Guest Blogger: On Matters of Baseball and Religion

The Red Sox are in the World Series, and I was debating what to say, when my roommate Jodie sent this to me. I hate admitting that someone may be smarter than me, but well, she is. Also, funnier. Hell on my ego, I tell you. And really, there is nothing I can write that can even compare with this. So she's today's guest blogger.





Ok, so I've always been somewhat ambivalent about the Red Sox. Having grown up in Kansas City, an (admittedly pathetic) American League city, I gravitate to American League teams, which, having lived in NYC for the last five years, means the Yankees.

And, if you like the Yankees, you basically have to hate the Red Sox as a matter of course. So the Yankees are (sort of) my adopted team (especially because, no matter what anyone says about him being boring and/or possibly having herpes, I think Derek Jeter is pretty), but the Red Sox do have those cute little red socks on their hats (as a girl who actually likes sports, I'm a little embarrassed that these are actual criteria, but they are). On the other hand, since breaking the infamous "curse," the Red Sox do seem to whine more than any other deep-pocketed winning team, but I get most of my Sox news from the NY press so perhaps it's clouded.

My point: ambivalence. I was unsure who to root for in the world series until last night.

I had heard rumblings that the Rockies had a lot of Christians on their team and they were guided by God or whatever, and, it does seem to a casual observer that God does really like the Rockies, allowing them to win 21 of their last 23 games or something and sweep the NLDS and the NLCS and then take a nice relaxing 8-day vacation (I actually wish God loved me enough to give me an 8-day vacation, but there are a couple of frat parties from college that pretty much guarantee that's just not going to happen).

But, the scuttlebutt at this dinner party last night had it that the Rockies-God connection might be a little more than casual, and, by a little more, I mean A LOT more. So, this morning I googled it and found this:

And, I'm disturbed. I am not against people believing in God or anything like that but when USA Today, which is probably the most middlebrow, innocuous paper in the country, can basically imply that you are recruiting a God squad of what you call players with "character" ( i.e. Christians only, and only two, quite possibly accidental, blacks) then you know the situation is probably even scarier than it comes across on paper. Now, I know that the Rockies aren't the only fundamentalists in baseball. And I also know that not all fundamentalists are batshit crazy (or not all the time? Actually, I don't know that much about fundamentalists). I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm all for religious tolerance except that this article makes the Rockies sound like they are promoting a form of religious intolerance that I just find ridiculous and completely offensive. I don't know why but I'm just floored by this institutionalizing of religion in sports and the fact that no one is calling them on this (or suing their asses off for religious discrimination, frankly). Am I overreacting?

My main conclusion, though, is this: if God really has the time/inclination to concern himself with the World Series, then I hope he favors Boston. And whereas before I would probably only be a casual observer of the proceedings, I am now wholly invested in their victory. G-O S-O-X!


Dear God,
I know, it's been awhile. I've been busy. Also, I don't quite believe in you. But, let's focus. You love all your creatures, right? And I've never really asked you for much and the things I have asked were more of the trivial, please-get-me-out-of-this-type requests that I know you don't pay any attention to normally (although, that one time, after the broken condom, if that was you . . . sincerely, THANKS). Ok, so back to me and my (small) request. I won't get into the fact that there are fires raging in Southern California, soldiers (and Iraqi civilians!) dying in Iraq, genocide in Sudan, yada, yada, yada, and how you probably have more important things on your mind. I know that's just something non-believers say to deny your infinite power. You totally have time for all that plus touchdown passes, and making sure people sing well enough to win Grammys and getting people to the pit stops first on The Amazing Race. So, we're on the same page, is what I'm saying. And I know you've been helping the Rockies out. This isn't inside knowledge, they tell everyone (is that allowed?). Well, anyway, I know. And I'm here to ask you if you could, maybe, switch teams? Not permanently. Seven games at the MOST. Now, I know the Red Sox might not all seem like they are totally "on board," but Curt Schilling definitely is, and I'm sure when Manny said that if the Sox didn't win the ALCS it wouldn't really matter, he added, "because it's God's will." That was just cut out by the sports reporters who are basically Godless heathens anyway. Or he may have mumbled. He does that sometimes. So, what I'm saying is that even though some of the Red Sox might keep copies of Playboy in their lockers, and a few of them, occasionally as baseball players sometimes do, might accidentally find their penises in an unidentified groupie or two, that I know that they love you and even though they may not be asking for it quite as loudly, they really, really want you on their side. And you're supposed to help people who can't help themselves, right? Sorry, I'm a little rusty on this stuff. Is that right? I'm going to assume it is. From everything I've heard, you're one helpful lady. Ok, so we're clear. I'm asking you to help the Sox win the World Series. I know if you do this, you probably won't hear the end of it for several months. From what I hear, the Rockies are incredibly diligent in their communication with you. But, I think you should know, I don't think the Rockies are doing the right things with your love. And, sure, right now it's just a little garden-variety (practically harmless) religious discrimination. But you never know. People do some crazy things when they think you are on their side 100% of the time 24/7. So, not to overstate the case or anything, but a Red Sox win might just mean a victory for civilization. Or mankind. Or both. No pressure.

