Manny dice "en Toronto"

Will Carroll says the BJ's are NO THREAT in spite of their noteworthy upgrades. He also says RBIs are worthless statistics, but they are included in Baseball Prospectus '06 due to popular demand.

I swear that's all for tonight.

we are gathered here today to get through this thing called life

I was listening to sports radio today at work (not EEI) and for some reason, the topic was America's waning interest in baseball. Like everything else, I have various unpopular opinions about the reasons why, but I won't get into them. The guys on the radio (Providence) talked about choosing teams while on the bus ride home from school and playing til it was dark or suppertime and the furor and fever of it all.

I never played baseball as a kid. My sole experiences with a bat and glove were the occasional foray into gym class softball and I don't really remember "getting on base" or "catching the ball".

Last year, for reasons I can't recall, my sister and I went and bought a Louisvile slugger and invented a crude baseball-type game called "Texas Ten-Pitch". Something about flinging a ball around after supper caught on with various hangabouts and people started getting their gloves out. I soon came to the conclusion that I threw like a girl. This revelation was aided by my friends and family pointing out that I was not throwing the ball properly. So in a way, ridicule and derision helped me greatly.

Then one day my friend Kayla said, "We should play baseball." And a small number of us would go out to an empty field and do basic drills: hitting, fielding, pitching, etc. Not enough of us to form teams or anything, but damn. It was good stuff.

And so we spread the word. More and more people started showing up. Gloves were dusted off. Bruises were proudly displayed. We were able to do split squad games. Positions were assigned, shifts were put on, post-game margaritas were consumed. On a couple of occasions, we had opponents.

There was something SO GOOD about changing into shorts, sneakers, and a t-shirt in the bathroom at work and hauling ass down to the field to get a little warm-up time in. And you know what? I have NO BUSINESS playing baseball. Ask anyone. I'm pathetic.

But there we were, a bunch of adults with various levels of ability prancing around on Tuesdays and Fridays until it got too dark to see the ball. And we were so into it. Our ranks fluctuated and eventually died out completely, but we played as long as we could.

I don't know when we're starting up again, and we're down a few members, but spring's coming (I think) and I can't wait.

So as far as baseball's waning popularity... I'm sorry, I was too busy turning this conversation back to myself. Kids like basketball now. The End.

stop, drop, kaboom

Almost every morning on the way to work, I stop at the newspaper box to pick up the ProJo. Mainly because of my most secret, hidden love for Sean McAdam.

Recently something changed. The newspaper box no longer takes nickels. You have no idea how irrationally angry this makes me. It's either five dimes or two quarters now. WHAT IS THE PROBLEM WITH NICKELS? How could they do this? It's hard enough to scrape up fifty cents in change every morning, let alone trying to do it with a no-nickel handicap. Do I blame the Journal for this? That is some fucked up, repugnant shit! That is a FALSITY!!!

By the way... tomorrow. Yeah.

Arrivederci, Petagine?

Roberto Petagine DFA'd. Word on the street is that he'll probably go back to Japan and climb back into his megastar saddle. I'd like to see him as a spring training invitee, not necessarily for Boston. Boston very seldom does what I want them to do, which is why they won't win the division OR the wild card this year.

What do I say? RP got a raw deal, thanks to a surfeit of first baseman and bench trash. Plus he was so much more worldly than those other kids in Pawtucket. He was definitely one of my favorite AAA guys. I even made my own Petagine t-shirt!

One last thing: The Great Petagine was originally put on the 40-man roster after Manny's collision with... with... oh my god, who was it? Renteria? Anyhoo, Manny had blurred vision for a while and couldn't play.

I'm off like Santino's lingerie!

Peter Frechette smells like teen spirit.

Everybody has that dirty little movie they secretly love. For many, it's Dirty Dancing. For others, it's Die Hard / Bloodsport / Rambo.

None for me, thanks. MY movie is Grease 2. The summer I turned 11, HBO was playing this movie (along with Poltergeist and If You Could See What I Hear) all the freaking time and I ATE IT UP! This was my high school fantasy, what with the boyfriends and satin jackets and the makeup and the bowling and the motorcycles. Has Michelle Pfieffer ever looked more gorgeous? Was Maxwell Caulfield ever more hot, tone deaf, and pouty? And who were those no-name "teenagers" fleshing out the cast, anyway? Adrian Zmed? Maureen Teefy? CHRISTOPHER MCDONALD??

