World Champs

The Boston Red Sox did something last night they haven't done since 1918.

They clinched a World Series at home.

Ninety-five years ago, Babe Ruth was a Boston pitcher. Woodrow Wilson was president. The Great War was coming to a close.

Above, you will see a photo of me at the Fens in 2009. Please note that I was sporting a Red Sox beard four years before the Red Sox did. You have me to thank (or blame) for that trend.

Goodnight, Beantown. Party hard.

'Bless you boys!'

Bless you boys!

The Detroit Tigers have evened the ALCS at 2 games apiece. Man, this is shaping up to be a classic.

Yes, your humble servant is somewhat divided. Detroit and the BoSox are two of my three favorite MLB teams. (The third -- the ATL -- has already been eliminated.)

But, I'm pulling for the Tigers in this series. One, I've loved them longer. Two, the BoSox won it all in 2004 and 2007. The last time the Tigers won the Series was 29 years ago. (By the way, I've got that entire Series on DVD to watch in winter.)

So, I'll be for the AL in the World Series regardless.

No doubt, my buddies Thomas, David, Dave, Ed, Jim, Robbie, Mike (no, not Hermann) and Jed (and, somewhere, Sam Malone) are boosting the BoSox.

Over in the NL, buddies Drew and Nick are cheering on the Cards, and Spencer, Ken and Roy (and maybe Bob) are dreaming for Dodger domination.

But, since my blood runs orange in so many ways, I am pulling for the Old English D this week. So, too, are pals David and Jen, Cortney, Danny, Grant, Matthew (no, not Shelton) and Mike (no, not Hermann).

"Bless you boys!"

Bonus points to anyone who knows who uttered the above phrase. (And it isn't who you think.)

What would John Adams do?

Tonight I turned off the Yankees/Red Sox game to watch a few episodes of "John Adams," HBO's epic, excellent 2008 miniseries.

I needed to believe again, methinks. After watching the CBS Evening News, I was reminded of just how much of a joke our current government has become.

It seems President Obama and the Republicans in Congress are arguing over when, or whether, to hold a joint session of Congress the president has requested to talk about his jobs plan. The president wants to hold it next Wednesday night. Republicans don't like that because that's the night of the NBC GOP presidential candidates' debate. Speaker of the House John Boehner suggested the president wait until the following night. Some don't like that because it will conflict with -- I'm not making this up -- an NFL football game.

I first gained a greater appreciation for Adams after reading David McCullough's biography 10 years ago. His intelligence, his sacrifice, his steadfast morality -- if Jefferson was the river of independence, Adams was its rock.

If you haven't yet seen the HBO miniseries, get it on DVD and savor it. This is television at its finest -- smart, grand, beautifully shot and wonderfully acted.

It gives you such an appreciation for the sacrifices the Founding Fathers (and Mothers) underwent to make the American experiment a reality. It highlights the stirring love and abiding bond between John and Abigail Adams.

And, in its way, it's a reminder of just how petty -- and pathetic -- American politics has become.

(Oh, by the way, I peeked -- the Red Sox are winning 9-5.)

The Lost Weekend

Well, it wasn't perfect.

You've already read about my Thursday. Friday morning I was standing in Kroger by 11 to grab grub for the weekend. Jimmy, the guy at the counter, recognized my name. He said some nice things about the Shopper.

"You're a busy man."

"Well, I'm just glad to have a couple of days off."

"Did the Tigers win their opening game?" he asked, noticing the Old English D on my jacket.

"Nope," I said. "They lost to the Yankees."

"Oh, no."

"Well," I said, "that's nothing new."

Friday afternoon, Ken Lay regaled me with stories of being "Kenny the clubhouse boy" for the old Knoxville Sox.

We began watching games at 1 p.m. and didn't stop until 1 a.m. Twelve straight hours of the national pastime. It's a personal best. Hey, don't laugh. This is my vacation!

The Sox stunk up the joint in Arlington. Bard was bad. It was ugly.

Ken and I welcomed Saturday with the velvet voice of Vin Scully.

"He's still got it," Ken says. "He didn't slip at all."

Later that day, I got up early -- well, early for a guy who didn't get to bed until 3:30 -- waiting for the AT&T tech who didn't arrive until mid-afternoon. Got him squared away just in time to see the Braves get nipped by the Nats and the Tigers get yanked by the Yankees.

Pal Mike Hermann showed up in time to see the Sox stink it up again. But, the steak was good and we found our chuckle for the night, about the batter hitting in the No. 2 hole.

John Lackey was even worse than Jon Lester. We didn't even have the distraction of the two girls who sat behind home plate during the opener. Mike did a dead on Jerry Remy impression. That helped. Some.

This afternoon, I fell asleep while Clay Buchholz served up four solo homers en route to a 5-1 loss to Texas. Swept on opening weekend. Say it ain't so!

There are a few bright spots amid the falling Red Sox sky. Yo, Adrian, for one. The kid can hit. Here's what Dan Shaughnessy says about him.

Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. I did switch it over to CBS long enough to see Connecticut stave off a Kentucky comeback. Meanwhile, back at the ranch...

Tonight I'm watching "The Kennedys" on ReelzChannel to see what all the fuss is about. Have had enough baseball -- at least until tomorrow night.

It may have been a Lost Weekend, but at least we had some laughs.

24 hours in Boston

BOSTON, July 25 -- John Updike once called Fenway Park "a lyric little bandbox of a ballpark.

"Everything is painted green and seems in curiously sharp focus, like the inside of an old-fashioned peeping-type Easter egg."

So it is. The Fens is the oldest park in the majors. It is shoved into an old part of Beantown, on Yawkey Way, complete with its funky triangle, the Pesky Pole and that hypnotic Green Monster.

