19 years ago today:

July 24th 2004: the Red Sox season turned on a dime the day after a crushing defeat 8-7 against the Yankees. Schilling was on the mound and the Yankees won, after the game Schill said the words his father taught him, "Tough times end, tough people do not".

On the 24th rain threatened to stop the game before it was even played, as a team led by their Captain the players demanded the game be played.

Top of the 3rd Bronson Arroyo hits A-Fraud, A Fraud starts mouthing off and after "a few choice words" Teks puts his mitt in A-Fraud's face. The brawl that starts it all ends with Billy Ballgame taking Mo Riveria deep for a 11-10 win.

By the end of the week Nomar is traded, three key pieces of October join the team. The regular season ends with the Sox the wildcard team. In the ALCS the Sox go down 0-3 against these same Damn Yankees, Shanks calls them frauds, Millar says don't let us win tonight then walks setting up one of those pieces Dave Roberts to steal second while the world watched and then in the ultimate rematch to 19 years ago today Billy Ballgame does it again and turns the greatest closer the game has even seen into Charlie Brown with a shot up the middle tieing the game and starting the miracle comeback only team in baseball history reverse sweep of 4 days in October!

19 years later, the 2023 Red Sox are not scheduled on a day that should be a holiday in Boston. 2023 Red Sox are 53-47 the 2004 Red Sox were 53-44 on this same day. Sox are tied for 4th place with the Yankees in 2023, 2 games back of the final wildcard spot and holding tiebreaker against Toronto. Just saying nothing is impossible if you Believe!

Game 81 of 162. Half way point in the season. After tonight it's all down hill, the string plays out, counting down to the inevitable end of the season when Joe Castig will read the words that as I type this my eyes begin to well up just think about it, it breaks your heart...and it does maybe its why I love the game, love this team the Boston Red Sox so much because it breaks your heart, baseball is life and life is baseball, life breaks your heart six different ways before Sunday, but you keep coming back for more, because on those rare occasions that it doesn't break your heart life is just so much better for it. I waited the first 40 years of my life forbone championship and have had3 sense.

So here it is a rain soaked day waiting for game 81 to be played at Fenway with the words of the late great commissioner Giamatti echoing in my head, but I still believe that 81 games left and a .500 record means the last wild card is alive, so don't let us win tonight! Believe in Boston! Have faith! Playing with house money since 4 days in October 2004!

I wrote this 3 years ago today, its a time capsule of the way we were, how far we have come and also sadly how far apart we remain.

"Last night I was supposed to be sitting in my seats watching Titos Indians playing Alex's Red Sox . . . well that was the plan when I signed my season ticket renewal in November 2019 . . . hasn't worked out that way for me or the world.

Instead I walked around Fenway last night at the time I usually arrive, a salmon trying to return home on a dry stream, Fenway has been stripped of banners, the doors shuttered, the back wall behind the bleachers torn down in a halted construction project for the next Henry Warner Group project a 10k people Event Hall to be in competition with the neighboring House of Blues. . . will either ever open again?

Smaller businesses along Lansdowne Street have already closed, not to return, one a favorite of mine Baseballism falls into the category.

I wore a mask, I wore gloves, I touched nothing but my camera, I spoke to no one, not even the one Fenway security guard who was walking his lonely rounds outside America's Most Beloved Ballpark, I wanted to talk with him, I know him, wanted to ask him how he was, how his family was doing, we did the new instinct of crossing away from each other and head nodded, he had fear in his eyes, I suspect so did eye, everyone has fear in their eyes these days .

This was my first scheduled to work day off since this all started. I drove into Boston not Andover when the news came I did not have to work. It wasn't for this trip to Fenway, it was to support a friend's restaurant in the North End with a take out order back to NH. But for me when in Boston all roads lead to Fenway . Driving in Boston without traffic is foreign to me. You discover how small the city really is when it's 10 minutes from Fenway to the North End. Seeing the Boston Marathon finish line three days away from Patriots day not painted and the clock bridging Boylston St surreal. So is no line at Mike's Pastry where in winter snow storms or August heat the line stretches down the sidewalk .

