One year ago today, I believe it was your father who said it best: "I give 'em 3 years."
Clearly, your father is an optimist. I didn't think we'd make it through Christmas. After all, here is what you bring to our marriage: openness, compassion, forgiveness, generosity, a never-ending amount of patience and a knack for cooking. Oh, and a free house.
Here is what I bring: a smart-ass sense of humor, an ability to expel excess gastrointestinal vapors in new and exciting ways, a propensity for road rage and a continuous request for back rubs. Oh, and constant griping - while doing the dishes - that you typically need 278 kitchen utensils to make spaghetti.
Despite this, you've not only hung around, but apparently you're willing to stay a while. Which not only makes me question your sanity, but the legitimacy of a degree from Harvard. I know you're smart and all, but...well...scroll up and check those lists again.
The experts say that we should never stop growing, and so as we enter year 2, I resolve to grow as well. That is, grow the number of games I/we watch on our kick-ass high def TV. You can deny it all you want, but you and I both know there is nothing more romantic then spending the wee hours of a Friday night watching Marlins-Dodgers. I'll even let you pick the topping on the pizza.
Putting up with me is not always easy, but more often than not, you do it with a smile. Like anyone who knows me well, you know that I say what's on my mind, and most of the time, you grin and bear it...although you'll be pleased to know that after 4.5 years, I may have figured out that jokes about Satan and the communion wafers do not seem to be your favorites.
You sometimes ask me why I love you and it's not so much coming up with a list of qualities so much as it is appreciating the totality. You are a good person with a gigantic capacity to love; you're (reasonably) funny; pretty damn cute; and, you don't complain as you wash my running clothes twice per week. What's not to love?
As we look ahead to year two and beyond, we look forward to visiting Vegas and finally bringing home Vegas. That's right - we've already had the name tag etched out...whatever dog we finally end up with...his or her name is Vegas (Baby). We'll hopefully land a new set of wheels and there's a decent chance that you will finally get me more involved with church events, now that you have explained to me what's at stake.
Remember when you asked me to be more expressive in writing? I'm assuming this is what you had in mind?
Happy anniversary, honey. I love you.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Dream Job
My first dream job? School bus driver.
My second dream job? Cashier in the cafeteria of the local supermarket. I figured it would entitle me to as many grilled cheese sandwiches as I could eat.
(Editors note: is there a better sandwich than the grilled cheese? I think not).
According to my parents, I was 4 and 6 years old, respectively, at the time I made these career ambitions known. Worth noting that during this two year period, they separated and would later divorce. Clearly, they could not handle my impending employment doom.
For much of my elementary and middle school years, I aspired to be an airline pilot. And I would have been if it wasn't for those meddling kids...and the fact that I was deficient in two very important criteria - mathematics and patience. Other than simple arithmetic, I've never been good at math. As for patience? Well, perhaps you remember this.
It's one thing to be seated in 14A and resigned to the fact that there is nothing I can do when it's announced that we are number 12 for takeoff. However, if I were up front, things could get ugly:
Air Traffic Control: Continental 170, taxi to runway 28 left. You will be number 12 for departure, just behind the United 747 and the biplane operated by Mike's Cropdusting.
Me: What the F*ck? This place is a freaking disaster! Is that a pickup truck up front? No way I am getting stuck behind this mess...
ATC: Continental 170? You don't have authorization to pass. Also, I can see you giving the finger to the guy in the biplane. That is unprofessional.
Me: Shove it, ATC. This is ridiculous. I can see that there aren't any breakdowns ahead. If everyone else wants to go 4 mph, that's their business. I'm not putting up with it. They're all driving like an 80 year old woman.
ATC: Continental 170, the taxiway isn't wide enough for you to go around. You're going to end up...
ATC: Airport emergency services, we have a Continental 767 in Boston Harbor....
