Tuesday, April 19, 2005
I just got back from my sophomore review.
As in, I JUST COMPLETED MY SOPHOMORE REVIEW AND DID THE PRESENTATION AND DID NOT MAKE TOO BIG AN ASS OF MYSELF. Of course it helped that the professors who made up my committee were literally the three best professors I could have possibly had. Seriously, I looked at all the possible groups, and this was the best one by far for me. I'm not sure if it was luck I got assigned to it, or if someone in the office loves me*, but whatever it is thank god for it.
Best bit? They were all entirely accepting of all the baseball content. They were amused that I had named my steel critter Mark Bellhorn, instead of incredibly weirded-out! They were not freaked out by the Manny-on-a-stick that I used to point to images on the projection! They were relatively understanding of my need to explain the circumstances surrounding the baseball-related pieces in great detail!
Oh, it was ace.
I will now proceed to temporarily ignore the art philosophy paper I have to finish today (which I have actually already made quite a bit of progress on, unlike many of my classmates, who have not started it yet) and the fact that I need to pack up my entire life of the past however many months into something that can fit in a slightly elderly station wagon (yes, I will be pulling an all-nighter, yes, you may egg me on over AIM at 4 in the morning if you're online). Because yesterday was cause for celebration! All sorts of celebration!
First off, CONGRATULATIONS TO MY FRIEND STEPHANIE, who ran the Boston Marathon and actually finished it, thereby proving to us all that she is, in fact, a crazy person. I was talking to my friend Jess, who apparently ran the last few miles with her. Jess had on a tshirt that said 'Cheer for Steph!', and Stephanie was wearing a Tufts tshirt. As they were running by the Fenway area, they noticed some people standing by the side of the road cheering on the runners. Jess, being the clever little Red Sox fan that she is, immediately recognized them.
Jason Varitek. And Tim Wakefield.
'Tek, upon seeing both their shirts, yelled out, "Go Tufts! Go Steph!" as they ran by. Jess says that they were "feet away" from them. So that's, uh, you know, just about THE COOLEST THING EVER POSSIBLY. I am sure that the sight of Jason Varitek and Tim Wakefield cheering you on would more than make up for the extreme agony of running a marathon (or part of a marathon... or more than a quick dash to the busstop... you know, I'm not really much of a runner). Much respect to Stephanie.
Secondly, I watched most of the Red Sox Patriots Day game. Unfortunately I had to do so on MLB TV, but we won 12-7, so it was worth it. I have to say that I was less than enthused with the way Schilling's pitch count ran up so early. Yes, he had a lot of strikes. But I'd rather see a guy making batters pop out on the first pitch and never get a K than get 10 Ks in a game but only after he's thrown 7 pitches in the at-bat. OK, Curt? You don't want to hurt your ankle again, do you? No, of course not. So you want to get off the mound as quickly as possible, right?
Manny made a series of errors in right field, but I'm pretty OK about that. For one thing, the sun was extremely bright yesterday (at least, it sure looked that way through the tiny MLB TV screen) and seemed to be causing fielding issues for both teams. For another, it's Manny Ramirez. You just have to accept his little adventures in the field, and cluck your tongue and smile indulgently, shake your head and say, "Oh, it's just Manny being Manny." Because you know damn well that he's goofing around and being a space cadet and doing his own Manny thing, and if you just let him be he'll hit a couple of grand slams for you and be the 2004 World Series MVP and it'll all be worth it.
And a 12-7 victory tends to ease the pain of fielding errors anyways. Remember all those errors we made in the World Series? Remember how that worked out? Yeah, so do I.