This is a cathedral. This is the greatest place to watch the greatest game.

Oh, and what a perfect night. The Sox win 7-2. Big Papi and Adam LaRoche hit dingers, the latter over that beautiful wall.

An hour before game time, I was sitting in "You've got to be kidding me" seats behind the Sox dugout, throwing back a hot dog dabbed with mustard and ketchup, when I gazed toward first base.

Then I see her.

Yes, Heidi Watney, New England Sports Network reporter. My crush. I could have gone home right then and there.

Sigh.

But, I stayed, and we sang "Sweet Caroline" in the eighth, and Jon Lester threw seven solid innings, and Daniel Bard threw 100 mph heat, and Ramon Ramirez got Adam Jones to fly out to right field. "Dirty Water" and dancing in the streets.

Perfect.

Earlier, we walked to Boston Harbor, passing the meeting house in which Samuel Adams gave the signal to begin the Boston Tea Party. And Boston Massacre sites. And John Hancock's house. And more Sam Adams.

It's enough to stir the soul. USA! USA!

We walked from Quincy Street past the Boston Common to Cheers -- where everybody knows your name. Of course, they didn't. But I stood in front of that famous facade and downed a Sam Adams (the other kind) in Norm Peterson's seat, Norm being everybody's favorite barfly, our lovable CPA known in real life as actor George Wendt. ("NORM!")

In case you missed it, "Cheers" was a classy and well-written sitcom from the 1980s set in a Boston bar. It is a real place formerly called the Bull and Finch. The inside does not look like the TV Cheers, other than the set bar built upstairs. Hence Norm's corner stool. Complete with a brass plaque.

After we left the cathedral, once the "Yankees Suck!" cheers subsided, we walked the streets of this seductive city, past brownstones and beautiful people dressed in coats, ties and dresses, past newspapers tossed onto stoops, past cabbies honking their horns. A hint of saltwater wafted in from the harbor.

Like all things we cherish, the dream had to end. But, not before a perfect 24 hours in Boston, with Cheers and Sam Adams and fresh shrimp and Heidi Watney and the lyric little bandbox of a ballpark mixed into a summer sojourn to remember.

Perfect.

Rainy night in Boston

It's raining tonight in Beantown.

Nope, I'm not there. Just watching on the tube thanks to the fine folks at FOX. The Red Sox are beating the Rockies 4-1 in the bottom of the fourth as I type this.

Couldn't help but think about the late, great A. Bartlett Giamatti. If Bart were still alive, he'd no doubt be at Fenway tonight. Or at least watching from Martha's Vineyard, rooting on his beloved Sox.

Thought about his fine little piece, "The Green Fields of the Mind," about the end of a long ago season. It started raining that game, too, as Giamatti made his way out of the park.

"It breaks your heart," Bart said of this great game. And, of course, it does.

Former UT quarterback Todd Helton is the longtime Rockies first baseman. This is his first World Series. Guess that's why I'm rooting for the Mile High boys this fall.

I'll fly up to Boston one of these days, though. Take in a weekend game at Fenway before they shut this grand old park town. Then, I'll rent a car and drive up to Maine, maybe say howdy to Halls High grad Jim Marine and his wife.

I need to get to Maine anyway. That state, along with Minnesota and North Dakota, are the only three in the contiguous 48 I've yet to visit.

I would complain about thoughts of being without the game for the next five months. But we've got basketball to play in Big Orange Country, y'all.

OK, gotta go. Francis is in trouble again. Bases loaded, 2-1 count to Tek.

Gotta enjoy this while it lasts.

Overcoming the obnoxious

ATLANTA, June 18 -- Sometimes you find a little retribution in a long fly ball.

I can take a lot. I like to think I've become a "live and let live" type in my old age. But I have no tolerance whatsoever for rudeness. Just won't stand for it.

Which is why the Atlanta Braves' 9-4 win here at Turner Field over the Boston Red Sox was so delicious. I've never seen a bunch that deserved a come-uppance more than the Sox faithful in attendance tonight.

Well, maybe it was just my section. But it was bad. Loud chanting and screaming in that obnoxious Yankee accent (shudder). Women in Sox shirts trying to sit in other people's seats. Some jerk putting his fat ass right in front of an innocent fan who's just trying to keep score.

And then, after home runs by Scott Thorman and Brian McCann --- silence. Sweet, beautiful silence. Well, except for the cheering Atlanta faithful.

I'm a little different than most fans. Baseball is serious business. I treat it as such. I keep score. I pay attention. I don't stand up in my seat or disappear for two innings. I could care less about The Wave and whatever stupid promotion is going on the Jumbotron. (Why do we need a Jumbotron anyway? Why can't some old bag just pound away on an organ?)

So maybe I'm biased --- or just crazy. But I don't see the point in acting the fool, especially when such a glorious game is unfolding before your eyes.

At two places can you find me at my heart's content --- the cabin on the lake, and the baseball park. Thus it was today. As the late spring sun began to set over the Atlanta horizon, Turner Field was backlit by the most ethereal glow you've ever seen. I could almost hear Shoeless Joe Jackson (well, let's say Eddie Mathews since we're in Atlanta) whispering from beyond.

The obnoxious Red Sox fans almost spoiled it. The Braves took care of that, though.

To be fair, it wasn't just Sox fans. One Atlanta partisan was thrown out of the stands for fighting. Another was too busy stuffing his face with food to watch much of the game (or give Dewayne Lawson much room to sit down).

So it goes.

But this is baseball, this is offensively-powered, fun to watch baseball. Such a game is resilient. It can overcome a lot -- even the obnoxious.