Seal clubber violently dragged from PETA luncheon: Escapes with life

How does that fake headline make you feel? Outraged? Maybe. Sad that generally good-intentioned people decided to take the low road? Sure. Feeling a little tingly that he got what he deserved? Well, that's only natural. You wouldn't be wrong if you felt any combination of those things. But would you be surprised? No, of course not. What kind of idiot disregards all common sense and walks directly into the mouth of the lion with raw steak strapped to their backs?

When you go to college in New England, as I did, and you're a Yankees fan, as I was at the time, you learn pretty quickly that there is a big (and sometimes dangerous) difference between being a die hard fan, and being a f&$king moron. You see, your friends and family, though fans of rival teams, still love you deep down, so although they may stop talking to you for a few weeks when you behave irrationally or childishly, they most certainly will not drag you into an alley on Yawkey Way and beat you within an inch of your life. And since we will dedicate a lot of time on this blog to dealing with friends and family, I thought I might talk about dealing with rivals while visiting rival cities.

When I was in college, everything seemed opposite to what I had grown accustomed to. Bars, restaurants, public meeting spaces, etc. - places that I could always ask the person next to me "What's the score?" and they would know what I meant, became profanity in New England because it always required a qualifier "No, the Yankees score". I realized many years later that NESN has a regular "Evil Empire Update" during Sox games, so it isn't as though they didn't know the score, they just didn't see the point in passing it on. The difference between me and most die hard fans though is that I had the common sense to adapt.

Case in point - my first and only trip to Fenway Park, a game between the Sox and the A's resulted in a relatively boring game but an extraordinary sociological experiment in the right field bleachers. For some reason, a guy decided that not only was he going to attend a Red Sox game with a Yankee hat on, but that he was going to act like a jack ass and point it out to everyone on his way in. As a Yankee fan, part of me could appreciate his fanatical support, while my evolutionary instinct to survive, which his lineage had apparently not honed over time, led me to believe that I had literally encountered the most shallow part of the gene pool. When he was douched with beer in the third inning he threw his hands up as if to say "Come on guys, honestly?" When his heterosexuality was called into question for three straight innings he responded by pointing at his cap and giving the #1 signal, over and over again reminding Red Sox fans that wherever they went, Yankees fans were the best in the business. By the sixth inning, the game was essentially over, and Sox fans had resorted to doing whatever they could to incite the guy. By the time he turned around to say something, a shirtless South Bostonian (I presume) had climbed over the seat and slapped him in the earhole, making the removal of the cap only a secondary consequence of his actions. While both of them were being removed from the Park, other Sox fans, I suppose in support, emptied their garbage and beverages on the guy, doing everything they could to humiliate him. I can only imagine the unholy treatment that Yankee cap received in the bleachers that day, but I did learn an important lesson:

• Don't where red to a Michigan game;
• Don't cheer for the Celtics in L.A.;
• Don't cheer for the Canadiens in Toronto; and
• Don't wear a Yankees cap to Fenway

Doing these things does not make you a die hard fan....it makes you a f*$king moron. If you do any of these things, you deserve whatever treatment you receive, just like those people in BMW's from Westchester County who thought they could beat the traffic by taking a right hand turn out of the old Yankee stadium (thereby heading directly into the "scenic parts" of the Bronx). When you are in rival cities do what you're supposed to do in a bear attack....sit the f*$k still and shut the f*$k up. Don't cheer, don't drink, don't eat, don't make eye contact, and certainly don't talk about sports. Just sit there like your only job for the evening is to be a seat filler. If your team wins, then have one hell of a time celebrating....two zip codes away when your car/plane/train has long ago left town.

A Little More History....

