After a super tense coin toss-
(I imagine it went something like this, except it took two months):
- the Red Sox have their guy.
That’s right. BOBBY FRICKING VALENTINE.
(Pretend to be shocked, guys! Pretend to be shocked!)
I imagine the club house will look kind of like this:
I only kind of meant that.
In all seriousness, huzzah for decision making, yes?
And I’m sure Valentine will take this very seriously. He’s a serious guy. After all, according to his wikipedia page, he was named director of public safety for Stamford, Connecticut, a town that’s been mentioned in “The Office” like twice.
I am sure he will be well liked and respected. I mean, see? There’s already a Facebook group devoted to the guy. Oh. Right…
To celebrate the decision, I’ve compiled a few of my favorite Bobby Valentine clips for your perusal.
Oh! And don’t forget how friendly Bobby V is-
And who can forget THIS MOMENT? It won’t let me post the video. But the link is so very, very swell.
Let’s welcome our new skipper, shall we? Officially. What advice would you have for Bobby V? Let him have it in the comments. Here’s mine:
Seriously, guys. I’m just so happy we picked somebody. I’m so happy that it’s shot-thirty in tequila-ville.
Have you twittered me yet?
I have had several e-mails lately. Mostly because I’m so popular. Partially because I’m so pretty. And thirdly ’cause I’m so ranty. Since I’m in such a sugary-sparkly mood, (and waiting on a meeting) I decided, on behalf of joviality, to address a few classy ones. Feel free to shoot me your OWN e-mails- firstname.lastname@example.org. Rants are always appreciated. Insults are treasured.
Dear Too Soxy (I added the dear part. I think it really makes you sound like less of a jackass, and I’m all about euphemisms),
U R such a joke. You’re team lost, but maybe U don’t remember that. I am sorry that your team is such a loser and that U find the need to complain about it to strangers on the internet. I am sorry for your sad life.
Sincerely, (I added the “sincerely,” too)
Yankster (Really? Well, okay)
I think I get it. That’s supposed to rhyme with Gangster? Or Prankster? Your cleverness will turn the world on its head.
Usually I only respond to QUESTIONS. But, with your limited knowledge of grammar, I was so excited that you were able to communicate a thought that I wanted to reward you with reciprocation (sound it out. It’s okay. REEEE-SIP-PRO-CAY-SHUN. There. Now, run upstairs and ask mommy what it means!).
So, Yank (Can I call you Yank?), I’ll start by sincerely (see what a great, non-jack-assy word that is?) thanking you for taking the time out of your busy schedule of paper clip organizing and cheeto-eating to peruse my blog. It’s sincerely, sincerely appreciated. You probably had to wipe your fingers on a napkin and everything.
I am particularly flattered by the compliment in your first sentence. As an extraordinary example of unearthly beauty, sometimes I think it’s my aesthetic charm and not my sense of humor that attracts these swarms of readers. It’s a terrible responsibility, being this pretty. You and your mother are so lucky that you will never have to deal with the burden, but I am sorry that you had to spend so much of daddy’s child support money on braces before you arrived at that inevitability. Count yourself lucky, Yankster. LUCKY.
Pretty people, see, often we are not appreciated for our personalities. All people see is my shimmery hair (Oh, hush. Your plugs aren’t THAT noticeable, surely) and my glistening eyes. But you, Yankster, you see through all of that, to my hilarious core. Thank you for the compliment about how good I am at joke telling. It really made my day. Because sometimes I doubt my funniness. But not you. Oh no. Not you.
And how you were sweetly trying to get me to forget September in the next sentence. That’s most kind of you. You’re right. It is forgettable. And we should just move on. Apparently lack of grammar doesn’t mean a lack of wisdom. Apparently people who didn’t complete the apostrophe chapter of second grade CAN communicate an intelligent message. A truth that, if it hadn’t been for this e-mail, I never would have known. Thank you for that.
And your apology. It’s so very sweet. But, dear, it’s not your fault. Don’t blame yourself for OUR Soxsplosion. After all, you who were number one came crashing down so quickly, so painfully. So very… is karmically a word? Of course YOU think it is, but could you run upstairs and ask mommy for me?
In conclusion, thank you for your e-mail, sweet as it was, and I hope you have the very best of days. Don’t forget to write!
