The Lowell four and other moments from the day I wasn’t alone
Yesterday was the best day.
And I’m not talking about the double sided victory against those oppressive Canucks and those villainous Stanks.
I’m not talking about how New York didn’t want to give up the ALE first slot so we literally had to go to the Big A and take it.
I’m not even talking about that hilarious Timmy smirk (you know the one) after the stick jab.
I am talking about the company.
Last night my trusty computer and I trekked to the same place we always trek: the Portofino in Boone. But this time, instead of sitting in a corner working on edits for tomorrow’s paper in my Sox hat trying to simultaneously deflect insults and watch the game by myself in a sea of Braves fans… I had company.
Four guys, sitting at a table. I couldn’t help but noticed they had angled the table so they could see BOTH the baseball game AND the hockey game. Notice I said baseball AND hockey. This is a big deal, because usually I have to bribe the bartender to give me one small, itty bitty television that does NOT have the Atlanta Braves on it… these guys managed to get TWO televisions for Boston.
Not wanting to get my hopes up, I sort of subtly angled my chair. Then they started talking. A Lowell accent. An amazing, fantastic, Lowell accent. The gritty, familiar awesome New England accent.
An accent that, if these guys were like… twenty years younger, would have meant some irrationally immoral behavior on my part. I don’t know what it is about those harbor accents but…
They’re tourists, they say, motorcycling through the mountains.
They’re Red Sox fans AND Bruins fans and they have the jerseys to prove it. AND THEY’RE REAL.
So. Much. Fun.
Then Chris came (a hockey fan I’ve known for awhile who calls my baseball-screen-yelling tactics “cute”) shows up and it’s a party.
When I winced at Drew (you know, when he decided to smack the ball instead of catch it), they winced.
When I laughed at Timmy’s antics, they laughed.
When I threw a beer bottle they… well… they didn’t want to get kicked out… but they were right there with me.
And then they were gone.
And now I’m alone.
Scott (<- my new friend), he says he’ll give me the “five cent tour” next time I’m in Lowell.
Next time I’m in Lowell.
I need to get to Mass. If I move to Mass, will you hire me at your newspaper?