Ok. That's all, God. I'm actually really glad we had this little chat. I promise not to bother you again for a really long time. The Amazing Race starts again on November 4th, so I know you'll be busy.

Your friend,
Jodie

Your Mission, Should You Choose to Accept It

You all know about my quests for the unattainable object. But this one's dangerous. I can't do it on my own. I'm asking for help.

The Burger King kids' meals right now come with the coolest toy ever--teeny little NFL jerseys on suction cups. I hadn't been to Burger King in ages, since it's not exactly compatible with Weight Watchers, but we stopped for lunch on the way to New Hampshire. The kids' meals each came with a teeny jersey, and I was hooked. We got a couple of totally random teams, and one Miami jersey that I personally think should be burned. Ella and Jacques, of course, couldn't care less what colors the jerseys were. They were thrilled. But I found myself thinking "Wouldn't a little Pats jersey look adorable stuck to the back window of my new car? My car's red. It'll even match!" And well, I'm a little obsessed when it comes to things matching. Now I had the idea in my head. And we all know that for Bookgirl, that way lies madness.

So last Tuesday I went to the BK in Rockefeller Center at lunch, and convinced the girl behind the counter to rummage through the box looking for a Pats jersey. They didn't have one. At that point I obviously couldn't leave without ordering something, so I bought my favorite chicken sandwich. How bad can that be, right? 16 points. That's how bad it can be.

Then Saturday I decided to try again at the Burger King in my neighborhood. This time the cashier smirked at me and said "Cheaters" before he looked. Still no jersey. And a cheeseburger and small fries is 13 points, as it turns out.

Now the calories aren't the only reason why this is a bad idea. I've always believed that putting things on your car to make it a target is just stupid, particularly when you park on the street like I do. Every time I see a bumper sticker identifying the driver as gay, I applaud the pride and then wonder, "Aren't you just inviting some drunken asshole to slash your tires on his way home, just because he can?" And given the current situation it's not a great time to be a Pats fan anywhere, but particularly in New York. But that's tomorrow's post.

The point is that I want, no, NEED this jersey. And that's where you come in, my friends. Some of you have kids. Wouldn't your kids really LOVE Burger King for lunch? Or dinner? Or whatever? And wouldn't they love to request the Patriots jersey with their meal, so they can send it to Auntie Bookgirl? Who will, of course, reimburse mommy and daddy for the cost of the meal, shipping, gas to get to BK, whatever. I'm desperate here. My ass is big enough already, and stalking Burger King isn't helping. Besides, they're kids. They're little. They can burn calories faster than I can. Come on. Help a sister out.

Opening Day

Hey kids! Guess what I did yesterday. I'll give you a hint:

Yes, I got to see the Patriots season opener. Now I'd like to begin by apologizing to all of you who started reading me during the off-season, when the blog was foufy and girlie 100% of the time, and really could care less about football. But I promise that there will be plenty of girly, foufy posts to go around. And football season is only six months long.

Now back to the football. My friend Tara has Jets season tickets, and brings me with her every year for the Patriots game. I really love that about her. There have been years when the New York game was in December, and we were all wearing six layers, and it was almost too cold for beer. Don't worry. I said almost. We New Englanders are hearty. But on years like this one, well it's about as perfect as it gets. Wearing shorts and tank tops, sipping beer (I would never guzzle. It's not ladylike). And the first game, when the weather's gorgeous, well that just brings out the competitive tailgater in each fan. Who has the most elaborate setup? Whose tents are highest, flags are biggest, horns are loudest? Who can stake out the best spot, and cram the most stuff onto it? My friends got there at 7:30 to claim their turf. They've been refining the process over the years, and at this point have accomodations that might be nicer than my apartment--2 tents, a television, 3 coolers, a grill, tables, folding chairs, a bean bag toss game that's fancy enough to attract passers-by. I'm not going to lie. I feel cool just being there. We had snacks and steaks, chili and shellfish, a platter of sushi, and someone brought a small keg. Now that they've put in trailers with flush toilets for the girls, I could happily live in that parking lot.