Today, I have a good job that is mostly interesting, pays reasonably well, offers better-than- average benefits and has allowed me to form what I hope are several lifelong friendships. Do I dread going to work every day? Absolutely not. Is it my dream job? Absolutely not.
I would think that it is rare for a person to end up in their dream job. Often times, these jobs are limited in supply and heavily in demand. Some are skill dependent, such as athletics, acting or dancing. Others may require sacrifices - i.e., a small salary or excessive schooling - that many people are not willing to make.
As for me, I would gladly turn in my building's security card for a chance to:
Just a thought.
My second dream job? Cashier in the cafeteria of the local supermarket. I figured it would entitle me to as many grilled cheese sandwiches as I could eat.
(Editors note: is there a better sandwich than the grilled cheese? I think not).
According to my parents, I was 4 and 6 years old, respectively, at the time I made these career ambitions known. Worth noting that during this two year period, they separated and would later divorce. Clearly, they could not handle my impending employment doom.
For much of my elementary and middle school years, I aspired to be an airline pilot. And I would have been if it wasn't for those meddling kids...and the fact that I was deficient in two very important criteria - mathematics and patience. Other than simple arithmetic, I've never been good at math. As for patience? Well, perhaps you remember this.
It's one thing to be seated in 14A and resigned to the fact that there is nothing I can do when it's announced that we are number 12 for takeoff. However, if I were up front, things could get ugly:
Air Traffic Control: Continental 170, taxi to runway 28 left. You will be number 12 for departure, just behind the United 747 and the biplane operated by Mike's Cropdusting.
Me: What the F*ck? This place is a freaking disaster! Is that a pickup truck up front? No way I am getting stuck behind this mess...
ATC: Continental 170? You don't have authorization to pass. Also, I can see you giving the finger to the guy in the biplane. That is unprofessional.
Me: Shove it, ATC. This is ridiculous. I can see that there aren't any breakdowns ahead. If everyone else wants to go 4 mph, that's their business. I'm not putting up with it. They're all driving like an 80 year old woman.
ATC: Continental 170, the taxiway isn't wide enough for you to go around. You're going to end up...
ATC: Airport emergency services, we have a Continental 767 in Boston Harbor....
Today, I have a good job that is mostly interesting, pays reasonably well, offers better-than- average benefits and has allowed me to form what I hope are several lifelong friendships. Do I dread going to work every day? Absolutely not. Is it my dream job? Absolutely not.
I would think that it is rare for a person to end up in their dream job. Often times, these jobs are limited in supply and heavily in demand. Some are skill dependent, such as athletics, acting or dancing. Others may require sacrifices - i.e., a small salary or excessive schooling - that many people are not willing to make.
As for me, I would gladly turn in my building's security card for a chance to:
- Host a sports radio show. My workday would be 3-4 hours long, watching/attending games would be mandatory and as the morons at WEEI demonstrate repeatedly (I'm talking about you Pete Shepherd), I don't need to know what I am talking about in order to be successful.
- Play poker for a living. However, I wouldn't attempt this unless and until I hit the lottery, so that my financial future is not based on whether the 23 year old dilweed on the other side of the table, who called all of my raises with a Jack-4, ends up making his hand on the river.
- Be on the ratings board of the Motion Picture Association of America. Yep, it's a full-time position where people get paid to watch movies and assign a rating to them. Fun fact: you have to be a parent in order to land this job.
- Test video games. Some colleges are now offering this as a major.
Just a thought.
Saturday, May 10, 2008
How Dumb Am I?
I was thinking of leaving the rest of this post blank and watching a record number of comments pour in. And as much fun as that would be, think I'll keep writing.
On the most recent episode of Survivor - yes, it's still on and yes I still watch it - one of the five remaining players made the dumbest mistake in the history of that show. It might even go down as the most boneheaded move since the invention of the McRib. A 22 year old ice cream scooper named Erik, who had previously won immunity and was safe from being voted out at tribal council, was convinced by the four remaining contestants (all women) that in order to "gain the respect of his tribe," he must transfer his immunity to one of the others.