PS- Don’t tell my readers they’re strange. I really don’t think they know that. It might come as a shock.
Dear Too Soxy,
Your Youkilis obsession is a bit much. And I think you are going to have to get over that. Because, darling, he’s trade fodder.
If that’s really your REAL name. That is the MEANEST e-mail I have ever received. HOW COULD YOU? I am a person, DJ. A HUMAN BEING. And I have feelings. We could have had it all. Rolling in the deep. But you played it to the beat, “DJ.” The beat.
I’m going to tell you what I told Ben Cherington in my dream last night:
Okay, Ben Cherington. I think I’ve been a pretty good sport up until today. I’ve been charming. I’ve been affable. I’ve been welcoming. I have been my sugary, sugary sweet-tastic self. If you were real and not just some elf on the internet nodding when Luchhino nods, I would have sent you a crumb cake by now (and have in my mind) but let’s get something straight, Keebler. I will bring down so much fury that you’ll need a Tommy John time out for a cry break if you TOUCH Kevin Youkilis. Ask John Lackey.
I am sick and tired of Kevin Youkilis, aka: only-person-other-than-Jacoby-that-always-remembers-how-to-play, being tossed all over the internet as trade fodder.
So as Cherington tackles the leftover remains, will he show a little less aggression in that area and perhaps lean more toward the trade market? Will somebody like Kevin Youkilis (injury-plagued as he might be, at present) or Marco Scutaro be considered a movable piece in the search for pitching repairs?
(I can send people links in dreams)
I think I’ve handled change well. I was suuuuuccchhhhh a good sport with Jonathan Papelbon. That was my nice face. And those blogs that TempaTampa74 called “ranty examples of why Sux fans suk” in an e-mail? Those were my NICE thoughts. If you breathe the words TRADE and YOUKILIS in the same sentence, I will tell John Henry you sneak onto his yacht every time he brunches with Lebron.
What was I saying? Oh, right, DJ. See, DJ, Kevin Youkilis is a power bat. Sure, he’s injured. But we’re not horses, DJ. We don’t shoot someone and send them to Philadelphia because they’ve broken a leg. He’ll race again. You just see. And all will fear his glory and his might.
This is the offseason of the worst Soxsplosion since… um… since… um… ever, really. EVER. We can’t turn on each other now, DJ. We have to support each other. We have to be there for each other. We’ve got to get the band back together. Not rip it apart! HAVEN’T YOU SEEN SPINAL TAP?
Don’t call me darling.
Dear (I have to keep adding the dears. People are just so uncouth these days…) Too Soxy,
I like your blog. You are hilarious. Do you think we should re-sign Tim Wakefield?
Suzi (last name redacted)
Thanks for the compliments. Tim Wakefield is an institution. But his manager is a jackass.
That puts us in a sticky situation, see. Because, we like institutions (David Ortiz), but we hate jackasses (Manny Ramirez). If Timmy will accept the fact that he’s our favorite song on the “Greatest Hits Album,” concert nostalgia but not exactly the constant on our radio dial, then sure. Accept a little less dough. A little less playing time. And win those fifteen games, listen to the angel chorus and share the fairy dust with the rest of the class.
But if you’re going to follow the jackass and look for the most money, you’re not going to find it with us, and you just need to leave quietly so that we can still love you when you come back in a few years to throw the first pitch.
Dear Too Soxy,
Does your real boyfriend look like Kevin Youkilis?
Jake (Last name redacted)
Wow. Hmmm. You know, I have never really thought about this. Hmm. Well, Youk’s got like a thousand pounds on him. And Youk has facial hair. And scary baseball muscles. And J is lean, shaven (ish) and kind of anti-trucker vibe. So… um… Yes. Sure. They are exactly alike.
No, a few months ago (this is kind of personal. Please don’t read this, J), J said “of course” he knew who Kevin Youkilis was. He said he Googled him so he would know who I…
Yeah. That’s too personal.
They are exactly alike in spirit, Jake. But not really alike in anything else, other than their mutual adoration for me.
Dear Too Soxy, (okay, this guy had no headliner on his letter. But I think adding a “dear too soxy” helps so much with class)
You sound like a cool chick. Move to Boston and I’ll date you.