Somewhere a scientist is working on a vaccine, some are even in trials already, someday there will be a cure and as such using a well used phase in Red Sox history that makes this another day closer to the parade!"

Today the Red Sox news is the Sox are a laughing stock at this point with Boggie gone, scrap heap signings and 29 year old international rookie signings.

Today opening day tickets went on sale along with other Sox packs, my credit card stayed in the wallet and Winter Weekend tickets will not be bought. I am keeping my season tickets, but at this point that will be the only money I spend this year.

An absolute dark day for the franchise and fan base. Lester, Betts, Xander, with the exception of Pedroia this ownership group shows zero respect to home grown talent, acts like they owe them a hometown discount and will rather over pay for a make up signing than pay homegrown talent. Even Papi who was not home grown, they never signed to a long term deal, he was always on short deals, often season to season, if you are not willing to pay David Ortiz, who are you willing to pay? Raffy? Or is he just the next once in a life time players to leave the Tampa Bay Red Sox.

And in saying that I do not blame Chaim, he is doing the job he was hired to do be the scapegoat for ownership being more worried about the money on the books while trying to buy NHL & NFL teams as they attempt to bring Fenway Sports Group public.

This just sucks. The handwriting on the wall has been there all along from the dirty dealings with Tito, Don O, and the Bronson Arroyo home town discount signing and quick trade to Cincinnati where he was an ironman for them. Ownership is just business as usual, turn and burn players, treat the fans like ignorant rubes and spend money on shining new toys. When Trevor Story was signed last spring I knew Xander was gone. The 2022 year book cover showing Xander behind Story told the story.

At the end of the day, to the Henry Warner group I say thank you for the 4 championships, but its time for you the absentee ownership to sell. You have proven to be the carpet baggers that in 2002 the Boston fans worried you would be. Today is the furthest from the parade I have ever felt since 2003 as Timmy Ballgame walked off the mound in the real Yankee Stadium.

Its been a very 2022 in America day for me. The Yin to the Yang has been on full display.

Walking at the beach this morning within a mile span I encountered the following;

Four older women sitting in a circle blocking the trail, having a book club meeting engaging in spirited discussion, I side stepped and went about my way.

Next was a man walking a dog whil exercising his 1st amendment rights wearing a t shirt proclaiming the sitting POTUS is an idiot, he was also strapped with a Sig Sauer handgun exercising his 2nd ammendment rights which in doing so enfringed on my 1st ammendment rights to tell him my thoughts on his choices of wardrobe and carrying a handgun at the beach. Price of living in the Live Free or Die also right to carry state of NH.

Then another much larger group of women. Diverse age, shape and skill doing beach yoga. It was a beautiful peaceful site. Refreshing in the purity and unity of peaceful movement. Namiste.

One final encounter. A woman of my age greeted me, its not unusual at Hampton Beach among the walkers, there are hellos, good mornings, head nods, especially true of the regulars and I am a regular. Yet this woman stood out with her grest big smile, infectious projection of joy, saying "Happy, happy Friday". I thought as she walked into the direction the armed man was if he would diminish her Happy happy Friday.

Later I was runnng errands, in a parking lot I hear a man screaming at a young woman, asking her if she was in a hurry, the woman replied with a startled what, then stepping down from his pick up said, she almost hit his truck, she picked up her pace putting herself between me and him, she said "God bless you" before ducking into the store. He left, I went about my business. Her reaction was not of escalation, not anger with anger, nor eas there an apology, instead it was a act of kindness.

Lastly, in the check out line a man in front of me completed his transaction and said to the cashier, "Thank you for your time". I really liked that, never heard that before, found it remarkable, a refreshing moment of civility in an increasingly uncivilized world. I thought, I am going to start using it, then when my transaction ended, I said thank you and walked away. My plan already forgotten.

We are all part of the solution and the problem. Yin to yang. Simple truth.

Last week I faced two different moments of loss. Each loss was not entirely unexpected. One loss was true tragic loss that we all experience. The other was a loss which in all reality represented a win. Each loss represented a finish line in life, a dividing line between before and after on a journey. These two losses are connected yet quite different.