But hang on a sec. Peter Frechette. Who is this guy? Yeah, he played the lanky, practically illiterate horndog T-Bird Louis DiMucci with aplomb, but who cares, right?

Look him up on IMDb.com and check out his resume. A few guest appearances on Law & Order, other small parts... and, whoa! PF is my homeboy! Warwick, RI?! REPRESENT!!

And it only gets better. Look at the production credits and you'll see "Still We Believe: The Boston Red Sox Movie". Circle of life, baby! I don't remember being this bowled over by coincidence since my Squiggy experience.

So in summation, I say, here's to you, Mr. Frechette. Next time I hoist a Gansett it'll be in your honor.

The feeling is Glorious.

What a day! Eliza J. and I decided to go picnicking in our Sunday dresses... we sat under the willows with our bicycles in close sight and ate teacakes and berries. Our modest conversational murmurs were interrupted only by the distant sounds of box turtles and the soft thump of falling crabapples.

Okay, not really. I'm suspended in the suburbs thanks to the relentless yet oddly belgian-lace delicate snowfall. I heard it was also cold outside. I don't know. I'm going to go outside and shovel or walk dogs or something before I turn into a flabby pile of entropic compost.

I miss baseball.

The Kinks sing "Days"

"Thank you for the days,
Those endless days, those sacred days you gave me.
I'm thinking of the days,
I won't forget a single day, believe me.

I bless the light,
I bless the light that lights on you believe me.
And though you're gone,
You're with me every single day, believe me.

Days I'll remember all my life,
Days when you can't see wrong from right.
You took my life,
But then I knew that very soon you'd leave me,
But it's all right,
Now I'm not frightened of this world, believe me.

I wish today could be tomorrow,
The night is dark,
It just brings sorrow anyway."

Heard this song on the way to work today and I got a little emotional. The most embarassing thing about that is how I mentally applied the lyrics and sentiment to the Red Sox.

"Gabe Kapler, will you sign my copy of Valley of the Dolls?"

Alright.

I don't know about you, but at work I'm that one person who is / was Red Sox and baseball obsessed. So I get a lot of, "So, JS, what do you think about Theo? Manny? The new guy, what's-his-name? Are you going to spring training? Are you going to a lot of games?"

Thus far, my answer has been, "I don't know, I don't care, I'm a Devil Rays fan, I only like minor league baseball now." Stuff like that.

Lately, some of my co-workers have been telling me they're getting excited. And guess what? As of 1.31.06, I am getting excited, too. I think it had a lot to do with squeezing Alex Gonzalez into the infield like caulk from a gun. Some of it is also due to getting a pair of seats for the home opener. And hearing news of spring training invitees... Enrique Wilson? I love it!


I am just a big puddle of melted resolve. ON.

"Is that an earthquake? No, it's Rrrramon!"

I just love Ramon Hernandez! Don't you?

Hell, yeah! He's an Oriole now, too. (4 years, $27.5 million) I absolutely believe he is going to have a great year. Think about it: Petco is NOT a hitter's park. I know this because everyone is really mad about the freaking fences.

Loved him on the A's... he caught Mulder and Hudson and Zito in his Cy Young year. I remember seeing Nomar kiss him on the lips as he crossed home plate (running out a long fly). Nomar was crossing home plate, I mean.

And some meaningless '05 statistics:
.290, .322 OBP, 58 RBI, 12 HR

Imagine if we had Hernandez instead of Varitek?

Other things:
Ramon and Miguel Tejada are godfathers to each others' children.

That's all I have for "Other things". But I will say this: Last year when I went to Camden Yards we had breakfast at this place called Burke's. I don't remember the food but the guy that works there? Looked exactly like Harry Caray. Glasses and everything. And it was a fly establishment.

PS Would like to mention one more thing about Oakland: If one were to rank the major league teams in order of hotness... yeah.