For those of you that don't know, I'm the guy who didn't know how to do his laundry. I guess I had an overprotective mother and a hyper-focused father. What I could do though was get batters out with limited natural ability and a combination of guile and strategic pitch command. The former was meaningless for my father, while the latter was a life goal. By time I got to college I realized that I was good at school work and baseball, but not good enough at the latter to make a career of it. I was essentially left without any other interests or past times, and when you find that you are no longer good enough to play baseball, well, you watch it. And watch it I did. In fact, in 1996, I watched 158 regular season Yankee games. I watched Spring Training, I watched pre-game, post-game, and that creepy show for kids on YES Sunday mornings. I watched the Yankees, because I had never known anything else. I come from Yankee country where everyone (except the depraved - who are Mets fans), watch the Yankees. Rather than wait and explore the field, I married my high school sweetheart so to speak, thinking that there was nothing better out there. From then until the Fall of 2007, Nate and I essentially stopped being friends for two months out of the year, what we would later call "initiating radio silence". It simply became a ritual for us. Watch games at different forums. Emails or text messages only (though once in awhile one of us would violate the accord by leaving a less than pleasant voicemail - I may have done that on the Boone homerun). On the night that the Red Sox won the World Series in 2007, the same night that Alex Rodriguez stated that he no longer cared to be a Yankee, I vowed to leave the Yankees forever if they took him back. Well since they're whores they did, and since I have never made an unreasonable promise that I didn't keep (ask Nate about Titanic when you get a chance), I skipped the trial separation and went straight to the "dead to me" divorce. I decided that I would pick a team that was young and exciting but had no conceivable chance of winning, by then known as the Tampa Bay Rays. Six months later, Nate and I had once again initiated radio silence. It lasted quite some time. Up until the final night of the 2008 Series, when I got a text from Nate that read "Sucks when your team walks out onto the field of play and pinches out a ham-fisted dump, huh?". Six years of education and an Ivy League degree and the best he could do was "ham-fisted dump". Yet it proves an important point: As educated and mature as Nate and I have become over the years, and as much as we love one another, in the end, we are still just two intoxicated d-bags in the bleachers with no shirts, twelve Utica Clubs deep, and VERY angry that we can't beat the Orioles. That fact is all you need to know about us on a going forward basis.

Root, Root, Root For The Home Team

One major drawback that goes with following your teams from a rival city, is that you are constantly bombarded with newspapers, local TV, radio, and other media centered around team(s) you hate. For example, there is a special place in hell represented by the New York Post back page after the Yankees beat the Red Sox...and if that win is in the playoffs, god help the unsuspecting Red Sox fan just trying to get to work on the subway. But we can get into that later...now I want to talk about one annoyance in particular: the hometown sportscaster.

Now, it is expected that regional broadcasters will be homers to some degree. In pretty much all cases, they are hired and paid by the teams they broadcast for. They travel with the club, they stay in the same hotels, they are basically the public face of the organization. And when you are a fan watching/listening to the games in the home market, you are fine when the broadcaster roots along with you. But watch your team in a rival market...oh boy.

Here in New York, the Yankees TV games are presented by Michael Kay with a revolving supporting cast, including Al Leiter, John Flaherty, Ken Singleton and others. Singleton is harmless. Flaherty I don't mind, he brings some solid defensive strategy and perspective as a former MLB catcher to the booth. (He played briefly for the Red Sox, as well, but you'd never know it by his comments...unless someone else in the booth mentions it in the context of "wow, John, that must have been awful to be over there. I mean, how did you deal with that? Gold star for you, buddy. That organization is just terrible...".)

And I will admit, I love to listen to Al Leiter in the booth. He deserves to do as many national games as possible. (FOX...please, please, please get rid of Tim McCarver...that guy is AWFUL. It would be funny if it weren't so tragic. In one Sox-Yankees nationally broadcast game 2 years ago, McCarver called Ted Williams "Teddy Baseball" and Don Mattingly "Donny Ballgame." I threw up in my mouth, and was immediately inundated with text messages from Sox and Yankees friends alike. I will give him this...McCarver has that special ability to piss of everyone equally.) But Leiter is great. I have been playing/following baseball for more than 25 years, yet Leiter manages to teach me something new about the game in almost every broadcast. He is the guy I want in the national booth during the playoffs, no doubt. He is the least Yankee-leaning of anyone in the YES booth, he is all about the game, the situation, the personnel, the nuances of pitching, etc. Sure, he praises the Yankees, but if Jeter Ks looking on a disputed call--but it was in fact a strike--Leiter will say so. He doesn't make excuses for the team that pays his bills, and he isn't afraid to criticize their play. Just a stand up guy, and a great baseball mind. Big fan.

