After the heartbreaking end to the 2003 baseball season, I decided that, during the following season, I was going to make a movie about being a lifelong Sox fan in the one county in New England where Boston Red Sox games aren't shown on TV. It would show me desperately trying to tune in the radio over static, as well as the Baltimore Orioles games (?) on the adjacent station to the Hartford station that airs the Sox. It would also show what I deal with living amongst Yankee fans and Yankee media in the New York-Metro area (Fairfield County, Connecticut.) I even planned to start my little documentary on New Year's day 2004, wearing my "Cowboy Up" shirt (glad I didn't end up immortalizing that), with a blanket of snow out the window behind me.

Laziness set in, and before I knew it, spring training was around the corner. I hadn't filmed anything.

Then I was tipped off to these things called "blogs." As with anything else that crops up in this culture, I was wary at first. In fact, I'm surprised I didn't start a blog about how stupid blogs are. But I realized it was a way to get my thoughts down, with the added motivation that a person could actually read them. Instant publication. I wouldn't have to worry about writing too much, like on message boards. And most importantly, it was free.

My first influence was Bambino's Curse, which was written by a really intelligent dude, Ed Cossette, in Virginia. Good stuff, but he took himself a little too seriously sometimes. And inexplicably ended his blog after the 2004 World Series. (In fact, it was East Coast Agony's extreme hatred of Cossette that made me realize that nothing was sacred on this here internet, and my own blog loosened up a bit from there.) Then I found Joy of Sox, a dream website for me, as it then combined left-wing political talk with Red Sox talk, and I decided I needed to get my own space going.

At first my blog was all text, without links or even an option for the reader to comment. It took a really long time before I got my first e-mail about the site. Just getting a few readers over a period of months was very encouraging. "I only started this five months ago and four people have written to me!"

Eventually came the comments, the links, the pictures, the drawings, the audio, and the video. And the friends and the enemies. In May 2005, I finally left Connecticut for New York City. I love New York, it's the Yankees I hate. I've had a ten-game plan at Fenway since the '04 season, and I buy a bunch of other games as well. I get to Fenway by taking the train from New York to New Haven, grabbing one of my parents' cars, and driving up to Boston, where my girlfriend, another die-hard, lives. I also travel to see the Sox in various other cities each year. Whenever I see them, I'm armed with a camera or cameras, for posting pics here.

So this blog is my movie, which continues to roll to this day. I'm glad that after my first three seasons of blogging, I have a record of my feelings throughout what would become a World Championship season, a post-World Championship season, and a non-playoff season in a no longer "cursed"-world.

To sum up. Me: 31-year old, fourth-generation Sox fan guy. Brought up to hate the Yankees. Know more about their history than most Yankee "fans," having grown up following them on TV, rooting against them while rooting for the Sox on radio. All my friends growing up were Yanks or Mets fans except one, Pat, who still goes to games with me at Fenway.

This blog's main goal is to make people laugh. Second goal: to make people learn something about the Red Sox and/or Yankees that they may not have known. Third goal: to show people pictures and videos from my adventures, baseball-related and otherwise. I'd like to stress "otherwise," since I'm going to be putting up a lot of random videos from my decades-long collection of junk. Oh, and the final goal is to have people react to whatever I do here. The comment section is free for all, female or male, baseball fan or not. Some sites, and especially message boards, give off the feeling like they're some exclusive club. (They often are.) I don't want anyone to feel weird commenting here just because they never have before. This isn't a country club. Just walk in and speak your mind. I only ask that if you have some personal issue with me, or you want to threaten to kill me, talk smack about my mom or girlfriend, at least have the courtesy of sending it in a personal e-mail to me, instead of posting it in the comments section: Two2067@aol.com. If you disagree with me, I'd be happy to debate you right here on the blog. Just be somewhat mature about it, please.

Terms to know:

"Dunbar" = Yankees

"Eh, no Peg" = No

"Terrible job!" = (Terrible job if you need "terrible job" defined for you.)

Thanks for reading,

Jere S.
New York, NY
October 21st (!), 2006

Labels: About This Blog

The first Red Sox player to ___________ in my lifetime was __________.

hit a home run: Carlton Fisk
throw a pitch: Rick Wise
bat (and get a hit): Juan Beniquez
hit into a double play: Rick Burleson
strike out: Fred Lynn
draw a walk: Rico Petrocelli
double (and triple): Dwight Evans
draw an intentional walk: Jim Rice
pitch more than nine innings in one game: Bill Lee
draw a walk at Fenway Park: Yaz
hit a grand slam: Bobby Darwin

and on and on... try it yourself.

Looks like I made the marine biology news. Is architecture next for me?

So I was watching the newscast that came on after the game last night, and a reporter was asking fans outside Shea how they felt. After talking to each person, she'd ask this question: (are you ready for this? I don't think you are.)

