"I put the Polish death grip on it," he said. "When we beat the Yankees I gave the ball to Derek but this one I'm keeping. This one is staying with me."--Doug Mientkiewicz, on the game winning ball.
Unreal. The greatest 11 days in sports history. The greatest comeback followed by the most dominant World Series performance in the history of baseball. 2004, the year. No waiting until next year. No curse. Where did it all come from?
The July 24th mitt to A-rod's face? The September collapse that never came? The arrogance of the Yankees finally accumulating enough bad Karma to sink the Empire? Players really believing in each other, as a team?
Unreal.
Tuesday, October 26, 2004
Kids favorite fellow, Bob the Builder, left, and Mariners first baseman John Olerud.
Monday, October 25, 2004
Just wanted to get the word out that the fund raiser for my cousin Marc is coming up. If you want to know why there's a fundraiser and if you'd like to help, read this article. Any little bit helps, even if it's just sending your good thoughts towards Marc and his family.
On the lighter side of things, the Sox are lookin' good after a few games, now the real test in St Louis.
Also, as it turns out, I have 2 more frisbee games next week to indulge in so viva la Ultimate!
On the lighter side of things, the Sox are lookin' good after a few games, now the real test in St Louis.
Also, as it turns out, I have 2 more frisbee games next week to indulge in so viva la Ultimate!
Friday, October 22, 2004
When I was up in the Arctic, I should have tried to find Ol' Herbie's North Pole Dentistry Office. My teeth are a painful lot and now, just for the EXAM it's gonna run me $200 bucks. God knows how much it's going to cost to actually repair them. That's what I get for having all these burly molars. My appt. is next Weds, I'll try to get some quotes from my dentist. It ought to be neat since I haven't visited one since 1998 or so.
Also, my probable last week of Ultimate is this Sunday. It's getting chilly out here!Luckily, Xanadu has her fashionable fall colors ready to go!
Remember that scene in "A Christmas Story" where Scott Farkus, the yellow-eyed bully, cracks Ralphie in the face with a snowball? After having an ultra crappy day in thh world of kid-dom, poor Ralphie snaps and in a flash he's unloading a flurry punches on his adversary. With mittens flying, he unleashes vengeance for countless wedgies, chicken wings, and other childhood tortures until hus rival lay bloodied on the ground, his nose bleeding, his Yankees cap stomped on in the snow. Oh wait, am I getting ahead of myself?
Last night was a thing of beauty. For once it was the Sox fans rejoicing, we WERE the team that wasn't from Mudville. This is uncharted territory for Yankees fans, something they've not known. With two of the most despicable Yanks going 0-8 with 3ks (Alex "Anti-Ruth" Rodriguez and Gary "Who's Your Dealer" Sheffield) David (Ortiz) and the Sox have slain Goliath.
It's easy to bring back memories of 1986, Hendu going yard off of Moore and my stomach, at the tender age of 10 being so tied in knots having to go outside beween innings so I wouldn't throw up. As we grow older, baseball loses a great deal of it's mythical power. I remember the days on the porch in Maine watching the Sox with my grandfather, the smell of salt air permeating the cool night. I remember turning my back on baseball in 1994, the strike year. I remember countless games on the TV while life happened all around.
What baseball does is it gives men a chance to be boys, of course, but it also lets the fans feel something that echoes of boyhood dreams. You are removed from the present and brought somewhere in the past, a place of games and friendship, watching darkness come over the land and playing until the ball was only a vague shadow in the gloamin'. It reminds one of the days of oncoming manhood, seeing your strength visable and viable in reaching fences that just a year ago seemed untouchable, it's feeling the strength in your arm, the pop in the mitt, and a transformation into miniscule versions of our heroes. For a minute, this grand game let's us transcend so much--young and old--and revel in truly being in the moment.
Of course, there's still the world series. And to win that...let's say you'd have a whole legion of New Englanders with a whole new outlook on life. Too much you say? Why attach yourself to a sports team that cares nothing about you? Because so much in life is an investment in the intangible, it serves to connect fathers and sons, stranger to stranger, and in a bigger picture gives us heroes and villians where they belong.
I haven't eaten in three days. I can't wait for the series. And remember, NEVER GIVE UP!! YA GOTTA BELIEVE! GO SOX!!
Oh and if you need a turning point in the season, how about July 24 when JV tucked his mitt into A-Fraud's jaw?
Also, my probable last week of Ultimate is this Sunday. It's getting chilly out here!Luckily, Xanadu has her fashionable fall colors ready to go!