But, then...there is Michael Kay. I really can't stand this guy. And guess what? I'm not alone. And it's not because I am a Red Sox fan, either. Picture the most obnoxious Yankees fan you can think of, and then imagine having to listen to him call a game against your team for 4+ hours. Pure, unadulterated hell.

Here is typical Michael Kay call: "Rodriguez DEEEEEEP to left!!! It is HIIIGH, it is FAAAR...and it's caught by the shortstop in shallow left center. Two outs."

His "SSSSEE YAAAHHHH!!!!" every time a Yankee hits a home run is the bane of every baseball fan's existence. As a Yankees fan friend of mine recently pointed out: "way to make a great moment ridiculous." The guy is an absolute toolbox. To mitigate his awfulness, I can mute the TV and listen to the Red Sox radio announcers do the game on my computer. It takes some skilled pausing/starting on the DVR to get it synced up just so...but it's definitely worth it (the key is to match the sound of the ball snapping into the catcher's mitt after a pitch with its visual equivalent). Anyway, I can get rid of Kay, but then can't listen to Leiter. Sad, but necessary.

Then there is the Yankee radio broadcasters, John Sterling and Suzyn Waldman. We'll start with Suzyn.

What a trainwreck. She is SUCH a homer, it is truly hilarious. No one can forget her performance during Joe Torre's final press conference as the Yankees manager. It was epic. Lest we forget, Suzyn is hired as a "professional" broadcaster, but that didn't stop her from balling on the air when contemplating life without Joe. Her emotional breakdown was so inappropriate that even her partner, John Sterling, had to cut in with (paraphrasing here) "Suzyn, all things come to an end...he's won 4 titles, he's going to the Hall of Fame, he made a lot of money. Torre will be fine. I'm sure it's sad (in the clubhouse), but honestly. He'll be fine, and for god's sake just pull yourself together."

But it gets better. Remember when Roger Clemens decided to return to pitch for the Yankees midway through the 2007 season? Suzyn Waldman does!!!

"ROGAH CLEMENS IS IN GEOWGES BOWX!!!!! MY GOODNESS GRACIOUS, OF ALL THE DRAMATIC THINGS!!!!!! YOU DON'T HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT WHO'S GONNA TAKE THAT SPOT IN THE ROTATION!!!! ROGAH'S BAAAAACK!!!!" Listen here, with an expanded version here. You won't be disappointed.

To hear her tell it, Clemens was going to pitch for the Yankees for free (because Yankee Greatness was payment enough, of course) and it was 1986. But actually, he was being paid $5 million PER MONTH, he was 45-yrs-old, went 6-6 with a 4.18 ERA in 3+ months of work, and the Yankees lost the ALDS to the Indians. Suzyn is terrible...but we aren't done with Yankees radio quite yet. Oh no...

John Sterling. This guy is special. It's his call at the end of Yankees wins where Sterling really shines: "Inning over!! Ballgame over!!! The Yankees WIN!!!!!! THEeEeEeEeEeEeEeEeEeE Yankees WIN!!!!!!!" Last game of the World Series, first game of spring training...it's always the same campy virbrato. And always height of douchyness.

Don't believe me? Watch/listen to this call from a game in 2008, and please note that the game is being played in mid-June. I belly laugh every time I see that clip.

(Aside: I am listening to the Sox game on the internet radio as I type this, and the Red Sox radio announcers are currently making fun of John Sterling, cracking each other up as each of them try their hand at an impression. Classic.)

