Check out this article from the Globe. Some politician wants to take down the CITGO sign, because of CITGO's ties to Venezuela. You know, because their leader, "Hurricane" Hugo Chavez, called Bush the devil. The politician, Glad-hands McGee, said that because Chavez "hates America," we should replace the sign with an American flag.

Let's take a look at how much Chavez "hates America." At a church in Harlem, which is a neighborhood on the island where I live, Chavez


announced that Citgo, the US-based refining arm of Venezuela's state-run oil company, plans to more than double the amount of heating oil it is making available under the program for low-income families to 380 million liters this winter, up from 150 million liters. Chavez started the heating oil program last winter, accusing Bush of neglecting the poor. Citgo said its discounted heating oil will benefit some 1.2 million Americans in 17 US states this winter, including Indians in Alaska, some of whom were flown to New York and attended the ceremony in traditional dress. They performed a dance and offered Chavez a walrus figurine carved out of whale bone as a gift.


Danny Glover was at the church at the time. Are you gonna tell me that Lethal Weapon is un-American?

Sorry, but the sign stays. A Fenway, Boston, New England, and American tradition. The CITGO sign. You want to put an American flag over something, politician-man, put one over your eyes. You'd see about as well as you do now.

If we find out that Hitler called his Volkswagen the "green monster," would we take down the wall? Dismantle Fenway and just have a huge American flag on the ground, that we can all come and stare at while the rest of the world continues to hate us?

Chavez also said how fond he was of Noam Chomsky (who he thought was dead!), calling his book, Hegemony or Survival, a must-read for Americans. I agree. When I was working as a proofreader, I worked on this book before it came out. I can assure you, I broke the "not allowed to read" rule that day...

From the Taipei Times via the NYT. (When I read it, at the bottom it said, "this page has been viewed 666 times"!):


Chomsky said that he would not choose to use the same harsh oratory, but added that the Venezuelan leader was simply expressing the views of many in the world. And he said Chavez's anger was understandable.

"The Bush administration backed a coup to overthrow his government," he said. "Suppose Venezuela supported a military coup that overthrew the government of the United States? Would we think it was a joke?"

photo by Jere, 4/12/06

More than an incomplete game to me...

Julian with the el completo.

I was loking at Red Sox home run records, and I found out that David Ortiz already held the team road homer record, with 27 last year. This year, he's already shattered that with 31.

He also holds the single-season team record for most homers as a DH, and is tied with Ted Williams for the most HR in extra innings, with 3 in 2003.

Did you know Yaz and Nomar are tied for the most times hitting a HR in two consecutive games in a season by a Sox hitter? That also ties a major league record.

And Tris Speaker's eight inside-the-park homers, most by a Red Sox in one season, is a number that will most likely never be broken.

Okay, let's make a quiz out of it: Who holds the Red Sox single-season record for most HR by a third baseman? (Quiz does not count in standings. Quiz season doesn't start for another week. Or longer, if the Red Sox pull off the still possible miracle of making the playoffs.)

Tomorrow it's Hansack, ninth Nicaraguan to play in the majors, making his debut for the Sox. My parents will be there...

We stay alive for another day. Barring a miracle (of course I'm still holding out hope--I'm Jere), there will be, for the first time since 2001, a pre-determined "final game" at Fenway. What a concept. I've come to grips with that reality, and am looking forward to the final Saturday and Sunday. I'll be at Fenway for both games.

It'll be fun to root for Papi to add to his MVP totals. I'm hoping for 60 homers. He's eight away after tonight, and the new Sox single-season record holder. Great moment with Pesky on the field, too.

Seeing Trot for possibly the last time will surely result in a touching Fenway moment.

Getting to see a field full of rookies will be cool, too, on that last day.

And I'll be happy to give some final ovations of '06 for dudes like Lowell, Gonzalez, Varitek...and Millar, heh heh.

I'm excited for it. The "last day." Weird. Keeps us humble. These guys will be right back there in '07, in the race as usual.

