Well, That Was Awesome

(Photo of hail of dollar bills falling around Johnny Damon with the vigor and disrespect they usually fall around his dear Michelle from Boston.com)

I love this town. I love kittens and rainbows and Doug Mirabelli and that baby Jesus rejoiced last night, his coos sounding like the crack of David Ortiz's bat as the ball sailed into the glove of Johnathan Papelbon(bon bon) in the bullpen. Ahem. Perhaps I am overstating. But I do love Sox/Yankees games because I know the players on the other team, and I get to use my extensive vocabulary of curse words to describe them.

Alicia and I watched the game at Game On. Before the game began, the place was a madhouse. Overrun with Sox fans (and many more Yankees fans than I'd liked to have seen) and Bud Lights running at about $4.25, the din of pop music overpowering even my loud voice. We eventually got a table, and our eyes popped out of our heads as we beheld the price of food on the menu. Game On can charge a ton, of course, since they're right next to Fenway and have about 3,000 plasma-screen televisions. I don't think I can make a habit of going there, but it is a nice place. They keep the NESN audio on during the play-by-play, but play music over the commercials, thus sparing you Bernie and Phyl. Also, at the top of the second inning, they give away two tickets to the Monster for every home game. I entered my name, but was somewhat relieved when someone else's name was called. The dark grey clouds were ominous, and I had only a light coat on.

Doug Mirabelli rolled into Fenway like a pimp, with his police escort, coming out all ready-for-battle in the freshly-laundered 28 white uniform. Kristen thought he had it in a dry-cleaning bag, but I think he had it in one of those ultra-high-tech silver briefcases. "I knew the time would come," he said this morning, opening the case with a "shssick shssick" and making sure there were no wrinkles.

I attracted stares from a chinless wonder as I yelled at the television for Johnny Damon to shut up, shut up, SHUT. UP. I hate your helmet doff, I hate your douchy new hair, I don't miss your lackluster offense (HA HA). This chinless wonder did make my viewing experience less than enjoyable. He stared at Alicia and I for most of the game, but hit on a couple girls who somehow ended up near him. During a split-screen moment where Johnny Damon was giving an interview about world hunger or something, Wily Mo got a base hit, so I cheered. The chinless wonder came up to us.

"You're not cheering for Johnny Damon, are you?"

"Uh, no. I am cheering for Wily Mo."

"Oh. Well, good, cuz Johnny's a traitor."

"I am aware of this."

The guy patted the table, then walked away. Even in Boston, the most sports-crazed city on this planet, guys can't deal with boobed creatures knowing about baseball. It is just like Sars says in her diatribe about this.

Also, Other Guy Who I Thought Was Gay, why you gotta hit on the bartender? She has zero interest in talking to you. The bartender is the LAST woman you hit on at the bar. I have a hot bartender in my life, but I know better than to try to go anywhere with that. The bartender is an attractive person who has a supply of alcohol at his/her disposal. I get the appeal. But she's paid to be pretty, she has a steady stream of cuter guys who will hit on her, and she'll probably turn them down too because she thinks they're hammered.

Anyway. This happened during the middle of the game, clearly, since I resorted to people-watching. After hearing the chinless wonder say to his friend "let's go talk to them" Alicia beat a hasty path home, and I headed upstairs to watch the end of the game without a lecture on baseball.

Watching David Ortiz hit is like watching one of those Dateline specials where a long-lost siblings find each other. You know something amazing is going to happen at the end of the episode, but you're not sure exactly how it happens. It's kismet. Otherwise known as Big Papi. I could hear the cheers from Fenway. I loved Boston.

I did not love Boston when I left the bar to meet Kristen to start walking home. Not only was it starting to rain, the wind blowing the drops onto my cheeks, but I watched a group of young thugs walk past a cab that was either occupied or just wouldn't take them, and called the cabbie "nigger" about four times. Not only did they call the cabbie the n-word, a woman walking next to them said, "Oh, they're just all pissed about the traffic" instead of "way to make people who think Boston is a racist city justified, asshole."

But, on the whole, a great day. Hooray baseball.