Thursday, February 23, 2006

Welcome, Position Players, Pitchers...and Others

It may be incredibly rainy and depressing outside. My university may be in a mini-chaos, with our President on his way out the door. (With more students actually caring about it than I expected.) But I remain calm, for two reasons.

*Brief Non-Sports Digression Ahead*
1) I view the President of Harvard,as a position, non-ideologically. This rule may have exceptions, for instance, when claims are made that women are, intellectually biologically inferior to men. But other than that. as long as someone reasonably competent fills it, who doesn't embezzle the endowment, or abolish my department, I couldn't care less who. It's like they said originally about Mussolini:"He makes the buses run on time." I reserve the right to be self-involved, focusing on the essentials, saving my political outrage for where it matters. Once I graduate, then maybe I will have time to care about the ideological direction of Harvard. Maybe then I will regret the departure of Larry Summers. Or even before, if the new prez does something drastic. But for now, I have my own shit to worry about.

Everyone's in town. Except for Manny. But as long as Papi or the Captain don't have their knickers in a bunch, I won't either. I am long past letting Manny push my emotional buttons, if he ever did. As long as he shows up in Texas on opening day, hits his usual, I won't care. I got new guys to warm my heart. Mmm, rookies. I love that sports is the only arena where I can call grown men who are three years my senior "kid". Although it does boggle my mind that Craig Hansen and Lebron James are exactly my age and in such a vastly different world. *Existential shudder*
(all from
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Poor J.T Snow. He may be the best defensive 1B among them. But standing next to Papi and Youks, he looks like a Mormon who accidentally wandered into a Hell's Angels convention. Though it may be easier for him to survive unscathed than it would have been last year. By this time last year, he probably would have been hanging from the adjoining locker hook to Matty's. While Tek looked on diaspprovingly.
(I stick to my previous predicition about the puppy.)

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The Cap'n, adding "flexibility" to his nearly infinite list of talents, further twisting the stake in the hearts of millions of New England women who wish he was single. Woof.

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"Hey Beavis, look at that fat guy. He's lame."
"No goddamnit Butthead, that's David Wells, he's not lame, he rules."
"I thought he, like, wasn't coming, or something,"
"Heh. You said ball."
"Shut up Beavis."

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A young Sox rookie looks on in amazement as Jim Rice explains how his secret talent for the lambada enabled him to befuddle and bewilder all those AL pitchers.

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"Hey Coco."
"Hey Loretta."
"How long you figure it'll take Callahan and the Herald headline writers to dip into the obvious derogatory "girl" related possibilites for our names?"
"Hey, you listen to Johnny Cash, you realize it could be a whole lot worse."
"Maybe I'll start calling Buckley Sue..."

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If Gabe ever leaves baseball, he's got a ready made career as a showroom model. Or on The Price is Right.
(Seriously, it's just nice to see him up and about again.)

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"I know Mr. Varitek told me "Shake it off, Dustin". But if Wells calls me "Tiny" again,he's gonna get my cleat up his ass."

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Nipper:"KEITH CHARLES FOULKE! Stop that! What have I told you?"
Foulkie: *sheepishly* "Never huck water bottles at people's heads."
"What else?"
"Not even if they're memebers of the media."
"What else?"
"What was that?"
"Not even if they are Dan Shaughnessy."
"Good boy."

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Coco Crisp. An oak tree. And a baby. Ladies and gentlemen, we have found the Perfect Storm of Adorable.

Darn. Is it April yet?