Carson (last name redacted)
I AM a cool chick. Boston is cold and has no jobs for me. What’s your annual salary? Oh, and do you pay taxes?
I think Nomar should manage the Red Sox.
Andrew (last name redacted)
Sure. Okay. Why not? At least it’s a decision.
Looks like that’s all I have time for today. Keep them coming. email@example.com.
PS- Before you get back to your Tuesday, check this out- a good theory on Amnesty from the folks at the Outside Corner. Might be our only out where Lackey’s concerned.
I am completely — and very happy to be — a part of the Blue Jays organization. I love what I’m doing. I don’t view any other opportunities, or rumors about openings, as a distraction to what I’m currently doing. So, in my mind, I’m a Toronto Blue Jay.
Whatever, John Farrell. I don’t need you. I’m an island, damnit.
Dear David Ortiz,
Papi. Can I call you Papi? I’m going to call you Papi. Dear, Papi. Sweet, Papi. Teddy bear. I thought we had something, you and I. I thought it was special. Unique. And then you said you were interested in seeing other people. And I pretended to be okay with that, Papi.
I said I was okay. I pretended to be okay with that, because you were okay with that. I didn’t want to lose you, Papi.
I mean, we didn’t change our Facebook status or anything. And you’re still wearing my jersey. So I didn’t think anything would change, really. And when you were offered salary arbitration, I thought, awesome. Now we can forget that little “seeing other people” conversation ever happened. We can get back to lazy Sundays where you knock ‘em out of the park and I drunkenly blog about you, shaking my fist to the sky. We’re good together, right? Great together, even.
At least… I thought so. I thought you thought so too, Papi…
So then, WHY, Papi, do I open my laptop to find THIS in my Google News Alerts?
The free agent is receiving “serious interest” from more than one team, an industry source said today, indicating that Ortiz has more than one offer already. “He has lots of options,” said the source.
I always knew you were a flirt, Papi. I’ve seen the way you look at Toronto. But TEXAS? Really?
The RAYS? The YANKEES?
A casual glance, sure. Eye batting, that’s fine. I do that. Remember that time we were up against Masterson? I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I fantasized about getting a piece of that in my starting lineup.
But TORONTO, TEXAS, TAMPA and that ho of all ho-s… NEW YORK?
You need to think long and hard about this, Papi. Because I’m a one uniform gal. You plaster a bird on your hat and it’s over, Papi. OVER. You hear me? No more Sundays. NO MORE.
It hurts, Papi. It HURTS.
We’re good together, Papi. Great together. I named my puppy, Elliot-May-Precious-Ortiz, after you. You’re the only father figure she has, Papi. Don’t take that away for a slice of Canadian bacon and a cap makeover.
Ortiz posted a .309 batting average, 29 homers and 96 RBIs for the Red Sox in 2011, a season in which he made $12.5 million. It is expected that the salary offer from arbitration would be a few million more than last year’s total.
I know what this is about. Commitment. You want that three-year deal, the baseball equivalent of a ring. But Papi, you don’t know what I’ve been through. I’ve gone through some rocky relationships. There was J.D. Drew. And John Lackey. Commitment, it’s just an extremely difficult conversation. I mean, divorce rates in America are skyrocketing. But we can talk about it, Papi. We can talk about it. Over beer and… are grilled cheese sandwiches okay? I don’t eat chicken.
The Red Sox have negotiated with Ortiz already this offseason and relations are considered good, but the sides agreed that Ortiz wanted to explore the market for awhile. There is mutual interest in Ortiz returning to the Red Sox, and he told the Herald recently that he would likely allow the team an opportunity to match any compelling offer he received.
I hope you mean that, David. The arbitration deadline is Dec. 17. And all I want for Christmas is you. And pinstripes make EVERYONE look fat(ter).
Dear Ben Cherington,
Please consider matching Ortiz’ offers. Please don’t…
Dear Larry Lucchino,
Please don’t take David Ortiz away. Don’t keep him for his AMAZING stats or his STELLAR year or his power hits or his irreplaceable DH-ness.
Keep him for his mascot quality. The cheer he brings to the clubhouse, the memories he holds for fans. Keep him because he is David Ortiz and we are the Red Sox. And then brag about him because he kicks ass.
