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.