I Liked, Therefore I Was (A Short Discussion on Sports Fan Philosophy)
Preteen me started out as a biased, novice, ignorant sports fan. When I became a fan of a team, an event, or an athlete, I became a supposed fan of that sport. In other words, I liked, therefore I was. I was a fan of the in-school pep rallies we got to have every late January because the Bills went to the Super Bowl, thus I was a fan of football. I became a fan of Steve Young’s striking good looks, thus I was even more a fan of football. I was a fan of my dad dragging me to Rochester Amerks games when he was able to score free tickets, thus I was a fan of hockey. I wanted to be Kristi Yamaguchi, therefore I liked figure skating. I liked the hoards of hot guys in indoor track, thus I joined the track team.
Here’s the converse of becoming a fan in that fashion--you absolutely despise other events, teams and athletes, but you can not tangibly explain why. I hated the Dallas Cowboys, because they were the arch enemy of both Steve Young and the Bills. Never mind that the early-mid 90s Cowboys were amazing on both sides of the ball, were crazy dominant, and probably were not the dirty cheaters my father pinned them to be. I hated them with every ounce of hate a twelve year old could muster. They caused the Monday after the Super Bowl to be the saddest day at school--every time you spotted a stray streamer in the #52 School gym from Friday’s pep rally, you got choked up. I liked the Amerks, but I couldn’t tell you why I was booing the Hershey Bears--I couldn’t tell you if they were actually any good, what college teams the players came from, if they had a good defense. I liked the hot guys, but my running form was awful and I couldn‘t tell you what half the events were--plus, when my coach tried to get me to practice hurdles, I often tripped over them not for lack of vertical leap (hey, I had been a gymnast, thus I had vertical leap to spare,) but because I was staring at the guys on my team. It's not just me--think of a Boston University or Boston College student whose first introduction to hockey is in college. They hate the other school's team, although most of them, at first or ever, can tell anyone else exactly why they should hate them.
Eventually, around the time I decided to become a sports journalist, I realized I had to learn a little bit more about the sports I liked. With that education came a dispelling of many of the dislikes I had carried with me since my tweenaged days, replaced with an appreciation of a good offense and excellent form, and the ability to call out a bad call or a missed tackle. Even though the whole sports journalist thing never did quite work out, to this day I try to stay neutral, enjoying the sport for exactly what it is, and trying desperately not to take sides.
Take Chris and I at the University of New Hampshire on Friday evening, watching the Boston University hockey team play a highly ranked Wildcat team. Everything I know about hockey tells me UNH is talented, and that Boston University relies too heavily on its defense and Hobey Baker quality goalie. UNH played poorly in the third, however, missing passes in the Terrier zone that could have been set up for some easy goals. However, I found myself defending the Wildcats, because my sports knowledge tells me they are good. I held back rooting on the Terriers because I can point out their flaws. This is not the first time this has happened. It is as if an alarm goes off in my brain if I start to get too biased towards one side that academically (as in the study of sports, not the team’s GPA) isn’t deserving of all of my support. In some instances, I can fully realize that the team is good, but the alarm orders me to stay neutral because I, as a “smart” sports fan, need to be a fan of the sport as a whole, and not any individual team.
I am still a fan of teams, I will still cheer, but there’s always that reluctance. I desperately want to be a serious, knowledgeable sports fan--but to do so, do you have to give up all bias? If you truly were an academic sports fan, your favourite team would be who was best in a given year, meaning in sports like football, where there is such parity, your favourite team will most likely change every year. Gosh, I’d love to cheer on the Bills till I’m royal blue in the face, but why am I doing so when they so obviously weren’t the best team in the NFL this year? If I have the knowledge to know better, than why do I cheer for them? Should it be treated like the legal world’s assumption of risk--it could be introduced that you have access to the knowledge that the team you are rooting for is horrible, but it can’t be used against you if you do not heed it?
Living in Boston, I live amidst many who claim to be baseball experts, but who wear their Red Sox hearts on their sleeves. Does this make them less of baseball experts? Possibly, because they are more likely biased. It’s considered a high crime to acknowledge that, hey, Jeter actually may be pretty good, but still root for the Red Sox at the end of the day. It’s just like knowing there wasn’t one Bills fan in Canton, OH this past August with a Troy Aikman jersey on, or there will never be a Boston University hockey fan who will even begin to acknowledge that maybe Boston College played a better game in Worcester last March. Are they less sports knowledgeable than those whose allegiances are silent or change with the handing over of a championship trophy? Better yet, given the pure basis of sports in our modern society, is it even possible to be a sports fan without taking a side?
I’ll keep trying to maintain that happy balance of trying to remain sports knowledgeable while cheering on my favorites, because I imagine there is no right or wrong in this argument. And anyway, the Bills need more fans who knowledgably disregard the fact that if they lose Nate Clements and London Fletcher-Baker, the team is screwed, and cheer for the team anyway.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Random Beanpot Observations, Or View From The Top--of the TD Banknorth Garden
Ah, the Beanpot. The only hockey game all year that the TD Banknorth Garden sells out.
For the second year in a row, I had the opportunity (aka, Chris and I had enough “Terrier loyalty points”) to attend the Beanpot. For my Upstate New Yorkers, the Beanpot is a four university hockey tournament that has been going on for 55 years. It features Boston University, Boston College, Northeastern, and Harvard. The tournament takes place the first two Mondays of February, with two games each night. There is a women’s hockey Beanpot, a baseball beanpot, and even a Rice and Beanpot, but the most well attended and well known is the men’s hockey Beanpot, played at the Fleet-Banknorth-Boston-Garden-Center.
The last thing that y’all Upstate New Yorkers need to know about the Beanpot is that Boston University has won more times than the other three teams combined. Bostonians snidely call it the “BU Invitational.” (And as a good Binghamton alum, I always respond to that by asking, “But I don’t see any Bearcats around.”)
Ah, the Beanpot. The only hockey game all year that the TD Banknorth Garden sells out.
For the second year in a row, I had the opportunity (aka, Chris and I had enough “Terrier loyalty points”) to attend the Beanpot. For my Upstate New Yorkers, the Beanpot is a four university hockey tournament that has been going on for 55 years. It features Boston University, Boston College, Northeastern, and Harvard. The tournament takes place the first two Mondays of February, with two games each night. There is a women’s hockey Beanpot, a baseball beanpot, and even a Rice and Beanpot, but the most well attended and well known is the men’s hockey Beanpot, played at the Fleet-Banknorth-Boston-Garden-Center.
The last thing that y’all Upstate New Yorkers need to know about the Beanpot is that Boston University has won more times than the other three teams combined. Bostonians snidely call it the “BU Invitational.” (And as a good Binghamton alum, I always respond to that by asking, “But I don’t see any Bearcats around.”)
While I can’t contribute much beyond what everyone else in the blogsphere has already, I bring you my thoughts from my second in-person Beanpot final.
I like the Boston University band. They are a traditional, large, hard-core athletic pep band. They play upbeat, horn-led, traditional peppy songs. It’s interesting to compare other schools with the BU Band, which is easy to do at the Beanpot. The Harvard band knows five songs total, but I like their fight song and often have it stuck in my head, so they get props. The Northeastern band had the bright idea to include their cheerleaders, but that always makes me nervous, because they place them in front of them, in the front row of the upper most section at the Garden, which has an unacceptably low guardrail. The Boston College band has recently come to the realization that they are a Top-40 station, and played, among other TRL like material, Ridin’ Dirty by Chamillionaire. I don’t have a problem with that…but how does that pump up a crowd? I mean, “They see me rollin’, they hatin’, they’re trying to catch me ridin’ dirty?” (Mind you, I didn’t have to look up these lyrics, that’s how horrible my musical taste is.) I mean, gosh, I know BC tends to play dirty (hello, Gerbe!), but the band shouldn’t be pointing this out in a song.
A young woman at a sporting event alone (Chris had class during the consolation game, and so I ended up at the Harvard-Northeastern consolation game alone) who has knowledge of the game astounds any male over the age of 50. Case in point: I take a wrong turn and end up on the lower box level of the arena. As I’m trying to get to the escalator that will take me where I should be, I pass one of the Boston University players warming up. There were two middle aged men in front of me on the escalator, and they were staring at the player, astounded that he would be out in public stretching. They turn to me and ask me if I knew what team the player was from. I told them, including name, number, year and position without flinching, and they looked at me like I had three heads. But yes, I’m used to this.
It amazes me that the Garden still will acknowledge that the Celtics play there. They had tons of advertisements on the ribbon board and Jumbotron during breaks in the action for the remaining Celtics games. I mean, when the Bills were low they weren’t even this bad. 18 losses in a row? They haven’t won in over a month? How is that supposed to woo me to finally attend a Celtics game? Can they just totally revamp the team, starting with the pronunciation of the name? It’s the Boston Celt-ics! See them wear kilts! See the dance team Irish dance!
I love the second to last row at sporting events. You are either with the die-hards or the careless. There is no in-between in the last two rows. I have fond memories of the second to last row in Rich Stadium, because that’s where my seat was when I saw the 49ers-Bills game (including the one and only Steve Young of course) back in 1998. You know you’re dedicated when you are in the last two rows of any game--in particular football games--because you so want to see this game that you are willing to have that poor of a view.
Why is Budweiser served at hockey arenas? If I ruled the world, all beer in hockey arenas would either be Labatt Blue or Molson Canadian (aka the official beers of Hasenauer family functions--only the most Canadian of beers for the most Canadian of accents.)
Am I correct in remarking that college hockey coaches raise heck over calls a thousand times more than NHL or AHL coaches? In my years of watching hockey with my dad back in Lake-Effect-Snow-Land, I do not remember John Tortorella flinging his arms about regarding a call like the wild-wacky-inflatable-arm-waving-tube-man. Yet college coaches argue every call so spastically and physically that it’s a wonder one hasn’t flipped over the board while doing so yet.
Speaking of Lake-Effect-Snow-Land, here is an off-topic comment: yes, 100 inches of snow is a ton of snow. However, trust me when I say that the people of Oswego, Fair Haven, Sterling and Red Creek, NY know how to deal with it (I would know--I spent summers with my grandparents and aunt in Fair Haven during my childhood.) And really, there are people in those towns who aren’t even batting an eye at this amount. It’s Lake Effect--it’s unpredictable, it’s crazy, and it lasts from October till April. Gotta love it!
If I were BC Athletics, I’d tweak the maroon in their uniforms and other apparel. It’s not consistent and, in its worst form, it resembles a muddy brown. That gold is nice, and is much too vivid to pair up with a maroon with too much brown in it.
Last but not least, I would like to wholeheartedly thank the management of the TD BankNorth Garden for having the foresight to include two Dunkin Donuts in their arena. The championship game didn’t start until 8:15pm, had TV timeouts, and went into overtime. The only thing keeping me going at the end was coffee (or coffee-flavored cream, as I tend to make it.)
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to listen to the news reporters go crazy over 3 inches of snow. Now, when I was a girl, I walked back from school in valleys created from 3 1/2 feet of snow being plowed. Freaking out about 3 inches and some freezing rain will always seem like overkill to me.
Friday, February 09, 2007
The Departure Factor, and Why I Like and Don’t Like Dan Shaughnessy
When I ran indoor track (we’re talking way back in the day--1996 to be exact,) I preferred meets at New York Chiropractic College over those at the University of Rochester (U of R). It wasn’t that U of R had sub-par facilities--they had adequate facilities, if not a little on the older side, but still a whole lot better than running in the hallways of my high school, which is what we had to do for practice--but it was that U of R was right around the corner. From school, it was turn right, go straight for a little bit, another right, straight for a bit again, and bam--you were on campus. In fact, my high school was the original campus for the university--that’s how close by we were.
Those weekends that we had to go out to New York Chiropractic, which is located in Seneca Falls, were quite involved. We would report at school early, pack up in the school bus, and travel for about an hour to get there. We would listen to the radio, eat bagels, do homework together, talk about boys we liked…and when the meet was over, we would trudge from the field house through the freshly fallen lake effect snow to the parking lot, pack in the bus, wait till the bus warmed up enough, and then travel back home, exhausted. Not as talkative on the way back, we would either fall asleep or, my personal choice, look out the frostbitten window.
It wasn’t just that the trip out to Seneca Falls was more fun for 14-year-old me, but I ran (or in some cases, walked--one of my events was the racewalk) better at those meets. In all reality, that’s not saying much--it meant I finished third to last instead of last-- but I was in an entirely different mindset. I wasn’t thinking of schoolwork, I wasn’t thinking about my family, I wasn’t thinking about Rochester--I was only thinking about my team and running (or walking.)
The reason I reminisce above is that the more I follow sports, especially college sports, the more I think that some athletes and teams are effected by what I’m calling “The Departure Factor.” The team or athlete performs better at an away venue than a home venue. This isn’t limited to teams that compete on fields and arenas, but also individual athletes like figure skaters. The actual traveling to the game, meet or championship is a cathartic experience--that time spent traveling releases the athlete of any outside issues and gets the athlete in the zone. Alternatively, when the team or athlete plays at a home venue, they have no travel time--they step onto the field right from their everyday lives. Every issue that they are dealing with in their non-athletic life comes with them onto the field--no matter how insignificant--because there has been no detachment from the two lives.