Thursday, October 21, 2004
Remember that scene in "A Christmas Story" where Scott Farkus, the yellow-eyed bully, cracks Ralphie in the face with a snowball? After having an ultra crappy day in thh world of kid-dom, poor Ralphie snaps and in a flash he's unloading a flurry punches on his adversary. With mittens flying, he unleashes vengeance for countless wedgies, chicken wings, and other childhood tortures until hus rival lay bloodied on the ground, his nose bleeding, his Yankees cap stomped on in the snow. Oh wait, am I getting ahead of myself?
Last night was a thing of beauty. For once it was the Sox fans rejoicing, we WERE the team that wasn't from Mudville. This is uncharted territory for Yankees fans, something they've not known. With two of the most despicable Yanks going 0-8 with 3ks (Alex "Anti-Ruth" Rodriguez and Gary "Who's Your Dealer" Sheffield) David (Ortiz) and the Sox have slain Goliath.
It's easy to bring back memories of 1986, Hendu going yard off of Moore and my stomach, at the tender age of 10 being so tied in knots having to go outside beween innings so I wouldn't throw up. As we grow older, baseball loses a great deal of it's mythical power. I remember the days on the porch in Maine watching the Sox with my grandfather, the smell of salt air permeating the cool night. I remember turning my back on baseball in 1994, the strike year. I remember countless games on the TV while life happened all around.
What baseball does is it gives men a chance to be boys, of course, but it also lets the fans feel something that echoes of boyhood dreams. You are removed from the present and brought somewhere in the past, a place of games and friendship, watching darkness come over the land and playing until the ball was only a vague shadow in the gloamin'. It reminds one of the days of oncoming manhood, seeing your strength visable and viable in reaching fences that just a year ago seemed untouchable, it's feeling the strength in your arm, the pop in the mitt, and a transformation into miniscule versions of our heroes. For a minute, this grand game let's us transcend so much--young and old--and revel in truly being in the moment.
Of course, there's still the world series. And to win that...let's say you'd have a whole legion of New Englanders with a whole new outlook on life. Too much you say? Why attach yourself to a sports team that cares nothing about you? Because so much in life is an investment in the intangible, it serves to connect fathers and sons, stranger to stranger, and in a bigger picture gives us heroes and villians where they belong.
I haven't eaten in three days. I can't wait for the series. And remember, NEVER GIVE UP!! YA GOTTA BELIEVE! GO SOX!!
Oh and if you need a turning point in the season, how about July 24 when JV tucked his mitt into A-Fraud's jaw?
Wednesday, October 20, 2004
Or as Boston first baseman Doug Mientkiewicz said, "We've been playing Game 7 since Game 4."
This Red Sox series is utterly exhausting. Even when they win, you still feel sick, drained, and ready for a vacation. Game 6 has always had a harsh ring to Sox fans and it was another dribbler down the first base line that may stay in memory for years to come. There we saw A-Rod, the overpaid money-over-legacy baby, slap the ball away from Bronson Arroyo. If you had any doubt the Yankees are in fact the evil empire, A-Rod had this to say about the play (I don't have time to find the exact quote): "I wish the umps wouldn't get together, everytime they do the call goes against the Yankees."
Excuse me? You mean you wish they wouldn't get the plays RIGHT?! You wish you could cheat and get away with it and win with dirty, underhanded play?! We didn't see you complaining about the umps when they missed the call in game 5 where Jeter missed tagging Ortiz at second by about a mile. And Bellhorn's homer was just that, this isn't Jeffery Meyer and the Baltimore Orioles. Just another reason to hate the Yankees.
Win or lose, there's no way to compare this Yankees team with those who forged the legacy of the team in the 50's. What's there to like about A-Rod (tries to cheat), Sheffield (does cheat--who's your dealer?!), and Matsui (he's ugly). I'll give you Rivera, Jeter, Williams, and Olerud. But as a team, the 2004 Yanks radiate a nastiness that makes them so easy to hate.
Let's hope the "idiots" on the Sox can give New England something to cheer about tonight. Normally we fear game 7's, but this one...this one feels different.
PS FOUND THE A ROD QUOTE:"I don't want those guys to meet anymore," Alex Rodriguez said after he was called for runner interference for his bush league play when he knocked the ball out of Bronson Arroyo's hand. "Every time they meet, it goes against the Yankees. I told John Hirschbeck: No more meetings."
Excuse me? You mean you wish they wouldn't get the plays RIGHT?! You wish you could cheat and get away with it and win with dirty, underhanded play?! We didn't see you complaining about the umps when they missed the call in game 5 where Jeter missed tagging Ortiz at second by about a mile. And Bellhorn's homer was just that, this isn't Jeffery Meyer and the Baltimore Orioles. Just another reason to hate the Yankees.