The first loss, was a dear friend Mark Goodwin aka Goody died, he had suffered a stroke in early May and died in rehab care. The prognosis was never good, the shock of his loss was tempered by the reality of he was not going to recover. At best the doctors thought he would be a quadriplegic with limited to no speech capacity. Knowing my friend, the lifestyle he enjoyed this was not going to end well which helps accept his loss.

My other loss has connections to my friend and his ultimate path to loss. Goody's health problems that caused the stroke, trace back to a life time of abuse and addiction racking his body. He was clean and sober after years of hard living. Lost his wife, child and license before facing the addiction. Unfortunately he turned to food, replacing one sugar addiction for another. He was on addiction two when I met him 18 years ago. We fueled each other, had a grand old time. Each of us would get wake up calls from doctors, short lived clean ups, then back down the rabbit hole.

Then he was struck with a back injury, which cascaded into deep depression. Eventually he retreated from the world. Took early retirement via disability further shuttering himself away. This when I slipped into my classic mode of going to fix this broken person, the corner of the room I most often paint myself into. Try as I could I could not get him to come out. I made simple plans just to walk with him, told him I would walk the driveway with him. Drove down to his house, only for him to say go away. Kept trying, there were a few times it worked, made the hour drive to his house, got him out, others had some success. Then one day he called, wanted to walk Revere Beach. I jumped on it, he met me at the beach, all signs looked good, then the addiction struck back, he didn't want to walk, he wanted to hit Kelly's Roast Beef stand for a lunch on me. So I bought, and ate because why not? My classic move fail at fixing someone, setting a goal that is beyond reason and then eating the pain of failure. Two addicts ate well that day.

Goody took a selfie of us, under the famous Kelly's sign, two very obese men in a victory lap as the toilet chain of life is being pulled.

But something changed in me that day, a spark that finally landed home. The first steps of my new path began that lead to the second loss.

The Good loss, the one that was a win. I started my sobriety bid, failed, stumbled, picked myself up, changed two things in my life, the way I ate and most importantly I started helping people not fixing people. For the rest of his life, I helped my friend, not saved or fixed just helped, never bought him another meal either. He moved to Florida last year. His depression had finally lifted. Classic pulling his life together cliches applied for a while, then he fell off the food wagon, depression returned. He rallied and decided to go on a cruise. His last post to FB talked about his butler helping him find the Celtics games while on the ship. And then he was gone after the short linger last Monday. On Friday I stepped on the scale and had my good loss, I had dropped the final weight to be .6oz below my goal weight I had set after that last Kelly's roast beef non beach walk.

Now addiction is a mother f'er that keeps circling back. Ever vigilance is needed before this good loss turns into a bad loss. I have had a minor takespin this past week of two losses. I have bent not broken, that is the key isn't it, strength is not in being so ridged you break, no its being a willow tree, letting movement be the strength to with stand the storm.

As with all loss of loved ones, I will miss my friend dearly, but will be forever grateful to have know him and learned from him, even if it was one of life's hardest lessons turning loss into a win.

Nothing special, I give that allot as an answer when asked about my day.

Looking back on this past weekend on a day back to work when everyone asks what you did being a holiday weekend, the unofficial start of summer and also not that well known but also my 34th wedding anniversary. My inclination is to say nothing special.

Which is true in the big picture view of the world, we did not travel, we did not celebrate, we didn't even dine out at a restaurant, instead we stayed around our house, she gardened while I pressure washed the deck, we took walks around the neighborhood, prepped for having my oldest son and his family over Sunday, then as the sun started to set we with our youngest son drove to Skip's Drive in for burgers before walking on Hampton Beach, none of this seemed that special to me.

Until I thought about it, for if you asked my 18 year old self if I would have any one of these things beyond driving to the beach on a Saturday night I would not have been able to imagine it yet alone dream it would all be true.

I took a selfie of us three on the beach, its missing my oldest son, his family, my daughter too, but it so perfectly captures our special family dynamic among the ordinaryness of life, me stoic smiling, Kar taking nothing serious and Anthony the happy boy now happy man who never really likes having his picture taken but knows it means allot to his father.

This is Us... three of the original 5 with another 4 completing our special. Sunday all but my daughter, she is traveling, were at our house, I already wrote about that nothing special the other day that was incredibly special connection of generations.