“The Departure Factor” is not to be used as an excuse--there exist thousands of sports psychologists to prepare athletes at all levels to “get in the zone”--but I think, especially for younger athletes, it is a legitimate reasoning for poor or unfocused performance. The best athletes and teams will always be those who can focus on the task at hand without letting anything distract them for the amount of time their program, match or game lasts. In fact, I think the absolute best athletes (or even anyone in any given field) are those who can focus as such and never lose their enjoyment for that intensive submersion in the given activity.
*****
Speaking of a person who may have lost that enjoyment for what they do…there is a sportswriter in Boston who elicits intense hatred and a high level of respect concurrently. That writer is Dan Shaughnessy. He is so hated that multiple websites exist whose sole purpose is to loathe him, but so respected that all media types and middle-of-the-road fans defer to his vast knowledge. I knew of him even as a teenager in Lake Effect Snow Land, but did not have a definitive opinion on the guy--I didn’t know enough of his work. However, even now as someone who reads a majority of his columns in the Boston Globe and who has lived in this sports town for nearly three years, I can’t bring myself to despise him. He may be grossly incorrect at times, he may have some very strong biases (which, as a columnist, is permitable,) but I do believe his honors and respect are deserved.
I think the problem with Shaughnessy is that he stopped enjoying being passionate about his profession a while back. Pure speculation, mind you, but I have reasons that I say what I do. For one, I met him last year while taking a class at the College of Communications. He came to visit a sports media course I was taking along with Kevin Paul Dupont, the Globe’s lead hockey writer. While Dupont’s interest, enthusiasm and gratefulness for his profession was glaringly obvious, Shaughnessy seemed to question what he has gotten caught up in. I almost wanted to ask him if he could go back to being a beat reporter, would he? He was courteous and answered everyone’s questions, and a part of his preoccupation may have been because he was about to break the Theo-is-coming-back story later that evening, but he seemed to miss the travel of being a beat reporter and the anonymity that it provided.
Secondly, his columns seem to be mailed in. Take his column regarding the first round of the Beanpot -- it was so uninvolved it was almost offensive. He was intentionally using repetition as a means to show that the Beanpot is always the same in that Boston University always makes it to the finals, but he could have used it a lot better than using the example of a number of players coming from St. Sebastian’s. In fact, he was flippant to the importance of the tournament, which is a premier sports event on the Boston sports scene (since it takes place in the dark ages of the sports calendar--after the Super Bowl but before spring training and March Madness.) But Shaughnessy is, at his core, a baseball beat writer. I don’t think, if left completely to his own devices, he would ever write about hockey. He is passionate about baseball, and I think that’s why any football, hockey or basketball articles he writes come across as incomplete, inaccurate, or in the case of the Beanpot article, flippant. When he writes about baseball, his columns are longer, his descriptions more vivid, and he breaks news. It may be that his editor needs not to pressure him to write columns regarding sports he is not interested or qualified to.
In the end, I think it may boil down to the following: Boston sports fans, with their incorrect belief that they are more intelligent than any other American sports fans, are overly critical. They tear down, build up, and devour athletes, managers, coaches, front offices, and their journalists like a five-year-old who just traded in Duplos for Legos. When I first moved here, I thought it was over exaggerated how thick-skinned those in Boston sports had to be in order not to lose their minds. Unfortunately, it’s not. And I think Dan Shaughnessy, once he became successful and prolific, began to be consistently torn down by Boston sports fan. Twenty years of criticism later, he has finally become jaded. And, all things considered, who could blame him?
When I ran indoor track (we’re talking way back in the day--1996 to be exact,) I preferred meets at New York Chiropractic College over those at the University of Rochester (U of R). It wasn’t that U of R had sub-par facilities--they had adequate facilities, if not a little on the older side, but still a whole lot better than running in the hallways of my high school, which is what we had to do for practice--but it was that U of R was right around the corner. From school, it was turn right, go straight for a little bit, another right, straight for a bit again, and bam--you were on campus. In fact, my high school was the original campus for the university--that’s how close by we were.
Those weekends that we had to go out to New York Chiropractic, which is located in Seneca Falls, were quite involved. We would report at school early, pack up in the school bus, and travel for about an hour to get there. We would listen to the radio, eat bagels, do homework together, talk about boys we liked…and when the meet was over, we would trudge from the field house through the freshly fallen lake effect snow to the parking lot, pack in the bus, wait till the bus warmed up enough, and then travel back home, exhausted. Not as talkative on the way back, we would either fall asleep or, my personal choice, look out the frostbitten window.
It wasn’t just that the trip out to Seneca Falls was more fun for 14-year-old me, but I ran (or in some cases, walked--one of my events was the racewalk) better at those meets. In all reality, that’s not saying much--it meant I finished third to last instead of last-- but I was in an entirely different mindset. I wasn’t thinking of schoolwork, I wasn’t thinking about my family, I wasn’t thinking about Rochester--I was only thinking about my team and running (or walking.)
The reason I reminisce above is that the more I follow sports, especially college sports, the more I think that some athletes and teams are effected by what I’m calling “The Departure Factor.” The team or athlete performs better at an away venue than a home venue. This isn’t limited to teams that compete on fields and arenas, but also individual athletes like figure skaters. The actual traveling to the game, meet or championship is a cathartic experience--that time spent traveling releases the athlete of any outside issues and gets the athlete in the zone. Alternatively, when the team or athlete plays at a home venue, they have no travel time--they step onto the field right from their everyday lives. Every issue that they are dealing with in their non-athletic life comes with them onto the field--no matter how insignificant--because there has been no detachment from the two lives.
“The Departure Factor” is not to be used as an excuse--there exist thousands of sports psychologists to prepare athletes at all levels to “get in the zone”--but I think, especially for younger athletes, it is a legitimate reasoning for poor or unfocused performance. The best athletes and teams will always be those who can focus on the task at hand without letting anything distract them for the amount of time their program, match or game lasts. In fact, I think the absolute best athletes (or even anyone in any given field) are those who can focus as such and never lose their enjoyment for that intensive submersion in the given activity.
*****
Speaking of a person who may have lost that enjoyment for what they do…there is a sportswriter in Boston who elicits intense hatred and a high level of respect concurrently. That writer is Dan Shaughnessy. He is so hated that multiple websites exist whose sole purpose is to loathe him, but so respected that all media types and middle-of-the-road fans defer to his vast knowledge. I knew of him even as a teenager in Lake Effect Snow Land, but did not have a definitive opinion on the guy--I didn’t know enough of his work. However, even now as someone who reads a majority of his columns in the Boston Globe and who has lived in this sports town for nearly three years, I can’t bring myself to despise him. He may be grossly incorrect at times, he may have some very strong biases (which, as a columnist, is permitable,) but I do believe his honors and respect are deserved.
I think the problem with Shaughnessy is that he stopped enjoying being passionate about his profession a while back. Pure speculation, mind you, but I have reasons that I say what I do. For one, I met him last year while taking a class at the College of Communications. He came to visit a sports media course I was taking along with Kevin Paul Dupont, the Globe’s lead hockey writer. While Dupont’s interest, enthusiasm and gratefulness for his profession was glaringly obvious, Shaughnessy seemed to question what he has gotten caught up in. I almost wanted to ask him if he could go back to being a beat reporter, would he? He was courteous and answered everyone’s questions, and a part of his preoccupation may have been because he was about to break the Theo-is-coming-back story later that evening, but he seemed to miss the travel of being a beat reporter and the anonymity that it provided.
Secondly, his columns seem to be mailed in. Take his column regarding the first round of the Beanpot -- it was so uninvolved it was almost offensive. He was intentionally using repetition as a means to show that the Beanpot is always the same in that Boston University always makes it to the finals, but he could have used it a lot better than using the example of a number of players coming from St. Sebastian’s. In fact, he was flippant to the importance of the tournament, which is a premier sports event on the Boston sports scene (since it takes place in the dark ages of the sports calendar--after the Super Bowl but before spring training and March Madness.) But Shaughnessy is, at his core, a baseball beat writer. I don’t think, if left completely to his own devices, he would ever write about hockey. He is passionate about baseball, and I think that’s why any football, hockey or basketball articles he writes come across as incomplete, inaccurate, or in the case of the Beanpot article, flippant. When he writes about baseball, his columns are longer, his descriptions more vivid, and he breaks news. It may be that his editor needs not to pressure him to write columns regarding sports he is not interested or qualified to.
In the end, I think it may boil down to the following: Boston sports fans, with their incorrect belief that they are more intelligent than any other American sports fans, are overly critical. They tear down, build up, and devour athletes, managers, coaches, front offices, and their journalists like a five-year-old who just traded in Duplos for Legos. When I first moved here, I thought it was over exaggerated how thick-skinned those in Boston sports had to be in order not to lose their minds. Unfortunately, it’s not. And I think Dan Shaughnessy, once he became successful and prolific, began to be consistently torn down by Boston sports fan. Twenty years of criticism later, he has finally become jaded. And, all things considered, who could blame him?
Monday, January 15, 2007
Sports Blogs That Are Better Than My Own--Or At Least Updated More Often
Here is my list of my favorite sports-related blogs and columns. Since I have seriously slipped in updating this blog, I give you this list of sports news and opinion so that you can get your fill from somewhere. Plus, they all write much better than I do.
Uni Watch http://www.uniwatchblog.com/
A daily look at uniform trends and history.
Boston Sports Media Watch http://www.bostonsportsmedia.com
A professor in COM told me about this blog last year, and I have been addicted since.
Scott’s Shots http://www.bostonsportsmedia.com/shots
An offshoot of the Boston Sports Media Watch blog from a "insiders" view.
Peter King’s Monday Morning Quarterback
http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/writers/peter_king/archive/index.html
I know he's not always right, but I excuse his mistakes because of his encyclopedic knowledge. Oh, and because his column introduced me to the egg nog latte.
Sports Law Blog http://sports-law.blogspot.com/
My newest addiction. It's topics run the gamut.
Binghamton University Basketball Blog (Press and Sun-Bulletin) http://www.pressconnects.com/blogs/bubasketball/bubasketball.html
It's well written, but only for the most dedicated of Binghamton fans.
Scott Pitoniak’s Blog at the Democrat and Chronicle http://pitoniak.blogspot.com/
The Democrat and Chronicle have a great stable of sports journalists--here is one of them.
Inside the Bills http://buffalobills.com/blog/index.jsp?blogger_id=1
Not just for Bills fans, it provides a good look at news from around the AFC East.
Here is my list of my favorite sports-related blogs and columns. Since I have seriously slipped in updating this blog, I give you this list of sports news and opinion so that you can get your fill from somewhere. Plus, they all write much better than I do.
Uni Watch http://www.uniwatchblog.com/
A daily look at uniform trends and history.
Boston Sports Media Watch http://www.bostonsportsmedia.com
A professor in COM told me about this blog last year, and I have been addicted since.
Scott’s Shots http://www.bostonsportsmedia.com/shots
An offshoot of the Boston Sports Media Watch blog from a "insiders" view.
Peter King’s Monday Morning Quarterback
http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/writers/peter_king/archive/index.html
I know he's not always right, but I excuse his mistakes because of his encyclopedic knowledge. Oh, and because his column introduced me to the egg nog latte.
Sports Law Blog http://sports-law.blogspot.com/
My newest addiction. It's topics run the gamut.
Binghamton University Basketball Blog (Press and Sun-Bulletin) http://www.pressconnects.com/blogs/bubasketball/bubasketball.html
It's well written, but only for the most dedicated of Binghamton fans.
Scott Pitoniak’s Blog at the Democrat and Chronicle http://pitoniak.blogspot.com/
The Democrat and Chronicle have a great stable of sports journalists--here is one of them.
Inside the Bills http://buffalobills.com/blog/index.jsp?blogger_id=1
Not just for Bills fans, it provides a good look at news from around the AFC East.
Sunday, September 11, 2005
Earning the Fabiola
(aka There’s a Reason I Chose the Patron Saint of Travelers as My Confirmation Name)
When I got confirmed (what I like to call the Catholic Bat Mitzvah) back in the day (and when I say that, I mean 1996), I decided to be different and choose an unusual confirmation name (a name that you are supposed to use as your Catholic name, after the middle name, but no one really does anymore). I remember flipping the pages of the big book o’ saints that St. James had and trying to find something that wasn’t Mary, Maria, Elizabeth or Ann. Somehow I settled on Fabiola, the patron saint of travelers. I think this was because at the time, I wanted to travel or wanted to take a summer vacation like all the other kids. This name was so unusual that when Bishop Clark called me up to confirm me, his exact response was, “Fabiola? I haven’t heard that for a confirmation name.”
Now that I’m 23, and regret the immense geekiness of my teenage years, I rarely use the Fabiola. I’m reluctant to mention it, until Tricia (my best friend since age 3--"We've been friends for 20 YEARS!!!!!") inevitably brings it up and I have to explain my 14-year-old thinking. However, now the choice has become highly appropriate, for I have doing more traveling in the past three months than I thought I would. Here’s the overview:
Okay, my brother and I didn't do that.