In a related development, he was sent home a few moments later. Unreal. The dude would have had a 1-in-4 shot at a million bucks but ended up losing out because he felt guilty for trying to deceive others. In Survivor. Where the motto is "outwit, outplay, outlast." Well done.
While I still chuckle at his stupidity, it got me thinking about some of the dumb things I've done in my life. Fear not, I won't list them all, as typing even 10 percent of them would keep me at the keyboard until August. Still, for someone who prides himself on having common sense, I've done some pretty ridiculous things. For example:
However, you'll be pleased to know that my dumbest moment took place while completely sober. That would be the time that I decided an SOS pad would be the most effective tool to remove tree sap from all over my car. And you know what? I was absolutely right! The sap came right off. Ha!
And so did the clearcoat and paint.
I hadn't had the car for more than 3 months and within a 5 minute span, I scrubbed away 90% of it's worth.
Why did I do it? Because my head was in shambles after an attractive female friend, whom I was mostly in lust with, told me that she had lupus and might die. What's worse is that this woman had a unique gift to make a mountain out of the tiniest molehill. Drama queen would only be a starting point to describe her personality. However, that didn't stop your pal Jon...I bought it hook, line, sinker and brillo pad.
You can probably already figure out that she did not have lupus. She forgot to mention that doctors told her lupus was one of 263 reasons she wasn't feeling well that week. The official diagnosis was a mild-to-moderate case of the sniffles.
And now that I've put the idea in your head, perhaps you, my faithful reader, will start thinking about some of the dumber things you've ever done. Acceptable answers include:
By the way, getting back together with The Mouth came in a close second.
On the most recent episode of Survivor - yes, it's still on and yes I still watch it - one of the five remaining players made the dumbest mistake in the history of that show. It might even go down as the most boneheaded move since the invention of the McRib. A 22 year old ice cream scooper named Erik, who had previously won immunity and was safe from being voted out at tribal council, was convinced by the four remaining contestants (all women) that in order to "gain the respect of his tribe," he must transfer his immunity to one of the others.
In a related development, he was sent home a few moments later. Unreal. The dude would have had a 1-in-4 shot at a million bucks but ended up losing out because he felt guilty for trying to deceive others. In Survivor. Where the motto is "outwit, outplay, outlast." Well done.
While I still chuckle at his stupidity, it got me thinking about some of the dumb things I've done in my life. Fear not, I won't list them all, as typing even 10 percent of them would keep me at the keyboard until August. Still, for someone who prides himself on having common sense, I've done some pretty ridiculous things. For example:
- Growing a beard. While bald.
- Putting down 13 beers at a college party and not drinking an ounce of water the entire evening. The resulting hangover lasted 5 days.
- Drinking Busch Light at the aforementioned party. Busch Light!
- Promising a reporter that she would be first to break a client's big news, only to end up working with another reporter who beat her to it.
- After drinking two 32 oz. Jack and Cokes, passing out on a friend's couch, waking up, walking over to the entertainment center in the corner of the living room and urinating all over the TV...while 5 people in the kitchen were looking on.
- Drinking two 32 oz Jack and Cokes.
However, you'll be pleased to know that my dumbest moment took place while completely sober. That would be the time that I decided an SOS pad would be the most effective tool to remove tree sap from all over my car. And you know what? I was absolutely right! The sap came right off. Ha!
And so did the clearcoat and paint.
I hadn't had the car for more than 3 months and within a 5 minute span, I scrubbed away 90% of it's worth.
Why did I do it? Because my head was in shambles after an attractive female friend, whom I was mostly in lust with, told me that she had lupus and might die. What's worse is that this woman had a unique gift to make a mountain out of the tiniest molehill. Drama queen would only be a starting point to describe her personality. However, that didn't stop your pal Jon...I bought it hook, line, sinker and brillo pad.