And that's all before the game even starts. There's something about the energy of walking into a stadium on any game day, but especially opening day. Everyone's so hopeful, so positive that this could be the year. The crowds are chanting. Guys are hugging, shaking hands, slapping one another on the back. They've all become friends, sitting together in the same seats year after year. They have the whole off season to catch up on. Who got married, whose wife is expecting a baby, who lost weight. (Okay, that last observation was all me and Tara. The guys don't notice shit like that.) Oh, how I love the energy.

Of course, then the game started. The Patriots crushed the Jets. The energy died right quick. If you look at the picture up top, you'll see that pretty much the whole stadium was empty by the middle of the fourth quarter. Even my friends left me there alone to watch the end of the game. But you know what? They're going to be back there in 2 weeks for the next home game, hauling out their gear and cheering on their team with all their hearts. Oh, yes. I love me some football.

My Boys

Does anyone else watch the show My Boys on TBS? It’s one of my favorite shows on television. Now, in the interest of full disclosure, I’m not one of those tv snobs who only watches one or two shows. We watch a lot of television in my house, and get every single penny out of our DVR. So the bar might not be set as high for me as it is for some. But still, I love this show.

My Boys centers around P.J., a twenty-something sportswriter who covers the Cubs, and her close-knit group of guy friends. Great characters, sports, and sarcasm—it’s like a show made in Bookgirl heaven. I can’t entirely relate, because I’ve always been the kind of girl who spends most of my time with other girls. I grew up in an all-female family, joined a sorority as soon as I could in college, and even was placed in the all-female dorm as an R.A. I work in book publishing, not exactly a bastion of the straight man. But I don’t have superpowers either, and I still like Heroes.

The friends are a laid-back, slightly dorky group whose social life revolves around poker night at P.J.’s apartment and hanging out at the local Irish pub. In a recent episode, when one of their friends goes over to the dark side—turning into a hipster club kid—they do the only logical thing under the circumstances. They hold a douchebag intervention. Brilliant. Just freaking brilliant. When was the last time you heard the word “douchebag” on television? Not just once, repeatedly. In almost every episode. And this is basic cable. I love the witty dialogue, the banter, the hot friend eye candy. But this episode alone is enough to win me as a fan for life.

The Powder Puffs

Actual conversation from this weekend:
Guy at party: I can’t wait for football season to start.
Me: Me either.
Guy: Yeah, right.
Me: No, seriously. Me either.

Yes, I’m a girlie girl. I love shoes and make-up and anything pink. Sometimes I paint my nails while I watch the game. But I love me some football. And tonight’s my fantasy draft. I’m a little nervous—this is the first time we’ve done a live draft. I’m used to doing it at home, in front of my computer, where no one can see me frantically pawing through lists and doing last minute NFL.com searches before I make my pick. I have second pick this year, which should make me happy, but I had first pick last year and came in last in the league, so I’m not counting unhatched chickens. (Damn you, Madden Curse. Damn you!)

The actual season kickoff may be next week, but my season starts tonight. My team, as it is every year, is the Providence Powder Puffs, for the sheer pleasure of imagining one of the guys in the league having to tell his buddy, “Dude, I lost to the Powder Puffs this weekend.” He he he. That’s not going to stop being funny any time soon.

Glad We Have Our Priorities Straight

R.L. White, president of the Atlanta NAACP, gave a statement yesterday saying that Michael Vick should be allowed to return to football. And I sincerely hope that someone higher up in the chain of command chewed that guy a new asshole. When I first heard about it I just read the headline, as so many people do, and I thought that the NAACP as an organization had made this show of support. And all I could think was Seriously?!??!? THIS is what you’re choosing to focus on?? With everything going on in the world, this is where you’re devoting your time and resources?

According to their website, “The mission of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People is to ensure the political, educational, social, and economic equality of rights of all persons and to eliminate racial hatred and racial discrimination.”

Michael Vick screwed up. He broke the law, he admitted he did it, he completely derailed his career. There was no injustice done to him. HE SCREWED UP. Do I think he should be allowed to play ball again? Sure. If he comes out of prison and a team decides he’s worth the risk and the media shitstorm, then all the power to him. He’ll serve his time, and then he gets to start over. Isn’t that the ideal of the American justice system?

But as fas as I’m concerned, whether or not he plays again isn’t really the point. The fact that an advocacy group chose this cause to champion is. Is that really what the NAACP was created for? To stand up behind millionaire athletes who shot themselves in the foot without any help from anyone else? They do good work, they help real people every day with real struggles, they give a voice to people who may not be heard. This is not one of those situations.