The Cleveland detour took place on Saturday afternoon (and was not exterampeous in any means, as I had mailed my parents the "Hasenauer Hall of Fame Weekend" iternary weeks beforehand, in their folder of relevant trip information. And they think I have OCD--where would they get that idea?) My family arrived in Cleveland, parked on the waterfront, and headed over to the museum. As we walked the steps of the Rock n' Roll Hall of Fame, we saw our first Dan Marino fan. Remember, this was Saturday afternoon, in Cleveland, 45 minutes away from Canton. And
there this guy was, in a white, teal and orange 13 jersey. No biggie, I thought. There was bound to be a few.
A few turned out to be 20, 000.
We saw around 200 at the Rock N' Roll Hall of Fame alone. Teal jerseies, orange jerseies, official t-shirts, homeade t-shirts, NFL jungle pants, orange hats, the number 13 EVERYWHERE.
At one point, in front of the Alan Freed exhibit I believe, I turned to my mother and said, "Mom, I think I'm outnumbered. There's not a red number 8 in sight."
My mother looked at me and shrugged. "How do you think I feel? I'm a Bills fan."
We left Cleveland a few hours later, already disinheartened
(see photo of Sam, my brother, at right) by the number of Dolph-fans (my dad's word) we had encountered. Back in our hotel in Akron (the Vestal, NY of eastern Ohio, I am convinced) we thought we were safe from them. Just to be sure, when we headed to Bennigan's for dinner, I threw on my new Hall of Fame issue Steve Young jersey (thanks, Chris!). To use Hunter 115 lingo, I had to start "reppin'." I encountered four Marino fans across the dining room, but no confrontation occured, although I did get quite a few stares from the other diners for wearing an oversized jersey tied up 1992-style. (In another note of weirdness, did anyone else know that Ohio still allowed smoking in their restaurants?)
My parents, brother and I retreated back to our hotel, which my family was rather excited about. My family has never taken a family vacation ever, and this was only the third time my father has ever spent in a hotel, and only the third and fourth state my father has ever been in. Needless to say, our pretty large and cozy hotel room was one of the most exciting parts of the trip for my family. Even for a veteran hotel stayer myself (hello, I've even lived in one), I do have to say that our hotel in Akron was one of the nicest I've seen. It had a living room, a full kitchen (complete with dishwasher, which totally impressed my mom), a gorgeous bathroom/dressing area, and three beds. (Of course, I forgot to take a picture of it because I'm an idiot like that.)
My parents and Sam were out like a light that evening, and I would of been as well, had there not been the ESPN Classic Hall of Fame Weekend on. I have never been known to turn down a viewing of the 1993 San Fransisico 49ers Yearbook (well, except for the last five minutes--the NFC Championship Game), so I stayed up and watched that. But soon enough I went to bed, knowing full well that we would have to depart early to beat all the Marino-ites to Canton the next morning.
We packed up and reluctantly left our swanky hotel room early Sunday morning. Chris called us while we were on the 30 minute trip and let us know from Boston that NFL Network was already broadcasting live from outside the hall--and this was at 8am! After parking and taking the shuttle, we got to the Hall by the time they opened at 9am. When I was walking onto the Hall grounds, I was dejected already by the fact that I had been the only person clad in 49ers scarlet in the parking lot and shuttle--until two women who had to be in their 60s or 70s with handmade Steve Young shirts bounced up to me. "Hey girl, give me a high five!" they both screamed, and we all smiled and gave each other high fives. "We're so excited to see another Young fan!" said one, "We're rather few and far between here!" We were chatty for a few minutes about the crazy Marino-ites, and then went our separate ways, but instead of "Bye," we left each other with a big, "Go Young!"
While this was going on, my family hung back, pretending that they didn't know me, as they would end up doing several more times that day.
We then went into the museum (warning: during Hall of Fame weekend, they do raise the
admission prices.) The Pro Football Hall of Fame is an absolutely awesome place if you are a football fan. There is just so much memorabila and information that it is almost overwhelming. It is also in a very cramped space, so if you're claustrophobic, I reccommend going on like a Tuesday morning in the middle of October or something. Lucky for Hasenauers, we're used to being crammed into spaces tighter than sardines in a can (anyone who has seen the house I grew up in can attest to that), so the throngs of people that were mingling around the hall didn't bother us. Among the highlights is the Super Bowl section, with the box score and memorbila from every Super Bowl (including rings, not to mention a Brady jersey at every turn--it's what you get when you win three in four years!); the "Other Leagues" section, with great information on the AFL and USFL (including a blown up front page of the Rochester Times Union from the 
1920s when Rochester had a pro team); and the photography exhibit highlighting the best photos from the 2004 season. There is also the actual Hall of Fame with all of the busts of every inductee (see Jim Kelly at right), which is a great history lesson for those of us who started watching football back in the early 1990s. I must say that some of the busts look absolutely nothing like the actual people (the Kelly one is pretty close, but the Marv Levy one looks like they used a "generic old man" model.) They had the engraved shelves installed for Young and his fellow inductees already, but the busts would be unveiled during the ceremony and placed there afterwards. My absolute favourite part of the Hall of Fame had to be when a young boy and his family who were guests of the Steve Young Foundation sought me out to take a picture of them in front of one of the Steve Young exhibits. "We've been looking for a friendly face," they laughed as they handed me over their camera. I was like totally shaking, and didn't have the guts to ask where they got their Steve Young straw hats (all of Young's personal and foundation guests had a special straw hat with a red embrordered scarf tied on it) or if I could hang out with them for the rest of the day. That would be the closest I got to meeting Steve Young, but that was cool enough for me.
Of course, after viewing all of the exibits, my family and I made our way to the museum store. In the line to get in, I had my first celeb siting--well, not just siting, but bumping. Junior Seau,
now a Dolphin, but a former Charger (he played for them in the Super Bowl against the Niners in 1995), was walking the opposite direction out of the press room near the store, and brushed by my shoulder. Nearby was Zach Thomas. Both were very nice and all smiles as all the Dolph-fans they passed oohed and aahed. After spending way too much money in the museum store, my family and I made our way to Fawcett Stadium for the ceremony. While waiting in line, Cris Carter rushed to the VIP entrance, with a fan trailing him. Only seconds later on the other side of the line, Chris Berman (who was to be the emcee of the ceremony), was driven past us to the stage in a golf cart. Everyone was cheering him as he drove by, and he waved. He looks exactly the same as he does on TV--like everyone's crazy uncle.
Now to the ceremony itself. It was such a good ceremony--except for the burning sun just frying my family and I in the stands. My parents and brother had to keep going downstairs and getting away from the sun to prevent getting sunburned. I usually don't burn at all (that's the 10% Italian in me), but even I was beginning to feel it. But what was even more annoying was the sixteen gazillion (okay, I mean 20,000) Dolph-fans, who were only there for their number 13. They were loud and annoying at times, not to mention rude. (There was one guy in back of me in line in the store explaining to his obviously-dragged-along girlfriend why Steve Young didn't deserve to be inducted, and that the only way they were going to let him in was to induct them a year with "totally the best QB of all time" so he would be outdone. I don't know if the guy was blind to my bright scarlet number 8 jersey in his face, or if he was just trying to get my goat. I'd love to say that guy was the exception, and not the rule, but unfortunately, it was the other way around.) But I didn't let it bother me, and settled in to hear Grit Young introduce his son.
All I have to say is that it is glaringly obvious that the Young clan are lawyers. 35 minutes later
, Steve Young took the podium. Steve gave us his useful well prepared remarks, expressing his gratitude to everyone (even Joe Montana, who was noteably absent from the lineup of previous inductees.) It was also interesting to hear him and his father speak about his family life--something a lot of people don't know about, since he got married and had kids after he retired. We also got the standard story about how his mother came charging out onto his Pop Warner football field one time because a member of the opposing team made an illegal hit on her son, and the story of how he made his parents drag the whole family to the Hall of Fame on a family vacation--and how his siblings only agreed if they all got to go to Hershey Park afterward. He spoke for quite a while, but I relished every minute of it. He was obviously just soaking up the moment of being inducted, and realizing that there were some fans there for him, hidden amoungst the vast seas of teal and orange. He was so appreciative that you couldn't help but feel happy for the guy, even if you were a Dolph-fan.
After he finished, they took a commerical time out, and my mom turned to me and said, "Um...I hope you're not planning to see Dan Marino."
"Why?" I asked.
"Because your face is the same color as your jersey."
I felt my face and realized that I was done. As in, "I'm so done, turn me over" done. As in, almost-Italian-but-really-French-Canadian-me was fried to a crisp. (See photo evidence to your right. That was between Benny Friedman and Fritz Pollard's inductions. Take that redness and turn it up a few notches and you'll see what I was really like afterward.)
So my family packed up and left before the Dan Marino celebration began. Rude? Maybe. But I wasn't willing to risk heatstroke to see the arch-enemy of all Bills fans get inducted.
We packed into the family roadster (well, actually the family Buick Rendezvous) and headed back to Rochester, sunburnt and carrying six tons of Steve Young memoribila. A little less than five hours later, we were back in Rochester, and ten hours after that, I was back in Boston. It was a short trip (and yes, I missed my chance to stick around for Monday's Meet and Greet with the inductees--I needed to get back to Boston by Monday afternoon), but it was worth it. I know this probably sounds amazingly stupid, but it was amazingly cool to do something that I said I'd do since the age of 13,which is when I turned to my father the summer after Super Bowl XXIX and asked him if we could go see Steve Young get inducted to the Hall of Fame whenever he was elected. I don't think my father ever thought I'd 1) remember that or 2) really drag my whole family along for the ride when it did happen. So thank you Mom, Dad and Sam for letting me drag you to the boondocks of Ohio for Steve Young--and do you think we can go again in five years when Jerry Rice gets inducted? Please?
(aka There’s a Reason I Chose the Patron Saint of Travelers as My Confirmation Name)
When I got confirmed (what I like to call the Catholic Bat Mitzvah) back in the day (and when I say that, I mean 1996), I decided to be different and choose an unusual confirmation name (a name that you are supposed to use as your Catholic name, after the middle name, but no one really does anymore). I remember flipping the pages of the big book o’ saints that St. James had and trying to find something that wasn’t Mary, Maria, Elizabeth or Ann. Somehow I settled on Fabiola, the patron saint of travelers. I think this was because at the time, I wanted to travel or wanted to take a summer vacation like all the other kids. This name was so unusual that when Bishop Clark called me up to confirm me, his exact response was, “Fabiola? I haven’t heard that for a confirmation name.”
Now that I’m 23, and regret the immense geekiness of my teenage years, I rarely use the Fabiola. I’m reluctant to mention it, until Tricia (my best friend since age 3--"We've been friends for 20 YEARS!!!!!") inevitably brings it up and I have to explain my 14-year-old thinking. However, now the choice has become highly appropriate, for I have doing more traveling in the past three months than I thought I would. Here’s the overview:
- Ending a wicked busy commencement weekend by taking a short little trip to Providence to see the last hockey of the season.
- Going to Poughkeepsie to attend my college friends’ wedding and getting to room with Regina again.
- Taking four flights (yes I got on a plane for the first time in five years) in order to attend my little sister’s graduation party in Rochester.
- Driving out to Framingham for dinner with Caitlin and Chris and sharing the road with the Speeding Nuns.
- Traveling to Yarmouth, Freeport and Kittery, Maine to attend a clam festival and to see the fine state of Maine for the first time.
- Sticking my toes in the Atlantic for the first time while on a day trip to Martha's Vineyard.
- Of course, no exploits are complete without a jaunt to cheat death in East Somerville, MA.
SEEING STEVE YOUNG GET INDUCTED INTO THE PRO FOOTBALL HALL OF FAME!
Okay, my brother and I didn't do that.
The Cleveland detour took place on Saturday afternoon (and was not exterampeous in any means, as I had mailed my parents the "Hasenauer Hall of Fame Weekend" iternary weeks beforehand, in their folder of relevant trip information. And they think I have OCD--where would they get that idea?) My family arrived in Cleveland, parked on the waterfront, and headed over to the museum. As we walked the steps of the Rock n' Roll Hall of Fame, we saw our first Dan Marino fan. Remember, this was Saturday afternoon, in Cleveland, 45 minutes away from Canton. And
there this guy was, in a white, teal and orange 13 jersey. No biggie, I thought. There was bound to be a few.A few turned out to be 20, 000.
We saw around 200 at the Rock N' Roll Hall of Fame alone. Teal jerseies, orange jerseies, official t-shirts, homeade t-shirts, NFL jungle pants, orange hats, the number 13 EVERYWHERE.
At one point, in front of the Alan Freed exhibit I believe, I turned to my mother and said, "Mom, I think I'm outnumbered. There's not a red number 8 in sight."
My mother looked at me and shrugged. "How do you think I feel? I'm a Bills fan."