But even more than that, he somehow manages to fail tremendously at his basic duty: calling the game. Incredibly, he doesn't seem to understand that his audience is NOT watching the action, they are listening to it. It is the RADIO, after all. But Sterling is unfazed. Game action continues, but his listeners are treated to whatever aimless story Sterling feels like finishing. You actually have to listen to the level of crowd noise to try and make out which team is doing what.

Here's a typical half-inning as called by John Sterling:

(NOTE: All stories are at least 4x as long and 5x as pointless as presented here.)

"It's a beautiful afternoon here in Minnesota as Posada steps in to lead off the top of the 4th. Just look at those clouds hovering over the ballpark! See that one? It looks just like a pirate ship! Well, of course, it's not the correct amount of sails for a fully-rigged barquentine of the period, but for a cloud, it's pretty close! You know Suzyn, that gets me to thinking about how I was there--and I mean THERE...6th row!!...one of the lucky ones--for that unforgettable 1956 Broadway revival of The Pirates of Penzance. What music! What lyrics! What costumes! It's amazing to me what passes as theater these days, it really does. Cano to second on the passed ball, another Yankee runner in scoring position with nobody out. But that just seems to be a familiar refrain these days, doesn't it Suzyn? (Suzyn: "Oh yes, John. Oh YES!!") You just don't get the same detail and care, really, if you want to assign a term to it--I would say 'care'--when it comes to Broadway costumes of today. This is something I feel very strongly about, as Granderson dances off third. And this costuming decline is happening everywhere, Suzyn, even--believe it or not!!--with the gloriously storied, richly wondrous and immensely Great (with a capital "G," no actually, to be perfectly frank, every letter in the word "GREAT" must be capitalized!!) New York Yankees. It was a sad day, for sure, when the Yankees decided to unceremoniously toss aside those beautiful lamb's wool uniforms made famous by Cozy Dolan and Hippo Vaughn. That's when a Yankee was a Yankee--and when a Yankee had guard against getting his jersey wet, lest it shrink 5 sizes in 3 minutes and become impossible to remove. Man, they were sharp, and Jeter retreats to second base after Gardner flies out to shallow right. Just incredible--nobody walks slowly back to second base after an out like El Capitan! Absolutely NOBODY!!! DEREK JETER NEVER CEASES TO AMAZE!!!!!!!!! (Suzyn: "Oh YES, John!!!!!) And Suzyn, of course, you'll be too young to remember this, but the buttons on those jerseys were made of desert-tanned bisonhide. Very durable, and you could chew on them if you needed a pick-me-up in the later innings. There's a walk that will load the bases. The nation was suffering through a severe food shortage at that time, as we all know, and I for one ate my fair share of belts and saddle-shoe tongues. Not bad, actually, especially when fried in mutton lard with a sprinkle of celery salt. So it sometimes can take tragedy to define you as a human being, as the first baseman grabs the line drive and that will do it. So it's 5 runs for the Yankees on 4 hits, 2 walks, 2 runners left on base and one of the more bizarre plays in Yankees history. We'll be talking about that one for a very long time to come, I can assure you of that. We'll be right back after this. You are listening to Yankees baseball on the New York Yankees Radio Network!"

Am I exaggerating?? Just listen for a game and you'll see...

So, how do you feel about your local TV and radio broadcasters, whether they be working for your team or another? Let us know...

Blog Announces Signing of New Author

A new author (farcuri) has been added to the blog...

1. Because this blog was his idea.
2. Because he has been a fan of 2 of my rival teams (Yankees and Rays), so he can add some balance and perspective.
3. Because he's the funniest guy I know.

Enjoy...

A Little History...

In a couple of days, my Boston Celtics will play in Game 1 of the NBA Finals, a fact that should fill me with nothing but unbridled excitement and joy. Yet a cloud hangs over this gleeful event, in a form so unjustified it can be called cruel: my wife is a Lakers fan.

Thankfully, this is not my first rivalry rodeo. In fact, I have a propensity for befriending opposing fans--at this point it's kind of my "thing." It hadn't always been that way, though.

Growing up outside of Boston, I don't remember any real conversations with any fans of opposing teams. They were just those idiots in the stands at other ballparks and stadiums that had those dumb jerseys and hats on. But they never got closer than that, and it seemed like that was the way it was designed to be. And then I left my mother's house.

In my first week at my New England area college, I met a guy in the dorm laundry room and was immediately shocked to learn two things about him: he had never done a load of laundry in his life, and he was a Yankees fan. He was from upstate New York, and his whole town was full of them (Yankees fans, not people who don't know how to do their own laundry). But we had many other things in common (a love of baseball among them), and became friends almost immediately. And then the Yankees went to the World Series that fall.

I did everything wrong. I stomped around whining about how much I hated New York (the teams, the people, everything). I grumbled as they played inspired baseball and marched through the playoffs. And when they went down 0-2 to the Braves in the Series, losing those first two games in New York, I gloated. I felt great, they were going to lose. Then came Bernie Williams, Jeter, Pettitte and the Yankees bullpen. Braves don't win another game, Yankees take the Series...I punch a wall.

But despite all of this, I still held on to my laundry-challenged friend. Got to give him credit.

By 1997, I was a year older and wiser. The Yankees again were in the playoffs, but I kept my cool. I still hated them, but I stayed out of the way and just watched in (relative) silence. The ALDS series with Cleveland was a dramatic one (with the Yankees losing a gut-wrenching Game 4 that would have won them the series on a bottom of the 9th game-winning hit), and the Indians won it in 5. Upon the last out, my friend got up from the couch, headed straight for the door and went for a very long "walk." It was then that I learned an extremely important lesson: Yankees fans suffer, too.

So in 1998, as the Yankees were dismantling what looked like a AA San Diego Padres club on their way to a World Series sweep, I was calm. After the last out, I called my friend to say "congratulations, that was a massacre." I was certainly noticing the one-sided nature of this "rivalry."

Fast-forward to 1999, Red Sox-Yankees in the ALCS. Here is where it got interesting...for the first time I was watching the latest chapter of the greatest rivalry in sports unfold with a Yankees fan in my inner circle. We choose to deal with it in an abrupt fashion: we didn't speak. By this time, we were living in different apartment buildings, so this radio silence was not too difficult to maintain. We kept separate, and the series was over quickly. The Yankees had the better team, and one phantom tag call was not going to sway the series. (But it was nice to see Clemens get shelled at Fenway in Game 3...if I could have picked the only game to win in the series, that would have been it.)

Our system for dealing with sports invading our friendship (avoiding each other) was one way to handle it. It was the easiest, least confrontational way--but interestingly enough, it was also the most stressful. It's not fun knowing you can't talk to a good friend, no matter what the reason. So I vowed to come up with a better system. But then 2003 happened, I was living in New York City, and it was Red Sox-Yankees again.

Being in grad school in New York meant I was bound to bump into some Yankees fans. And per my pattern, my best friend in the city was one of them. Again, we watched the ALCS from separate locations, but this time we did speak in between games. After the Sox came all the way back to beat Oakland in the ALDS, I foolishly thought this had to be their year. And the series with the Yankees did not disappoint, complete with player vs. old man bullfights, bullpen pitchers threatening fans and twists and turns galore. In Game 7 we were cruising, Clemens was going to be the loser again. And then Grady Little leaves in Pedro, Aaron Boone connects on a high, motionless knuckleball. Series over.

I didn't punch a wall, but I was upset to say the least. I walked home from the bar where I was watching the game, Red Sox hat pulled hard over my eyes. The traffic in New York means you get the chance to people-watch while waiting in the gridlock...and these people wasted no opportunity to tear me apart as I sulked past their car. They were in their element, really letting me have it, and all I could do was just keep walking and take it. It was brutal.

I had nothing to say to my Yankees fan friends. I just tried to pretend like it didn't happen. I crossed my arms and pouted. I hadn't learned my anything.

Then, the next season, 2004. Of course, it's Yankees-Red Sox again in the ALCS, but this time was a bit different. For one, my Yankees fan friends were not with me in New York, they had moved on to other places (though we still kept in touch regularly). And I had back surgery in October of that year, so I spent the majority of the ALCS in bed, recovering alone. So it was just me and the TV, and I watched history. Red Sox lose the first three (Game 3 in horrifically embarrassing fashion, 19-8), then win the next four in a row in an unprecedented heart-stopping thrill ride. I was beside myself, I couldn't even comprehend what had just happened. It was the greatest comeback in baseball playoff history, as well as the greatest collapse. It was life-altering.

Based on past history, I expected to not hear from my Yankees fan friends again until around Christmas. But the very next morning after Game 7, I received this email from my Yankees fan grad school friend:

Hats off to your team. I'm sorry it had to end this way, but your guys are the AL team with the spark I always saw in my boys. In the 7th inning, I've never seen fans so into a possible 8-3 comeback, be we are now the ones who remain heartbroken. Unlikely heroes win championships ... something that George has forgotten in the past 4 years. For the first time in my life I was carried from a bar with no booze in my system.
Last night I got a lot of phone calls. Some were for utter hatred for your city, fans and team. Most were an odd sense of relief - it almost feels as though an amazing weight has been lifted.
I'm sorry for not calling you this week but from games 1-3 I knew you didn't want to hear it, and I respect the same treatment you gave me for games 4-7. Every Sox fan that I've ever known has been a f*cked-up Mets-my-team-is-pathetic-so-lets-hate-and-blame-the-Yankees-for-not-being-the-worst-franchise-in-baseball-go-boston fan. Meeting you has made me repect you for the same, if not greater, passion we hold for the game.
As you enter the World Series I wish nothing but a monumental collapse by the Red Sox, but, if they do win, I know I'll be happy for you alone - my friend who I share a passion with across the line of the biggest rivalry in American sports history.
When I'm really upset, I write. Last night I came home, watched the 9th on sportsline.com and wrote this:

A great chapter in Yankee history is over. Like a prize fighter with a once-flawless record, the first blemish is always the hardest. The manner in which that blemish was acquired makes it all the more difficult to acknowledge. I have enjoyed a lifetime of impossible feats, extraordinary achievements and improbable dreams come true that no other team's fans can claim. Those pages are already written, and NOTHING can erase them. Although today's entry is dark, yesterday's is legendary. The weight of maintaining dominance is now lifted, and beautiful chapters are destined for tomorrow. It is hard not to thank God every day for making me a Yankee fan.

I write this email wearing my Yankee hat with pride and an honest tear in my eye. Please forgive me for retreating for the next few days or weeks into a world of baseball tragedy. Welcome to the winner's circle. Now, for the first time truly meaning it, I can say, "Bring on Boston." Enjoy the series (not too much). Once again, hats off.


I was amazed. In his moment of intense sports-related pain, he had immediately reached out to congratulate me. Of course, he made sure to remind me that he still wanted the Red Sox to lose, but even that was framed with a real sense of camaraderie (with me, if not with the Red Sox). I was very impressed, and he taught me a very important lesson. And none too soon.

In 2005 I met the woman that would become my wife. No, she wasn't a Yankees fan. But it was the next worst thing: she was a Lakers fan. And not only was I marrying a Lakers fan (and into her huge extended family of Lakers fans), but just to rub it in (it seemed), half of my Groomsmen were passionate fans of teams I hated. That was just the way it was, and I was at peace with it. Then came summer, 2008.

The Celtics-Lakers rivalry had largely been dormant for more than 20 years. The Celtics going to the Finals, let alone meeting the Lakers there, was a remote possibility in most Celtics fans minds. So when it set up that they would meet in the 2008 NBA Finals, my wife and I were forced to face the facts. We couldn't very well not speak for 2 weeks, our Brooklyn apartment was far too small for that. We had to come up with some ground rules...ground rules we will get to in a later post. In short, we made it. But not without some drama...