Thirdly, I watched the Tigers absolutely whup all of the ass that could possibly be whupped, simply obliterating the Orioles as though they were actual birds and the Tigers were a great big jet engine in their path, with a final score of 13-3. Yes, my friends, this is the very same Orioles team that was fresh off a sweep of the New York Yankees (remember when they were good? Remember when they could beat teams who weren't the Devil Rays? Do you remember what that was like?). The very same Orioles team that boasts Corky Sosa, and the wilted Palmeiro, and the current batting leader of the AL (Brian Roberts, and I don't care how well he hits, when it comes to guys named Roberts you just can't get better than Dave Roberts. You just can't).
We had Jason Johnson pitching, which is usually a good sign for all Detroit fans to just sigh and turn their eyes up to heaven in a martyred fashion, spreading their hands and listening while thousands of angels sing out in unison, "Why, why, why?" And Johnson was indeed pretty foul in his early innings, showing little or no control. Thankfully, the defense behind him was properly Tiger-ferocious, and the Orioles were so kind as to hit every single ball they could directly to Carlos Guillen. It was nice of them to want to help rehab his knee by giving him all the extra work, really.
Our bats... ah, our bats. Nook, Bingey, and DaMeat each had 3 hits and scored 3 runs. Guillen had an insane at-bat that started with him fouling a ball hard off his own foot and hopping around in agony, and continued on to become a 13-pitch at-bat. 13 pitches! Madness! Omah finally stopped using the bat in his hands as a limp rag and got a homerun. We had the most pleasant mixture of big (DaMeat ripping a homerun) and small (bunts and stolen bases) ball you'll ever see in a game.
Our defense... Nook was fan-fucking-tastic in centerfield, stealing not one but two sure homeruns from the Orioles, levering himself up over the wall and catching the balls in his glove on the other side of it.
The best moment of the game, by far, was when DaMeat ripped a ball into the gap that brought someone (I think it was Pudge, my oh-so-fast Pudge!) around to score. It should've been a single from Dmitri's standpoint, but he turned on whatever level of hustle he's able to turn on, and slid into second like a gently drifting Zamboni. He then got up and, well, I can't really describe it. He did a little dance. A little 'yo yo yo I am DaMeat, Dmitri Young, and I have made it into second base safely whut whut' kind of dance. I dearly wish I had video of this, because it was truly, truly spectacular. I was laughing so hard I had tears in my eyes.
Here he is doing it, but the still image really, really does not do it justice.
Lastly, I actually met a real, live, hardcore baseball fan last night. If you're not acquainted with facebook, it's this online thing that let's you see the profiles that other people in your university create. You can join 'groups' on it according to your interests. Naturally I'm in the Tigers fan one (as well as a slew of Red Sox ones), and this kid had seen my profile and was simply shocked that someone could be a) an actual Tigers fan, b) a moderately knowledgeable Tigers fan, and c) female. So we chatted a few times on AIM, and after the immersion in art school that occurred this semester, it was such a relief to be able to just talk Tigers baseball with someone and not have them say, "Bonderman? Isn't he the quarterback?"
So last night he came over to watch some of the Tigers game, and it turns out that he's a wonderfully nice kid who does, indeed, know a lot about baseball, and for once I wasn't muttering to myself during the game-- I had someone else to mutter to. It's a pity that I only just met right before leaving for the summer, but such is life. Anyways, I think we can all agree that the internet is awesome and needs to make me meet more cool baseball fans in real life, because lord knows I'm not going to meet them through the art school.
And now I ought to go, er, finish my paper and, er, pack. Because tomorrow my dad is coming and I am MOVING THE HELL OUT OF THE DORM. We hang out in Michigan for a day so I can recuperate a little bit from the sheer horror of move-out, and so we can go to the Tigers/ChiSox game on Thursday, which as of right now is a Bonderman/Buerhle pitching matchup, which oh goodness. Oh goodness I am psyched for that. Friday is the epic drive, and then Red Sox games on real TV shall be mine.
Wish me luck, kids. If I want to survive tonight, I shall have need of it.
*Although, really, it can't be that someone in the office loves me... if they loved me they wouldn't make things like scheduling classes so bloody hard.
4:31 PM
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