Side notes:

I love what I've seen out of Pedroia. He's like Little Mac meets the Keebler elves. Think about Little Mac: Absolutely a different type of creature that his mammoth opponents. But comes out fighting, giving them exactly what they give him and then some, but from a vessel half the size. He's like that number two hitter in a Little League lineup. Can never hit a home run, but gives his all, takes a huge cut with his oversized bat, and seems to want more than anything to get on base, even though sometimes it just isn't possible. And his parents are usually good people that go to every game and buy you sodas and stuff, especially if you befriend their little guy. Which you really should.

Soriano became a member of the 40/40 club this season. Remember when he was one homer away from it with the Yanks? And he just couldn't do it? Makes it that much better that he did it for another club. Remember, they did give this guy up for A-Rod, so the better he does, the less people can talk about that amazing "business move" of a deal the Yanks made. A-Rod has better numbers overall, but SorryAsshole's a little ahead in average, and way ahead in homers.

Joe Morgan will be inducted into the Red Sox Hall of Fame in November. Congratulations, Joe. I was at the doubleheader against KC in July '88, the first two games of Morgan's regime as manager. Yes, I witnessed the official start of Morgan Magic. 1988 was one of the most enjoyable Red Sox seasons. Maybe Pedroia will make 2007 the year of "Elfin Magic."

Yankees clinch division. At least they did it after losing. And on a weeknight. And on the road.

And I'm glad we have something else to think about on this night. The fact that for the first time in most of our lifetimes, a Red Sox player has hit fifty homers in a season. And who better to achieve it, as well as the Sox record, which one more dong will give him, than David Ortiz. Maybe he'll get number 51 on the day we're eliminated from playoff contention. Papi's always thinkin' of us, I tell ya.

Terrible job by the AP headline writer: "Ortiz hits 50th; Red Sox help Yankees." This was used in multiple papers, including the Boston Globe. Had the Red Sox beaten the second-place team tonight, causing the Yanks to clinch, the headline would be accurate. Fill in the blank: "The Yanks lost, but got help from ____." That's right, the team who beat the last team alive in the race. It was the Twins who helped the Yanks. How do these people get jobs? You'd only say the Sox "helped" the Yanks in a mocking way, like how we fans would say it. Like when I say "Timlin tried hard to blow this one." The newspaper headline after that wouldn't be "Timlin Fails At Attempt To Blow Game," it would be "[Other Team] Comes Up Short."

Now let's move on to A-Rod news. There's a huge article in SI by Tom Verducci about Alex. I had so much fun reading this. I love how everything this guy does makes him look worse. The guy can't win, he doesn't deserve to, and I love it. Why would he even agree to do this article?

It should be called, "Just to clarify, A-Rod is a big phony." It's really good stuff. I recommend reading the whole thing immediately.

That's really all I'll say about the man for now. The article needs no further setup. And I'm getting tired. But I will point out three things about the article:

Jason Giambi says that he told A-Rod, "I'll look to drive in runs when they pitch around me, go after that 3-and-1 pitch that might be a ball. But if they're going to walk Bobby and me, you're going to have to be the guy."

Bullcrap, Giambi, you're lookin' for a walk every time, even on a hitter's pitch like 3-1. I'm wacthing you, steroid-boy.

Funny, the next line of the article is:

"(Asked about Giambi's pep talk, Rodriguez said he could not remember what was discussed, though he added, "I'm sure we had a conversation.")"

What a phony.

Speaking of huge phonies, Reggie Jackson is in this article. (By the way, I'm still baffled and pissed, frankly, about him using Lou Gehrig's famous words in his Hall of Fame induction speech. That's like the guy after John Hancock also signing his name really big.) Anyway, Mr. Center Line* told Verducci about this:

"On the night Jackson hit three home runs in the 1977 World Series, he played a routine double into a triple because he'd been stricken with fear that he'd screw it up"

Okay, maybe the writer copied it down wrong. Maybe retrosheet has it wrong. (Verducci did earlier in the article correct a stat that A-Rod had given him, so it's not like he didn't check his facts.) But, according to retrosheet, there was one triple in that game, but it was to left field, and Jackson was in right field. There weren't any doubles by the Dodgers, so it's not like Reggie meant "single into a double." My guess is it's just another bullshit story out of the mouth of Reggie Jackson, the man who claimed a few years ago that he'd never heard of Trot Nixon, using the hilarious line, "what's that, a horse?"

