Red Right Hand

On a gathering storm comes
A tall handsome man
In a dusty black coat with
A red right hand

He’ll wrap you in his arms,
Tell you that you’ve been a good boy
He’ll rekindle all the dreams
It took you a lifetime to destroy
He’ll reach deep into the hole,
Heal your shrinking soul
Hey buddy, you know you’re
Never ever coming back
He’s a god, he’s a man,
He’s a ghost, he’s a guru
They’re whispering his name
Through this disappearing land
But hidden in his coat
Is a red right hand
-Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds

Good to know, though, at a time when gasoline is nearly three bucks a gallon, that Ortiz says the ''MVP" chants that echo throughout the Fens when he comes to the plate are enough to fuel his ability to deliver the improbable, time and again.

''That sounds good," Ortiz said. ''It kind of puts you in a good mood, you know. When you walk to the plate in a situation like that and the crowd starts screaming like that, you feel like Superman. You feel like, 'OK, I can't let my people down, you've got to come up with something.'
-Big Papi

Needless to say, I consider myself one of the Tizzle's peeps, er, people. I'll be at Fenway tonight, hoping to see more of the improbable.

The Geek Within, or ....

things I will be doing this weekend.

1. Assuming a defensive crouch to watch the Red Sox-Yankees series. Alternate position: fetal, wrapped around a bottle of Powers. Preferably by the emergency exit by the back of the local - where I can peek around the corner and bother the waitress for updates on the score.

2. Seeing Serenity.

3. Attending the Wings of Freedom Tour, digital camera in hand. According to the schedule there will be a B-17 Flying Fortress, a B-24 Liberator and a B-25 Mitchell at the airfield. Rock.

Seven in Seven

The Netflix queue* is at a standstill, and various books are laying about Chez Silver Fox in a sad state of neglect. Needless to say, the Sox and Yanks are in dead tie with seven games remaining apiece, including the last three against each other at Fenway.

So basically baseball will be my life for the next week, with everything else as pesky details. Even the coming opening of Serenity will not distract me. Depending on the state of the race come Saturday I may have to invoke some serious mojo and head into Boston - not because I have tickets (I don't) but just to soak up the atmosphere around Fenway.

I am, of course, quite mad, in the British sense of the word mad. Meaning - I'm crazy.

*Now that I think of it, if anyone wants to be on my Netflix friends list, send me an email and I'll add you.

Parks of the Past

I found a real boss link courtesy of James at Hell in a Handbasket. The site is called Defunct Parks and it's all about closed amusement parks. Things to enjoy here include...

...cool pictures. Take a peak at some of the ones James liked.

.... and index by state of the closed parks featured on the site. Just the other night I was walking with some friends about old New England parks, so naturally I looked for them in the listings.

Whoa, check out all the listing for Massachusetts.

Attention Must Be Paid

Attention everyone! I have a Flock of Seagulls song in my iPod. Attention!

Somehow I was not cognizant of this until moments ago. As near as I can reckon the mp3 must have found it's way onto my old PC about, oh, four or so years ago, when I first started putting music on my computer. Once there the song lay dormant, much like a landmine, or a boobytrap, until it made the jump to new PC earlier this year, and from there to the iPod.

Anyway, the damn thing gave me quite a start when it rushing through my earbuds. I fear I'm ill-equipped for such surprises these days.

Green Fields

The quotes in the orevious post where drawn from this essay by A. Bartlett Giamatti. It's one of my favorite pieces of writing.

New Day Rising

Warning: Pretentious essay to follow. Your regularly scheduled tomfoolery will resume tomorrow

Last night the Red Sox slipped from their perch atop the AL East and slid a half game behind the New York Yankees. As soon as the game was over, I uttered a few choice Anglo-Saxon words, settled up my tab and headed home. On the way there, I reminded myself that last year the Sox had won the World Serious - something I had wait thirty-odd years to see. Something my father had waited sixty-odd years to see. Something my grandfather had waited - well, I shuddered to contemplate the long long span of years Papa had waited to see the Red Sox win it all.

When I got home I checked my email and washed the dishes left over from dinner. Then I sat down on the couch, opened a book, and began to read. After a while the words began to swim out of focus. I closed the book and simply sat for a while, letting my wander to other places, before I in turn wandered off to bed. I didn't think about, let alone agonize over, the Red Sox.