Feel free to write your own letters in the comments. I think we need as much support as we can get, fan-side.
No really. Think about it. Between both of their wrinkles, Lamont and Valentine have like, 126 years or something. And the Red Sox have won more World Series in the past 126 than in the last 10. So, logically…
LOGICALLY, YOU NEED TO MAKE A DECISION ALREADY.
PS- I’m still pro-Gene Lamont because he knows David Ortiz’ name. A name that will HOPEFULLY be relevant to the roster.
Right, Ben Cherington? Right?
And JOHN FARRELL! I don’t care what Toronto says. I hold out hope for YOU.
PPS- Just had a job interview for a job that sounds too important for me, but I think I kind of nailed it… the group of people that’s deciding (the group of important people. I wish I could say) will hopefully have a decision by the end of the year. Can everybody shoot me alllllll their good thoughts over the next month? All of them? I mean, it’s not like the Red Sox will even APPRECIATE your good thoughts. So THAT would be a waste…
Operation MOVE TO RALEIGH is contingent on this plan, people.
It could be a sign of the apocalypse. That moment where your life flashes before your eyes. You know, just before the lava bubbles splash in your eye.
Or it could just be the bottom. The rock bottom.
I hope so.
I just said the following sentence. Out loud. In NORTH CAROLINA, aka: mini-Atlanta. And I meant it. GOD HELP ME. I meant it:
Why can’t we be more like the Atlanta Braves?
GOD HELP ME.
God help us all.
At least we might get to see Tito again.
Can we just hit rock bottom, already? JUST PICK A MANAGER.
You know. If you Twittered me… my day would get better.
A terrible Thanksgiving. And still no manager. It’s that quiet part of the movie before the plane crashes.
Happy Black Friday!
So. That was a terrible Thanksgiving.
Not only are the Sox managerless and Ortizless (which are the real problems), but the boyfriend got the plague and couldn’t drive up the mountain. And I, the crazy girlfriend that you all knew I had the potential to be (you read my rants. He does too. None of us should be surprised) well, went crazy. And drove a lot. Oh, and ate a romantic lunch by myself today with a side of gallons and gallons of cranberry sauce. There was sashimi tuna. And asparagus. Oh. And then I drank my boyfriend’s favorite beer. Because I’m the crazy person who irrationally blames my boyfriend for being sick. And apologizes by sending text after text after text. That he doesn’t respond to. So. Um. That’s not a good sign. Oh. And the cat escaped. And then spread a mouse (yes, that’s the intended phrase) all over my living room. Did I mention it’s the boyfriend’s cat? The boyfriend I basically verbally went psycho on yesterday for… oh… absolutely no reason? Yeah. He finally texted me (just now) that he’s feeling better. Maybe, in his fevered delirium, he’ll forget that I went ranty. And maybe mouse blood will come off the wall if I spray it with club soda.
And how was your day?
Gene Lamont? Valentine? PICK ALREADY
Manager search, aka drawing names out of a mediocrity hat, continues. So much fricking INDECISION.
The Cubs and Red Sox interviewed many of the same men for their positions and some wags joked that the Cubs should simply hire two of them and give one to Boston for the compensation still owed for Chicago’s hiring of Theo Epstein.
And, apparently, the Sox like old people. It shouldn’t surprise us, really, when we look, really look at the roster. My favorite, Lovullo, can’t get a second interview. But Gene Lamont can get one.
Who is Gene Lamont? Why, he managed the White Sox and the Pirates, wikipedia says. Doesn’t ring a bell? Maybe that’s because you, like me, had just started HIGH SCHOOL the last time he carried the management clipboard in a big way. Oh. Wait. Wikipedia says he’s the Detroit third base coach. Unless he’s the Detroit pitching coach, I don’t care. I want Verlander magic. Not you, Gene Lamont.
But whatever. Pick already. And then we can criticize you adequately, Red Sox.
If only we could get John Farrell.
OH WAIT. WE COULD HAVE.
Apparently, the Blue Jays offered Farrell up on a silver platter. All we had to do was give them Clay Buchholz.
Before you jump down my throat and are all.. we loooooveeee clay-
Keep in mind that Clay is ONE pitcher. One that looooovveeeesssss being injured.
Yeah, so we only have three pitchers. But it’s a lot like debt.