Another thing about this article just has to do with society in general. I hate it when websites or articles or whatever are seemingly made for a straight, male audience. I mean, if you do something that is intended for a certain audience, go ahead and tell us up front. But there seems to be the assumption, especially in the sports media, that the reader or viewer is a straight, macho white boy. For example, I'm reading the A-Rod article, and I come across this:

"He began to wait long enough on pitches to drive them hard to centerfield and rightfield, the satisfying confirmation for a righthanded hitter, like a wink from a pretty girl, that life is good."

Okay, what if I was a straight female reading this? This line implies that a "wink from a pretty girl" confirms for all of us that life is good. Why didn't he specify that he meant for himself, or for straight males? Or say "girl or boy"? Because it sounds stupid? Well, make it sound good, you're getting paid to be a damn writer.

This also happens whenever some website or TV show puts up a picture of a half-naked man. There's always this big funny apology about it. While pictures of female swimsuit models are shown as if it's normal, and what we all want to see. I'm pretty sure there are people who would want to see naked men and wouldn't want to see naked women. Is there some rule I missed that says you have to have a penis to enjoy sports? There might as well be a "no women allowed" warning at the top of most of these media outlets. Terrible job.


*On the episode of The Baseball Bunch hosted by Reggie Jackson, he did a segment where he explained the importance of a player's appearance on the field. He said your jersey should be tucked in, specifically with the buttons matching up exactly with your pants' zipper, hence creating a "center line." All I have to say about that is: 2004. A world championship full of crooked, jagged lines.

Did I ever tell you about the time I visualized exactly where David Ortiz would hit a home run, but didn't quite trust myself enough to go to the spot where I thought the ball would go?

Camden Yards, August 3, 2003. (Those old articles about the game come complete with St. Louis Cardinals wallpaper!?) [edit: 3/26/07: that article is gone, but here's Yahoo's game recap from that day.] Pat and I were down in Baltimore to see the Sox along with thousands of other New Englanders. We'd seen the Saturday night loss, and were back at Oriole Park for the Sunday afternoon game. It was a classic humid summer day in the mid-Atlantic region. The type of day where it's a normal 85 degrees up in the northeast, and you put on the Weather Channel and say, "Jesus, it's effin' 98 in DC!"

The night before, we'd sat down the first base line and just chilled out there all night. On this day, we'd tour Camden throughout the game. We started in the bleachers. I remember seeing some die-hard Remy fans out there. I should just go find and scan the pictures I took. I'll save those for another day, I guess.

As the game went on, the skies grew darker. They--the skies, plural--were about to unload on Maryland. Thunder rumbled in the distance. It was getting closer. Then, I heard one of the scariest noises Ma Naytch' ever produced. I literally was afraid to look up behind me, because I didn't want to witness the Camden Yards scoreboard end my life, as I was convinced it was coming down. But no, it was just a loud-ass thunder clap. I'm sure you all remember the highlight of Nomar and Todd Walker flinching, which ESPN did a nice job of showing from three different hilarious angles in succession on SportsCenter.

We headed for cover at that point. During the delay, I remember making our way behind home plate. From there, I could see into the Red Sox dugout, which was empty, except for Tim Wakefield. They actually made all the fans leave the "seating bowl." So, if I wanted it, I had a clear shot to run down to the corner of the dugout, get myself soaked, and say hi to Wake, who got his 100th win that day. I had an opening line, too. I know someone who knows Tim. (I later used it when I had my pic taken with him for the C-note I dropped on Katrina relief at Fenway. Note: He didn't give a rat's ass. Mike Myers cared way more about my Bad News Bears jersey than Wake did that I know someone who knows someone whose son was his college roommate.) I excitedly told Pat that maybe he'd see me in the rain and, as if it were, you know, a movie, say, "Why don't you come in here, you'll catch a death of cold. You know, I hear a roster spot is opening up, and Mr. Lucchino said he wanted to reserve it for a random guy. Only thing is, he's gotta be really big fan of the team. In fact, if you can answer this trivia question about Jim Rice..." But I wussed out.

The game started again after an hour, but quickly the tarp came back onto the field. We were drenched, but, hey it was summer. It felt good at first.

After another hour, we were out in left-center field, and the only people left in the park were wearing red. By the third base dugout, a huge, chanting, soaking wet crowd of Sox fans had gathered. We had a great angle on it from out there.