This may surprise those who know me and my overwhelming passion for all things Red Sox. It will definitely surprise anyone who saw do any of the following during the 2004 campaign: yell; curse; talk to myself; mutter under my breath; jump up and down; stand on one foot; cover my eyes - the list goes on. I think there's still a groove in the floor of the local, from all the gametime pacing I did there last season. But I can't muster up that kind of behavior at the moment, for several reasons.

First and foremost is the fact that the 2005 Red Sox are doing the best they can. (Well except for Manny but that's a whole 'nother topic.) Yes they are. We all know the Sox have potent lineup, but even the best bats can't carry a team the whole distance - I refer you to 2003 Grady Little Special Edition team as ample proof of this fact. What it takes is pitching pitching pitching. It's pitching that allows a team to win the close games during the season when the bats are slumping. It's pitching that allows a team to contend in the steel-cage match we call the post-season.

The Red Sox just don't have the pitching this year. Last year the rotation featured two legitimate aces in Schilling and Pedro, and not a single pitcher missed his scheduled start. This year the rotation is a crap shoot. Some nights we get so see Magic Dave the Cupcake Man with his deadly curve. And some nights Magic Dave can't find the rabbit in his hat and gets chased after two innings. And so it goes with all the starters - not a dependable stopper among them. Last year the bullpen featured an effective duo of left/right set-up men in Embree and the Timlinator, and of course Foulke the monster closer. This year - well let's say the pen has been (ahem) combustible and leave it that.

The injuries must be considered as well. A long string of injuries, from the very beginning and all season long. Schilling. Foulke. Bellhorn. Trot. Kapler. The Giraffe. Cupcake Man. Miller. Stern. Youkilis. Some of the players not on the DL are practically walking wounded - Johnny Damon, for example, who just received his second cortisone shot in two weeks, his third of the year.

Simply put, the Red Sox are doing the best they can - competing as hard as they can - with what they have. Nobody should be bitching or complaining. The Red Sox are still in the race. Would you rather be rooting for the Devil Rays, or the Brewers, with no hope at all of playing October baseball? If back in April the Baseball Jesus had granted me a vision (to be known down through history as the Three Prophecies of Quincy) and revealed that 1) Curt Schilling would not be able to function as staff ace and 2) Keith Foulke would not be a monster closer but 3) the team would still contend until the end of the season, well, I would not have complained.

I still won't complain, or rage, or be bitter, even if the Red Sox fall short of making the post-season. I know the deal going in, and the deal is this:

It breaks your heart. It is designed to break your heart.

The above words have appeared several times on this blog, because they express a powerful truth. To love something - whether that thing is a baseball team or an individual or whatever- is to sow the seeds of your own downfall. If you love you're going to hurt - somehow, somewhere, sometime.

And when you get hurt you can rage or scream or feel sorry for yourself. Or, you can do as beth suggests - face the music dressed in our best, and prepared to go down as gentlemen. Why not face adversity with some dignity? Why not cheer for the Sox until the bitter end, embrace our passion until the last out? After all nobody forces you to care. Nobody puts a gun to your head and says "ok... on my command... love!" It's a choice we all make, and you can avoid the consequences, the heartbreak, quite easily. Wall yourself off from other people. Follow golf. If you choose to love something, then take your hopes in hand, do it unreservedly and accept that sometimes the object of your affection may fall short. Not make the play-offs. Not win another championship. You know what I mean.

The game begins in the spring, when everything else begins again, and it blossoms in the summer, filling the afternoons and evenings, and then as soon as the chill rains come, it stops and leaves you to face the fall alone. You count on it, rely on it to buffer the passage of time, to keep the memory of sunshine and high skies alive, and then just when the days are all twilight, when you need it most, it stops.

Don't get the wrong idea. I will be disappointed if the Red Sox aren't playing ball next month. There are few things I like better than the Red Sox and October baseball. After the adrenaline rush of the last two Octobers, this autumn would seem awfully quiet without baseball. I'd like to see some more.

