[Ed: Note: Reader(s), I'd like to introduce you to our newest contributor, Matt. Although if you've been around here for a little while, you probably already know him.]
With Jay away this week, he's asked me to contribute to the site to keep some content going. Either that or he's gotten tired of the paragraphs long comments I've been leaving as "mmb1980" and figured I should leave my thoughts as actual posts. So to make my official introduction to all you Fackers out there, I'd like to tell you a story about a brief encounter I had with this little blog's namesake last year.
I've always had a bit of a different outlook on the Yankees-Sox rivalry. I'm by no means a Sox fan, but growing up in Connecticut, I've spent my entire life on the front lines of the Rivalry. Several of my closest friends, and even some of my relatives, are fans of the Sox. I spent the better part of four years living right in the belly of the beast while I attended Boston College. So you might say that compared to your average Yankee fan, I'm a little more tolerant of the members of Red Sox Nation - except for guys named "Sully" or "Murph". They are invariably drunk, ignorant, and looking for a fight.
So with that in mind, a few Sox fan friends of mine planned a trip to Baltimore last May to see the O's host the Sox. They invited me to come along, and since I was already going to be in D.C. that week for a family function, I decided to take them up on their offer. The Saturday game was scheduled for 7 PM - the game where Manny would eventually hit his 500th fertility drug aided career HR - allowing us all to sleep off our hangovers from Friday night before heading out for a late breakfast. As we walked back to the hotel from breakfast, it began to rain a little bit.
We arrived back at the hotel and stood waiting for the elevator when who should we find standing there next to us but Boston's crome-domed, goateed first baseman, his infant child, and his baby-momma. They were standing with a security guard, to whom Mr. Youkilis was explaining that they were intending to go for a walk, but were now unsure if they should go on account of the rain.
Having just been outside and wanting to be a good samaritan, I piped up. "It's not raining too badly. I think it's going to pass." No response. I was summarily ignored, big leagued by a Big Leaguer. So much for trying to be helpful. As the elevator arrived, Youk spoke again to the security guard, saying something along the lines of "I don't think we're going to go".
So there you have it. Kevin Youkilis: walk enthusiast both on and off the field, lacking in social graces, and quite possibly hydrophobic.
Realizing that we were staying at the Sox hotel, my old college roomate and I promptly returned to the lobby bar to do some day time drinking and see who we could see. Several players came and went over the course of the afternoon: Beckett, Wakefield, Delcarmen, Papelbon, Ellsbury, Jerry Remy. We saw that the players really enjoy their Starbucks, frequenting the barista next to our bar. We saw that Varitek, despite getting paid 10 million dollars to hit .220 last year, is a lousy tipper. And we saw that Manny utilized distractions created by his teammates to sneak in and out of a side entrance without being bothered. The throngs of Sox fans applauded and crowded around each and every guy, but I was unimpressed, and spent my time wondering if there was a way I could Nancy Kerrigan one of them without getting caught.
So that was my first meeting with the Sox last year. Later on in the season I had a little run in with Alex Cora and the artist-formerly-known-as Big Papi. If I don't wear out my welcome here, maybe I'll tell you all about that one another time.
So long, Preston Claiborne: Go forth and grow your beard
4 minutes ago