"Will you still be a Mets fan next year?"

This is what I've been saying about New York fans. It's such a normal thing for them to just go with whoever's winning/more popular, that the reporters have to ask them whether or not they'll jump ship after their team is eliminated. Unbelievable. Imagine someone asking a fan outside Fenway Park if they'll still be a Sox fan next year? What the crap?

(Disclaimer: some people aren't like that and blah blah blah, I'm just saying, the Yankee fans that I'm closest to here in the city were all rooting outwardly for the Mets. Little brother syndrome-style. You only get one team, people. If you want more, you have no right to brag when one wins. Disclaimer to the disclaimer: Okay, so the Mets are a fun bunch to watch this year, with the Latin flavor and whatnot. But if you're really a Yankee fan, it shouldn't matter that they're any different from any other Mets team. They're still your crosstown rival. I mean, if Bin Laden's next video features him in an outfit that you find appealing to the eye, would you say "Well, I like this particular version of Bin Laden."? No. So stop letting the terrorists win, Yankee Universe. D to the D to the D: I should clarify here. I'm not saying you can't pick a team in a game and root for them. But these people I'm talking about are the type that just change allegiances. They've got a back-up plan in place. That is horseshit. I might root for the Cards or Tigers in the WS, but I'm not gonna buy a T-shirt, continue rooting for them next year, etc. And when it's your rival, well, why are you rooting for them anyway, for any reason? It doesn't make sense.)

I actually went to the Fox5 site, which, in a moment of genuine originality, was named "MY Fox NY dot com slash MY Fox." Pure marketing genius. My ass.

If you type all that in, you can see the interview in question. I don't have sound on my work computer, but it appears to be the exact same interview I watched last night.

Jeff Suppan is holding an MVP trophy. Weird.

Detroit vs. St. Louis. Ducky Medwick/Gas House Gang/Bob Gibson/Mickey Lolich-style. This will be the rubber match of this three-World Series series.

He's afraid of that side wall, but not afraid to go up and over the real wall! Wow.

Is anyone else noticing this? Endy Chavez is deathly afraid of that left field side fence. When he goes over to make a play, he backs into the low wall with his butt, and sticks the glove out. He did it once, then twice, and just now, I knew exactly what would happen. Sure enough, it did. This one looked the worst.

If they can get Pujols, Endy will be forgiven.

Rain falling.

Pop out. 1-1, mid fifth. Rain. This could get exciting and sloppy.

I had a best friend, growing up, named Bill. I'm still very close to him today. Whenever I need a helping hand, or to be cheered up, I know I can count on Bill. I had another friend, Mookie, who I hung out with when Bill wasn't around, basically. We weren't quite the "Three Amigos," but Mookie seemed at the time like another lifetime friend--if only the kind you have opposite political views from, and who moves far away, but you still keep in touch with. But when I was ten, my family went to Aruba on vacation. Mookie fed our prize goats while we were away. When we got back, all the goats were dead. Mookie left the barn door open, and a pack of wolves came in and ate them all up. Mookie never meant any harm. In fact, had we not given him a chance to ruin our lives, he never would have. Mookie never did move far away. He's still around. I see him occasionally. But any magic between us died when those damn goats did.

Now, I know what you're saying: Jere, you're absolutely full of shit. There are no such thing as "prize goats," and you've never been to Aruba. True and true. Have you ever heard of a metaphor? Jeez.

If you're having trouble figuring this one out, well, Bill is the Red Sox and Mookie is the Mets.

The Mets were the perfect team for my family to get behind in the early eighties. The Red Sox would always be our team. There was never any issue with jumping ship. But we lived closer to New York than Boston, my dad's buddy had great seats at Shea, the two leagues never played each other, and as my dad taught me from an early age, when the Mets win, Steinbrenner gets mad.

So, we'd go to a few games a year, my dad and I, in '81, '82, '83. (I was born in '75.) I'd get to see baseball on a school night, we'd have great seats, and we'd have the place all to ourselves. There wasn't even any traffic to beat. The Mets were bad, save for the aging Kingman and Foster.

I was the first to realize there might be trouble in paradise in the summer of '86. I remember my mom excitedly saying, "Looks like the Red Sox and Mets could go to the World Series." I didn't like it. To this day, I don't like that our World Series team and theirs happened to be the same year. I knew at the time what it was leading to. I didn't want to have to root against the Mets, but, of course, I wouldn't have rooted for anyone, ever, against the Red Sox, for any reason. So I just hoped the Astros would take them out, let us have our World Series, and root for them when they played some other AL team for all the marbles in some future year.

But we all know what happened. Shea Stadium still gives me nightmares. The look of it at night is like some haunted mansion. Welcome to Shea, Jere, welcome to your personal hellhouse.