Let me explain with an example from my personal life. I know how you LOVE hearing about my personal life. So. Currently. I am about (only) $15,000 in debt. Which is really great, considering. I am going to try to go to graduate school. So, let’s add like $30,000 to that. I’d be… oh… $40,000 in debt next year. Sounds staggering, right? But it really doesn’t matter whether it’s $250 in debt or $2.5 million. When you don’t have it, you don’t have it. And, until they legalize debtors prison, it’s unlikely I’m going to get out of debt any time soon. So bring on the debt! Might as well go allllll in. Because at least, with a master’s degree… I have a CHANCE. Without it, I’m on Craigslist every day trying to convince strangers that a reporter could work in pharmaceutical sales.
With John Farrell, we have a CHANCE. We can get more pitchers. We have to get more pitchers anyway. CLEARLY, we suck at getting managers. I say MAKE THE SWAP.
But no one listens to me. Um. Except for you.
He was an All-Star.
So that’s good. Plays for Oakland.
Maybe having another Gonzalez on the team will have our current Gonzalez, aka: He-who-walk-jogs-to-first, stepping it up?
I’m not seeing Papelbon 2.0, but whatever. Do SOMETHING, Red Sox.
WHY is there no new Papi news? Because this is no one’s first priority but mine. As I reported yesterday- salary arbitration has been offered. And now we’re into that inevitable waiting game…
So. How was your holiday?
I’m going out with my friend Andy tonight. We are going to drink things in glasses with swizzle sticks and sing karaoke until J calls me back. One usually gets multiple strikes in a relationship, right? Not just three like in baseball?
‘Gobble, gobble, gobble, gobble,’ said Ben Cherington. ‘Gobble?’ asked Papi. ‘Gobble,’ replied Ben Cherington. Gobble. Gobble. Gobble.
I imagine the headline is exactly what happened last night. Except with less feathers and more irrelevance.
The Sox offered Papi salary arbitration.
Arbitration was also offered to… nope. Not Jason Varitek. Nope. Not Tim Wakefield. Nope, not Erik Bedard. Nope, not $$$, aka: JD Drew…
If you guessed DAN WHEELER, you’re moving on to final jeopardy. Because why wouldn’t we try to lock in Dan Wheeler first, who costs us about five dollars and brings good old fashioned mediocrity to the table?!
So, all Ortiz is worth, really, is one more draft pick than Dan Wheeler? Please don’t let this be a draft pick ruse, Ben Cherington. Ortiz has until December 7 to go big or go home. And, with no manager, no dignity and no stability, the Sox aren’t exactly demonstrating a convincing power point presentation on loyalty…
Erik Bedard, Trever Miller, Tim Wakefield, J.D. Drew, Conor Jackson, and Jason Varitek were not offered arbitration. They remain eligible to return.
I mean, last year by this time we had actually accomplished something. Yes, Adrian Gonzalez. I’m talking about you. Despite your poor old-person-jog to first, you were okay plus most of the time, and an MVP candidate.
And Curt Schilling.
Remember in 2003 when we got Curt Schilling on Thanksgiving? See, Thanksgiving is a time for giving THANKS. Usually, GMs take this seriously in Beantown. But Keebler’s going against the grain, see. Going against the grain and saying, right fielder? Right schmielder! I’m going to eat my turkey first, damnit!
I mean, some of us have to work today. Some of us had to get up at 5 a.m. to take pictures of a Turkey Trot race. And we did it with a smile on our face because that’s our job. I mean, I thought your job was to suture the Soxsplosion, Ben Cherington. But sure. Don’t worry about it on your holiday. I’m sure we won’t bleed out on the gurney, or anything. Because the Red Sox sooooo have a recent history of stable vitals. We know John Henry’s not worried about it. Because there are no worries on a yacht. Unless you’re Robert Wagner. Too soon? I think it’s still too soon for that joke. And I think I’ve been watching too much “Grey’s Anatomy.”
But sure. After a September/October/November/continuing collapse of dignity, the “wait and see” approach seems swelleriffic.
I mean, we don’t have a manager. Might as well leave the other holes open. That way we can play a full round of golf with all the emptiness. Seriously. Manager. Right field. Bull pen. Not to mention we have what, THREE healthy starting pitchers? Maybe they’re planning on an April of t-ball.