We left Cleveland a few hours later, already disinheartened
(see photo of Sam, my brother, at right) by the number of Dolph-fans (my dad's word) we had encountered. Back in our hotel in Akron (the Vestal, NY of eastern Ohio, I am convinced) we thought we were safe from them. Just to be sure, when we headed to Bennigan's for dinner, I threw on my new Hall of Fame issue Steve Young jersey (thanks, Chris!). To use Hunter 115 lingo, I had to start "reppin'." I encountered four Marino fans across the dining room, but no confrontation occured, although I did get quite a few stares from the other diners for wearing an oversized jersey tied up 1992-style. (In another note of weirdness, did anyone else know that Ohio still allowed smoking in their restaurants?)My parents, brother and I retreated back to our hotel, which my family was rather excited about. My family has never taken a family vacation ever, and this was only the third time my father has ever spent in a hotel, and only the third and fourth state my father has ever been in. Needless to say, our pretty large and cozy hotel room was one of the most exciting parts of the trip for my family. Even for a veteran hotel stayer myself (hello, I've even lived in one), I do have to say that our hotel in Akron was one of the nicest I've seen. It had a living room, a full kitchen (complete with dishwasher, which totally impressed my mom), a gorgeous bathroom/dressing area, and three beds. (Of course, I forgot to take a picture of it because I'm an idiot like that.)
My parents and Sam were out like a light that evening, and I would of been as well, had there not been the ESPN Classic Hall of Fame Weekend on. I have never been known to turn down a viewing of the 1993 San Fransisico 49ers Yearbook (well, except for the last five minutes--the NFC Championship Game), so I stayed up and watched that. But soon enough I went to bed, knowing full well that we would have to depart early to beat all the Marino-ites to Canton the next morning.
We packed up and reluctantly left our swanky hotel room early Sunday morning. Chris called us while we were on the 30 minute trip and let us know from Boston that NFL Network was already broadcasting live from outside the hall--and this was at 8am! After parking and taking the shuttle, we got to the Hall by the time they opened at 9am. When I was walking onto the Hall grounds, I was dejected already by the fact that I had been the only person clad in 49ers scarlet in the parking lot and shuttle--until two women who had to be in their 60s or 70s with handmade Steve Young shirts bounced up to me. "Hey girl, give me a high five!" they both screamed, and we all smiled and gave each other high fives. "We're so excited to see another Young fan!" said one, "We're rather few and far between here!" We were chatty for a few minutes about the crazy Marino-ites, and then went our separate ways, but instead of "Bye," we left each other with a big, "Go Young!"
While this was going on, my family hung back, pretending that they didn't know me, as they would end up doing several more times that day.
We then went into the museum (warning: during Hall of Fame weekend, they do raise the
admission prices.) The Pro Football Hall of Fame is an absolutely awesome place if you are a football fan. There is just so much memorabila and information that it is almost overwhelming. It is also in a very cramped space, so if you're claustrophobic, I reccommend going on like a Tuesday morning in the middle of October or something. Lucky for Hasenauers, we're used to being crammed into spaces tighter than sardines in a can (anyone who has seen the house I grew up in can attest to that), so the throngs of people that were mingling around the hall didn't bother us. Among the highlights is the Super Bowl section, with the box score and memorbila from every Super Bowl (including rings, not to mention a Brady jersey at every turn--it's what you get when you win three in four years!); the "Other Leagues" section, with great information on the AFL and USFL (including a blown up front page of the Rochester Times Union from the 
1920s when Rochester had a pro team); and the photography exhibit highlighting the best photos from the 2004 season. There is also the actual Hall of Fame with all of the busts of every inductee (see Jim Kelly at right), which is a great history lesson for those of us who started watching football back in the early 1990s. I must say that some of the busts look absolutely nothing like the actual people (the Kelly one is pretty close, but the Marv Levy one looks like they used a "generic old man" model.) They had the engraved shelves installed for Young and his fellow inductees already, but the busts would be unveiled during the ceremony and placed there afterwards. My absolute favourite part of the Hall of Fame had to be when a young boy and his family who were guests of the Steve Young Foundation sought me out to take a picture of them in front of one of the Steve Young exhibits. "We've been looking for a friendly face," they laughed as they handed me over their camera. I was like totally shaking, and didn't have the guts to ask where they got their Steve Young straw hats (all of Young's personal and foundation guests had a special straw hat with a red embrordered scarf tied on it) or if I could hang out with them for the rest of the day. That would be the closest I got to meeting Steve Young, but that was cool enough for me.Of course, after viewing all of the exibits, my family and I made our way to the museum store. In the line to get in, I had my first celeb siting--well, not just siting, but bumping. Junior Seau,
now a Dolphin, but a former Charger (he played for them in the Super Bowl against the Niners in 1995), was walking the opposite direction out of the press room near the store, and brushed by my shoulder. Nearby was Zach Thomas. Both were very nice and all smiles as all the Dolph-fans they passed oohed and aahed. After spending way too much money in the museum store, my family and I made our way to Fawcett Stadium for the ceremony. While waiting in line, Cris Carter rushed to the VIP entrance, with a fan trailing him. Only seconds later on the other side of the line, Chris Berman (who was to be the emcee of the ceremony), was driven past us to the stage in a golf cart. Everyone was cheering him as he drove by, and he waved. He looks exactly the same as he does on TV--like everyone's crazy uncle.Now to the ceremony itself. It was such a good ceremony--except for the burning sun just frying my family and I in the stands. My parents and brother had to keep going downstairs and getting away from the sun to prevent getting sunburned. I usually don't burn at all (that's the 10% Italian in me), but even I was beginning to feel it. But what was even more annoying was the sixteen gazillion (okay, I mean 20,000) Dolph-fans, who were only there for their number 13. They were loud and annoying at times, not to mention rude. (There was one guy in back of me in line in the store explaining to his obviously-dragged-along girlfriend why Steve Young didn't deserve to be inducted, and that the only way they were going to let him in was to induct them a year with "totally the best QB of all time" so he would be outdone. I don't know if the guy was blind to my bright scarlet number 8 jersey in his face, or if he was just trying to get my goat. I'd love to say that guy was the exception, and not the rule, but unfortunately, it was the other way around.) But I didn't let it bother me, and settled in to hear Grit Young introduce his son.
All I have to say is that it is glaringly obvious that the Young clan are lawyers. 35 minutes later
, Steve Young took the podium. Steve gave us his useful well prepared remarks, expressing his gratitude to everyone (even Joe Montana, who was noteably absent from the lineup of previous inductees.) It was also interesting to hear him and his father speak about his family life--something a lot of people don't know about, since he got married and had kids after he retired. We also got the standard story about how his mother came charging out onto his Pop Warner football field one time because a member of the opposing team made an illegal hit on her son, and the story of how he made his parents drag the whole family to the Hall of Fame on a family vacation--and how his siblings only agreed if they all got to go to Hershey Park afterward. He spoke for quite a while, but I relished every minute of it. He was obviously just soaking up the moment of being inducted, and realizing that there were some fans there for him, hidden amoungst the vast seas of teal and orange. He was so appreciative that you couldn't help but feel happy for the guy, even if you were a Dolph-fan.After he finished, they took a commerical time out, and my mom turned to me and said, "Um...I hope you're not planning to see Dan Marino."
"Why?" I asked.
"Because your face is the same color as your jersey."
I felt my face and realized that I was done. As in, "I'm so done, turn me over" done. As in, almost-Italian-but-really-French-Canadian-me was fried to a crisp. (See photo evidence to your right. That was between Benny Friedman and Fritz Pollard's inductions. Take that redness and turn it up a few notches and you'll see what I was really like afterward.)
So my family packed up and left before the Dan Marino celebration began. Rude? Maybe. But I wasn't willing to risk heatstroke to see the arch-enemy of all Bills fans get inducted.
We packed into the family roadster (well, actually the family Buick Rendezvous) and headed back to Rochester, sunburnt and carrying six tons of Steve Young memoribila. A little less than five hours later, we were back in Rochester, and ten hours after that, I was back in Boston. It was a short trip (and yes, I missed my chance to stick around for Monday's Meet and Greet with the inductees--I needed to get back to Boston by Monday afternoon), but it was worth it. I know this probably sounds amazingly stupid, but it was amazingly cool to do something that I said I'd do since the age of 13,which is when I turned to my father the summer after Super Bowl XXIX and asked him if we could go see Steve Young get inducted to the Hall of Fame whenever he was elected. I don't think my father ever thought I'd 1) remember that or 2) really drag my whole family along for the ride when it did happen. So thank you Mom, Dad and Sam for letting me drag you to the boondocks of Ohio for Steve Young--and do you think we can go again in five years when Jerry Rice gets inducted? Please?
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
Kat's First Hand Account of History in Peabody
(or How Kat Survived Scoring, the TBPOE and Softball Friends)
A few weeks back, Steve Rushin of Sports Illustrated lamented the downfall of scoring baseball games. Baseball fans now attend games to buy overpriced chicken tenders and drink manically overpriced Bud Light, and children aren’t being taken to the park with their grandfathers and being given one-on-one hands-on lessons on how to hand score. He did point out that the only growing population of hand scorers is Little League Moms (not to be all left behind with the soccer mom phenomenon now), who keep stats on their 8 year olds (who the Boston Herald would like you to believe will have Tommy John surgery by the time they’re 12. Gotta love the Herald and its Fox-like embellishment and dramatics.)
However, despite the fact that I adore Rushin’s writing, he neglected another growing population of hand-scorers:
Ladies and gentlemen, I bring to you Kat, The Softball Girlfriend.
I am the unofficial scorekeeper—okay, I’m embellishing like the Herald, I only was on Monday—for the North Shore’s own “The Buzz,” a men’s softball league that counts among its members my boyfriend, Chris, who plays the outfield. (Where did Chris come from, you ask? See last fall’s entries where he was known as Fantasy Football Confidant.) I decided to tag along for The Buzz’s double-header on Monday up on the North Shore, hoping to witness their first win of the season.
Chris, his friend Todd, and I showed up for game 1 at Ward II in Peabody. They were playing St. Mikes, a team whose average age had to be a good ten to fifteen years older than The Buzz. However, with age comes…well, not exactly ability, but possibly arm strength from lifting up their kids, and therefore, St. Mike’s is known as a powerhouse in B League play. Both teams are warming up (which, in grand men’s softball tradition, meant that alcohol was being consumed in the parking lot) when Chris handed me a top coiled notebook and a pen.
“You’re keeping score,” he said.
“I am?” I answered. “You didn’t notice last week’s intramural debacle?” (Someone on Chris’s Boston University softball team handed me the scorekeeping clipboard as they went to take the field, and I didn’t realize I was supposed to hand it to the opposing team when they were batting, and so I sat there staring at it until the ref yelled at me. It was quite embarrassing.)
“Oh, this one is easier. Plus, you don’t have to give it to the other team.”
Chris sat down next to me on the bench and gave me what had to be the quickest scoring primer known to man in the two minutes before he had to get up to bat (he bats third in their rotation). And then, I was on my own. A few F-7s and 5-3s later, I was feeling the hang of it. Soon, I could take the time to mark strikes and walks. I felt competent (which really doesn’t happen often, especially with the aftermath of being beaten to near-death by my master’s degree.) I was relishing my role as the Softball Girlfriend, even offering to call out the batting order (which resulted in me calling Al "A-L" because I thought it was someone's initials and not really the name Al. Fun times with my stupidity right there.)
St. Mike’s shut out The Buzz, and since I didn’t have to score the other team, I can’t tell you what the score exactly was. It was then time to go cross-town to Ross Park for the most important game of the season thus far—a game against the last place team in the league, who were a half-game in back of The Buzz in the standings.
Ross Park will be known for the rest of this entry as TBPOE, an acronym for “The Buggiest Place On Earth.” (My feet are currently still swollen from bug bites. That’s what I get for wearing Chinese net slippers.) The Buzz arrived at the TBPOE early only to see their opponent, the Paddy Kelley’s (a bar in Salem) second team, lose after five innings to some other team with really spiffy embroidered shirts. (A game in this league is called after five if one team is up by 12 or more. They don’t like to humiliate people on the North Shore I guess.) The Embroidered Shirts handily won that game and sauntered off to let The Buzz take the field.
The scoring notebook and I found our place in the metal stands at the TBPOE, two rows above the female fans of Paddy Kelley’s. I don’t know if they are Softball Girlfriends, like myself, or just Softball Friends, but they show devotion as fans that I think the first place teams would kill to have. They made tank-tops for themselves, which were slathered in bug spray, which wasn’t really working at the TBPOE. The Softball Friends were quite nice, and offered me bug spray on many occasions, which I appreciated.
The Buzz was pumped even though the Softball Friends were talking smack about them before the game. (“We’ve got this game. We do. They’re last like us.) However, it wasn’t until the 3rd that The Buzz’s bats awakened and they just lit up the TBPOE with runs. They also capitalized off Paddy Kelly’s infielders’ errors, which I am beginning to learn are key in the game of softball (seeing that I got to second on one last week in my own game.) With Chris, my favorite outfielder, scoring twice, The Buzz beat Paddy Kelley’s 15-7 to get only their second win in their four years of existence. My scoresheet, which I handed to Todd after the game, will be framed and placed next to the framed scoresheet of the other game they’ve won.