I want to root for the Mets. There's always that reason: they're the Yanks' rival. But with all the Yankee fans who root for the Mets as well, it's hard. And to openly root for the Mets in October at Shea, well, I associate that with rooting against the Red Sox. I find myself rooting against the Mets in these games. I see the fans, the "bad" ones, in the crowd, the ones who would make fun of my Red Sox fandom just like a Yankee fan would. And I want them to suffer. Wouldn't it be cool to see them lose at home, on some mystical error in the ninth?

But then I think of the "good" Met fans. The ones who maybe came from Dodger or Giant blood. The ones who truly hate the Yankees, and have no reason to hate us. In fact, if I were a Met fan, I'd love the Sox, for the obvious anti-Yankee reasons, but also because the Red Sox gave the Mets a World Championship.

So you see the thoughts I wrestle with.

One solution I've come up with is to go the game tonight, root for the Mets, and make all those bad memories turn into good ones. I'd also be able to know that a new Mets championship will bring a whole new set of highlights to New York and baseball in general. Mets fans will think of something else besides Buckner when they think of "World Series." And since we've got ours now, a whole big bowl of wrong will have been emptied out quite a bit.

And what a world it would be, knowing that the Mets and Red Sox have won it all since the Yanks have. Yeah. That sounds good.

So I'm checking craigslist. I checked it yesterday up until game time. Tickets are relatively cheap, especially late in the day. I'll see what happens. Even without all the history, a Game 7 so close to me is something that's hard to pass up.

This game tonight will either give the Mets a chance at changing history, or just kind of keep things the same in the Jere/Mets world. I'm excited to see what happens.

Is this a real story? Stingray jumps into boat and stabs dude in chest? Are stingrays out to get us? The most ridiculous part of the article, though, is this:


Ellen Pikitch, a professor of marine biology and fisheries at the University of Miami, who has been studying stingrays for decades, said the fish are generally docile creatures.

"Something like this is really, really extraordinarily rare," she said. "I've never heard any reports of a stingray attacking a person. Even when they are under duress, they don't usually attack."


Ms. Pikitch also claimed that it's rare for planes to be hijacked, even more rare for them to be flown into buildings, and in all her years of field work, has never seen any building collapse due to any kind of terror attack. Ever. She thought really hard before answering, too.

Check out this story, from ESPN.com. (I saw this link on Can't Stop the Bleeding.) Apparently, Bill Buckner was wearing a Chicago Cubs batting glove on the night of Game 6, and, most likely, ever since he'd left the Cubs two years prior. Nobody noticed this until 2003, when some kid spotted it in this photo in a book. His father, a reporter, mentioned it in an article, but no one picked up on it.

Then, ESPN.com's Sean Hintz noticed it, and did the blow up which you see here.

They say this is all real, and it seems like it, even if the guy's name could be said "Seen hints." I mean, we've all seen hints that Billy Buck had acquired some bad karma, when he leapt up onto the left field wall in a vain attempt to catch Hank Aaron's 715th homer. I think the baseball gods mistook that as a genuine ploy to stop Aaron from breaking Ruth's record. Which led to that roller in '86, and Billy and the Babe being linked eterna-- until 2004 (!)--on bootleg T-shirts sold in the Bronx. To people from Westchester.

Speaking of the man who has the power to specifically place 86 year curses while blatzed, I was in a cab the other day, and the driver said his birthday was February 6th. I told him that was my mom's as well. The guy shot back, "and Ronald Reagan." I kept the tennis match going with "Babe Ruth..." The man got excited, and grabbed a pen, ready to add to his list. "Who?" "Babe Ruth," I enunciated. "Who's that?" Oh my.

Turns out the dude was from Russia, and had never heard of the Bronx's first evil George.

That was the first time in my life I got to explain to someone who Babe Ruth was.

The moral of the story: My mom is still, by far, the coolest person born on February 6th.

I like how the guy at the front desk at work is a Mets fan. Because everybody who walks in gets to see the newspaper clippings he's plastered to the wall featuring happy Mets, but, more importantly, dejected Yankees.

Mets need to win two in a row now, at home. This is the most competitive series of this post-season, which, overall, has been pretty fun. Last year's final four were boring.

I generally don't like war movies. And not just because I threw up when Platoon was shown on CBS in, like, 1989--not because of anything in the movie, I just ate some bad McDonald's, and proceded to barf into the McDonald's bag. My sister also was in some high school play that night, I remember. But, again, the hurling was from the food, not the acting.

Last night, Saving Private Ryan was on HBO. Nothing else was on, and I was doing something else anyway, so I left it on in the background. Perfect, since I really don't need to see a bunch of people getting blown up and shot, but I figure maybe there was a good story to it, or something. I don't know.

Every time I looked up at the screen, I saw a different actor that I've never before pictured in fatigues. I had no idea. I paid no attention when it came out. This movie should be called Saving Sam Malone.

