Red Sox 6 – Orioles 4

2009 07/18

20050602_Orioles_RedSox_0

Still one of the greatest memories of my life.  Thanks, Papi.


Baseball Cap Win Percentage

2009 07/09

red sox hatBaseball is a superstitious game. It’s not uncommon for you, as a fan, to associate whether you’re sitting or standing, or wearing your hat inside out, or whether you’ve eaten a donut that day, with the success and failure of your favorite team. Back when I used to wear baseball caps, and was an especially die hard Red Sox fan, I took to measuring the effect of my greatest baseball superstition. Over the course of 3 years I kept track of the Red Sox winning percentage as it related to whatever hat I had chosen to wear that day.

In a excel spreadsheet labeled “HatWin%” I still have the data which shows that my Portland Sea Dogs cap (the Sox AA minor league affiliate) had the most effective long term winning percentage of all my sox-related headwear with a 0.625 winning percentage over a period of no less than 64 games!

Furthermore, I found that the effect of buying a new hat would coincide with team hot streaks, as their record would improve during the first month of hat wear and gradually tail off over an extended period.

Now, perhaps the phrase, “I love the sox so much I need to buy a new hat,” is only spoken during team hot streaks and sure, as sample size expands their record is destined for some reversion. Those things are all beside the point. The point is: I’m a huge nerd.


Boston Slideshow

2007 01/28

Watch it

Living in Boston I learned to love 2 things: Grimey subways and the Boston Red Sox. In October especially, it seemed like that’s all there was. The Red Sox and Grime. The Red Sox and Grime.

As often as I could, I took the green line to Fenway Park. The grimiest subway in Boston to the grimiest ballpark in America. Looking back on it now, those are two of the things I miss the most. The worse the T ride, the more nostalgic I become.


Walkoff

2005 06/02

Ortiz Walkoff Going to the game, I always told myself it didn’t matter if they won. I was just happy to be at a live ballgame. That worked until June 2nd, 2005.

On that day, I caught a rain check day game at the Fens. Baltimore was in town, and Keith Foulke (who was pitching like crap that year) blew a tie game in the top of the 9th.

The Sox were down 4-3 with Orioles closer BJ Ryan (who was pitching lights out that year) on the mound.

With 1 out, my jersey’s namesake, Mark Bellhorn walked.
With 2 outs, Renteria bunted for a hit.
That brought my cat’s namesake, David Ortiz to the plate.

With 2 outs and a full count, Big Papi blasted one into the right field bullpen.

Seeing a game live is fun, win or lose, I had told myself. That thought vanished forever from my mind as I watched the ball sail over the fences. I saw it in slow motion, saw the spin. I felt the wind whistle around the threads of the ball. I saw the right fielder give up on it, and I saw the crowd explode.

It was better than sex.

It was like sex with 35,000 people, all of us coming at once.

It was cool.