The Buzz left the field to the cheers of me (the Softball Friends were silent at that point, despite their cheers during the game of, “That was almost a nice catch!” and “That was some good running! Maybe next time!”), and soon gathered in the parking lot, where they gathered around one of their cars, watching reverently as Todd carefully wrote on one of the softballs used for practice that night, “The Buzz vs. Paddy Kelley’s, 15-7, Ross Park, June 13, 2005.” As I hung back, I enjoyed watching the team excitedly look at the ball and what had been written on it. Us twenty-something females may be correctly stereotyped as constantly lambasting men as insensitive and emotionally disappointing, but if any of these disparagers had been standing with me at that moment, they would have to think otherwise.
***************************
I promise to write more later about my hiatus from my blog, especially because it makes for excellent blogging material. Just know that it involves me, four states, and more hockey than I could ever imagine seeing in a NHL lockout season. I just wanted to get this one up while it was fresh…and now that I am the proud-but-defeated recipient of a master’s degree, I will be writing more often.
(or How Kat Survived Scoring, the TBPOE and Softball Friends)
A few weeks back, Steve Rushin of Sports Illustrated lamented the downfall of scoring baseball games. Baseball fans now attend games to buy overpriced chicken tenders and drink manically overpriced Bud Light, and children aren’t being taken to the park with their grandfathers and being given one-on-one hands-on lessons on how to hand score. He did point out that the only growing population of hand scorers is Little League Moms (not to be all left behind with the soccer mom phenomenon now), who keep stats on their 8 year olds (who the Boston Herald would like you to believe will have Tommy John surgery by the time they’re 12. Gotta love the Herald and its Fox-like embellishment and dramatics.)
However, despite the fact that I adore Rushin’s writing, he neglected another growing population of hand-scorers:
Ladies and gentlemen, I bring to you Kat, The Softball Girlfriend.
I am the unofficial scorekeeper—okay, I’m embellishing like the Herald, I only was on Monday—for the North Shore’s own “The Buzz,” a men’s softball league that counts among its members my boyfriend, Chris, who plays the outfield. (Where did Chris come from, you ask? See last fall’s entries where he was known as Fantasy Football Confidant.) I decided to tag along for The Buzz’s double-header on Monday up on the North Shore, hoping to witness their first win of the season.
Chris, his friend Todd, and I showed up for game 1 at Ward II in Peabody. They were playing St. Mikes, a team whose average age had to be a good ten to fifteen years older than The Buzz. However, with age comes…well, not exactly ability, but possibly arm strength from lifting up their kids, and therefore, St. Mike’s is known as a powerhouse in B League play. Both teams are warming up (which, in grand men’s softball tradition, meant that alcohol was being consumed in the parking lot) when Chris handed me a top coiled notebook and a pen.
“You’re keeping score,” he said.
“I am?” I answered. “You didn’t notice last week’s intramural debacle?” (Someone on Chris’s Boston University softball team handed me the scorekeeping clipboard as they went to take the field, and I didn’t realize I was supposed to hand it to the opposing team when they were batting, and so I sat there staring at it until the ref yelled at me. It was quite embarrassing.)
“Oh, this one is easier. Plus, you don’t have to give it to the other team.”
Chris sat down next to me on the bench and gave me what had to be the quickest scoring primer known to man in the two minutes before he had to get up to bat (he bats third in their rotation). And then, I was on my own. A few F-7s and 5-3s later, I was feeling the hang of it. Soon, I could take the time to mark strikes and walks. I felt competent (which really doesn’t happen often, especially with the aftermath of being beaten to near-death by my master’s degree.) I was relishing my role as the Softball Girlfriend, even offering to call out the batting order (which resulted in me calling Al "A-L" because I thought it was someone's initials and not really the name Al. Fun times with my stupidity right there.)
St. Mike’s shut out The Buzz, and since I didn’t have to score the other team, I can’t tell you what the score exactly was. It was then time to go cross-town to Ross Park for the most important game of the season thus far—a game against the last place team in the league, who were a half-game in back of The Buzz in the standings.
Ross Park will be known for the rest of this entry as TBPOE, an acronym for “The Buggiest Place On Earth.” (My feet are currently still swollen from bug bites. That’s what I get for wearing Chinese net slippers.) The Buzz arrived at the TBPOE early only to see their opponent, the Paddy Kelley’s (a bar in Salem) second team, lose after five innings to some other team with really spiffy embroidered shirts. (A game in this league is called after five if one team is up by 12 or more. They don’t like to humiliate people on the North Shore I guess.) The Embroidered Shirts handily won that game and sauntered off to let The Buzz take the field.
The scoring notebook and I found our place in the metal stands at the TBPOE, two rows above the female fans of Paddy Kelley’s. I don’t know if they are Softball Girlfriends, like myself, or just Softball Friends, but they show devotion as fans that I think the first place teams would kill to have. They made tank-tops for themselves, which were slathered in bug spray, which wasn’t really working at the TBPOE. The Softball Friends were quite nice, and offered me bug spray on many occasions, which I appreciated.
The Buzz was pumped even though the Softball Friends were talking smack about them before the game. (“We’ve got this game. We do. They’re last like us.) However, it wasn’t until the 3rd that The Buzz’s bats awakened and they just lit up the TBPOE with runs. They also capitalized off Paddy Kelly’s infielders’ errors, which I am beginning to learn are key in the game of softball (seeing that I got to second on one last week in my own game.) With Chris, my favorite outfielder, scoring twice, The Buzz beat Paddy Kelley’s 15-7 to get only their second win in their four years of existence. My scoresheet, which I handed to Todd after the game, will be framed and placed next to the framed scoresheet of the other game they’ve won.
The Buzz left the field to the cheers of me (the Softball Friends were silent at that point, despite their cheers during the game of, “That was almost a nice catch!” and “That was some good running! Maybe next time!”), and soon gathered in the parking lot, where they gathered around one of their cars, watching reverently as Todd carefully wrote on one of the softballs used for practice that night, “The Buzz vs. Paddy Kelley’s, 15-7, Ross Park, June 13, 2005.” As I hung back, I enjoyed watching the team excitedly look at the ball and what had been written on it. Us twenty-something females may be correctly stereotyped as constantly lambasting men as insensitive and emotionally disappointing, but if any of these disparagers had been standing with me at that moment, they would have to think otherwise.
***************************
I promise to write more later about my hiatus from my blog, especially because it makes for excellent blogging material. Just know that it involves me, four states, and more hockey than I could ever imagine seeing in a NHL lockout season. I just wanted to get this one up while it was fresh…and now that I am the proud-but-defeated recipient of a master’s degree, I will be writing more often.
Friday, January 21, 2005
Kat's Job Search
(But not really)
If the Niners’ want to continue being the penny-pinching misers that they’ve shown with this week’s hiring of Mike Nolan, then why not hire me?
Hmmm...
(insert daydream music here)
Katherine’s Resume
Objective: To become head coach or general manager of the
Education:
Ed.M in Higher Education Administration, Expected May 2005
B.A. in History, Minor in Art History, May 2004
Studied Sports Information and Communication, 2000-2001
Yahoo Fantasy Football Leagues August 2004-Janurary 2005
Finished 4 in both a 10 member and 12 member leagues, had the smart idea to pick up Brandon Stokley and Jerome Bettis just on a hunch, rode McNabb and a WR not to be named because you had problems with him to a very good regular season record until said WR had to go and hurt his freaken ankle.
Steve Young Fan January 1993-Present
Spent my formative teenage years obsessing over your former quarterback, at one point could recite his QB rating per year, what the formula was for the QB rating, and could tell you how many rushing yards he had cumulative to 1994, could also tell you when he graduated from law school, and often corrected people who thought he had brown eyes, not blue. Has taught me to be more tolerant of Republicans and to embrace Michael Irvin for the idiot he is. I can also pretty much name the entire roster of your 1994-95 Super Bowl team due to Steve Young’s inclusion on it. (Example: Off the top of my head, I can tell you the QB roster, which was Young, Elvis Gerbac, and Bill Musgrave, and can note that Doug Brien, the now embattled Jets kicker, was the kicker for said team, and that John Taylor was still on the team at that point, oh and that Brent Jones too went to BYU law, and that I often got him and Harris Barton confused, and that Steve Wallace wore a double helmet. I could go on, but I’ll spare you the memories of your glory years.)
Mountainview Housing Office Pick The Winners Regular Season Champion Fall 2003
Kicked everyone in the office’s butt when it came to picking a select number of games per week.
Extracurricular Activities:
Recreational Madden 2003 player (although I’ll admit my favourite facets of the game are the field goal training camp drills and playing the 1994 Niners versus the 1995 Niners on automatic mode. Oh, and switching Steve Young to being a Buffalo Bill.)
Requesting Salary:
$29,000 per year
(see, I’m cheap!)
(end daydream)
….see? I think I’m well qualified for what they’re willing to pay. I mean, hire me, save money, and then maybe they could use the rest to sign actual players who might make the cut on some AFC teams (some, not all. No need to get unrealistic for the rebuilding process here.)
I’m not saying that the hiring of Nolan is a farce. I mean, I did draft the Ravens defense in like the third round of the MCFFLOAT this year. Me, the non-defense girl, took a defense early. I mean, that speaks volumes about Nolan’s previous work.
However, here’s my problem, and it reflects my all-offense-all-the-time-girliness: Out of the three facets of the Niners, I feel the offense needs the most work. In the NFC, the Niners defense finished 12th, while the offense finished 13th (surprising, isn’t it? Worst team in the league, yet they are not the worst team statistically in the NFC…). However, in they finished -17 in take/give aways, meaning the Niners’ QB’s were intercepted 18 times, their players fumbled 16, all while their defense was on par or better with the Vikings and Packers (two playoff teams, by the way) in total takeaways (passes they intercepted and the fumbles they forced that resulted in a Niner procession.) The rushing and receiving statistics are pretty dismal. However, I mean, this is a team that held the Patriots to 7 points in a half, and a team that was able to shut down the Cardinals twice. I need to look at more statistics, but take those short ones and then add on that the most significant veterans they have are on defense, and that that side of the ball was put together by Jim Mora Jr. (who really isn’t a jr.) before he fled for Vick-land. They need to address the offense more than they need to do anything else, and while I recognize the oft-contended point that just because a coach is previously a defensive coordinator, doesn’t mean they will be a defensive minded head coach, I just think that a guy with such a heavy defensive background like Nolan isn’t the best guy for them. They need someone better rounded. I don’t know who they should have hired, but there has to be someone out there who would be able to address both sides of the ball effectively. But really, if the offense doesn’t improve, all the defense in the world isn’t going to help you much (i.e. the Ravens non-existent playoff appearance this season). And I don’t know if drafting a QB is the answer either. I mean, they have totally young QBs in their stable now, and no strong offensive coaching staff to develop them, and no effective offensive line to protect them. Even if you had Matt Leinart (who didn’t declare anyway), even all his USC magic would not go far if he was open to sacks like the Cask and Flagon to a Red Sox post-victory crowd.
I could go on and on. I just feel that they settled with Nolan because 1) his dad was a Niners’ coach in the 70s and 2) he’s going to be able to be paid less than say, Romeo Crennel or Jim Fassel. And that’s the bottom line with the
Urgh.
***
This week was the first week of classes at
Best: (tie) Committed and Moneyball. Both astounding books: Moneyball for having so many of those lightbulb moments for me, because I am behind in understanding baseball as well as I do football or hockey, and Committed for making me laugh hystarically while also making me realize that not only are there war weirder people than me out there, but there women who have seriously taken up fantasy football up there with the hardcore bar regulars.
Most Whiney: False Start. Hands down, one of the most annoying books I’ve ever read. I was that close to finishing it, but I had to take a break because the constant talking in the second person (“You guys feel like the NFL cheated you? They did cheat you! You are miserable because the NFL is evil. Carmen Policy and you are not friends!”) Like, dude, I know people in
Most Degrading: He’s Just Not Into You. I’m glad to know that I, as a women, have to sit around and not take control of my own romantic life and wait around forever for any guys to ever show an interest in me, and then turn 75% of those guys who do show an interest in me down because they don’t bring me flowers every 5 seconds and/or want to spend time with their family or friends at some points. I’m also glad to know that despite how this book came about, men and women should not be friends, especially not men and women who used to date each other. Bull. Sure, there are some valid points to be learned through this book for the large majority of girls, like “get over a guy real quick once he breaks up with you, and don’t stalk them and/or call him up multiple times bawling.” But yo, I already knew that. I mean, I am Miss Queen of Successful Breakups. Basically I hate this book because it’s all about being passive, and the only active you take is dumping or rejecting guys. Last I checked, successful people weren’t successful because they were passive in life.