Life is always special when you have love, love of family, love of friendship, love of just being connected to something worth while. Ordinaryness of life is always special, if you let it be that way in your heart.

Humble

Grateful

Blessed

Every day is special, it's up to us to see it!

We walk along a sand trail of time

Leaving behind foot prints in the sand

Our fellow travelers leave foot prints

Sometimes our journey is alone

Other times with loved ones

Sometimes with friends

Often strangers we will never know passing wordless

Or a stranger who becomes your soul mate

We gather along the journey memories

Some are lost along the trail

Our journey one day ends

Time fades the foot prints

Only the sand of time remains

It's been more than a year since I watched a movie in theater. Birds of Prey on 8 February 2020 was the last one before the quarantine. I can guarantee this is the longest period of my life since my father took me at 3 to see Pinocchio. In good times and bad I have gone to the movies.

My favorite book starts with the amazing description of "When I stepped out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house, I had only two things on my mind: Paul Newman and a ride home..."

I have gone to the movies alone, with friends, family, first dates, the last first movie date started with Pee Wee Big Adventure and was so good we double featured Summer Rental...you marry the woman who can take that date, I did.

Later in this journey, I started taking full advantage of my off shift schedule and would hit movies on my mid week off days or even early before going in to work. Beat the crowd, have private screenings vibe, then again there was nothing greater than the sold out opening night epic movie premiere of being surrounded with fellow super fans; I cannot watch Return of the Jedi without hearing the memory of the crowd wooo when Jaba the Huts guard lifted his visor to reveal Lando Calrisian was in the house. Or the roar of an Easter egg spotted in the Batcave, a call back before fan service was a marketing ploy.

All of this adds up to the simple truth, I miss going to the movies, its nice watching in my home but it's just not the same. There is such raw energy watching on the big screen, home does not make up for. When I saw "Spotlight" in a Merrimac Valley town hard hit by the Priest Scandal, there was this moment when sobbing started in the dark, eventually a group of people left the screening, it was staggering, it was true moment when the unspeakable actions on the screen spilled out into the seats. That is the power of the movies. The movies I miss dearly going to see. Someday...someday I will go back and I hope you who have read all the way to the end will join me!

https://www.instagram.com/reel/CcYFAnylbQf/?igshid=MDJmNzVkMjY=

Welcome to Fenway Park on Opening Day

Today I reflect on my weight loss journey from 2020 to the present. It's 80lbs total from the start of the Covid 20 high weight. Yesterday I stepped on the scale to find I had lost just under 40Lbs since my weigh Friday weigh in of April 9th 2021.

I say this humbly, with humility and zero pride because in 5 minutes I could just start spiraling with one taste and the binge of all binges will be started. Part of everyday as the one kind of addict who as a matter of survival cannot stop taking the drug I am addicted to...food.

Today is a good day, yet a good day can go horribly wrong not by choice, just as taking just that one drink is not a choice, its the old one is too many and a million is not enough moment, only its not that one Jack & Coca Cola its just the Coca Cola alone that will get me. And believe me its amazing how many times that first sip of the diet Coke I ordered proves to be the Coke mistakenly poured by the wait staff of the restaurant.

The best part is I remain morbidly obese, people who do not know me will still only see a fat man, they will never know the struggle, there will be no compassion, only disdain. I will remain the person considered less than at the gym, the one who takes up the equipment time from the serious athletes, life as an adult is just a better masked version of middle school gym class, were the bullying has become more subtle, "wouldn't you be more comfortable coming at a less busy time of day suggestions". Funny how people who ask me about my comfort are clearly not comfortable themselves with me.

Of course the double edged sword is the people who do notice, eventually the dred questions asking about feeling better? I never feel better, especially when someone who is asking clearly doesn't care and wants the response more for the springboard to tell me how bad looking I use to be.

Truthfully I never feel better because I never felt bad to begin with, sure climbing the stairs is easier, breathing is easier but I never felt bad. Age diminished ability is far more devastating to me than weight ever was, being coined as "athleticly fat" is part of the reason for this too.