You can probably already figure out that she did not have lupus. She forgot to mention that doctors told her lupus was one of 263 reasons she wasn't feeling well that week. The official diagnosis was a mild-to-moderate case of the sniffles.
And now that I've put the idea in your head, perhaps you, my faithful reader, will start thinking about some of the dumber things you've ever done. Acceptable answers include:
- Reading this blog
- Becoming friends with me
- Marrying me
By the way, getting back together with The Mouth came in a close second.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Heartbreak
And just like that....no dog.
Last night, I got a call from Todd, the male breeder, (they are a husband and wife team) and was told that it's not going to work out because "he has a gut feeling" that Jenn and I are not ready to be lab owners.
When asked what gave him this feeling, Todd didn't have much to offer. Apparently, when Jenn was holding the dog in the breeder's yard on Friday, I made a passing remark about how she had some dirt on her coat (the dog was playing in the mulch) and apparently, this pissed him off. How do I know it pissed him off? He told me so last night, and then proceeded to tell me that labs are active, get dirty and require a lot of attention. He also told me that grass is green, the sky is blue and Eli Manning is the anti-Christ, so I know he must be telling the truth.
Jenn and I planned to pick up the dog this Friday. However, when I got into work yesterday, I realized that I wouldn't be able to take Friday off - the first time that's happened in my 4 years at Schwartz. The reasons were legitimate, so I harbor no ill will. I spoke with Mary Catherine, the wife, yesterday afternoon to let her know that we might have to push the pickup back to Saturday, and that I would let her know for certain today. She seemed completely fine with it. I can only guess that when she told her husband, he wasn't fine with it.
In fact, during the course of my 10 minute chat with Mary Catherine yesterday, she gave no indication that there were any problems. Nor was any indication of a problem given Friday night when we met the dog.
To be fair, I do respect Todd's position - he wants only what's best for the dog and if he has a bad feeling about us, then so be it. However, not only could he not rationalize his belief, he seemed entirely unimpressed despite the fact that Jenn and I arranged our schedule next week so that one of us would be home at all times, Jenn would be able to take the puppy to work for the foreseeable future, we have a completely fenced in backyard and open fields nearby (meaning the dog would get plenty of exercise) and we have been pining for a dog for quite some time.
Perhaps the breeders expect that whomever takes the dog will spend every waking hour at home for the next 6 months until the dog is house-trained, broken in and self-sufficient. Baring that, hard for me to believe any new owners could be as flexible and prepared as we were. Oh, did I mention we spent the weekend on a shopping spree for a crate, leashes, toys, food, and anything else that would be required for puppy ownership?
Hard to describe what I am feeling right now - a combination of sadness, frustration and anger. If you know me at all, you understand how unusual this is, as very little phases me. But the way in which this unfolded - with no real rationalization and 4 days after we came to an agreement - is absurd.
So what's next? From a timing standpoint, we lucked out with the dog no longer to be known as Vegas. By the time we identify other breeders and bring a new pup home, we're talking 2-4 weeks at an absolute minimum. Considering that Jenn will be gone for a week at the end of June and that we will spend roughly one-third of August traveling, it seems to make more sense to wait until the end of the summer.
I know what you're thinking and I agree - guess I shouldn't have skipped Passover dinner.
Last night, I got a call from Todd, the male breeder, (they are a husband and wife team) and was told that it's not going to work out because "he has a gut feeling" that Jenn and I are not ready to be lab owners.
When asked what gave him this feeling, Todd didn't have much to offer. Apparently, when Jenn was holding the dog in the breeder's yard on Friday, I made a passing remark about how she had some dirt on her coat (the dog was playing in the mulch) and apparently, this pissed him off. How do I know it pissed him off? He told me so last night, and then proceeded to tell me that labs are active, get dirty and require a lot of attention. He also told me that grass is green, the sky is blue and Eli Manning is the anti-Christ, so I know he must be telling the truth.
