Oh! You shouldn't miss it! Here it is.
And the Boston Globe, which has only one redeeming aspect - their sports coverage - has a good article here.
Halo, goodbye
By Amalie Benjamin
Globe Staff / October 7, 2008
For a hockey guy, a guy from Canada, there was no way a bloodied finger was going to stop Jason Bay. Nor were the holes on his left forearm, perhaps cleat marks, stinging from champagne and serving as a memory of his sweep past Mike Napoli at home plate. He stood in the infield last night, his daughter with him, and knew just how far he had come from Pittsburgh.
And just how close the Red Sox had come to heading back to Anaheim, Calif., last night. With the score tied in the ninth inning, Bay had hit a ground-rule double, then slid home as rookie Jed Lowrie singled into right field.
"I about fell down rounding third because I was going faster than my legs would move," said Bay. "I would give myself a 10 [on the slide]. When he hit that ball, I was going to score. There was no question. I was gone."
...............
and here, Dustin Pedroia respects the ju-ju.
That was why, despite having packed his stuff, Dustin Pedroia left his bag in the car. He didn't want to jinx the team. He didn't want to admit that there was a chance the Red Sox wouldn't win last night.
Read the whole article here.
Congratulations gentlemen.
Tuesday, October 07, 2008
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There was once a time in which I had neutral feelings towards the Angels. Sure, they were a team waaay out there in faraway California, but I couldn't care less about them either way.
That was until I stepped out of a bus, in Fez (as in Morocco). Now, let me step back a little. I love Morocco. I have never seen any other place in the World, that hold so much raw energy and power; from the great expanses of its empty Sahara, its majestic ridges of its high Atlas Mountains, to its unpolished hustle and bustle of its Mediaeval Cities. But one thing is for certain: one never goes to Morocco to relax. It is an environment which requires full attention of your senses and wit - a hyper-charged country where the unwary get run over by its raw nature of its environment.
Which brings us to Fez. One goes to Fez for one reason only: its 19 square kilometer Ancient Medina (Mediaeval Quarter). Imagine a warren of narrow alleyways no wider than four feet, twisting and turning like a gigantic, mega-maze All the time you compete with people going to and fro work, school, shopping, etc., or with donkey trains carrying wares to and from shops. Even lifelong locals do get hopelessly lost in it if they are not careful.
As a Western tourist, one has to be hyper vigilant of Morocco's packs of hustlers, scam-artists, and miscreants that infests all entry points at cities, or tourists points of interest. They see your pale face, clothes you wear, and/or backpack and they are on you like flies on poop. Trying to shake you down out of your dollars, with promises of being your "tour guide", drugs or adventure.
One of the common scams in Fez, is for one of these "tourguides" to take you deep into the Medina, and then bolt out out of sight for a while, only to return with the promise of salvation out of its maze, but only if you pay them a lot more money.
At Fez's bus station, we were greeted by about a dozen of these pesky sharks. Being savvy about their nefarious ways, with a couple of stern "Noes", most of them would shake-off. If that didn't work, a couple of agitated "F*CK-OFFs" would do, and they would leave you alone. Soon all the hustlers pealed-off to easier prey; all except one - The one with the California Angel's Baseball Cap
"Angel", latched-on like pit bull. He would follow us to our hotel, follow us to restaurants, harass us down the street, and not let us alone for the two days we were in Fez.
From that day on, I came to detest the holier-than-thou Halo sitting atop the Angel's Cap.
Boquisucio
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