I will reward myself for my restraint this year and for not knocking down any stumbling, bumbling, sweaty marathoners who tried to keep me away from the Arlington T stop and getting home after work.
Hooray for you. Kudos, I say, you all run this race in some deluded attempt to impress someone or some other deep-rooted need for attention, so here are your kudos. Now get the hell out my way!
For those of us working on Patriots Day and relying on public transportation there is no day more despised than this day full of drunk college kids clogging Newbury Street, sweaty, incredibly thin, tin-foil wrapped runner who smell like the ran through the sewers pressed up against you on an overcrowded green line, and chuckleheads aplenty on the commuter rail. For all this I get the honor and privilege of working. Happy, happy, joy, joy.
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HOT SOX IN THE MORNING:
Moving on to happier thoughts, I got the joy of missing yet another Red Sox game as the truly bizarre 11 AM start for the Sox game meant I had to follow it on ESPN Gamecast. At least NESN is smart enough to replay the game tonight.
Really, do 33,000 people really want to end a truly wonderful day in the sun at Fenway Park by walking over to Boylston street to watch a bunch of bozos running a race? At least an American made the top five. I equate watching marathons to watching handball at the summer Olympics. No normal person would watch it even if it was on continuous loop on ESPN2, nor do they really care who wins since it will always be someone no one knows or cares about. But, since it gives the BC, Northeastern, and BU toolbags an excuse for daytime drunkenness, it draws big crowds from the assorted colleges and universities. But what really blows my mind is how many people bring their kids into the city, stand and watch these people run by, and think it is some wonderful event. How exciting can it be for the average viewer? Here comes someone I do not know, here comes another I would not know even if I ran them over with my silver Audi A4 tomorrow morning, wow, this guy weighs 63 lbs, here comes a heavyweight, 87 lbs, ooh more Kenyans coming.
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Yeah, Chazer kicked my butt in fantasy baseball. I sit in second-to-last-place after two weeks of the season. But lookout, C.C. Sabathia is healthy! (OK, that only scares cheeseburgers and an all-you-can-eat buffet).
The good news (for me, not for you poor saps reading these blogs) is that starting this week I can bore you with my exploits in modified fast-pitch church league softball. Last year, after taking a season off (OK, I was not invited to play), I brazenly lost my religion. Yes, in a move that sent shockwaves all the way to Vatican I left the Catholic team for the Methodist squad. Imagine my quandary, the philosophical implications, the fact I have not regularly attended church since fourth grade and I played church league basketball for the Congregationalists. What does it all mean? Well, not much I guess.
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Congrats to the Celtics for wrapping up the Atlantic Division. I know I ran to the mall to get the championship caps first thing this morning. Yeah, right.
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Wow, nothing like a holiday spent at work to bring out the angry cynic in me, or maybe it was just because Theo Epstein-bashing Cross-Eyed Scott Hatteberg had four hits.
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Tuesday, April 19, 2005
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