Best Pictures and Least Interesting to Anyone Who Is Not Me: Hockey in
If It Was Released Any Other Year, No One Would Buy It: Faithful. This is the first Stephen King book I’ve ever read. It’s also pointless if you don’t like the Red Sox and would be pointless had the Red Sox not won the World Series this year. However, I enjoy it, and will be fitting it in around my schoolwork.
And Best Movie of Break (okay, I know these are book awards, but I had to throw it in here): In Good Company. Awesome movie. Definitely worth all the hype that I had built up for myself after seeing the preview a few months back.
***
I was in the first day of my Distance Education course the other day, and the professor mentioned, “…the needs of adult learners, such as yourselves…”
I looked around the room, and began the following internal conversation: “Sure, they’re all adults in this class…wait. Does he think I’m an adult? No, I’m not. I’m 23. I’m still a…oh wait. I’m 23. I’m an adult. No, I can’t be. Nope, I think I’m an adult. Oh my gosh, I’m an adult. A grown up. I’m not a kid. I may still look like one, but nope, definitely an adult.”
That was the most depressing moment, like, ever.
Saturday, January 01, 2005
Pewter Place Withdrawal
I finished fourth. In both my leagues, I finished fourth.
If nothing, I exude consistency.
What screwed me over was the following combination of circumstances: 1) The Eagles wrapped up the NFC like sixteen years ago, and decided that Owens' injury was their wakeup call to rest McNabb. 2) I have little access to crucial sports information in Rochester. Mind you, the Democrat and Chronicle is a fine...well, acceptable...okay, rather Bills-and-minor-league-hockey-centric newspaper. Not the best source for info. I have little internet access at home, seeing that my parents can't take care of their iMac and still think dial-up AOL is the cutting edge of internet access. I was online once during my five days at home, for all of a half hour, and I got on all of two websites during that half hour. In addition, I didn't get to watch a lot of ESPN or other sports related TV. So I had to set my lineups with Thursday's info, and hope that it would carry me through.
Therefore, I lost both match-ups.
(I would insert a picture of me pouting about this here, but I don't have a digital camera.)
However, despite this ending disappointment, I have to say that fantasy football is totally awesome, and I can not wait till next year! Thanks to everyone who played and were always there to trade and give advice. My two commissioners were fantastic as well, and I learned a lot from both of them. Thanks for finally giving me the chance to play!
Unfortunately, this week is fantasy-less, and that's kind of weird. When I heard this afternoon that Bettis, my stud RB, was going to sit out against the Bills, I initially started thinking, "Okay, I need to switch to Martin and Droughns for this week." Then I remembered that it was all over. So I can watch football and cheer for the teams, instead of players. Which is important, given what could happen tomorrow...
...which leads us to this week's picks.
Baltimore over Miami
Buffalo over Pittsburgh--I want a "Bill-lieve" t-shirt. Sadly, they started selling them on Thursday, the day after I left Western New York, so I will go without. If the Red Sox can win the World Series, then the Bills can make the playoffs. And wasn't the "Hailey's Comet" game great if you're a Bills fan?! I saw all of three minutes--which included a touchdown for the Bills' offense and a sack for the Bills' defense. Good times.
Carolina over New Orleans
Green Bay over Chicago--The last two games don't get me excited at all. I wish they did.
Houston over Cleveland--I will go over this more in my next entry, but I'm in the middle of False Start: How the New Browns Were Set Up to Fail, and it's a book of excuses. Really disappointing. Yes, maybe Policy screwed you over, but he wasn't stupid. Maybe you should of taken McNabb, but don't instruct Browns fans not to ask "What if?" and then go on and on about "What if?"
New England over San Francisco--I wish, I wish, I wish I was going to this game!!!!!!!!!
Cincinnati over Philly--A little too late for Cincy against a resting Eagles team.
Jets over St. Louis--I hope I'm wrong. I really really hope I'm wrong, and that the Bills make the playoffs instead of the oh-so-annoying Jets
Detroit over Tennessee--It's not that the Lions are horrible. It's that they can't get it all together at once. Harrington could be good. They have the best coaching. Their defense isn't too shabby. They just have to make it all work together.
Washington over Minnesota--I almost think the Washington defense deserves to make the playoffs more than the entire Vikings team. I have never really liked the Vikings, even though my family were always big Dennis Green proponents and I was raised by a huge Fran Tarkington fan. I think Tice needs to go, but I could also see where coaching turmoil could throw that team into shambles.
Tampa Bay over Arizona--Speaking of Dennis Green...
Atlanta over Seattle--Or the other way around. I don't know. I can't get a handle on either team.
Indianapolis over Denver--Those starters better play for the Colts, and enough to squeak out a win. However, Denver is so inconsistent, the Colts second string could trip them up.
Jacksonville over Oakland
San Diego over Kansas City--See, I almost almost ALMOST was right last week with the Chargers. I did say it was going to be close. I was so excited when I saw the score at the half of that game. Super Chargers!!!
Dallas over the Giants--My friend Brian said today that there was no reason to start Manning over Warner. However, Warner is Warner, and I can kind of understand why it was done--Warner is so inconsistent but so pompous. It would annoy the heck out of me to have him around. Why give someone playing time who will complain about the sky not being blue enough and his paycheck having a folded corner, when you can make someone's daddy happy? Coughlin walked right into this one...remove the front office stat!
Friday, December 24, 2004
The Anthem Lady, or Kat Returns to College Basketball
Note: I wrote this on the train ride home on Friday, December 24th, but because of my family's lack o' internet, it is getting posted on Wednesday, December 29th. Just use your imagination and pretend it's last week.
I had only gone to one sporting event in my life where the number of fans for the opposing team had come close to the fans for the home team. That would be Niners-Bills in October of 1998 (aka the closest I've ever had to a major religious experience).
Well, then I went to the Canisius-Boston University men's basketball game this afternoon, where I found myself in the midst of all of the Canisius alumni in New England.
I went primarily to see my boss--aka, Boston University's Anthem Lady--sing the National Anthem. I had never seen her sing, and I've worked for her since the beginning of June, which wouldn't be a big deal except that she is the Anthem Lady. I don't know how else to put it, but she's pretty much the most famous person I've ever known. I can pretty much guarantee that if you've lived in Boston for any length of time and are a sports fan, you know who she is. Name a sporting event, and she's sang at it. So I had to rectify this situation and finally go see her sing. And I figured, while I'm at it, to finally take in a Boston University basketball game in Boston, as opposed to the two I had taken in over the years in Binghamton.
I will admit, I copped out five minutes into the second half due to Anthem Lady's offer of a ride home (yes, I may be queen of public transportation, but I never turn down a ride home--she had to leave early to pick up her kids). But from what I did see, Boston has a rather deep team. Unlike the team Binghamton fielded while I was in attendance, Boston has no one overwhelmingly good player--the campus and surrounding media make it out to be Chaz Carr, but from my experience, he's not leaps and bounds better than everyone else, just slightly better at getting the ball, and he doesn't produce as much as he's made out to when he does get it. Compare that to Binghamton, where we had mediocre players--hard working, don't get me wrong, but mediocre--and then one substantially overhyped media "superstar" who we'd put in the game to take "easy" free throws that he'd never make. (But really, I love the Alaskian. He made getting lunch in the Union that much more hysterical for us 5'1 and unders who had the pleasure to stand next to him in line.)
However, Canisius took the first half in a performance that was rather unfitting of a 1-6 team. I didn't know their record before hand, and was astonished after I got home and learned it was 1-6. They sure didn't play like it in the first half. They're tough and excellent at blocking shots--they just get in the way like no team I have seen previously. But I think they may get easily intimidated. Once BU went up by 4 or so, they retreated and were too busy thinking through their defense instead of executing it. It wouldn't of been too hard to defend--every play in the latter first half and the part of the second that I saw was that had Carr dribble outside, pass to the coach's son or another similar looking guy whose name I'm not sure of, who then would dribble, Carr would move inside, and the ball would then be passed to either Carr or Peterkin, who would shoot it in for 2 or muscle to the basket for 1. All Canisius had to do was defend against Peterkin, and they could of slowed BU down, but I feel they didn't have a clue Peterkin could be a threat (all of the PERD people I sat with had no idea who he was--I found out this morning that he's a transfer from Notre Dame).
However, despite the Griffins initial scoring burst and their eventual bust on defense, what was most surprising was how many Canisius alumni live in Boston. Tons of alumni were there, and if they didn't outnumber the BU fans, they came really close. Canisius is in Buffalo, and I guess this further supports my theory that if a Western New Yorker is going to drudge away to a big city, they tend to go to Boston. This is because Western New York is just a grayer, boring, more spread out Boston. Think about it. Bills fans are just like Red Sox fans, we all love our baseball, we think nothing of winter weather, we have strange lingo that no one else in the country uses (bubblers? pop? white hots? frappes?), and we have weird accents (or at least everyone tells me Western New Yorkers do.)
The Terriers were securely in the lead 34-24 when I left, and ended up winning 62-45. Not an amazingly dominant performance by the Terriers, but they're still at the top of the America East (don't ask Binghamton's record--it's depressing). Surprisingly, Tyler Coppenrath led Vermont are struggling at .500 right now, which should make upcoming conference play very interesting indeed.
***
I'm writing this entry on an Amtrak train in business class. Yes, I kind of wish I had an eggnog latte so I could feel even more Peter-King-ish.
I know you're saying, "But Kat--you were supposed to fly home for the holidays. What happened?"
I bought the ticket despite my horrendous fear of flying--over my childhood I backed out of two trips to Disney World because it meant I'd have to fly--but freaked out yesterday when I realized that when I had the panic attack I was sure to have when I got in the tunnel and as the plane took off, I would have no one I knew around to calm me down. I'm lucky enough not to usually suffer from panic attacks. I'm a pretty calm and collected person--except when I'm on a plane. Now, five years ago I had a whole group of people I knew with me, and they were all aware of my fear and were able to combat the ensuing attack pretty quickly. But this was going to be different. I would be between two strangers who'd be calling for the stewardess frantically. I couldn't do that. Plus my flight wasn't a straight shot--it was Boston to Baltimore, Baltimore to Rochester--so it meant I'd have to go through the takeoff and landing twice, and I didn't think I could do it. So I woke up at 4:45am from a really restless night of sleep, and canceled my ticket. Luckily, some train tickets had opened up over the past few days--in business class of course, because it's not like they could make it cheap or anything--so I got those.
And here I am. The chicken of all chickens, rather enjoying my time on the train. Of course, we're only close to hour 3, meaning I have...seven more hours ahead of me. Good gosh.
****
Remember my last post? The Cinderella fantasy football season of me? Well, this past weekend was the equivalent of Cinderella's left behind glass slipper being picked up by the Prince and pounded into shreds. Then Cinderella goes back to her room to find out that her other glass slipper is OUT WITH A FRACTURED FIBULA for the REST OF THE SEASON.
Okay, now that I've gotten that out of my system...
The best I can finish now is 3rd place in both leagues. And true, the worst I can do is 4th. But still! I had my hopes up! I've been a football maniac since age eleven. To have a disappointing finish to a fantasy football season at age 22 (almost 23) is saddening. It's depressing. I've been following football now for half my life! Horribly horribly depressing.
But I should stop complaining. Third is good. Third sets me up well to build on next year. That is if anyone will have me back in their leagues.
***
So I finished 10-6 last week. 10-6. After a 13-3 week. Man, last weekend was just not good football wise for me. Well, except that I got to see the Bills kick the tail out of the Bengals (get it--tail, tigers? Laugh at me instead of with me if you must, as long as you laugh at that.) That's a rarity in good ol' Boston, to see a Bills game that doesn't involve the Pats. On a Pats note (and yes, we're ignoring that Tom Brady had a really bad game on Monday night solely because he's wicked hot even when he's sad), I did my first Pats "we" interchange this week. I said "we" when speaking about the Pats. "We" used to be reserved for the Bills, formerly reserved for the Niners when they were led by our favourite number 8 there. I think that means I'm a real Bostonian now. (The Red Sox pronoun replacement happened a while back, but that's because I'd been a Red Sox fan for a little bit already.)
So before either a) my computer overheats because it's on my lap and not on a table or b) the battery dies, let me do my picks. These will be minus the Packers-Vikings game, which starts in five minutes and to which I'll be sadly oblivious to while I sit here on this internet connection-less train.
Kansas City over Oakland--As my fantasy football confidant/student worker Chris would say, Kansas City has been "lights out" lately.
Tennessee over Denver--Go for broke when no money is on the line is what I say, so here's this upset special. I don't know if ya'll realize this, but Shanhan has been with the Broncos almost a decade...and he's proven that the West Coast offense doesn't work for everybody. He lucked out in the 90s with his string of quarterback luck (Young followed by Elway--he got three Super Bowl rings out of those two). But I think it might be time for him to go.
Pittsburgh over Baltimore--I used to like Rothlisberger because a) he's my age and b) he too has an unpronounceable and unspellable last name. However, this whole winning thing is getting old quick for this Pats and Bills fan. Darn it, just lose for once!
Detroit over Chicago
Giants over Cincinnati
San Diego over Indy--It'll be close though. Come on, give the Chargers some credit.