But there is a price to be paid for everything in this life, even miracles like last year's World Series trophy. Schilling and Foulke have already paid, struggling all year to regain last year's dominant form. And maybe our price, the price for October 27, 2004 is to watch this year's edition of the Boston Red Sox, fall just a little short. Is that so bad? Such an awful possibility? Especially with the future (Hello Mr. Hansen. Gimme five Mr. Papelbon) taking shape before our eyes?

It breaks my heart because it was meant to, because it was meant to foster in me again the illusion that there was something abiding, some pattern and some impulse that could come together to make a reality that would resist the corrosion; and because, after it had fostered again that most hungered-for illusion, the game was meant to stop, and betray precisely what it promised.

Of course, there are those who learn after the first few times. They grow out of sports. And there are others who were born with the wisdom to know that nothing lasts. These are the truly tough among us, the ones who can live without illusion, or without even the hope of illusion. I am not that grown-up or up-to-date. I am a simpler creature, tied to more primitive patterns and cycles. I need to think something lasts forever, and it might as well be that state of being that is a game; it might as well be that, in a green field, in the sun.

I will never learn. I will always believe.

New Sheriff in Town

I've been reading Sheriff Sully for while now, and almost immediately added him to the blog roll. I highly recommend you go and read today's entry.

Revelations

Not only did CS return unexpectedly, he brought with him an answer, an answer to a question that has long troubled me.

How did I ever get it in my head that the actor Marc Singer was blind?

Why, it's because he played a blind man on TV, prior to his star turn in V and other 80s classics.

Apparently 80s pop culture is so deeply embedded within me that it has, at times, completely usurped my perception of reality.

I Am Irony Man

So apparently this is National Singles Week. I can practically taste irony here.

To borrow a phrase, I will now light myself on fire.

Aar Says I

Today be International Talk Like A Pirate Day.

Place Called Won't Be There

An very brief iPod playlist for your consideration and my amusement.

1. Circles - Bob Mould
2. Mellow Doubt - Teenage Fanclub
3. I Burn Today - Frank Black
4. Soul Meets Body - Death Cab For Cutie
5. Unsatisfied - The Replacements
6. Cry Over You - Fiona Joyce
7. Someone Like You - X
8. Ocean -Sebadoh
9. Apple Tree - Ane Egge
10. Your One Wish - Cadallaca

Damn - are those songs bleak or what? Next stop: Happyville.

Your Favorite Urban Legend

Growing up my friends and I took it as an article of faith that Marc Singer, star of such 80s fare as V and The Beastmaster, was completely and totally blind.

I have no earthly idea where this notion originated, or why we believed such a ridiculous thing.

I Am Cranky (Blue)

As the title indicates, today I am cranky. Although currently there are several things in this ole life that I could be cranky about, there is one in particular this afternoon. Namely, the fact that the twinge/pinched nerve in my left shoulder seems to have thrown off my right shoulder and neck as well, leading to a general all-over low grade pain. Not a terribly great pain - just enough to remind me, whenever I turn around too fast or move suddenly, that there are some days when the dice continually roll against you.

But hey, I'm the kinda guy that when life gives me lemons I throw them to the ground, smash them underfoot to little pieces and swear vendetta against all lemons in perpetuity make lemonade. So why not take my mind off of my headaches and backaches by trying to amusing myself in that special way my friends have come love grudgingly tolerate endure?

It didn't escape my notice that Heather put together a list of "Things I Want To Do" for when CS returns after a lengthy absence. Well I hope CS didn't think I'd neglect to put together my own list of things to do when he comes home. Oh no, you don't get off that easy my friend - you've been gone too long for that. Needs must when the devil drives, so here we go: Some Things To When CS Returns.