"Sargeant Cory from My Two Dads, cover the left flank. Colonel Roger Maris, you take the right. Privates Sam Malone, Slick from Heat, and Joe Fontana, you stay with me. Where are Colonel Will Hunting and the alcoholic Uncle Ned from Family Ties?? We need to move, now!, Leiutenant Miles and Mike Newhouse, put that booze away before Uncle Ned sees it!"

I don't know, it just didn't "work" for me.

Went to a taping of Late Night with Conan O'Brien today. I'd been once before, around 1999. So it was almost like a new experience.

The main thing I noticed was how the whole operation differs from Colbert. I remember when Conan was the hot new show. The same old talk format, but a little wackier, a little more juvenile, and usually funnier. Especially in the Andy Richter days. Now Conan just goes through the motions. They are funny motions, don't get me wrong. But there was a slight lack of excitement in that studio. A Colbert taping is like a concert. I see all these old shows becoming more Daily Show/Colbert-y in the near future, in whatever ways they can. Today was like going back to the fifties or something. The live band with band leader, the glossy network-TV production, the ancient studio with curtain, Regis Philbin...

That's right, our main guest was Reej. He started with a story that Conan easily trumped with his own. Then he and Conan compared--and rubbed--feet. Conan's looked like cartoon feet you might draw if you were completing that caricature of him.

Then there was some model from Brazil. She did a good job, considering English isn't her first language. She introduced her line of Victoria's Secret body glitter, which Conan proceeded to pour out all over the desk and rub on his face. Seeing his pale skin next to the model's tan was weird. That guy is a real freak of nature.

Then there was a hip, young, (read: shitty music-playing) country-ish dude. Chan and I agreed the song he played was literally the worst song ever written. It was as if a really talented artist went to great lenghts to write a purposely bad song for a movie or gag or something.

For what the show is, I love it. Conan always cracks me up. And I love how they do all those off-the-wall characters. I mean, yeah, we're almost at "parody of themselves" stage, but still, you'd never see Jay Leno break out a masturbating bear.

The warm-up comic is a guy you've probably seen do characters on the show. Tonight he played a female sit-com character. That guy's got a great sense of humor. His pre-show act was really funny. "Don't worry, this whole complex is secure. We guarantee you an explosion-free experience. Look at what I need to get into Rockefeller Center. It's this laminated rectangle. Al-Qaeda's comin' in here with triangles, and we say, 'Sorry....'"

I recommend going to Conan once, if you're a fan. Of course there's the waiting. And the more waiting. But you'll have a good time. Especially if you don't go to tapings all the time like I seem to. You can also check out Top of the Rock while you're there. Which is like the Empire State Building Observation Deck without the crappy vision-blocking fence.

ARSFIPT History: October 16th, 2005: Jere mentions the movie Tiger Town. That is perfect. I was gonna do a "This Day..." anyway, and when I checked, there was TT. I referenced this movie the other day as well. (The thing about squeezing your hands together really tight--it's from that movie.)

And Jaws was on last night. Which, of course, features the star of "The Town," Roy Scheider. Chan is just baffled by the amount of times I've watched Jaws since we moved in together. I don't see how someone could knowingly and wantonly NOT watch Jaws.

What have I learned from this? This very well may be the Tigers' year. The bite radius from the National League just doesn't match up with the marks on the trophy.

This article tells the future, with many references to what players "did" in 2007. (as of 9:53 AM)

This is from my tape of SNL from 11/17/90. Another non-classic. This'll never make the "best of" DVDs. But I think Kevin Nealon is hilarious. I think this had the makings of a bona fide recurring character. So what if people didn't get it? Or if it was poorly written? Nealon did what he could with it, and the name "Stan Duffy," Hartman's announcer-voice, and SNL's trademark cheesy jingle make this a Jere-favorite, if not a real classic. Click the box to watch.


I can't explain the show at the beginning of this clip. Sorry.

Watching these Cardinals home games make me think of the 2004 World Series, which is weird since it's a different stadium. The only two parks in which the Red Sox won the World Series that remain are Fenway Park (10/16/1912, 9/11/1918) and Braves Field (10/12/16). And only part of Braves field is actually there, as part of Northeastern's soccer stadium.

Check this out. This actually wasn't written by me.

Mets tie NLCS at 2. The series will go back to New York, regardless of Monday's outcome.

Labels: movies

Was anyone else glad to see what happened to Billy Wagner the other night, because of that game he blew to the Yanks this year? He really messed things up for Mets fans. And now the momentum's totally on the other side. TJ by Wagner. But, again, after what he made me go through that day in the car in Philly, he deserved what he gets.

And the Tigers are in the World Series. First time since '84. The classic 35-5 year. Which we logic nerds think of as the "34-5 and 35-6" year. Some kid in the crowd must be squeezing his hands together really tight this season.