Jacksonville over Houston--Unfortunately.
Carolina over Tampa Bay
Atlanta over New Orleans--There is more than Vick on this team. They can win against a horribly weirdo Saints team without him.
Pats over Jets--I wish this game was on Saturday so I could laugh at my Jets and Yankees loving uncle. Hahahahaha. I should of gotten him a choker for Christmas.
Washington over Dallas
Seattle over Arizona--Homgren will suit up and go out there himself if he has to.
Miami over Cleveland--I love Wes Welker. Hate the Dolphins, but think the world of Wes Welker, with his cute little name and Belichick-like multi-purposes.
Philly over St. Louis--Mark Bulger has dropped just that much further on the hottest QBs list.
And of course, the Hailey's Comet of football matchups (okay, it happens a little more frequently than that, but it's always a special day when it comes around), Buffalo over San Francisco. I wish this would end up a little bit more of a contest, but it won't. But what's most important is that I'll be in Rochester on Sunday, which means this will be on TV for me!
Happy Holidays everyone!
Saturday, December 18, 2004
Moneyball, 4 Inch Heels and Copper Highlights
(or Kat's a Living Juxtaposition)
Stop me if you've heard this one:
I'm on the bus this morning, with my new blondish copper highlights, my fake Kate Spade Bag, and my 4 inch heels (and yes, those things do hurt by the end of the day), and I realize that Boston is much like Long Island when it comes to unexpected snow: it freaks the heck out. Granted, the inch this morning surprised even me, but still--I expected more from Bostonians. So I'm on the bus, and I realize that this is going to be a long ride from Chestnut Hill, so I take out my new copy of Moneyball (book one on the "Cram in a bunch of reading for fun over three weeks inbetween semesters" list).
I look up, and a sixty something guy is staring incredulously at me. And it wasn't one of those sixty year olds up here in Boston that think that they actually have a chance with a twenty something girl on public transportation, but someone who honestly couldn't believe what I was reading.
I let it go, probably because of what had happened the night before when I went to buy the book. I knew exactly what I was looking for, promptly found it and went to the cashier. "Moneyball! One of our biggest sellers for the holidays!" he exclaimed.
"I can imagine. I've read so much about it." I acknowledged.
The cashier nodded. "It does make a great gift."
I took out my wallet. "Oh, it's not a gift. It's for me."
I looked up to see the now-silent cashier for a second and looked confused. "Oh...well, um.....shouldn't you be uh, studying or something?"
"Well, I'll start it after I finish my law paper."
"Oh...well, yeah. I'm sure you'll....uh, like the book."
Can't a girl just read her Moneyball in peace? I have three weeks to make it through that, False Start: How the New Browns Were Doomed to Fail, When the Tuna Went Down to Texas, and Committed: Confessions of a Fantasy Football Junkie.
Speaking of fantasy football junkies, I think I'm heading into the week where injuries are going to catch up with me. In the MCFFLOAT I have four wide recievers. Three of them are listed as questionable this week. And of course this is the week of the playoffs where I go up against the number one seed, the guy who never loses. I had such hope until I realized that I was playing him in this round. I mean, I made it into the championship bracket! There was no place else to go but up! I mean, if there was a Cinderella fantasy football story, I could of been it! (Hey, it was established earlier that I can handle uncomfortable shoes.)
And of course, he wins his matchup and there I go. It's midnight. Fantasy Football Cinderella is going to go back to lusting after Tom Brady and Kyle Boller, and sit quietly on her vast football knowledge until next year. Sigh...it was a nice run while it lasted.
Of course, I'm totally omitting the fact that I won the regular season for my other league, where I feel like the only people still really paying attention anymore would be me and my old boss Jeff. That was not a Cinderella story, for that league is made up of Binghamton-ites who know I know football, and who reside in a part of the state where football isn't as crucial to everyday life as it is up here in Massachusetts. (Baseball is their water, football is their bread. Take away both, and I'm convinced Massachusetts residents would wither like the fifty-cent roses we used to have at the flower store where I worked over the summer.) So really, it's been a really successful season in both leagues, and I shouldn't be lamenting.
Okay, I'm half awake at this point, so quick picks before I slump over into my computer and the rest of this entry becomes a couple of paragraphs typed by my nose. (I'd attempt some spreads, but I'm still glazed over from the law paper I finished writing this afternoon.)
Pittsburgh over the Giants--Thanks a lot, Eli. Because of your incompetence in even handing off the ball to Barber or tossing it to Shockey, my student worker/fantasy football confidant Chris fell to second in his league for the first time all season. Way to scar a kid going into finals.
Washington over San Fran--I feel like the words of the teeny-popper of the moment, JoJo, best describe my feelings towards Erickson and the entire front office staff of the 49ers. And I quote:
"Get out!
Leave!
Right now!
It's too late, and I can't wait
For you to be gone."
Such depth! I feel like so much work went into crafting this wonderfully articulate song. My brain is working overtime trying to figure out all the hidden meanings of this song.
But really, all sarcasticness aside, someone needs to schedule an intervention for this team. It's that bad.
Carolina over Atlanta--I honestly have no idea. I'm having a football pizza party Saturday night, and the lone invitee-who-is-not-my-roommate e-mailed and said, "I wish there were better games to watch. I don't care about the NFC." But it's just the novelty of NFL on a Saturday that this party is built around, so it'll work.
Houston over Chicago
Buffalo over Cincinnati--Of course the Bills go on this streak when I don't live in New York State. Gotta love it. To think I had written them off...but then again, we're finally in a playoff race, meaning we'll collapse horribly, giving all of Western New Yorkers a pitiful end to their holiday season. Happy Holidays, Bills fans! We're the new Red Sox fans of the world, except at least the Red Sox had some World Series already stashed in there. Bills fans aren't having a bad century, they're having a hurtful existance.
Minnesota over Detroit
San Diego over Cleveland--Excuse me, but I'm noticing that a certain team may be doing a bit better now that a certain QB is out for the season. Never mind that it happened to coinside with the firing of a troubled coach. I'd just thought it needed to be put out there.
Jets over Seattle
Philadephia over Dallas--Does anyone call out, "Go 'Cuse!" at the tv screen when McNabb does something great? Is it just me and the Western New Yorkness?
Denver over Kansas City--Fun game Monday night by the Chiefs. I didn't get to see it, but listened to it over the radio. Of course I miss all the offensive funhouses. Of course.
St. Louis over Arizona--Can this game just not count? I swear, I'd rather watch San Fran.
Tampa Bay over New Orleans
Green Bay over Jacksonville--Everyone says next year is the year for the Jags. But didn't they say that last year too?
Oakland over Tennessee
Indianapolis over Baltimore--I haven't spoken to my father about this game, but I can hear him right now, "Over course Indy will win. They'll rig it if they have to. They want him to get that record on national TV. It's the same reason Favre was scheduled on Monday Night Football at his 200th start."
New England over Miami--Of course, my first homeworkless Monday night, and I get this game. If the Bills (or at least the Western NY media) danced around the idea of Marv Levy returning when Gregg Williams was done with, then I swear in the next week, if Saban doesn't sign, then you're going to hear the Don Shula rumor. And not his younger son either.
Last week: 13-3. This week: Probably worse.
(or Kat's a Living Juxtaposition)
Stop me if you've heard this one:
I'm on the bus this morning, with my new blondish copper highlights, my fake Kate Spade Bag, and my 4 inch heels (and yes, those things do hurt by the end of the day), and I realize that Boston is much like Long Island when it comes to unexpected snow: it freaks the heck out. Granted, the inch this morning surprised even me, but still--I expected more from Bostonians. So I'm on the bus, and I realize that this is going to be a long ride from Chestnut Hill, so I take out my new copy of Moneyball (book one on the "Cram in a bunch of reading for fun over three weeks inbetween semesters" list).
I look up, and a sixty something guy is staring incredulously at me. And it wasn't one of those sixty year olds up here in Boston that think that they actually have a chance with a twenty something girl on public transportation, but someone who honestly couldn't believe what I was reading.
I let it go, probably because of what had happened the night before when I went to buy the book. I knew exactly what I was looking for, promptly found it and went to the cashier. "Moneyball! One of our biggest sellers for the holidays!" he exclaimed.
"I can imagine. I've read so much about it." I acknowledged.
The cashier nodded. "It does make a great gift."
I took out my wallet. "Oh, it's not a gift. It's for me."
I looked up to see the now-silent cashier for a second and looked confused. "Oh...well, um.....shouldn't you be uh, studying or something?"
"Well, I'll start it after I finish my law paper."
"Oh...well, yeah. I'm sure you'll....uh, like the book."
Can't a girl just read her Moneyball in peace? I have three weeks to make it through that, False Start: How the New Browns Were Doomed to Fail, When the Tuna Went Down to Texas, and Committed: Confessions of a Fantasy Football Junkie.
Speaking of fantasy football junkies, I think I'm heading into the week where injuries are going to catch up with me. In the MCFFLOAT I have four wide recievers. Three of them are listed as questionable this week. And of course this is the week of the playoffs where I go up against the number one seed, the guy who never loses. I had such hope until I realized that I was playing him in this round. I mean, I made it into the championship bracket! There was no place else to go but up! I mean, if there was a Cinderella fantasy football story, I could of been it! (Hey, it was established earlier that I can handle uncomfortable shoes.)
And of course, he wins his matchup and there I go. It's midnight. Fantasy Football Cinderella is going to go back to lusting after Tom Brady and Kyle Boller, and sit quietly on her vast football knowledge until next year. Sigh...it was a nice run while it lasted.
Of course, I'm totally omitting the fact that I won the regular season for my other league, where I feel like the only people still really paying attention anymore would be me and my old boss Jeff. That was not a Cinderella story, for that league is made up of Binghamton-ites who know I know football, and who reside in a part of the state where football isn't as crucial to everyday life as it is up here in Massachusetts. (Baseball is their water, football is their bread. Take away both, and I'm convinced Massachusetts residents would wither like the fifty-cent roses we used to have at the flower store where I worked over the summer.) So really, it's been a really successful season in both leagues, and I shouldn't be lamenting.
Okay, I'm half awake at this point, so quick picks before I slump over into my computer and the rest of this entry becomes a couple of paragraphs typed by my nose. (I'd attempt some spreads, but I'm still glazed over from the law paper I finished writing this afternoon.)
Pittsburgh over the Giants--Thanks a lot, Eli. Because of your incompetence in even handing off the ball to Barber or tossing it to Shockey, my student worker/fantasy football confidant Chris fell to second in his league for the first time all season. Way to scar a kid going into finals.
Washington over San Fran--I feel like the words of the teeny-popper of the moment, JoJo, best describe my feelings towards Erickson and the entire front office staff of the 49ers. And I quote:
"Get out!
Leave!
Right now!
It's too late, and I can't wait
For you to be gone."
Such depth! I feel like so much work went into crafting this wonderfully articulate song. My brain is working overtime trying to figure out all the hidden meanings of this song.
But really, all sarcasticness aside, someone needs to schedule an intervention for this team. It's that bad.
Carolina over Atlanta--I honestly have no idea. I'm having a football pizza party Saturday night, and the lone invitee-who-is-not-my-roommate e-mailed and said, "I wish there were better games to watch. I don't care about the NFC." But it's just the novelty of NFL on a Saturday that this party is built around, so it'll work.
Houston over Chicago
Buffalo over Cincinnati--Of course the Bills go on this streak when I don't live in New York State. Gotta love it. To think I had written them off...but then again, we're finally in a playoff race, meaning we'll collapse horribly, giving all of Western New Yorkers a pitiful end to their holiday season. Happy Holidays, Bills fans! We're the new Red Sox fans of the world, except at least the Red Sox had some World Series already stashed in there. Bills fans aren't having a bad century, they're having a hurtful existance.
Minnesota over Detroit
San Diego over Cleveland--Excuse me, but I'm noticing that a certain team may be doing a bit better now that a certain QB is out for the season. Never mind that it happened to coinside with the firing of a troubled coach. I'd just thought it needed to be put out there.
Jets over Seattle
Philadephia over Dallas--Does anyone call out, "Go 'Cuse!" at the tv screen when McNabb does something great? Is it just me and the Western New Yorkness?
Denver over Kansas City--Fun game Monday night by the Chiefs. I didn't get to see it, but listened to it over the radio. Of course I miss all the offensive funhouses. Of course.
St. Louis over Arizona--Can this game just not count? I swear, I'd rather watch San Fran.
Tampa Bay over New Orleans
Green Bay over Jacksonville--Everyone says next year is the year for the Jags. But didn't they say that last year too?
Oakland over Tennessee
Indianapolis over Baltimore--I haven't spoken to my father about this game, but I can hear him right now, "Over course Indy will win. They'll rig it if they have to. They want him to get that record on national TV. It's the same reason Favre was scheduled on Monday Night Football at his 200th start."
New England over Miami--Of course, my first homeworkless Monday night, and I get this game. If the Bills (or at least the Western NY media) danced around the idea of Marv Levy returning when Gregg Williams was done with, then I swear in the next week, if Saban doesn't sign, then you're going to hear the Don Shula rumor. And not his younger son either.