Jonesin' for a Fix

I tried something new last week. And now I can’t get it out of my mind. I want more. I just keep thinking about it. I need a fix, dammit!

At first I was afraid. Should I try it? It never occurred to me that I might like it too much, just that it might be dangerous. Was it worth the risk? Was I really ready to… KAYAK??

Now, to get why this was such a big deal, there are a few things you need to understand about me.
#1 I am the clumsiest person on earth. I hurt myself walking. I once walked into my fridge. A FRIDGE, people. That’s a hard one to not see coming. The first (and only) time I went skiing, the instructor actually gave up on me. “You’re not going to get it. Why don’t you just sit down over there, honey?” Who knew they were even allowed to do that??

#2 I am TERRIFIED of water. I love the beach. I’m a strong swimmer. I’m in the water every chance I get. But I’m scared the whole time. Fear of drowning would be rational. That’s not my problem, though. No, I’m afraid of beasties. There are things in that water. And they can eat you. When I bring my nephews to the beach, I’ll go in the water with them all they want, but one of them always needs to be out just a few inches deeper than I am. Let’s call them what they are—shark bait. It’s not limited to just the shark fear, though. Fresh water freaks me out too. Have you ever seen The Raft??? If you see me periodically looking over my shoulder in your swimming pool, you shouldn’t be all that shocked. I know this isn’t rational. And that’s why I don’t give in to it. I’ve canoed, I’ve gone white-water rafting, I even snorkeled with sharks once just to prove the fear couldn’t beat me.

So given these 2 major obstacles, the fact that I got in the kayak and shoved off was huge in and of itself. But then came that feeling: I was doing it! And not only that, I was good at it! I glided along the water, feeling like I was flying. I pushed a little harder to go faster, laughing out loud at the sheer joy of it. I felt amazing—strong and powerful and free. I went back the next day, and did 4 miles, and loved it even more, with fewer tinges of fear. I worked up a whole fantasy in my head about how I was going to get myself a kayak. It would be so much fun, and such good exercise, and… then I remembered I live in New York City. The image of me kayaking along, dodging trash and the Staten Island ferry, holds a lot less appeal.

Polly says my type is the kind that will take risks and discover things like, “Hey! I’m good at kayaking!” And I love knowing that about myself. Are there other things out there that will give me that “Hey, look at me!!” feeling?? Preferably, things a little more compatible with an urban lifestyle?

Are You Ready For Some Football?

It’s finally time. I got the email last week. You know the one. The one inviting me to rejoin my Fantasy Football league. Ah, those sweet, sweet words… Fantasy Football.

For someone like me, who can watch any sport but only really follows one, the period between the Super Bowl and August is one long, lonely time. Sure, there are other sports. But I don’t want other sports, dammit. I want mine. I want to be able to spend 11 hours on a Sunday on my couch drinking beer and watching whoever happens to be playing. I want to talk about football with guys and see that dawning respect in their eyes as they realize. ”Wait… She knows as much about this as I do.” I want to be in a bar with my girlfriends, talking about the game, and watching it work its magic as men around us realize we know what we’re talking about, and it sings its siren call, drawing them in. I want to be at the stadium, getting there hours early to tailgate. Good weather, bad weather. I don’t care. I just want to be there.

So welcome back, boys. All you players and fans. Even those of you who know less about it than I do, I’ll fake it if you’re cute enough. Bring on the commercials that make me laugh out loud, the commentators ribbing on one another like they’re back in the locker room, the ex-players who impossibly look even better in their suits than they did in uniform. Come on, boys. Come to mama. Are you ready for some football????

Sometimes Sucking Marginally Less Is Enough

My fantasy football team this year is dismal. I mean, SPECTACULARLY bad. I had this great roster, and it looked so promising before the season started. And then a combination of underperforming (Randy Moss) and injuries (the rest of my team) just shot my season to hell. My record going into this past weekend was an impressive 0-8.
But all that has changed. I won a game! Now yes, it’s fantasy football, not real life. And I’m still in last place. With 150 points less than the person in second-to-last place, and 450 less than the leader. But at least I won. The term “playing for pride” has taken on a whole new meaning for me. I called a few of my friends in the league, and left a little song on their voice mails. It was simple, yet had a certain je ne sais quoi.” It went “I won, I won, I won, I won, my fantasy team finally won a game.” Picture then sung incredibly off-key, to the soundtrack of my giggling.
Um, did I mention I won?