1. Drink beer at local.
2. Drink beer at local.
3. Go a for a walk on Wolly Beach while CS explains to me why bad things happen to good people. Or where babies come from. I haven't decided yet.
4. Drink beer at local.
5. When I wake in the small hours of the morning from that awful recurring nightmare - the one where I'm walking down a dark street alone at night and Derek Jeter pulls alongside me in Volkswagen Cabriolet and looks at me with those empty soulless eyes and asks to 'go for a ride' because he wants to 'show me something special in the trunk' - call and wake up CS so he can tell me a soothing story.
6. Drink beer at local.
7. Paint CS's head for the Red Sox playoff run. Definitely in the team colors, maybe also with an intimidating slogan like I Am the Come Death, Destroyer of All or possibly I Like Eggs.
8. Drink beer at local.
9. Book some time on local cable access television for our own D & C show. This one has loads of possibilities, including (but not limited to): Dance Dance Revolution, a segment where we opine on political current events solely through interpretive dance; The Magic of Plaster, shadow puppet impersonations of our favorite celebrities; and My Microwave, Myself - cooking for the kitchen-challenged.
10. Leaving this spot open for drinking beer somewhere besides the local.
11. Attend "Bring Your Child To Work Day" with CS. Answer questions about how I could possibly be CS's child by answering "aren't we all children of CS?' followed by speaking in tongues, snake-handling, maniacal laughter, or rhythmic chanting and swaying.

Good times, good times.

(I should note that this post was partially inspired by sarah's hilarious series of 'list' posts.)

Stealing A Page

A page from Chris' livejournal to be exact. Since I have music on the brain, here it is: Ten albums I would recommend you add to your collection:

1. Tim - The Replacements
2. Black Sheets of Rain - Bob Mould
3. All Hands on the Bad One - Sleater-Kinney
4. Rum, Sodomy & the Lash - The Pogues
5. More Fun in the New World - X
6. Live at the Roxy - Social Distortion
7. In the Wee Small Hours - Frank Sinatra
8. At Folsom Prison - Johnny Cash
9. The Queen is Dead - The Smiths
10. Darklands - The Jesus & Mary Chain

The criteria I used simple: if I was trying to turn on someone completely new to any one of the above artists , what album would I steer them towards? No compilations or 'best of' collections permitted - that's too easy.

Roads Left

One thing about this here iPod - in addition to bring long neglected parts of your music collection to the surface, it also motivates you to find new music. Gotta fill up the that space. For a while now I've heard Death Cab For Cutie name checked all over the place, so I this weekend I picked up their first major label release Plans. Pretty decent overall, but the second track - Soul Meets Body - with it's insanely catchy chorus has wormed it's way into my head and refuses to leave. Just an excellent pop song.

I do believe it’s true,
that there are roads left in both of our shoes.
If the silence takes you,
then I hope it takes me too.

So Brown-Eyes I hold you near,
cause you're the only song I want to hear,
a melody softly soaring through my atmosphere.

You Knew Me When.

Inspired by Walk The Line and news of the forthcoming Theodore Roosevelt movie, I have decided to turn my own creative efforts in a similar direction.

First, a script based on the life of Teddy Williams, tentatively titled The Kid Goes Deep. Starring me, since both Teddy and I are lefties.

This will be followed by my magnum opus, a four-hour epic concenring the life of Winston Churchill. Tentative title: I Am Drunk And Witty. Or maybe Where's The Gin In This Bunker? - I am still undecided.

I think that one will be my Oscar vehicle.

Laws of Gravitas

It started with Joaquin Phoenix playing Johnny Cash.

Now, apparently we must suffer through Leonardo DiCaprio as Teddy Roosevelt.

What's next, Joe Pesci headlining in an Andre the Giant biopic? Who makes these decisions? Who sits around and says "Johnny Cash/Teddy Roosevelt was a real bad hombre. Only a real pretty boy will make this film believable."

A Red Sox Moment

Though I have followed the Red Sox closely this year, as I always do, I have written little of the 2005 edition of this team. I do however, wish to make a brief point.

Certain words and phrases are inherently scary. Just to say them out loud is to feel a tremor of fear, to feel the hair on the back of your neck stiffen. Words and phrases like 'testicular cancer' and 'blind date' and 'sleestack.'

But is there anything more terrifying than the words 'closer by committee?'

That's scarier than clowns.

A Good Day

A good day is any day that you're alive - Paul Westerberg

Saturday was a very fine day to be alive and walking in Boston. After my cousin checked into Jury's we had a beer downstairs in Cuffs and watched the Sox unload on the Yanks. Then we stepped out into the sun and took a long meandering walk across Boston, from the Back Bay to the North End, girl watching and window shopping. The ballgame followed us - here a man parked in an alley hard by Commonwealth Books listening to Jerry and Joe on the radio, there a scrap of voices and the score drifting out from a bar.

