Red Sox + postseason baseball = as many trips back to Boston as I can afford.
Before we get started, please, a moment of silence for my first time riding through the Big Dig tunnel. I nearly lost my hand taking this pic after being ambushed by the windshield wiper.
Now, I'm hoping you caught Game 3 of the Sox/Oakland ALDS series (round 1 of the playoffs), which may just have been the best game I've ever been to. Four errors on Oakland's part, including plays so confusing that they required calling home to get FOX Sports' explanation before we could make sense of what was going on on the field.
Bill Simmon's recap: [read the whole thing]
For starters, Game 3 featured two Oakland runners thrown out at home: One who failed to understand the logistics of Rule 7.06B (which I would explain if I understood what it meant), the other because Jason Varitek blocked the plate so perfectly that the runner tripped over his foot, twisted his ankle, hopped around like a failed skateboarder on Hollywood Boulevard, shoved Varitek as he tried to retrieve the ball, then got tagged out (while the home plate umpire stood there and twiddled his thumbs -- that's always fun). Two of the strangest plays in recent history ... and they happened within minutes of each other. Go figure.
Not sure who this guy is, but he knows us (and my Dad, presumably from having ajacent season ticket seats). Oh, he also knows my little sister.
Johnny Rhode Island: "Yeah, so I was at a game here this summer and your sister..."
Me: "Keep your DAMN HANDS off my sister!"
Anyway, he bought us a round so he's a-okay with me.
Did I ever tell you about the time I went to Yankees Stadium and sat behind the Yankees dugout and a bat flew into the stands and whacked the guy sitting literally five seats to my left? That was awesome.
ps: No, he wasn't hurt. Yes, he got to keep the bat.
Special guest appearance by Stephen King four rows up.
The Pru all lit up for the post-season. Those bankers sure are clever little monkeys.
All tied at the end of nine...
... so we ran to get beers...
... and sausages.
Okay, try to picture this (or read the Simmon's article)... bottom of the 10th, Trot Nixon who's sat out the last two games, pinch hit home run to win in - keeping us alive in the post-season. This pic is so lame, but I took it like 60 seconds after Nixon's ball left the park when the crowd was still going AWOL.
Whoa, I forgot about these guys... as soon as Jay and I got off the T @ Fenway, Jon Gorey (roommate from college) dials my cell to give me shit for being stuck in NYC as Boston was blowing up in the playoffs. Little did they know I was on my way to section 30 @ Fenway, suckers!
We met up with them pre-game for a handful of beers and then when we realized in the 6th that the rightful owner of the two empty seats next to us weren't going to show (what monkey doesn't use their tix to a playoff game?), we called in Mr. Frieze and J.Glory down from behind the bullpen.
Here, all four reunited post Nixon's home run.
Post game we migrated to PJ Kilory's - a random bar just far enough from Lansdown Street so that it's not super crowded. Ah, just cut right on through the parking lot where I destroyed Jonathan's friend's precious Mets helmet.
Time out for Freeto and Rob all cowboy-ed up in their complementary bandeezies.
Why hello there Adam Monahan (aka another roommate from college).
Adam says: "$3 drafts. $8 pitchers. Bling bling, player."
The lieutenant, some Jon Gorey and delicious little Delia (Jon's friend). Blurry pic accurately reflects our blurry vision.
And yet another roommate from college... have you met Eric? That's him - Mr. Freize - on the left showing off his brand new afro. It's stunning.
A little scuffle / flirting / shuffle rounded out by Bob's Big Boy checking out Delia's backside.
Who is the mystery friend on the right? I dig the obligatory boston goatee. Note Rob's lucky Red Sox shirt... worn during every game since this pic was taken.
Afterthought: Your stoopid shirt wasn't too lucky in Game 2 against the Yankees, now was it Rob? Time to burn it... along with my lucky Red Sox shoelaces that failed me. By the way, just to clarify playoff baseball post-game riot rules: We win, we break; We lose, we burn.
Sluts love lucky shirts.
Tickets. Rob was out in left field. Me, behind third base. Gorey, obstructed view in the bleachers. Unlucky.
It gets a little hazy around here. We left PJs, headed back towards Rob's apartment, I signed some girl's chest on the way, and tried to grab some pizza until Rob decided to exchange words with the guy behind the counter who ultimately denied him a slice "No soup for you" style.
ps: Before handing me my slice, Guy Behind the Counter looked at me and was like "Wait, are you with him?". "Me? No no no... I don't know that guy. Can I have that please. Thank you very much sir."
Late night, we all met up back at Mike.D's apartment. Ferrari was in town, already crashed on the couch. Rob, all belligerent tossing chairs (DC style) and lobbing apples in the direction of my crotch. I fell down the stairs. Twice. (though staged in this pic for instant replay value)
Early Sunday morning's Globe.
In case you weren't paying attention to the series, the Sox came from behind, won 3 in a row and beat Oakland 3 games to 2 - the final game of the series in Oakland - to advance to the next round of the playoffs (vs. the Yankees). Cowboy up, dawg.
Note: Yup, that's Dig, all cowboyed-up. I found this poster in his office. Curious.