Last week: 13-3. This week: Probably worse.
Sunday, December 12, 2004
I Have a Paper Due on Monday That's Not Done, Thus I Feel the Need to Write an Entry
According to several columnists (cough, cough, Bill Simmons, cough, cough), women DO NOT PICK FOOTBALL GAMES. We don't do spreads, unless they're of food, and we don't play fantasy, unless you're talking about our fantasies of some hot guy.
By those two lines, you should be highly amused. I'm a woman. And last time I checked, I kick butt in most things football on a regular basis. Of course, I'm writing this the day before I enter fantasy football playoffs, and this could all blow up in my face. But I met my goals for my first season playing fantasy football, which was were to make the playoffs in both leagues. I knew that two things I would struggle with this season would be defenses and not being stupid when it came to trading--and trust me, those things bit me in the butt several times. My real concern is with my picks and fantasy--I feel as if my picking skills have gone downhill while playing fantasy football. In fact, I've abandoned picking all together for a large portion of the season, due to the fact that I haven't had time to work on my fantasy team and do picks.
Well, it's time to get back on the horse. Here we go, Week 14.
Atlanta over Oakland-- If I have to sit through another profile of Michael Vick where they compare him to Steve Young, I think I'll throw my Ithaca throw pillow through the TV instead of just at it (I'll just have to throw with my left arm). Yeah, that was cool 2 years ago. It was new 2 years ago. But yeah, um, it's no longer anything we've never heard. Plus, now that Vick has been in the league a few years, I think it's clear that Young and Vick will have far different careers. Despite his inconsistencies, Vick has been more successful in his four years (well, actually really three, given his injury) than Young was in his first few years with the Bucs. I'm not at all suggesting that Vick will have the better career, but he was more successful at the start than Young. In addition, I would like to say that Young knew how to run a shotgun before he left college, unlike Vick.
Baltimore over the Giants--The weekly conversation between me and one of my student workers goes something like this:
Chris: "This is killing me. Shockey got nothing yesterday. I'm not starting him next week."
Me: "At some point, when will they realize that even Warner is better than Manning? Even a concussed Warner is better than Manning."
And then we go on for about ten minutes about how much Manning stinks.
Buffalo over Cleveland--Me, pick against my Bills? Pick against McGahee? Pick against their defense? Pick against any team playing against a team sometimes led by Jeff Garcia? And can I just say that during break, I plan on reading False Start, a book about the reincarnation of the Browns that Peter King mentioned in his Monday Morning Quarterback column last week. I'm interested in reading about Carmen Policy, who I always considered highly talented, and what happened to make him ineffective in Cleveland. On a lighter note, has anyplace in either San Fran or Cleveland played off the whole "Cherry Garcia" idea yet? I mean, up here in Boston, J.P. Licks still has "Cherry Garciaparra" ice cream. Given all the football food take offs the nation has endurred over the years, it would only be appropriate. Nothing will ever top Flutie Flakes. On a somewhat related note, I feel that David Ortiz needs to have a food named after him. Out of all the athletes out there right now, I think he is just due for one.
Dallas over New Orleans--Disciplined inconsistency versus wild, unharnessed inconsistency. Fun times. When the Tuna Went Down to Texas is also on my "to-read" list for break.
Indianapolis over Houston--Uh, yeah. I don't really like any of the Mannings. Whiney daddy's boys. Except I do love the Mastercard commercial with Peyton cheering for the accountants and deli people. Gosh darn cute right there (the commercial, not Peyton...except at the end when he looks at his hand and says, "I'm never gonna wash my hand again!" That's a tad on the endearing side. And then I remember it's a Manning, so I scowl.)
Jacksonville over Chicago--Chicago is like white toast. Bland, underachieving, can sometimes achieve greatness with certain pinch players, like peanut butter (or Chad Hutchinson), but overall, you always want to like it but it falls way below your expectations.
Minnesota over Seattle--Both teams will fight hard, but Culpepper is a tour de force of I-should-of-been-a-basketball-player quarterbacking, and will win in the end.
New England over Cincinnati--The Pats will not fall behind the Steelers. They won't let themselves.
Denver over Miami--Or at least I'd hope so. But with Denver lately, I feel like you never know. I also haven't seen too much of them this season. On the "not seeing them" note, should getting NFL Sunday Ticket be one of my goals for 2005? I mean, getting NFL Network was one of my goals for 2004, so it would logically be the next step.
Pittsburgh over the Jets--Deep down inside, the Jets stink. Well, except for Curtis Martin. I want a 0-4 rest of the season for the Jets. That would make us Bills fans very happy.
Green Bay over Detroit--I keep tearing up whenever I see Brett Favre nowadays, and I sob whenever I read anything about him. Football isn't supposed to make me cry, but I am a girl. Some girls cry at movies, but I don't get the chance to see enough of those, so I cry at sports instead. I just bawled at the Sports Illustrated piece naming the Red Sox as Sportsmen of the Year. Bawled. I was on the bus. ON THE BUS. And I cried. I must say that any future children I may have are going to be enamored with my Red Sox World Series article collection and will hopefully think that I'm the coolest mom ever. Or they'll bawl when they read half the articles.
Arizona over San Fran--Speaking of bawling, I'm tearing up right now just writing the words "San Fran." Why are they sooooooo baaaaaaaadddddd?! (Tear, tear, sniffle, sniffle.)
Carolina over St. Louis--In case you've missed it, Mike Martz is nuts. Crazy. Incomprehensible. But then again, he is effective every fourth game or so. Maybe he'll read the clock this week. We'll see.
San Diego over Tampa Bay--SAN DIEGO, Super Chargers, SAN DI-E-GO! Come on guys, steamroll the rest of the season and get Flutie a Super Bowl ring. Tell me that wouldn't be the story of the year. Tell me that Schottenheimer hasn't proved his worth as an NFL coach with this year's job. He was pretty good with the Chiefs back in the day, but this is just something else.
Philadelphia over Washington--I'll love you, McNabb, if you can help me win fantasy football again this week, and the same goes to you, T.O. If you manage an amazing game, T.O., I'll forgive your participation in stunts that give those non-sports-likers around me a reason to nag me about watching professional sports.
Kansas City over Tennessee--A game with teams so bad that it's gonna be good.
Okay, we'll see if women can pick football games now.
The only thing I really have to venture fully into is spreads. I've done spreads before, but not so much this season. After finals are done (aka, next week), I'm going to pick with spreads. Watch out, Kat has free time! But at this point it's 1:30am, I'm a zombie, my hands feel like lead and my conflict resolution paper is sick of being ignored, so I should do something other than writing an entry. I will return later in the week with more fun procrastination reading for you all, so don't worry.
According to several columnists (cough, cough, Bill Simmons, cough, cough), women DO NOT PICK FOOTBALL GAMES. We don't do spreads, unless they're of food, and we don't play fantasy, unless you're talking about our fantasies of some hot guy.
By those two lines, you should be highly amused. I'm a woman. And last time I checked, I kick butt in most things football on a regular basis. Of course, I'm writing this the day before I enter fantasy football playoffs, and this could all blow up in my face. But I met my goals for my first season playing fantasy football, which was were to make the playoffs in both leagues. I knew that two things I would struggle with this season would be defenses and not being stupid when it came to trading--and trust me, those things bit me in the butt several times. My real concern is with my picks and fantasy--I feel as if my picking skills have gone downhill while playing fantasy football. In fact, I've abandoned picking all together for a large portion of the season, due to the fact that I haven't had time to work on my fantasy team and do picks.
Well, it's time to get back on the horse. Here we go, Week 14.
Atlanta over Oakland-- If I have to sit through another profile of Michael Vick where they compare him to Steve Young, I think I'll throw my Ithaca throw pillow through the TV instead of just at it (I'll just have to throw with my left arm). Yeah, that was cool 2 years ago. It was new 2 years ago. But yeah, um, it's no longer anything we've never heard. Plus, now that Vick has been in the league a few years, I think it's clear that Young and Vick will have far different careers. Despite his inconsistencies, Vick has been more successful in his four years (well, actually really three, given his injury) than Young was in his first few years with the Bucs. I'm not at all suggesting that Vick will have the better career, but he was more successful at the start than Young. In addition, I would like to say that Young knew how to run a shotgun before he left college, unlike Vick.
Baltimore over the Giants--The weekly conversation between me and one of my student workers goes something like this:
Chris: "This is killing me. Shockey got nothing yesterday. I'm not starting him next week."
Me: "At some point, when will they realize that even Warner is better than Manning? Even a concussed Warner is better than Manning."
And then we go on for about ten minutes about how much Manning stinks.
Buffalo over Cleveland--Me, pick against my Bills? Pick against McGahee? Pick against their defense? Pick against any team playing against a team sometimes led by Jeff Garcia? And can I just say that during break, I plan on reading False Start, a book about the reincarnation of the Browns that Peter King mentioned in his Monday Morning Quarterback column last week. I'm interested in reading about Carmen Policy, who I always considered highly talented, and what happened to make him ineffective in Cleveland. On a lighter note, has anyplace in either San Fran or Cleveland played off the whole "Cherry Garcia" idea yet? I mean, up here in Boston, J.P. Licks still has "Cherry Garciaparra" ice cream. Given all the football food take offs the nation has endurred over the years, it would only be appropriate. Nothing will ever top Flutie Flakes. On a somewhat related note, I feel that David Ortiz needs to have a food named after him. Out of all the athletes out there right now, I think he is just due for one.
Dallas over New Orleans--Disciplined inconsistency versus wild, unharnessed inconsistency. Fun times. When the Tuna Went Down to Texas is also on my "to-read" list for break.
Indianapolis over Houston--Uh, yeah. I don't really like any of the Mannings. Whiney daddy's boys. Except I do love the Mastercard commercial with Peyton cheering for the accountants and deli people. Gosh darn cute right there (the commercial, not Peyton...except at the end when he looks at his hand and says, "I'm never gonna wash my hand again!" That's a tad on the endearing side. And then I remember it's a Manning, so I scowl.)
Jacksonville over Chicago--Chicago is like white toast. Bland, underachieving, can sometimes achieve greatness with certain pinch players, like peanut butter (or Chad Hutchinson), but overall, you always want to like it but it falls way below your expectations.
Minnesota over Seattle--Both teams will fight hard, but Culpepper is a tour de force of I-should-of-been-a-basketball-player quarterbacking, and will win in the end.
New England over Cincinnati--The Pats will not fall behind the Steelers. They won't let themselves.
Denver over Miami--Or at least I'd hope so. But with Denver lately, I feel like you never know. I also haven't seen too much of them this season. On the "not seeing them" note, should getting NFL Sunday Ticket be one of my goals for 2005? I mean, getting NFL Network was one of my goals for 2004, so it would logically be the next step.
Pittsburgh over the Jets--Deep down inside, the Jets stink. Well, except for Curtis Martin. I want a 0-4 rest of the season for the Jets. That would make us Bills fans very happy.
Green Bay over Detroit--I keep tearing up whenever I see Brett Favre nowadays, and I sob whenever I read anything about him. Football isn't supposed to make me cry, but I am a girl. Some girls cry at movies, but I don't get the chance to see enough of those, so I cry at sports instead. I just bawled at the Sports Illustrated piece naming the Red Sox as Sportsmen of the Year. Bawled. I was on the bus. ON THE BUS. And I cried. I must say that any future children I may have are going to be enamored with my Red Sox World Series article collection and will hopefully think that I'm the coolest mom ever. Or they'll bawl when they read half the articles.
Arizona over San Fran--Speaking of bawling, I'm tearing up right now just writing the words "San Fran." Why are they sooooooo baaaaaaaadddddd?! (Tear, tear, sniffle, sniffle.)
Carolina over St. Louis--In case you've missed it, Mike Martz is nuts. Crazy. Incomprehensible. But then again, he is effective every fourth game or so. Maybe he'll read the clock this week. We'll see.
San Diego over Tampa Bay--SAN DIEGO, Super Chargers, SAN DI-E-GO! Come on guys, steamroll the rest of the season and get Flutie a Super Bowl ring. Tell me that wouldn't be the story of the year. Tell me that Schottenheimer hasn't proved his worth as an NFL coach with this year's job. He was pretty good with the Chiefs back in the day, but this is just something else.
Philadelphia over Washington--I'll love you, McNabb, if you can help me win fantasy football again this week, and the same goes to you, T.O. If you manage an amazing game, T.O., I'll forgive your participation in stunts that give those non-sports-likers around me a reason to nag me about watching professional sports.
Kansas City over Tennessee--A game with teams so bad that it's gonna be good.
Okay, we'll see if women can pick football games now.
The only thing I really have to venture fully into is spreads. I've done spreads before, but not so much this season. After finals are done (aka, next week), I'm going to pick with spreads. Watch out, Kat has free time! But at this point it's 1:30am, I'm a zombie, my hands feel like lead and my conflict resolution paper is sick of being ignored, so I should do something other than writing an entry. I will return later in the week with more fun procrastination reading for you all, so don't worry.