We found ourselves standing above and behind the two-tiered bullpen. Home team gets the ground floor, behind the outfield fence. Visitors are perched above them, set further back. And above that, and set back even further, the open-air picnic area. There, you can walk up to the fence, and look out at the field over both bullpens. These pictures aren't mine, they're from ballparkwatch.com. From my detective work, I found out this person's pics are from 9/25/05, another Sox at O's matchup. Fortunately, they had two pics which detail what the hell I'm talking about.

The top pic has it laid out for you from the edge of one of the upper decks. See those people by the tree at the bottom left, at the base of the flagpoles? That's where we were. In fact, we were right at the base of the flagpoles, because we were right behind the roof of the Sox 'pen. Those two green rectangles, with rows of pink flowers on either side, are the covered areas of each bullpen.

The second pic shows you the angle from our spot. You can really see the multiple tiers. (I'm really glad I found these pics. It was almost too perfect...)

We had fun watching sunflower seeds coming out from under the roof toward a paper cup leaning on the front railing of the bullpen--where the two Sox pitchers are standing in the lower pic. (Papelbon and Hansen? Hard to tell. Both pitched the day before. Now back to 2003.) They were trying in vain to get one to land in the cup. We all reacted out loud to each seed, cheering the close ones, booing the ones that were way off: "That must've been Mendoza!" After what seemed like hours, Jason Varitek slowly emerged from under the roof and walked toward the cup. He stamped out the cup, and the game, like a cigarette below his cleat. He looked back at us, deadpan comic that he is, like the cool teacher who's ending the class' fun, but knows he's earned their respect by allowing so much of it to begin with. "This game...is over."

And this is where my story comes back around again. As I looked out at the field, a thought occurred to me, which I voiced to Pat. Despite being about 380 feet plus two bullpens' worth of space away from home plate, I figured out that we could get a ball. It would have to be a mighty blow, and it would have to be struck by David Ortiz. It would be just left of center, so the ball would be slicing toward us. If he could somehow manage to hit the roof of the lower bullpen on a towering blast, the ball would bounce up over the higher bullpen, into the picnic area. I even pictured myself actually jumping up for the ball, to snare it on the big hop up over our heads, as opposed to reaching down over the railing.

Within minutes, David Ortiz had swung and launched a ball exactly where I'd pictured it. High and deep, coming out just to our left, slicing toward us. I had a split-second decision to make.

Option A: trust my instincts and just assume the ball will hit directly on top of the roof. (Look at the pics. That roof is maybe 15 feet wide by six feet deep.) Start edging backwards or even running behind me to prepare to catch the ball on the mammoth bounce that I'm quite certain will occur if ball hits roof. Risk: That not only will I lose my spot at the rail, but I'll miss watching the ball land somewhere out in front of me, miss being able to stand at the rail and cheer, miss the possibility of making the pitcher who gets the ball toss it up to us, or miss the play, should the ball not clear the first fence for a double. Along with leaving hundreds around me to wonder, "What the hell were you running away from the field for?" Reward: Hundreds of people congratulating me on the greatest catch of a home run ball of all-time, as I miraculously run backwards while everyone else leans forward, as if I knew where the ball would go ahead of time. Plus, a David Ortiz home run ball.

Option B: Stay put, don't rely on something that has about a .03% chance of happening. Risk: The .03%. Reward: I'll see everything instead of having run away for seemingly no reason.

Caught between the Moon and New York City, I chose B.

As the ball clunked on top of the hard surface of the bullpen roof, I knew I was screwed. If it bounced over us, like I'd imagined, it'd be too late now. And it was. Over our heads the fall flew. Granted, since I'd prepared for this moment, I was already running back into the picnic area when the ball was going over. But I made the mistake of making sure it hit the roof before turning to run. On SportsCenter, you see everyone along that rail turn their head, while Jere turns and starts his futile run. Everyone else was so surprised, all they could do was follow the ball with their eyes. I sprinted toward the ball. It landed by a picnic table, under that leafy tree, in some gravel. I already saw the lucky-ass, right-place-at-right-time, non-clairvoyant mother pus-bucket who would get my ball. I made a dive, just to get close, and to be right there in case he bobbled it. But he didn't. My dive probably looked like that Gabe Kapler dive at Fenway against the Yanks a few weeks ago. It only got me some scrapes and bruises. No ball.

