Emptiness

Now that baseball's over, I'm not sure what to blog about. In past non-election year Octobers, even when I blogged just about every day, I never had much to say beyond how I hated this year's Y*****s more than ever before.

I suppose I could talk about the weather. It's cold. Too cold, too fast. It's even colder inside my house. On Saturday night, we lose an hour, so it'll be dark out before I can even think about driving home.

And there's always football, right? It's pretty tough to get excited about a sport in which my favorite team has won three of the last four Super Bowls. I haven't watched more than ten minutes of a game yet and I don't see that changing until teams start clinching playoff berths.

Halloween's coming up. I have to be excited about that this year and for the rest of my life, since it's more important to Jill than her birthday, Christmas, and 10,000 Super Bowls combined. Still, how can I get excited about a holiday that has nothing to do with my personal lord and savior, Jesus Christ?

There are some real holidays coming up, but I still don't know where I'll spend Thanksgiving or Christmas, as a geographical rift between my family has clouded our vacation planning.

I have been adding to my iTunes when I can find a serviceable computer lying around the house. Recent additions include Sinatra's "In the Wee Small Hours" (not excited yet), Captain Beefheart's "Trout Mask Replica" (that'll take a few more listens), the first Ramones album (fantastic, but I wish I bought it when I was younger and didn't get a headache listening to it), the Buzzcocks' "Singles Going Steady" (just as good, and already a topic of debate over its eligibility for the albums list), and the Yardbirds' "Roger the Engineer" (starts out awful but redeems itself). I'm starting to prep for December's third annual QHS 200, but we're all resigned to the fact that it can't match this year's songs list.

Also, if you havne't heard, I'm getting married in April. I am excited about this, but the last ten months of engagement have seemed like ten years, and wedding planning snags keep popping up (read: please send money).

I guess that's all I've got. Back to work.

This is "winning"?

I know I've said many times that we're all winners this year, but the Astros and the White Sox? Ugh. How many more times to I need to hear AJ Pierzynski pretend he didn't get an assist from a terrible ump in a postgame interview? How many more times to I have to see Cardinals batters swinging at bad pitches against unhittable aces and anonymous scrubs alike? This team won 100 games?

The bottom line here is that I love watching baseball without worrying about Gary Sheffield hitting a three-run homer to tie the game or Tim McCarver explaining how Derek Jeter does "all the little things right". I'm not worried about Mike Timlin or the Cubs' closer du jour blowing a save or Kevin Millar check swinging a nubber back to the mound in a key situation, and that makes baseball fun to watch again. All I'm asking is that Guerrero hit the ball in the outfield once, a Cardinal not named Poo Holes get one extra base hit, or an umpiring crew calling one game without a devastating mistake. Something to make these LCSeses interesting.

Who am I kidding? We're all winners again this year, and you won't hear any more complaints from me. Unless Cl****s wins a Game Seven...

I Live For This

2001 World Series- Diamondbacks 4, Y*****s 3
2002 Division Series- Angels 3, Y*****s 1
2003 World Series- Marlins 4, Y*****s 2
2004 League Championship Series- Red Sox 4, Y*****s 3
2005 Division Series- Angels 3, Y*****s 2

I sit alone on my couch, moist with sweat from a few heel-clicking laps of south Framingham's dormant neighborhoods, sipping a midnight SoCo, taking calls from ecstatic friends and watching Mike Scoscia's post-game interview. The last four hours have been marked by fist pumps, nervous pacing, Jill's requests for a more reasonable volume, and general euphoria while reliving each of the five series above in between outs.
If you've ever read this blog, you know what Game Seven of the 2001 Series meant to me, as a baseball fan, as a student, and as a young adult entering a sometimes cruel world with so many breathtaking highs. I embarrass myself each fall, appearing masochistic and full of schaddenfreude, pounding my fists over innocent singles and strikeouts and screaming at the TV even on my favorite teams' nights off. To the naked eye, it may not seem worth the pain, but at this moment, when I don't even know what color socks the Red Sox wear, when I might just float away if not for the weight of the words on the screen of my laptop, I'm most proud to be not a hater, but a supporter of the everyman.
Thank you, Angels. We win again.

There is No Such Thing as a Tie

35 Cleveland Indians can eat my ass for their performance over the past weekend, which allowed the Y*****s to steal their 8th straight division title without a one-game playoff to break the tie. The Red Sox win two 17-1 games and a 10-1 finale this year, but ten losses in nineteen head-to-head games (way too many, if you ask me) give the Most Hateable Team in the History of Sports (that's right, even without Clemens) another nauseating title.

After catching Friday's game at 21 Nickels in Watertown with Jill, Colleen, and Uncle Burt, who made the trip from LA in time for the apocalypse, I got away from the rest of the ugliness by helping Jeff move (wiping single tear) to New York on Saturday, making a spontaneous trip to Jen and Charlie's new place in Rhode Island for board games on Saturday night, and doing everything but picking apples at an orchard in Sturbridge with various family members today.

Not many comments on the songs list so far.

F the Y*****s.