Win or lose, there's no way to compare this Yankees team with those who forged the legacy of the team in the 50's. What's there to like about A-Rod (tries to cheat), Sheffield (does cheat--who's your dealer?!), and Matsui (he's ugly). I'll give you Rivera, Jeter, Williams, and Olerud. But as a team, the 2004 Yanks radiate a nastiness that makes them so easy to hate.
Let's hope the "idiots" on the Sox can give New England something to cheer about tonight. Normally we fear game 7's, but this one...this one feels different.
PS FOUND THE A ROD QUOTE:"I don't want those guys to meet anymore," Alex Rodriguez said after he was called for runner interference for his bush league play when he knocked the ball out of Bronson Arroyo's hand. "Every time they meet, it goes against the Yankees. I told John Hirschbeck: No more meetings."
Monday, October 18, 2004
"Oh I get it, he's so ugly he's cute, right?"
Good thing to say about someone's dog. Bad thing to say about someone's baby.
Good thing to say about someone's dog. Bad thing to say about someone's baby.
We come together in celebration. My sister's wedding, with all it's symbolic and metaphoric significance, initiated changes ages old in the progress of human existence. Daughter given away by father, the leaves giving their brilliant farewell flashes before letting go, a family returned from the far corners for a brief proximity. Alive, smiling, infused with a verve of nourishing energy, giving rise in the heart of memories for the old, sentiments and hope for the young.
The weekend allows indulgence in the altruistic notion of love, a genuine joy and warmth of the heart for seeing those you cherish immersed in the thickness of life, the real substance, the very chords that ring true to every level of the soul. It is only in the stillness of the morning, alone and after the ceremonies, that one can begin to share the witness of such things with one's own familiar soul.
In my case, the editing of emotions from the weekend comes with introspective census aimed only at my own relation when removed from the joy. Here, my heart is still frightfully amiss with the love and logic that has caused so much heartache in the last two months; here I feel a loneliness that gets amplified by the vastness of the Colorado landscape so far away from that powerful notion of family. In haste to leave, I grow sad for what I leave behind and what I return to. In my own life, it has only been slight degrees that have meant the difference between fulfillment and sorrow.
I leave behind the happy couple, the exhausted but proud parents, the wise grandparents, and supportive aunts and uncles. Also, I leave behind my cousins, a strength I wish I could give in person for Marc's triumphant but draining battle with cancer. How hard it is to not have him at the wedding; for his family to bravely keep up the good fight as they have.
In the year that has passed since Amy has known Michael, I myself have found love and carelessly let it fade away as I have done with other loves I have known. I've tested the bonds of friendship and kindness, lost myself in self pity, and emerged from great trials with a foreshadowing of hope. Yet it was only home where I feel the genuine strength of my character at Marc and David's house, laughing, forgetful of the hours that pass leading to my return to Colorado, reaffirming the goodness in myself and leaving utterly inspired by the quiet dignity of my family. Where I have foundered in the emotional charter in Colorado, with Marc and Dave I feel no such reservations on the importance of my being.
I only hope that strength is able to germinate itself out here in Colorado to rememdy the situations before me and to give rise to a more authentic self.
"Qui transtulit sustinet";
He who transplants, sustains.
Sunday was our last day at the Albuquerque Balloon Festival and it was good to be wrapping things up. The 3:30 AM wake up calls made for some very long days; we were on site at 4 AM until 10 PM. The festival itself was a very interesting mix of people. The balloonists have their own little niche culture, though the contingent from Sao Paulo, Brazil were into having as much fun as possible! They revel in shaped balloons and were never without smiles. Others were a bit more military and serious, but almost all were easy to talk to and seemed to genuinely enjoy being at the fiesta.
On the other side of the equation were the frumpy, crabby "fair people" who themselves resembled some of the balloons. More than a few of these types would greedily hoard a fleshy handful of the free beef jerky we were giving out (it clearly said please only take one!) then they would waddle their way over to the Wal*Mart tent. They were in heaven, adorned in powdered sugar stained sweatpants, inhaling jerky packets and surrounded by the familiar sundries of Wal*Mart.
Around 11 AM on Sunday, Stephen and I went out behind the trailer to get some pictures of the balloons landing in the grassy meadow. There were a lot of rough landings thanks to high winds. Stephen was armed with a video camera and I with my new Pentax digital SLR when we looked up from the landing chaos and saw Smokey the Bear's giant head drifting toward the phalanx of radio towers beyond the landing area. Because of the relative size of the balloons it was hard to gauge distance, which is why our jaws dropped when we saw the right ear snag on the top of the 670 foot tower and twist the gondola around and around the structure. All the air rushed out of the balloon and the canvas was torn to shreds. Our hearts were in our throats as three small figures clambered out of the basket and into the inner ladder of the tower.
