Happy Opening Day (for real. For real. Right, John Lackey?)
Opening Day at Fenway. Not just a game. A celebration. A holiday, if you will. A shining light in what could be considered a dismal week. SCREW ‘EM.
Don’t we all need to see that again?
And my company is contractually obligated to let me off in time to see the game. I forgot to ask for actual money. And vacation. But I did add that ditty. And advised my new supervisor of this fact last week, who did this snide eye roll laugh.
He’ll realize I’m not being sarcastic tomorrow at 3:30 p.m. when he can’t find me.
Last year, I had the whole day off and enjoyed the thrills at the closest place to Beantown in NC: Beantown Tavern in Matthews.
But, since I really live in the mountains and I’m not just pretending anymore with my amazing freelance powers, I’ve had to make alternate arrangements.
In other words, I have no idea whose television screen I’ll be screaming at. But there will be screaming. And joyous, joyous screen worshipping. And I will not let a sorry record, a sour disposition, the lack of a Boone-based-Sox-support-system or expensive alcohol GET IN MY WAY.
Do you hear that Boone and your over-priced alcohol?
So… your wicked preview commences. And it will ALL be positive. Ahem. And here we go:
“We can’t wait to get back to the house,” said David Ortiz.
The competition? Our favorites. The Stankees themselves. And you know how much they’d love to shove us over the ledge.
“Catching a team when they haven’t played well,” said Girardi, “it doesn’t take much for a team to turn it around, especially when you’re as talented as they are. (Is that condescension? I think that’s condescension) It’s not probably that teams are going to lose five games in a row very often during the course of the season. (Now you’re just being a jackass) It just happened to them at the beginning of the year. We’ll have a tremendous amount of respect for what they can do and we have to make our pitches and get timely hitting. (Now you’re a pandering jackass)”
Pedroia, he gets it. He gets the Opening Day magic.
“We’re playing for the city of Boston,” he said. “There’s nothing like going out and winning ballgames for them. They’re kind of like the team we have. We’re a very emotional group and so are the fans. That’s why it’s fun.”
And Wheeler’s on the Fenway fan van.
“I’m kind of realizing a childhood dream of mine and looking forward to it,” he said. “When I think about the history of baseball, I think about Fenway Park.”
With pep like that, we can’t lose, right?
Enter JOHN LACKEY.
Damnit, Curt Young! Can’t he fake an injury?
“You just wipe this one away and go to work,” Lackey said after the ULTIMATE FAILURE last Saturday.
Could you go to someone else’s work?
Looking at the stats, Jeter, Posada and Teixeira (grrrr) have all fared well against Lackey.
OF COURSE THEY HAVE.
Lackey, if you ruin Opening Day for me, I swear…
But I digress in a POSITIVE fashion.
He’s up against Phil Hughes who, just like last year, is having a slow start. Yay for slow starts! Of course, he can win games.
Fenway upgrades and hometown pride.
So, who’s ready for the Green Monstah? Who’s ready for a win? Positivity, people.
You know, I used to be a cheerleader. True story.
The cheesiest video I could find.
Wait… this one’s worse…
Addendum: A rant.
So, earlier, I’m running. I’m dying. I’m gross. I’m sweaty. And I’m wearing a pink Sox hat and a Pedroia t-shirt. Minding my own FRICKING business. See, I hate running. Hate it. But it’s how I deal with anger. That, eliptical machines and punching bags. And I’ve been angry a lot lately.
Guy in car, pulls up starts talking mindless Sox crap.
About losing six games. Fascinated he can count.
Yep, I say, thanks for that.
About how we’re trying to be the Stankees ’cause we “bought” our team.
About how we -might- win a game. After the All-Stars.
About how Sox sounds like Sux. (Really?)
About how Youk is a Neanderthal with no neck.
I slowly turn around.
No one talks about MY husband.
I let a few colorful expletives (and two fingers) fly before turning back around and continuing my run.
Guy apparently can’t handle being emasculated in front of his weasel buddies, says, “Whatever. She’s not a real fan anyway. She’s a pink hat.”
I make another disparaging comment (the kind you can’t put on a blog because it’s being specific about what he’s compensating with his gigantic SUV and there was another little ditty about his ability to spit- he was dipping, okay? It made sense in context.)
And, to clarify, he’s wearing (if you couldn’t guess by the compensation comment) a Yankees hat. And not one of the normal Yankees hats. Those trucker-rip-off neon lettered my-head’s-so-big-I’m-my-own-paper-weight kind of hats rappers well.
And he. Is talking. About my hat.
So, after my lengthy explanation of how he got so good at dipping, he asks for my phone number.
And me, being the nice, delightful person who blogs too much and is kind of vengeful, gladly gives him a phone number and a sweet-sweet smile.
Well, it was A phone number.
There’s a guy out there on my LIST who can expect a delightful call in the near future.
Don’t fault me for loving pink.
Addendum: Have you seen this? See, not only should we have won today, but Cleveland should have had a heart attack or twelve. Thanks, Jeb.