We stopped at Fanueil Hall and watched a group putting on a display of Capoeira, which I'd never seen before and found completely fascinating. Dance and fighting blended together - a spinning handstand flowed into what looked like a leg sweep, another spinning motion turned into a round house kick - and all done to music. We also spotted someone sporting this tee. Jim loved it, but if he's not careful his three boys will all get one for Christmas.

By the time the ninth inning rolled around we were in the North End and watched Papelbon close out the game at some bar I think was called the Four Winds, before moving on to another bar (called The Waterfront I think) for more beer. The night finished up at Bukowskis - my favorite bar that is attached to a parking garage and perched above the turnpike.

Newsflash

Britney Spears is dumb and okay about it.

Always Last, or, 100 Song Meme

Though I'm just getting around to it, I've seen this meme all over the damn place. Anyhoo, in order to play along go here, and enter the year you graduated high school in the search function. You will be presented with a list of the Top 100 Songs for that year: bold the ones you like, strike through the ones you hate and underline your favorite (if you have one. I didn't). . Ignore those you don't recall or that you're indifferent towards. Now.. off to we go to 1988.

1. Faith, George Michael A caveat - this song is much more likeable after ten or so beers
2. Need You Tonight, INXS
3. Got My Mind Set On You, George Harrison
4. Never Gonna Give You Up, Rick Astley
5. Sweet Child O' Mine, Guns N' Roses
6. So Emotional, Whitney Houston
7. Heaven Is A Place On Earth, Belinda Carlisle
8. Could've Been, Tiffany Tiffany had a second song?
9. Hands To Heaven, Breathe
10. Roll With It, Steve Winwood
11. One More Try, George Michael
12. Wishing Well, Terence Trent d'Arby
13. Anything For You, Gloria Estefan and the Miami Sound Machine
14. The Flame, Cheap Trick A decent power ballad. This song was on the radio when I backed the "One Ton" dumptruck I was driving into some poor bastard's pick up.
15. Get Outta My Dreams, Get Into My Car, Billy Ocean Who thought Billy Ocea was a good stage name?
16. Seasons Change, Expose
17. Is This Love, Whitesnake Hair metal cannot be wimpy. Unforgivable.
18. Wild, Wild West, Escape Club
19. Pour Some Sugar On Me, Def Leppard Awful, awful, awful and yet again - awful. Try reciting the lyrics out loud to gain a fuller comprehension of how moronic this song is.
20. I'll Always Love You, Taylor Dayne
21. Man In The Mirror, Michael Jackson
22. Shake Your Love, Debbie Gibson Don't even try to tell me that this song doesn't make you bob your head in time to the music, at the very least.
23. Simply Irresistible, Robert Palmer
24. Hold On To The Nights, Richard Marx
25. Hungry Eyes, Eric Carnen
26. Shattered Dreams, Johnny Hates Jazz I Hate Johnny Hates Jazz.
27. Father Figure, George Michael
28. Naughty Girls (Need Love Too), Samantha Fox
29. A Groovy Kind Of Love, Phil Collins
30. Love Bites, Def Leppard
31. Endless Summer Nights, Richard Marx
32. Foolish Beat, Debbie Gibson
33. Where Do Broken Hearts Go, Whitney Houston
34. Angel, Aerosmith
35. Hazy Shade Of Winter, Bangles Boss cover song. 'Nuff said.
36. The Way You Make Me Feel, Michael Jackson
37. Don't Worry, Be Happy, Bobby McFerrin If you're ever fortunate enough to meet my sister, she might tell you a very funny story about this song. And me.
38. Make Me Lose Control, Eric Carnen
39. Red Red Wine, UB40
40. She's Like The Wind, Patric Swayze The Swayze sings!
41. Bad Medicine, Bon Jovi
42. Kokomo, Beach Boys
43. I Don't Wanna Go On With You Like That, Elton John
44. Together Forever, Rick Astley
45. Monkey, George Michael
46. Devil Inside, INXS
47. Should've Known Better, Richard Marx
