Time Out

If you are over 25 years old, you’ve have to have met a Roger Clemens type. That’s a person with one exceptional ability or talent who allows that talent to consume them, becoming their all. They become psychopaths, inveterate liars that believe their own self-serving patter, look down at all the mere mortals surrounding them, mostly talk and think in totally self-related terms even while they brag about their unrestrained empathy for their close ones, and both exist and grow stronger by continually swallowing whole their overtly indulgent self-story, which is of course the overriding narrative to a life existed. Clemens was always unarguably a great pitcher and a flaming asshole with or without the fix-it drugs, and as of now there seems to be no restrictions on high he might climb in baseball’s Hall of Shame.

I almost forgot how swift and precise and acutely involving an NHL game can be, until I sat down and watched these last few weeks of Bruins’ playoff games. The last second seventh game overtime loss to Carolina was gut-wrenching but I think it pulled me back to becoming a full time fan again, the first time since the legendary Big Bad Bruins days of my childhood.

Burt Young would have been the perfect guy to play Yogi Berra in a biopic once upon a time, if not it’s gotta be James Gandofini.

Ray Allen is so goddamned cool, posses the absolute sweetest of shots and an exquisitely what- me-worry demeanor, but why is it that some nights he just disappears, a seeming non-presence in a situation that demands he establish one?

Until Billy Boy Belichick’s long gone, I’m not going to waste any pensive breaths over the Patriots off-season and/or draft moves, Scott Pioli nor not Scott Pioli.

Oh Papi, Poor Papi, Momma’s Hung Your Swing in the Closet, and I’m Feelin’ So Sad. Hitless in seven at bats on a night the Sox stranded 17 batsmen, 12 stranded by Big Papi alone? I’m still advocating for the big guy in one of this years’ freshest barstool debates-Papa was a juicer suddenly gone dry—but I’m beginning to feel true pangs of doubt—was our man Papi a six-year-wonder, will he ever recover from last season’s injuries? Here’s hoping this Seattle sit-out gets the big guy back on track, and here’s hoping that Red Sox Nation and Terry Francona stick with Ortiz until he grinds his way out of this hellish slump.