Jenn and I planned to pick up the dog this Friday. However, when I got into work yesterday, I realized that I wouldn't be able to take Friday off - the first time that's happened in my 4 years at Schwartz. The reasons were legitimate, so I harbor no ill will. I spoke with Mary Catherine, the wife, yesterday afternoon to let her know that we might have to push the pickup back to Saturday, and that I would let her know for certain today. She seemed completely fine with it. I can only guess that when she told her husband, he wasn't fine with it.
In fact, during the course of my 10 minute chat with Mary Catherine yesterday, she gave no indication that there were any problems. Nor was any indication of a problem given Friday night when we met the dog.
To be fair, I do respect Todd's position - he wants only what's best for the dog and if he has a bad feeling about us, then so be it. However, not only could he not rationalize his belief, he seemed entirely unimpressed despite the fact that Jenn and I arranged our schedule next week so that one of us would be home at all times, Jenn would be able to take the puppy to work for the foreseeable future, we have a completely fenced in backyard and open fields nearby (meaning the dog would get plenty of exercise) and we have been pining for a dog for quite some time.
Perhaps the breeders expect that whomever takes the dog will spend every waking hour at home for the next 6 months until the dog is house-trained, broken in and self-sufficient. Baring that, hard for me to believe any new owners could be as flexible and prepared as we were. Oh, did I mention we spent the weekend on a shopping spree for a crate, leashes, toys, food, and anything else that would be required for puppy ownership?
Hard to describe what I am feeling right now - a combination of sadness, frustration and anger. If you know me at all, you understand how unusual this is, as very little phases me. But the way in which this unfolded - with no real rationalization and 4 days after we came to an agreement - is absurd.
So what's next? From a timing standpoint, we lucked out with the dog no longer to be known as Vegas. By the time we identify other breeders and bring a new pup home, we're talking 2-4 weeks at an absolute minimum. Considering that Jenn will be gone for a week at the end of June and that we will spend roughly one-third of August traveling, it seems to make more sense to wait until the end of the summer.
I know what you're thinking and I agree - guess I shouldn't have skipped Passover dinner.
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Vegas, baby.
I was just re-reading the Fenway Park posting, and could not help but notice that my views came across rather...strongly. Yuck. I'm fairly certain that my 6 faithful readers appreciate my irreverent (some might say moronic) views and sharp-as-a-butter knife wit. The Fenway entry was written while I was cranky and nearing the end of a long week. It won't happen again. Until next time. Maybe.
Anyway, there is news to share. Our one year anniversary is approaching and apparently, this thing might actually work out. Who knew? So, Jenn and I started to think about the future - in a familial way. One thing led to another...and the next thing you know, we're expecting! We are extremely excited and having waited until everything checked out, can now share the details with family, friends and anyone with a malfunctioning "e" button who might have accidentally stumbled onto this blog:
I know what you're thinking - and you're right. She has my nose and Jenn's sense of God.
Say hello to the Lord's newest yellow lab, Vegas. 11 pounds; 8 weeks old.
You might be wondering what happened to my longstanding plan to name the dog "Bruschi." The truth can now be told - Jenn made me change it. Something about the 11th commandment - thou shall not giveth the dog gender identity disorder.
We pick her up on Friday.
Anyway, there is news to share. Our one year anniversary is approaching and apparently, this thing might actually work out. Who knew? So, Jenn and I started to think about the future - in a familial way. One thing led to another...and the next thing you know, we're expecting! We are extremely excited and having waited until everything checked out, can now share the details with family, friends and anyone with a malfunctioning "e" button who might have accidentally stumbled onto this blog:
I know what you're thinking - and you're right. She has my nose and Jenn's sense of God.Say hello to the Lord's newest yellow lab, Vegas. 11 pounds; 8 weeks old.
You might be wondering what happened to my longstanding plan to name the dog "Bruschi." The truth can now be told - Jenn made me change it. Something about the 11th commandment - thou shall not giveth the dog gender identity disorder.
