its not pretty. Clemens and the media need an ugly break up and he needs to face a barrage of questions and fess up to all the juicy details. That way we can get it all out of our systems, move on, and then forget Clemens into the dark shadows of our mind. There he can shamefully reside with things like 90's pop culture fads, beer goggles, all my little league errors, and the Roger Clemens Red Sox era.

Glorious Technology

It’s April, which is the perfect storm of sports. We’re just coming up for air from the NCAA tourney and if you breathe deeply, you’ll get that fresh mix of NBA playoffs, the NFL draft, and the maturation of the baseball season. If you breathe really deeply you may even catch some NHL playoff fever, although that might be pollen. I can’t tell because both make me sneeze.

Take tonight for example (Monday the 21st). The sports television possibilities tonight are enough to make even SuperSonics fans excited again. First on the docket is Monday Night Baseball between the most interesting two National League teams, (which I understand is like saying the sexiest of those Mormon Polygamy Ranch Moms) the Cubs and the Mets. Nonetheless, Carlos Zambrano is always electric and he’s on the hill, and he's against an almost American League Mets offense.

With a simple click of the remote, we’re transported to an NBA double-header between the Cavaliers/Wizards and the Rockets/Jazz. LeBron is wreaking more havoc on DC than tourists looking for cherry blossoms so that’s fun to watch from a distance. Rockets Jazz Game 2 is a snoozer on paper but as a general rule, I don’t sleep on teams that win 22 games in a row.

Click, and we’re on the ice for another double-header. On one channel, the Washington Capitals fighting to force a game 7 with the Flyers, and the Bruins and Canadiens in their own elimination game on another. Yes, hockey on two channels. The next thing you know we’ll all be humming O’Canada and putting gravy on French-fries. I live in DC and am from Boston and can confidently say that people in both cities legitimately think that they care about these two hockey teams right now. People have jumped onto their respective bandwagons so quickly that they forgot that, as a nation, we contractually signed hockey away two years ago (you were supposed to retain the pink copy for yourself).

As filler, there is more NFL pre-draft coverage than anyone knows what to do with, which is why it is scattered everywhere like King of the Hill re-runs. I think I just saw two "experts" doing a mock draft on what Mel Kiper’s next mock draft will look like. Hell, I’d rather watch Arena Football, conveniently airing on ESPN2.
So you see the problem right? Catching all of this is impossible without a well-oiled ‘Last’ button and double-jointed thumb, but this is not my main concern. How am I, a self-diagnosed sportsaholic, supposed to pretend to keep track of all these results on a television night featuring How I Met Your Mother, Intervention, and The Hills?

Well thank god for DVR or as I like to call it, God’s button. As a culture I don’t know how we didn’t create this invention earlier and as a culture I don’t know how we haven’t awarded it some flavor of the Nobel Prize. Peace Prize: How many marital fights have been avoided by being able to watch one program and record another? Medicine Prize: No more being concerned that you’re missing Scrubs because you have to see Lost. Economics Prize: C'est la vie blank video tapes and VCRs.

I’d previously used God’s button for conflicts of interest, like when Top Chef was up against The Gauntlet 3 and both would be water cooler fodder the next day. Now God’s button has come back and one up-ed itself. I can watch my favorite Monday night staples at halftimes, commercials, and postgames (and in full disclosure, first and third quarters too). I’m downright giddy to think about how I’ll soon pretend to watch Monday Night Football! My baseball fantasy team, apathy for the Bruins, and crush on Lauren Conrad can live in harmony.

Like it says in the Bible, "And God saw that it was good."