Feeling today like telling people I like them, I really like them. I’ll start with the following:
Thank you for the 3am “company” as I scroll through the dashboard, bleary eyed and delirious:
Mention your completely honest love of Air Supply ONCE and you find yourself with a framed photo of said band complete with lyrics to Lost in Love, a birthday present courtesy of your sister's boyfriend.
At least it wasn’t Meatloaf?
And yea, we are hanging this on the Wall of Weird and Awesome in the home office.
It’s Make Your Own Taco Day for Matt’s birthday!
☛ Would you like fries with that?: Foul Ball
Matt brought Todd a present. A piece of California via Rhode Island.
☛ Would you like fries with that?: Hockey Hockey Hockey
If you catch a ball or a puck or a bat or a tooth at a game, the first thing you do is scan the immediate area and find a child to give it to. Then you give it to the child and say something like, here ya go kid! Do you know why? Because a foul ball should have ZERO value to an adult, and it is a big deal to a child. A lasting memory. Do you know why? Because it’s a child. Everything is new to them. Everything. So let them enjoy everything while it’s new and they’re young, because someday they’ll be old and miserable.
Just like us.
During last year’s Stanley Cup Playoffs, I may or may not have cursed the Boston Red Sox to another 86 year championship drought in a post where I officially gave up on my hopes of the Bruins winning a Stanley Cup, which they ended up doing anyway, proving that my lack of faith is actually a key to the Bruins success. After the Bruins won the Cup, I watched the supposedly unbeatable Red Sox implode in September, which resulted in the first GM and coach to bring a World Series to Beantown in 86 years being shown the door. I couldn’t help but feel slightly responsible for that, because I’m superstitious in that way, and I believe that any little thing I say or do can directly affect the outcome of a game that I am watching (which is why I will kill you if you ever talk about a game being “in the bag” before it’s over…I once watched the Bruins win a game in which they were down 3-1 with 20 seconds left…it ain’t over ‘til it’s over).
I’m not going to apologize for cursing the Red Sox for another 86 years, because I got my Stanley Cup. You have to give a little to get something. But I was going to recognize that last year’s failure and the next 85 years worth of failures are probably my fault. I was going to, that is, until I read that new Red Sox coach Bobby Valentine is considering hiring Bill Buckner as the new Red Sox hitting coach.
Really? Are we just trying to make headlines?
Bill Buckner. Where have I heard that name before? Hmmmm…
Oh yeah, I remember now.
So yeah. Not my fault.
Also rejected engraving for my father’s Mets brick:
Thanks, Bill Buckner.