The Cup (and more)

Have you noticed how quiet it is?
Basketball is done. Hockey is done. Although if you are a Boston fan hockey ain't over yet, baby. Parade on Saturday. The Cup is already back in Boston but it will be on display during the parade for all fanatic Boston fans to worship. I love this concept. The idea of an entire city celebrating a championship. Except for the nerds who are not into sports. The ones that say competition is unhealthy. They should be executed. Maybe during the parade. They could have these people hung on crosses at strategic points along the route. The Bruins could take turns shooting them as the parade floats by.
A city needs to celebrate. A people needs to celebrate. It is such a sweet relief from life, to lose yourself in sports. To imagine yourself a champion in life by joining in the joy of the athletes.
And the Boston fans will do it right. They are cool (sometimes) and knowledgeable. Every athlete says they have the best fans in the world. I think Boston fans are fanatics, passionate and sports-intelligent. More so than any other city? I don't know. I do know we have a unique perspective. 7 championships since 2001. SEVEN. I don't know how that compares to other cities but I know that it is pretty goddamn amazing.
The Vancouver fans showed their true stripes. Ugly, vindictive, destructive. Just like their players. Cheap shot artists who intentionally injured Bruin players and laughed about it. I knew they sucked but I was educated as to just how badly they suck by Keith while watching Game 7 at his house. I want Guido the Enforcer to break all of their knee caps with a pipe wrench so they never play hockey again.
Time to focus on baseball. I don't mind that. It's the right sport for the right time of year. If the right time of year ever gets here. I am not a huge baseball fan ( I am losing weight, you know) but I do like the game. There have been many times when I love the game. Slow your life down, grab an ice cold beer and a sack of nuts, and watch the Red Sox ROLL. They have been serving up some pretty tasty stuff lately.
I'll float through summer marvelling at Adrian Gonzalez and drawing inspiration from Petey. The laser show. If an ugly little dirt dog like him can rise to glorious heights of achievement, there is still hope for a little man like me. And while Carol is drooling over Jacoby, I can sneak an extra sip of whiskey. She won't even know I am in the room.
The length of the season makes baseball a dangerous sport to watch. You get lethargic, you take it for granted. At least I do. Maybe I am not a true fan. The point is, like Aerosmith, you don't want to miss a thing. Some games are explosive, some dramatic, some hilarious. No hitters, three home run performances, insane defensive plays, the tension of small ball with stolen bases, hit and run, bunts. Any of that can happen at any time. Even if there isn't much going on you can just sit back and dig the athleticism of the athletes. They make it look easy. But it ain't. If someone threw a hardball at you at 95 miles per hour, even Depends wouldn't be enough to save you from public humiliation.
But the truth is, at this time of year, I am hunkered down emotionally. Waiting for football. I am not going to discuss the possibility of no season. I am going to proceed as if the NFL is moving ahead with business as usual. I love football. Deliriously. Impossibly. Frightfully. The timing creates a conflict for me because I'm anticipating winter (September 1). I do not want the warmth to go away but I need football like Kirstie Alley needs her third, yard-long cheesesteak sub. Maybe that's one of the reasons I love football. It distracts me from the horror of cold weather. Winter is the cruelest, harshest, most punishing thing any human could ever experience. That's all I'm going to say about that.
Last point about football. I love my sons. Enormously. How the hell they ever became functional with a father like me is beyond comprehension. If aliens came to me and said "You can have your football season but we're taking your sons to the nearest parallel dimension for eternity, or you can keep your sons but there will never again be football", my reply would be "Take the kids."
Alright. Anyway. The Cup is back in Boston. I really dig that. There is something romantic about the Stanley Cup. The Big, Bad, Bruins, baby. The Sox are kicking ass, football is on the way, and Guido the Enforcer is making his way to Vancouver.
Low wage earner? Forgetaboutit.