Somewhere, I have that SportsCenter highlight of me starting to run. Even if I find it and YouTube it, it might be hard to see on the little screen. But if I do find it, I'll throw it up here, along with pictures from that day. (I actually did get the video up: here.) There was a gorgeous rainbow that afternoon, which was captured by redsoxdiehard.com.

After the game, Christopher Cross played live outside the park. I gotta admit, great job by Cross in saying, "I know it's been a long, wet day, so I'm gonna skip to the hits."Pat and I stayed for "Sailing," but left before "Arthur's Theme." We had to get back to Connecticut, and our clothes were like wet cats latched on to our bodies, forcing us to give them a ride home.

I'd planned to re-enact this moment for my girlfriend, had we gone to Camden Yards this year,but we didn't. So she, and you all, get this. I hope you picked up on the moral of the story: Trust your instincts. In Baltimore. Right before seeing Christopher Cross play live after five hours out in the rain.

Sweep the Twins. Then it's 4.5. Then win, say, the next two games. Then it's 2.5. Then one last week, seven games to make that up. I'm still having trouble understanding why we shouldn't root for this.

The "because we'll just lose in the playoffs" theory doesn't work for me. If we made it, we'd be the most up team in all the playoffs. The "let's avoid injuries" theory? Hey, as Al Pacino once said, to Tone Loc, of all people, "[You can get] killed walkin' your doggie!" Jon Lester didn't get cancer because he threw too many pitches. Much like Tanner Boyle, I don't wanna quit. "Hell, no, I wanna play ball."

But it has to start with a sweep. I wanna win. I want that trophy. So dance good, Red Sox.

Remember this? They'd send you that brochure, with "Tippy" the turtle, and "Pirate" the pirate? (Tomorrow is Talk Like A Pirate Day, by the way.) And it would say, "Draw Me." And you'd send it in, and they'd be all, "You're an artist" or "You can't draw for shit." And you'd be all, "I don't need you, Art Instruction School."

It's not true! I beat the system!

Last night, I dreamt I was on a plane. I was looking through the cockpit window as we started to descend. Oh good, I can see the baseball field, we're coming in for a safe landing, I thought. (Note: In the dream, baseball field=landing strip. You know how it is. Also, my dad was the pilot.) But as we came in, I realized we were overshooting the field and headed at full speed toward the hillside and road on the edge of it. I think this was a field I played on in Norwalk, CT, in high school. Or Fairfield. Or Greenwich, I don't know. All those southern Fairfield County towns looked the same to me.

I watched as we crashed into the earth. At the moment of impact, I awoke. But my eyes were still closed. I was so frightened that I might open them to see the afterlife. After a few minutes of being very still, in the darkness, not knowing if I was alive or dead, I heard a noise. I was happy--no, overjoyed--to hear the classic New York City "honk honk," most likely from a cabbie, outside my window. I knew I was alive.

Ironically, I was still pissed at the person who honked. "It's six in the morning, shut the hell up!"

It really was six. I'd gone to bed around 2, so I was awakened from some serious REM-ish sleep. Some-times, ev-erybody dies... And I couldn't get back to sleep. This is really rare for me. After trying to get back to sleep for a while, I just got up. I hate getting up early. I like being up early, though. But I rarely get to experience it, since I'll always choose sleep if at all possible. So I got to surf the web for a while, take my time eating breakfast and making lunch, and I even wrote this blog entry. But I won't post this until mid-day so all the Yankee fans can have sufficient time to bash me for talking trash about their little deity friend there.

Sorry about the dream description, everybody. I blindsided you on that one. Usually I'll give the "Warning: dream description ahead" disclaimer.

[Mid-day update: I just re-read this. Hope it's not too "some dude's boring life"-ish. But you're stuck with it now. Anyway, no bashing from the Yankee crowd, as they probably didn't even know the two teams were playing this weekend.]

You saw it, right? Jeter, knowing it may very well be the last chance to continue his streak, with a man on second and one out, has a 3-0 pitch, and, thinking not of his team, but only of his beautiful, beautiful self, takes a hack, grounding out. His team would go on to lose by a run. Oh, you're gonna tell me the game meant nothing? So, I can go ahead and call bullshit on all the times you've said "Jeter gives his all no matter what the situation"? The very backbone of his media-invented MVP candidacy?