We pick her up on Friday.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Save Fenway?
A few days ago, I asked on my poll question whether Fenway Park was a mecca or a shithole. Six responses so far - well, actually, five if you don't include my own - and it appears that public sentiment regards Fenway as a historic field of dreams.
(And by the way, I'm quickly learning that audience participation is not the strong suit of my extremely small readership. I'm fairly certain I have more than 5 readers, but apparently, everyone else's mouse must be on the fritz. Send me your names and addresses and I'll ask my pal Jess, Schwartz IT guru, to look into the problem.)
Anyway, back to Fenway. People like it. They love it. They want more of it.
God bless you all, because I am the contrarian. It is I who registered the one and only vote against. And you know why?
Because Fenway Park is a dump that needs to be torn down yesterday, if not sooner. I believe most people would agree if they were to be honest, but because Bostonians are so resistant to change, we fall back on history, tradition and emotion to rationalize the irrational.
The last time I was at Fenway, getting up the ramp and to my seat took more than 10 minutes. I'm not talking about 10 minutes from the time I entered the park, walked to the other side and found my seat. I am talking about approaching the ramp and immersing myself in a bottleneck of human flesh because the corridor and ramp were both entirely too small to allow for a normal flow of people. 10 minutes to walk about 50 feet.
I'm thinking of a sports venue that was built nearly 100 years ago. It was constructed using technology and materials from a century ago. There is zero leg room, a healthy percentage of seats face the wrong way, there are seats where the view is obstructed by giant polls and by any definition, it's not equipped to handle the amount of people that attend each game. Oh, and it has a never dissipating stench.
Fenway? Nope. The old Boston Garden. If memory serves, I don't recall a SAVE THE GAHDEN campaign. That place was a smelly old dump whose replacement was long overdue. As is Fenway's.
So why the fervor to keep things the way they are? Honestly, I really don't know. Perhaps because it's small and the seats are close to the field? Well, so were the seats in the Garden. As well as old Foxboro Stadium. In fact, the seats at the old football stadium were probably closer to the field than anywhere else, but that is no reason to put up with the considerable downside. My seats at Gillette Stadium are significantly farther from the action, but it's a superior venue in every way.
History then? Nostalgia? Tradition? Please correct me if I am mistaken, but didn't the Sox endure an 86 year curse? Even if you don't believe in curses, the fact is that between 1918 and 2004, there was considerably more heartbreak than triumph at Fenway. The real question is, why wouldn't we want a new stadium to erase all of the painful memories of the past? And if you look beyond the heartbreak factor, consider:
The Montreal Canadiens are the signature franchise of the NHL. They have won 24 championships since beginning play in 1909. In 1996, they moved from the historic Forum - a stadium that was rich in nostalgia, tradition and was 72 years old at the time - to a modern arena.
The New York Yankees are the signature franchise of major league baseball. They have won 26 championships since beginning play in 1913. Next year, they are moving from Yankee Stadium - a place that is rich in nostalgia, tradition and will be 85 years old at the time - to a modern venue.
I've been fortunate enough to visit some of the newer stadiums, such as Camden Yards in Baltimore, AT&T Park (formerly Pac Bell) in San Francisco and Miller Park in Milwaukee -- and I'd rather watch a game at these places than Fenway. While they don't have the rich tradition of some older stadiums, they are clean, modern, comfortable and fan-friendly. I don't mean to be patronizing, but am I the only person who considers this important, especially for sky-high ticket prices?
If you haven't yet visited a newer stadium, give it a shot. Your reaction will likely be similar to mine when I first stepped foot in Camden Yards: "Wow...this is what it's like to actually be comfortable at a game." If you are completely honest with yourself, you'll have to at least consider that maybe upgrading isn't a bad thing.
Fenway Park is almost 100 years old. It is a wonderful old relic. But, it's a relic and it's time to be replaced. Red Sox nation is supposedly the most rabid fan base in all of sports. Don't we deserve better?