I’d like Jason Varitek to take over, please.
Or Kevin Millar. Because then, at least, if they WERE going to drink beer in the dugout, they’d SHARE.
Oh. Um. Happy Thanksgiving, people who aren’t working. Happy Thursday to everyone else…
No. That’s not when we turn into a pumpkin.
Last year- We netted A-Gonz.
This year? To be determined. We’re down a David Ortiz. A manager. A right fielder. And then there’s the pitching. A lot of wishes.
So, Benny. Ball’s in your court. Will we be thankful? Or will we be turkeys this Thanksgiving?
Who are we kidding? Keebler’s not the fairy godmother.
I think we all know who that is.
Ball’s in your court.
DAVID ORTIZ, people.
I hope I’m not awake to see this.
Covering a Turkey Trot in the AM. So I’ll be up by six… Give me happy comments to wake up to, k? Like a reaction when they sign David Ortiz. Because they WILL sign David Ortiz. Right? Right?
Because I am nothing if not spirited. Even if, despite the holiday, I get to work the kind of hours tomorrow that would kill your average Target employee…
25 things I am thankful for:
1. Having a job. I’m very, very unhappy right now. But, I bet, if I were jobless, I’d have less food. And I sure do like food. Especially soup. I am thankful for soup. I shall have butternut squash today. With- cheese!
2. Tide detergent. Because without Tide detergent, my Youk jersey would be kaput. And coupons! Because without coupons, my Tide detergent would be Lowes Foods brand. And Lowes Foods! Because without Lowes Foods, I would be squashless. And therefore soupless. All things come back to my love of soup, really. Did you know you can make beer soup? Look it up. It’s cheesy.
3. Jacoby Ellsbury. Because without Jacoby Ellsbury, I wouldn’t have had hope. And without hope, I probably would have just stayed in bed all day. And if I had stayed in bed all day, I probably wouldn’t have my job. And then I wouldn’t be able to buy soup. Tomorrow, I shall have Tom Yum!
4. My friends. I really do have the best friends. And, thanks to my job pinballing, I have friends in lots of cities. I have best friends. Like eight of them. And they’re not only supportive, they are hilarious. My boyfriend falls under this category. Because he’s kind of great. I guess I’m glad he came back from the dead. It’s all long distancy and occasionally awkward due to my intense fits of commitophobia and sox anxiety, but my boyfriend could still review a movie better than your boyfriend. And usually, he’s not around to see my commitophobic tantrums. So, there’s that. And tomorrow, after a long-long-long day of horrible work (have to work for the soup, see), I’ll get to see him, because he’s driving three hours up a mountain to make my day better. Maybe I will share my soup. There’s only so much soup, you know. I mean… I guess I could make more…
5. Inspiration. I am thankful for inspiration. Because, as icky as the bureaucracy of my job is lately, occasionally, VERY occasionally, inspiration exists. Like this week at the area homeless shelter- where I interviewed some truly incredible people. Or last week, interviewing World War II vets. When I’m interviewing inspirational people that don’t suck, sometimes I forget I’m wading through a swamp of steaming, stewing bullpoo 99 percent of the time. And for what? Rent money and soup. And the occasional ice cream. You know. At least with it being off-season… my alcohol-ice cream budget has decreased. Did you know you can add alcohol to ice cream? Really. See? I’m thankful for that. Does gelatin really contain bones? Because I’ve eaten gelatin.
6. Terry Francona. I am thankful for you, Terry. Even if John Henry is too busy doing buoy doughnuts with his yacht, I am thankful for you. And, since I’m so thankful for you… COME BACK!!!! COME BACK NOW!!!!! I’ll never call you Tito the Dorito again! Never! I’ll share my soup! We’ll make more soup! Better soup! Stronger soup! Hotter soup! Together!!!!!
7. Musicals. I LOVE musicals.
8. My puppy. Elliot-May-Precious Ortiz. And my two step-kitties. The ones I am watching for the boyfriend (since SEPTEMBER, btw) until he gets a new apartment. Their names are Randall and Dante but (we don’t have to tell J this) I have renamed them Timon and Pumba because of their insatiable sass and appetites. I am NOT thankful that my town house is carpeted. Or that, apparently, there WERE mice.