Thank goodness no one was hurt. There were three riders in the balloon, a sixty something year old pilot and two young boys, 14 and 10. All three descended via the tower. The balloon was utterly destroyed. Poor Smokey was all sorts of busted up though to avoid irony, he made a point of not catching on fire.
Later in the day, another balloon smashed into power lines and yet again no one was hurt. Why don't we ever mention balloons when talking about extreme sports?
Greetings from New Mexico, where the balloons are great and numerous. I've been up since 3:30 AM! Whew!
This Saturday, I completed the triple crown of Colorado 14er's, scaling Mt. Democrat (14,148 ft) traversing over Cameron Point (with an elevation over 14,000 ft., some argue Cameron should be a 14'er) to Mount Lincoln (14,286), and revisiting Mount Bross (14,172). The weather held steady, though it was VERY windy! There was not many people out as the snow was getting deep. I did meet a fellow on my way down from Democrat who I swear was Gilbert Gotfried. On top of Lincoln, a very pro-John Kerry bloke named Ryan summited around the same time I did and we walked over to Bross together. He was a smart dude, knew his Kerry info and regaled me with a thousand reasons why Bush sucks. Of course, he was preaching to the choir but it made for some good conversation.
The bad side? I knocked the exhaust system off my car fighting up the road to Kite Lake Trailhead, where the hikes start (itself at 12,200 ft.) It ended up costing $179 bucks to fix. Bleh. I also broke one of the chains for my tires in the snow, ice, mud mixture. Ok, ok car gods, I get the point, the Honda Accord is not an off-road vehicle!
Sunday I played in two ultimate frisbee games, both of which my team won! Monday I rode up Linden Hill in record time, 37:04 door to summit. It's only about 6 miles but it goes from 5,200 ft elevation up to about 8,000 ft. in three miles. That's steep, yo.
Today is my last day in Boulder for a while; headed down to Albuquerque, NM for the International Balloon Festival! Maybe I should get a hair cut before peple start mistaking me for Johnny Damon.
As always, the prancing buffoon is on the opposing team and the shell-shocked Colorado Rockie is on the home team. The guy who hit the home run is batting .168; the guy standing there is one of the premier players in baseball, Todd Helton, who is 2nd in national league batting at .346 (which means he's really first, since he's not juiced like a certain large headed Balco-enthusiast). The Rocks blew 38 saves this year, many of them thanks to Sean "good when not a starter, better when not out of the bullpen" Chacon.
This is main reason why most Colorado sports fans openly root for the Avs(Nordy Q's) and the Broncos and not the Rocks.
The weekend allows indulgence in the altruistic notion of love, a genuine joy and warmth of the heart for seeing those you cherish immersed in the thickness of life, the real substance, the very chords that ring true to every level of the soul. It is only in the stillness of the morning, alone and after the ceremonies, that one can begin to share the witness of such things with one's own familiar soul.
In my case, the editing of emotions from the weekend comes with introspective census aimed only at my own relation when removed from the joy. Here, my heart is still frightfully amiss with the love and logic that has caused so much heartache in the last two months; here I feel a loneliness that gets amplified by the vastness of the Colorado landscape so far away from that powerful notion of family. In haste to leave, I grow sad for what I leave behind and what I return to. In my own life, it has only been slight degrees that have meant the difference between fulfillment and sorrow.
I leave behind the happy couple, the exhausted but proud parents, the wise grandparents, and supportive aunts and uncles. Also, I leave behind my cousins, a strength I wish I could give in person for Marc's triumphant but draining battle with cancer. How hard it is to not have him at the wedding; for his family to bravely keep up the good fight as they have.
In the year that has passed since Amy has known Michael, I myself have found love and carelessly let it fade away as I have done with other loves I have known. I've tested the bonds of friendship and kindness, lost myself in self pity, and emerged from great trials with a foreshadowing of hope. Yet it was only home where I feel the genuine strength of my character at Marc and David's house, laughing, forgetful of the hours that pass leading to my return to Colorado, reaffirming the goodness in myself and leaving utterly inspired by the quiet dignity of my family. Where I have foundered in the emotional charter in Colorado, with Marc and Dave I feel no such reservations on the importance of my being.
I only hope that strength is able to germinate itself out here in Colorado to rememdy the situations before me and to give rise to a more authentic self.
"Qui transtulit sustinet";
He who transplants, sustains.