(And by the way, I'm quickly learning that audience participation is not the strong suit of my extremely small readership. I'm fairly certain I have more than 5 readers, but apparently, everyone else's mouse must be on the fritz. Send me your names and addresses and I'll ask my pal Jess, Schwartz IT guru, to look into the problem.)
Anyway, back to Fenway. People like it. They love it. They want more of it.
God bless you all, because I am the contrarian. It is I who registered the one and only vote against. And you know why?
Because Fenway Park is a dump that needs to be torn down yesterday, if not sooner. I believe most people would agree if they were to be honest, but because Bostonians are so resistant to change, we fall back on history, tradition and emotion to rationalize the irrational.
The last time I was at Fenway, getting up the ramp and to my seat took more than 10 minutes. I'm not talking about 10 minutes from the time I entered the park, walked to the other side and found my seat. I am talking about approaching the ramp and immersing myself in a bottleneck of human flesh because the corridor and ramp were both entirely too small to allow for a normal flow of people. 10 minutes to walk about 50 feet.
I'm thinking of a sports venue that was built nearly 100 years ago. It was constructed using technology and materials from a century ago. There is zero leg room, a healthy percentage of seats face the wrong way, there are seats where the view is obstructed by giant polls and by any definition, it's not equipped to handle the amount of people that attend each game. Oh, and it has a never dissipating stench.
Fenway? Nope. The old Boston Garden. If memory serves, I don't recall a SAVE THE GAHDEN campaign. That place was a smelly old dump whose replacement was long overdue. As is Fenway's.
So why the fervor to keep things the way they are? Honestly, I really don't know. Perhaps because it's small and the seats are close to the field? Well, so were the seats in the Garden. As well as old Foxboro Stadium. In fact, the seats at the old football stadium were probably closer to the field than anywhere else, but that is no reason to put up with the considerable downside. My seats at Gillette Stadium are significantly farther from the action, but it's a superior venue in every way.
History then? Nostalgia? Tradition? Please correct me if I am mistaken, but didn't the Sox endure an 86 year curse? Even if you don't believe in curses, the fact is that between 1918 and 2004, there was considerably more heartbreak than triumph at Fenway. The real question is, why wouldn't we want a new stadium to erase all of the painful memories of the past? And if you look beyond the heartbreak factor, consider:
The Montreal Canadiens are the signature franchise of the NHL. They have won 24 championships since beginning play in 1909. In 1996, they moved from the historic Forum - a stadium that was rich in nostalgia, tradition and was 72 years old at the time - to a modern arena.
The New York Yankees are the signature franchise of major league baseball. They have won 26 championships since beginning play in 1913. Next year, they are moving from Yankee Stadium - a place that is rich in nostalgia, tradition and will be 85 years old at the time - to a modern venue.
I've been fortunate enough to visit some of the newer stadiums, such as Camden Yards in Baltimore, AT&T Park (formerly Pac Bell) in San Francisco and Miller Park in Milwaukee -- and I'd rather watch a game at these places than Fenway. While they don't have the rich tradition of some older stadiums, they are clean, modern, comfortable and fan-friendly. I don't mean to be patronizing, but am I the only person who considers this important, especially for sky-high ticket prices?
If you haven't yet visited a newer stadium, give it a shot. Your reaction will likely be similar to mine when I first stepped foot in Camden Yards: "Wow...this is what it's like to actually be comfortable at a game." If you are completely honest with yourself, you'll have to at least consider that maybe upgrading isn't a bad thing.
Fenway Park is almost 100 years old. It is a wonderful old relic. But, it's a relic and it's time to be replaced. Red Sox nation is supposedly the most rabid fan base in all of sports. Don't we deserve better?
No Respect
As a semi-reborn Hockey Krishna, I was both saddened and amused by this video from The Onion:
NHL Star Called Up To Big Leagues To Play For NFL Team
NHL Star Called Up To Big Leagues To Play For NFL Team
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