48. I Don't Wanna Live Without Your Love, Chicago I'm sure if I could remember this song I'd hate it.
49. The Loco-Motion, Kylie Minogue
50. What Have I Done To Deserve This?, Pet Shop Boys and Dusty Springfield
51. Make It Real, Jets
52. What's On Your Mind, Information Society If this is the song I think it is, I like it.
53. Tell It To My Heart, Taylor Dayne For some reason this song got a lot of play on the jukebox at L.J's Pub in the fall of '88. A sentimental favorite.
54. Out Of The Blue, Debbie Gibson
55. Don't You Want Me, Jody Watley
56. Desire, U2
57. I Get Weak, Belinda Carlisle
58. Sign Your Name, Terence Trent d'Arby
59. I Want To Be Your Man, Roger
60. Girlfriend, Pebbles
61. Dirty Diana, Michael Jackson
62. 1-2-3, Gloria Estefan and Miami Sound Machine
63. Mercedes Boy, Pebbles
64. Perfect World, Huey Lewis and the News
65. New Sensation, INXS
66. Catch Me (I'm Falling), Pretty Poison
67. If It Isn't Love, New Edition
68. Rocket 2 U, Jets
69. One Good Woman, Peter Cetera
70. Don't Be Cruel, Cheap Trick
71. Candle In The Wind, Elton John
72. Everything Your Heart Desires, Daryl Hall and John Oates
73. Say You Will , Foreigner
74. I Want Her, Keith Sweat
75. Pink Cadillac, Natalie Cole
76. Fast Car, Tracy Chapman
77. Electric Blue, Icehouse
78. The Valley Road, Bruce Hornsby and The Range
79. Don't Be Cruel, Bobby Brown
80. Always On My Mind, Pet Shop Boys
81. Piano In The Dark, Brenda Russell Featuring Joe Esposito
82. When It's Love, Van Halen Van Halen in name only.
83. Don't Shed A Tear, Paul Carrack
84. We'll Be Together, Sting Oh how I loathe Sting and the watered-down pablum pseudo light jazz shite he shovels to a gullible public. This song is a screeching nightmare.
85. I Hate Myself For Loving You, Joan Jett and The Blackhearts
86. I Don't Want To Live Without You, Foreigner
87. Nite And Day, Al B. Sure
88. Don't You Know What The Night Can Do, Steve Winwood
89. One Moment In Time, Whitney Houston
90. Can't Stay Away From You, Gloria Estefan and Miami Sound Machine
91. Kissing A Fool, George Michael
92. Cherry Bomb, John Cougar Mellancamp
93. I Still Believe, Brenda K. Starr
94. I Found Someone, Cher
95. Never Tear Us Apart, INXS I put this on a miz tape I made for a girl that year, back when I was doign such things.
96. Valerie, Steve Windwood Steve Windwood irks, for no good reason. He just does.
97. Just Like Paradise, David Lee Roth
98. Nothin' But A Good Time, Poison I unabashedly love this song. Silly hair metal at it's best.
99. Wait, White Lion Not quite as ridiculous as "When The Children Cry," but close. Deliciously bad.
100. Prove Your Love, Taylor Dayne

Friday Flicks

My two favorite B-Westerns are easily The Professionals and 100 Rifles. The fact that these movies star Raquel Welch (left) and Claudia Cardinale (right) respectively, is, I assure you, a total coincidence.

Really.

The Professionals is the superior movie of the two, boasting a solid cast. In addition to Claudia Cardinale The Professionals also featured Burt Lancaster, Lee Marvin*, Jack Palance, Robert Ryan and Woody Strode. A fine ensemble that makes for B-movie gold.

100 Rifles is, by objective standards, not a god movie at all. It is, however, a very fun movie, if your concept of fun includes a scantily clad Raquel Welch alongside the 'acting' of Jim Browwn and Burt Reynolds. Plus, lots of explosions. Really, how could it not be deliciously bad? This film needs to make it to DVD post-haste.

* A brief aside: if Lee Marvin were alive today he would be the ideal person to play the Timlinator in the movie dramatization of the 2004 Red Sox. Both men possess the quiet demeanor and craggy features that suggest not only could they kill you with their pinky, they could survive in the Siberian wilderness as long as they had two sticks and a pocket knife.