Monday, October 11, 2004
Sunday was our last day at the Albuquerque Balloon Festival and it was good to be wrapping things up. The 3:30 AM wake up calls made for some very long days; we were on site at 4 AM until 10 PM. The festival itself was a very interesting mix of people. The balloonists have their own little niche culture, though the contingent from Sao Paulo, Brazil were into having as much fun as possible! They revel in shaped balloons and were never without smiles. Others were a bit more military and serious, but almost all were easy to talk to and seemed to genuinely enjoy being at the fiesta.
On the other side of the equation were the frumpy, crabby "fair people" who themselves resembled some of the balloons. More than a few of these types would greedily hoard a fleshy handful of the free beef jerky we were giving out (it clearly said please only take one!) then they would waddle their way over to the Wal*Mart tent. They were in heaven, adorned in powdered sugar stained sweatpants, inhaling jerky packets and surrounded by the familiar sundries of Wal*Mart.
Around 11 AM on Sunday, Stephen and I went out behind the trailer to get some pictures of the balloons landing in the grassy meadow. There were a lot of rough landings thanks to high winds. Stephen was armed with a video camera and I with my new Pentax digital SLR when we looked up from the landing chaos and saw Smokey the Bear's giant head drifting toward the phalanx of radio towers beyond the landing area. Because of the relative size of the balloons it was hard to gauge distance, which is why our jaws dropped when we saw the right ear snag on the top of the 670 foot tower and twist the gondola around and around the structure. All the air rushed out of the balloon and the canvas was torn to shreds. Our hearts were in our throats as three small figures clambered out of the basket and into the inner ladder of the tower.
Thank goodness no one was hurt. There were three riders in the balloon, a sixty something year old pilot and two young boys, 14 and 10. All three descended via the tower. The balloon was utterly destroyed. Poor Smokey was all sorts of busted up though to avoid irony, he made a point of not catching on fire.
Later in the day, another balloon smashed into power lines and yet again no one was hurt. Why don't we ever mention balloons when talking about extreme sports?
Thursday, October 07, 2004
Greetings from New Mexico, where the balloons are great and numerous. I've been up since 3:30 AM! Whew!
Tuesday, October 05, 2004
This Saturday, I completed the triple crown of Colorado 14er's, scaling Mt. Democrat (14,148 ft) traversing over Cameron Point (with an elevation over 14,000 ft., some argue Cameron should be a 14'er) to Mount Lincoln (14,286), and revisiting Mount Bross (14,172). The weather held steady, though it was VERY windy! There was not many people out as the snow was getting deep. I did meet a fellow on my way down from Democrat who I swear was Gilbert Gotfried. On top of Lincoln, a very pro-John Kerry bloke named Ryan summited around the same time I did and we walked over to Bross together. He was a smart dude, knew his Kerry info and regaled me with a thousand reasons why Bush sucks. Of course, he was preaching to the choir but it made for some good conversation.
The bad side? I knocked the exhaust system off my car fighting up the road to Kite Lake Trailhead, where the hikes start (itself at 12,200 ft.) It ended up costing $179 bucks to fix. Bleh. I also broke one of the chains for my tires in the snow, ice, mud mixture. Ok, ok car gods, I get the point, the Honda Accord is not an off-road vehicle!
Sunday I played in two ultimate frisbee games, both of which my team won! Monday I rode up Linden Hill in record time, 37:04 door to summit. It's only about 6 miles but it goes from 5,200 ft elevation up to about 8,000 ft. in three miles. That's steep, yo.
Today is my last day in Boulder for a while; headed down to Albuquerque, NM for the International Balloon Festival! Maybe I should get a hair cut before peple start mistaking me for Johnny Damon.
Friday, October 01, 2004
As always, the prancing buffoon is on the opposing team and the shell-shocked Colorado Rockie is on the home team. The guy who hit the home run is batting .168; the guy standing there is one of the premier players in baseball, Todd Helton, who is 2nd in national league batting at .346 (which means he's really first, since he's not juiced like a certain large headed Balco-enthusiast). The Rocks blew 38 saves this year, many of them thanks to Sean "good when not a starter, better when not out of the bullpen" Chacon.
This is main reason why most Colorado sports fans openly root for the Avs(Nordy Q's) and the Broncos and not the Rocks.
For Saturday, I have the classic three 14'ers ready to go--Mount Democrat, Mount Lincoln, and Mount Bross. I've already hit Bross a while back but my camera died so this time I shall bring 2 hearty cameras! It's icy, yucky, and the wee' Accord may not know what it's getting into but I remain optimistic! Here's to democracy!