Eh, some say I'm a little harsh on ol' Jetes.

Moving on, that was some fun shit tonight. Seeing Coco rob the HR in the same spot as Melky's bumbling rob, after which Damon cheered like a six-year old winning the state hopscotch championship, was cool. So was seeing Cora run on Bernie, who proceeded to four-hop one to the plate like a six-year old who just won the state hopscotch championship and was then asked to throw a ball a long distance.

What was with the Yankee fan lady in the crowd clasping her hands together as if it was a life-and-death situation? There were others besides her. My first thought was, "bunch of phonies." Then I realized that my past accusation--Red Sox games are their World Series--is coming to light here. They know they're not going anywhere in the playoffs, and even in the games they do play in October, well, what's the fun in beating, say, Detroit, anyway? These fans want to beat the Red Sox, and this was there last chance. So in a way, it was better for us not to make the postseason this year! How's that for a justification....

Then again, they were mostly gone by the seventh, leaving mainly Sox fans there to cheer loudly as Boston tied it and took the lead. So maybe, like always, they just don't pay attention until their friends tell them it's the playoffs.

Oh those Dunbar fans. Always committing terrible jobs. A world where their whole life revolves around us, where they can only be happy when they beat us, I love it.

2000.

Oh, and you saw how they showed the Jeter blood catch just because a balllanded in the same area? Proving my point that it's not the fact that the catch was made in a key situation, it was what it looked like: the unnecessary dive, the blood, the paralyzing eyes... it's so shitty. My new rule is, any time I see the Jeter catch, I provide for you, the Pokey catch:

Labels: movies

Joe Morgan just voted for Jeter for MVP. I think that about ends his candidacy. Thank you, Joe! (I like how Morgan said Jeter is the best at on-field intangibles type stuff AND statistically--because, you know, the lower your numbers, the better...seriously, these media fuckwads don't realize that most people watching assume what you say is true. So many people, around the mythical water cooler tomorrow morning, will say "Jeta's got the numbaz, he's got everything. MVP. No question." And if someone came into the room and said, "I'm gonna give you two numbers, one is Derek Jeter's home run total and one is, let's say, David Ortiz': 13, 49. Tell me which is Derek's.) (Keep in mind these are the stats that won the MVP for A-Rod last year. We tried to argue things like AVG with RISP, and, you know, important stuff like that, but they said, Nope, AVG, HR, RBI. Sorry Papi.)

Oh god, Morgan just said that Pedroia almost got his first major league home run. Uh....Joe? Dustin has homered in his career. I'm pretty sure these stats are available at your fingertips. (He also claimed that Mussina "forced" him to almost hit a home run (?))

Meanwhile, about what Papi said, people should remember that English isn't his first language. The guy had a mic shoved in his face, and gave a standard "baseball answer." Hell, he even contradicted himself within three sentences on the original quote. He was just trying to explain something and if you look at it on paper, it looks awkward. Am I making an excuse? There's nothing to make an excuse for. It wasn't some calculated shot at Derek Jeter. I don't expect Yankee fans to cheer Ortiz. That would be stupid. But boo him because you know he, to use a term I refuse to use, owns your asses, not because of some media lie. Hearing them chant "Derek Je-ter" at Ortiz, to me, is like saying "We're re-tarded." Of course, the chants you hear on TV are mainly from the Bleacher Cretins, not from the good Yankee fans.

I did like how ESPN showed a kid with a Red Sox shirt in the Dunbar Domicile holding a "Big Papi MVP" sign.

We won game one today. I missed it because I had to work at a street fair on this beautiful day here in Manhattan. I love street fairs. So streety, so fairy. Did you ever eat a round piece of corn bread deep fried and stuffed with mozzarella cheese? For four bucks? It's the finest thing a person can do. Except for lots of other things.

Update: ESPN showed four MVP candidates on the screen with selected stats below. Jeter was listed first. Why? It wasn't alphabetical by team name, team city, first name, last name. This shit really pisses me off. Why don't they just put an asterisk next to Jeter's face? And at the bottom, it could say "*our choice".