9. The internet. And that means YOU, soxies. I’m thankful for YOU. Because you appreciate what some call my “eccentricities.” You recognize them as complimentary aspects of my sparkling personality and not… what was it my coworker said last week? “What happens when a cheerleader fuses personalities with a squirrel on crack.” I have NEVER tried crack. I’m thankful for my eery goody-two-shoes-ness. Because, as an overworked reporter, were I not so perfect, who knows what I would have tried? Good thing my only drugs are caffeine, alcohol, a sense of entitlement and the internet!
10. The Ocean. I don’t care which one. As long as it’s salty and there’s sand and room for my towel. Beach, I am thankful for you. And orca whales. I LOVE orca whales. They’re not actually whales, you know. They are porpoises.
11. Vancouver. My favorite city ever. I am thankful for you. I’m sorry that your hockey fans are arsonist losers and that Maxim Lapierre taints your city with his pre-maximized-heart Grinchiness.
12. The Red Sox. Because you’re not all chicken and beer and video games. But I’m not thankful that, because of stupid “unnamed sources” that’s what the world thinks. I’m NOT thankful for you, stupid “unnamed sources.” I’m thankful for Tommy John surgery. Is that mean? It’s honest. And I’m thankful for earlier steroid testing (Bud Selig, you were SO not on this list last year). And I’m thankful Curt Young is gone. And I’m thankful for Kevin Youkilis’ existence. I’m NOT thankful that you have a yacht and I don’t, John Henry. I doubt you’re very thankful at all, John Henry. You’re probably on your yacht right now. You probably don’t even know it’s Thanksgiving because Theo was probably the guy who reminded you of major holidays and headphone bills. You’re probably on your yacht. Sitting in front of the fire place (yachts can have fire places, right?)… eating soup. Expensive soup. From an expensive can or something. I bet your can opener is electric. Show off. There are people in this world who have to relay on the pull cap cans, John Henry. Think about that. And those sausage cans with the keys. You know? Where you twist the key and aluminum wraps around it and the can opens and the meat is gross? Stop talking about this, JH. You know I’m a vegetarian.
13. I am thankful for my family and their hilarity when watching Red Sox/Dolphins games. I’m not that bad. Right? Right?
14. I am thankful for the beach. I wish I were at the beach. Did I say that already? It’s really cold outside, folks. Soup weather.
15. I am thankful for grilled cheese sandwiches. The kind with the white fancy cheese and thin tomatoes. Caprese sandwiches. From Which Wich.
16. Tim Thomas. I like you as much as I like grilled cheese sandwiches. And that is a LOT.
17. The Stanley Cup. Yay.
18. My friends Adrienne and Joe who got me addicted to Bruins hockey three years ago at Beantown Tavern in Charlotte, proving that, after the Red Sox game ends, there are PLENTY of reasons to stay at the bar and drink.
19. Oriental food. I am addicted to Thai. And I eat Chinese food every day at work. If it did not exist, I would starve. To. Death. And then the North Carolina High Country would be without its favorite reporter. And you would be without your favorite blogger. And Kevin Youkilis would be without his number one fan. And the world would mourn. And there would probably be a tv special about it or something.
20. Oh! Oh! Oh! And I’m thankful that we’re not in the middle of a biological warfare plague or something. Because I have a most sincere fear about that. Because I had to cover this disaster response thing and… yeah.
21. Simon and Garfunkel.
22. Pushing Daisies. Greatest show ever. I don’t care if it is not on the air anymore. It is on the air of my heart. And pie. I love pie. Baking it, more so than eating it, because it’s soooooooooooo pretty when it comes out of the oven all fluffy and brown.
23. The color pink.
24. Figure skating.
25. NPR. Wait, wait… don’t tell me! Car Talk! Prairie Home Companion! Diane Rehm! Sandwich Mondays!
There’s not enough room in the 25 for me to mention my intense gratitude for dry erase boards. Oh! And rain smell. And the bandaids with the antibiotic ointment already in the gauze.
Oh! And I am SOOOOOO thankful for our TWITTER FRIENDSHIP. We have one, right? No? Click here! Quick!
What are you thankful for, Soxies?
PS- I am thankful for THIS VIEW: