Tuesday, October 4, 2011

(We won't be) Dancin' in September

What about September makes the Red Sox crumble? Is it the rush of cool, New England air? Is it the distraction of leaves changing colors? Perhaps it's being preoccupied with planning Halloween costumes.

Nah. The Red Sox fell from the grace of being first in the AL East by lacking a solid rotation. Millions of dollars invested in Dice-K went out the window as he missed most of the season. A once-reliable Lester failed to secure 20 wins this season. Beckett succumbed to multiple injuries. We hardly saw Buchholz, and we realized some batters are finally figuring out how to hit off of knuckle baller Wakefield.

Yankee management, on the other hand, was shrewd in its acquisition of Freddy Garcia. Although Garcia has not boasted an ERA lower than 3.05 since 2001, he managed to keep the Red Sox scoreless for six innings in a September 24th loss that added another nail to the coffin of Boston's playoff hopes.

Red Sox management should take notes from their rivals. With the second highest payroll in the major leagues, the Red Sox need to control their talent by looking at the right propects. Put simply: go after young pitchers. Tap into the farm system that produced great hitters such as Ellsbury and Pedroia. This time, look for the defensive players. There's no title to defend this season, but the rotation needs to maintain its dignity.

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

Rough Seas Ahead

The Pittsburgh Pirates shocked viewers and analysts last month by leading the NL Central. They stayed above .500 for weeks, boasting a young roster with players who aren't exactly household names. So what happened recently?

The Pirates are back below .500 and, although they snapped a seven-game losing streak with a win in San Francisco August 8, they were swept by the Brewers two weeks ago. Andrew McCutchen is hitting .274, above the league average, but not powering enough to compete with rivals in Milwaukee or St. Louis.

A four-game series against St. Louis starts this weekend, and the Pirates can only hope to save face at this point in the season. Playoff contention is a newly dashed dream that didn't seem too far-fetched earlier this summer. In the blink of an eye, post-season hopes fade as the longest season in the sports world navigates toward a close.

Friday, July 15, 2011

Rock of Ages

People often persevere under strenuous circumstances. Tests of tolerance prove how strong some of us are. My older brother has passed hundreds of these tests.

Over the past four years, my brother has endured a series of medical issues related to major surgery. Throughout this period, he has shown a remarkable attitude in the face of adversity. He yields to no self-pity or sadness. Instead, he laughs at his misfortune and turns his attention to others. He has gone so far as to meet the family of a young girl who benefitted from his skin graft donation. Upon meeting this young girl and learning her story of overcoming injuries sustained from burns, he expressed his gratitude for medical advances in today’s world. His positive outlook never ceases to amaze me.

Even before his surgery, my brother was strong, not only physically, but emotionally. Many were the times he shoveled our (gravel!) driveway so our mother could arrive on campus to teach her 8 am classes during the winter. He handled issues as serious as our parents’ divorce and as light as (but, to true fans, just as traumatic) Red Sox losses. He guarded my younger brother and me and always made sure we were financially secure. He took time to explain music to me, as he once loved to play drums. What’s more, he never grew impatient with me as I repeatedly asked him about fundamentals of baseball and football. His patience is one asset I admire most about him.

So today, every time I choose to complain about something trivial, I think about my brother, who has been my rock. From indulging in garish, ‘80s, hair metal music by Def Leppard, to comforting me through my divorce, to teaching me how to swing a baseball bat, he has been a cornerstone of major parts of my life. I wouldn’t be the same without him.

Sunday, June 26, 2011

Keep 'em Separated

It's that time of year again, ladies and gents. Well, it's that time of the season, I should say. Inter-league play is upon us as we stretch through the dog days of summer and wait for the All-Star Break.

I suppose inter-league play matters because it prepares teams for potential post-season appearances, but if AL-NL matchups only occur during the World Series, then how much play is really necessary? AL pitchers flounder at the plate, and the NL's attempts to use designated hitters pale in comparison to the these already established players on the AL squads.

The American League typically dominates in the All-Star matchups. The pitching prowess outdoes the base-running of the National League. Pitching wins games, plain and simple. Home runs are exciting to watch, but shutting down a man at the plate will guarantee a win more than tacking on runs to the score.

I'm just grousing because I'm an AL gal and only ever supported on NL team, the Cubs, simply because of their underdog status. Heck, I didn't even know Derrek Lee no longer plays for them. He's now a member of an AL team, the Orioles. Welcome, Derrek. Get ready to hit more than ever.

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

Thank you for lettin' me by myself (again)

I have a habit, whether good or bad, to beseech others' advice but not always take it. I'm guilty of this practice with family members especially. Don't get me wrong; I value my family tremendously. As I'm getting older, though, I find myself drawn to my brothers' viewpoints more than ever.

My two brothers have vastly different personalities, yet they both patiently and intelligently consider what I have to say and what plans I share with them. Bob is my older brother, currently recovering in a rehab hospital from complications caused by surgery. Despite his hardship, he shows active interest in my career pursuits, he takes time to explain baseball play-by-plays and discuss stats with me, and he always supports my journalistic interests. He never complains about what he's endured physically but instead shows limitless interest in his siblings. He is truly amazing, and I chastise myself for complaining when I evaluate what he's experienced.

Patrick, only a year and a half younger than I am but light years ahead of me intellectually, is my brilliant, creative, passionate, funny, charming blood. He has shared his immense musical knowledge with me as he writes his own music. He coaches me through NBA games as I ask fundamentals of the game. He never lets me blame myself for the demise of romantic relationships. He insists on driving the entire five hours when we visit Bob in Arkansas.

Add to this laundry list of their attributes the dynamic Bob and Patrick share when they're together. Plainly stated, they crack me the hell up. The play off of each other with their sarcasm and F-words lovingly peppered into their exchanges (sorry, Mom). They are both extremely generous and polite; I never pay my own way or open a door for myself when I'm with them (not that I expect that!).

Of course, my brothers and I have had ups and downs, just as any siblings do. I wouldn't trade those heated exchanges for the world, though, because they prove our passion of spirit. We would never show detachment or indifference toward one another, and I am grateful for that. I may have numerous failed relationships in my past, but I consider myself lucky to have maintained a familial bond with the two most important males figures in my life.

Monday, May 23, 2011

The Thrill Is Gone

You know something is wrong with me when I lose interest in baseball. I have not lost total interest, but my eagerness is dwindling. Of course, I don't have cable TV service, so I'm not able to catch games or highlights. I do, however, have Internet service, so my lack of attention toward the Red Sox is inexcusable.

Boston's struggle to stay above .500 might have something to do with my lack of interest. This fact fuels Yankee fans' fire to accuse Boston fans of being fair weather. Don't get me wrong; I'm not nearly as fickle as Dallas Cowboys fans are when it comes to devoting my time and energy. I really can't explain my disinterest this season, and it pains me because baseball is the best thing about summer (and spring and fall).

I grew up watching NESN, listening to Jerry Remy on TV and Joe Castiglione on the radio, and absorbing my brother's vast knowledge of the sport. I cried in 2003 when Tim Wakefield gave up a home run to Aaron Boone. I cursed Johnny Damon for going to the Yankees. I drove alone to Fenway Park at age 20 (after lying to my aunt and saying I was going with a friend) just so I could see a game after being away from New England for six years. Red Sox baseball is in my blood, and I will never root for another team.

Yet, I still feel disconnected this season. Perhaps I've realized that, never having been athletic myself, I don't deserve to watch baseball. My older brother would tease me (lovingly, of course) when I'd ask him about fundamentals. I would never think, for instance, to check the runner on second after making a force out on first. Everyone should know that!

I vow to rekindle the flame. I pledge allegiance to New England's greatest past time. I promise to check stats online, discuss late-inning rallies with my mother, and support Nomar Garciaparra as a commentator. In my spare time, I will go to batting cages and consider joining a softball team. I might be in a funk, but that doesn't mean I should give up on a team that doesn't always succeed, and it definitely does not mean I should disavow the sport.

The strategy of the game makes it incredibly appealing, despite what other say about the game being boring. I think all I need to do is discipline myself into making time for something that helps me pass the time.

Thursday, May 19, 2011

Welcome Mat, or Just Plain Doormat?

As I become older, but necessarily wiser, I am becoming harder. I'm toughening my exterior to shield myself from the basic meanness so many people show me. Yes, such a statement sounds negative, hopeless, and almost melodramatic, but I've come to realize that people mostly care only about themselves.

I'm sure my last romantic relationship intensified this feeling of disgust toward the human race, for the cruelty shown to me by my partner magnified the basic selfishness of so many men in their '20s. However, recent encounters with others in my life have opened my eyes to the ease with which people use me and take advantage of me, whether it comes in the form of last-minute requests for rides from the airport or being expected to babysit other employees' children at the workplace.

I know what you're thinking. Why do I put up with it? I don't know. I suppose it's in my nature to be kind and helpful to others. I'm not fishing for compliments or recognition (something the last boyfriend often accused me of doing). Instead, I would like to meet some new people who appreciate what I do.

It's my own fault for being a pushover. Sadly, it has driven me away from a lot of people. On the upside, though, it has allowed me to appreciate my independence and time to myself. I relish my nights in my apartment, where I live alone, eat cereal for dinner, and make a fool of myself by dancing to Janet Jackson songs and eating cereal for dinner. Still, I'm not a recluse. I welcome new friendships and experiences. If you'd like to stop by, look for the welcome mat.

Friday, January 28, 2011

Headed Back East

Tampa Bay may become the new breeding ground for Damon disciples. The Rays acquired Johnny Damon January 21 in a deal that also brought Manny Ramirez. Gone are Damon’s days of winning the hearts of New England females with his feathery locks and scruffy beard. Will the ladies of Florida fall in love with the 37-year-old fielder?

Damon’s World Series team, the Boston Red Sox, boasts a lineup replete with young hitters and base stealers, evidenced by the recent pickup of Carl Crawford. The Rays, on the other hand, will try to rebuild after last season’s division series loss to the Rangers. Grooming habits aside, Tampa Bay fans will wonder—what will Damon bring to the lineup?

With last year’s Tigers, Damon hit .271 and had just eight home runs. Sure, he’s not know as a power hitter, but putting up stats like these does not favor being moved to the DH spot for 98 games of the season. The Rays have youth on their side, with hitters Evan Longoria and B.J. Upton. But the Rays’ division rival, the Red Sox, offer a deep starting rotation to offset any threats at bat.

Ramirez may come through as the Rays’ DH if he stays healthy. His last season with the Dodgers was plagued by injuries. But more pressure falls on Damon, who resumes an outfield position. He’ll need to work on his relay if he faces the quick bats of the Red Sox. Ramirez may provide the big swings, so Damon will feel some relief offensively. He’ll just need to sure his hair stays out of his eyes while he waits in left field.

Monday, January 3, 2011

New England Spice

Call me a snob, but I believe in good table manners. I believe in good manners overall. My attention to table etiquette, however, figures prominently into my life for a few reasons. First, I have worked in many restaurants, including those of a fine dining caliber. Second, my father has worked in the service industry for more than 40 years; in fact, he came to this country for an opportunity with the Sheraton hotel. Third, my mother is a native New Englander, and I like to believe New Englanders retain certain formalities of lifestyle, albeit old-fashioned.

What I enjoyed about my upbringing was the amalgam of culture that surrounded it. My father is from Trinidad and comes from East Indian heritage. He ate Indian food but studied under a British system of education in the Caribbean. His mother was Hindu; his father, Catholic. He relished in lush, humid, tropical surroundings while playing with friends but also handled manual labor such as lugging baskets of fruit through town and clearing brush in the backyard. My mother's Bostonian background seems so different from my father's background. My mother grew up with brutal winters, obsession with the Boston Red Sox, Irish humor, and a shyness that characterizes her as what I call a classic middle child. My father, on the other hand, can make friends while being in line at the bank, and this gregariousness helped him establish himself in a new country.

Despite their personality differences, my parents shared a commitment to teaching their children good table manners. My brothers and I learned how to set tables properly, use appropriate utensils, and hold proper dinner conversation. To this day, I cringe when I see someone holding a utensil incorrectly or ordering at a restaurant by saying something like, "Let me get the..." or "I want the..." That audacity of talking to a service worker that way galls me. I might be biased toward members of the service industry by empathizing with them, but I believe in politely asking for something rather than barking orders. Let me clarify something, though: we are not rich, New England blue bloods! No, my parents both worked to support their family, and we kids understood the meaning of earning one's pay.

But, oh, the dinners we'd have! When my brothers and I spent weekends with my dad at his place, we'd test our adventurous limits with curried goat and sawine. My dad would often tell me about weddings he bartended and the elegant setups at each table. He taught me how to serve from the right and clear from the left. He showed me how to make a radish rose. He helped me practice folding napkins into pretty fans.

At home, we'd indulge in my mom's numerous baked delights. To this day, none of us shies away from sugar. We inherited the Irish trait of taking comfort in carbohydrates, and we'd enjoy them while watching our mom and grandmother sip cups of tea cradled by pretty saucers. We learned to appreciate the elegance injected into simple delights of snacking.

To this day, I resent being labeled a "blue blood" when I tell people I grew up in Connecticut. Although I appreciate the etiquette lessons of my upbringing, I want people to realize the influence my father's background had on my childhood. Almost to an extreme do I bear the responsibilities and burdens of having an immigrant parent. For instance, my father once told me I have no reason not to work two jobs. He held his children to rigid academic standards, and he tolerates no laziness. But his penchant for calypso music and spicy curries gave us a new perspective on life as we grew up in what some consider boring, sterile New England. We value passion and hard work, we reminisce about trips to Fenway Park, we appreciate nice dinners, and we take neither baked goods nor curry for granted.