Two different people in my life have dropped that on me, both under similar experiences when the people had something particularly unkind about another fat oerson to me, they each had this horrific look like they just realized they had said something racist in front of a member of the race, they then would explain with great pain how I was different, they didn't even think of me as fat, no that I was well athletically fat. Thus the term is coined, somewhat red faced yet proud I could live with that, right up until the moment I am staring at the last spoonful of Orange Sherbert I knew I should not have stopped for, waited in line for, ordered and then ate down to the last spoon full and soon would eat. Member of the empty bowl club since 1964.

All I really know is I morn the loss of time more than the fat loss. Simply cannot make up for time lost, lost in the past and whatever future length my fat caused me via the milage not the age toll. There is no victory in the battle this past year to reach this number, its just a mile marker along my path.

Bottom line, the war never ends, addiction in all forms is a 24/7, 365 or 366 day a year struggle against time and as the man who would not be any different than his words, no one gets out alive. Winning for the moment, living for the life.

Out for my morning walk. Along the path I see this fallen tree. The tree has been down for years after a long life judging from its size. Not the first time I have noticed this tree, it sticks out for a human factor. Someone started cutting the tree up into chunks, as if to harvest the wood, to chop it into fire wood or maybe just to clear away. Only thing, this is not fresh cut, there is no saw dust remaining, the exposed wood is weathered, years of expose, abandoned. The tree is symbolic for me, it shows life interupted, the tree's and the human life, it shows good intentions gone arigh, a goal not achieved. I see this image of the tree and the failure to complete the goal a metaphor for so much of my life, of starting something, working hard, yet not reaching the finishline. Seeing a once promising path just peter out. Life for the tree ended a long time ago, I wonder what happened to the unknow human who abandoned their path. I wonder how many people have noticed my abandoned path?

Shortages, shortages everywhere, even in the least expected places as prices soar even the little things disappear and things get weird. Today I hit Dunkins for my large green iced tea with lemon. The speaker voice says, "Sorry we no longer have lemon." Then her voice hits a funny lilt before offering, "Would you like blue berry, they want us to offer blue berry". I am laughing, at blue berry and "they want us", "So how does this work, there are going to be blue berries floating in my green tea?" I ask quite seriously, curiously and with a twinge of happiness. The voice returns, "It's a syrup, with saccharine, so it's sweet but no calories. Oh shit I'm not supposed to say saccharine", probably not shit either. Now I am really laughing, saying sorry I'm taking so much of her time. Officially pass on the blue berry experience, wondering why not get lemon syrup? That I would also pass on, but who ever thought blue berries are a suitable replacement for lemon. I mean blueberry lemon pie is incredible, but you don't think of them as interchangeable. Either way, she told me the price which is now $2 higher than last summer, but she called me "babe" which started a Styx earworm and a smile of happier days in the Carter years. I paid with a five and tipped her a solid dollar telling her the exchange had made my day. Drove away hearing, "Babe, I'm leaving I'll say it once again And somehow try to smile". It's no Freaks and Feeks "Sail Away" moment, but pretty pretty close.

Expectations are bricks we choose to carry. They weigh us down.

We hold on to them shaping how we want others to act.

We are disappointed when people do not carry our expectations.

The more bricks we carry, our strength waivers.

The bricks fall.

The pile blocks our path.

We move them around without letting go, making a wall.

Yet we still pick up more bricks adding them to the wall, until the wall is a cell surrounding us in a prison of expectations.

Built one brick at a time across a lifetime of living for expectations rather than living in the moment.

Reading the news today that Jon Lester retired made me think once again how much I wished he had never left Boston. He was just one of those home grown guys, a throw back to the past, give me the ball every 5 days and the team had a better than average chance to win. He looked like the kid who the bring in from the pen to face Roy Hobbs. His beating the monster of cancer was his 4th ring.

The pictures I have hear are from a September 2013 game he pitched, he gave up 1 run and 2 hits in 5 2/3rds against the Yankees as the Beards kept chugging to his 2nd ring. David Ross was his catcher, just as he would be for ring number 3 in Chicago. For the Love of the Game, I will forever miss Jon Lester every 5th day.

RIP Remdawg! Funny how life works out. I took this picture 3 years ago to the day. Sitting in Fenway Park October 31st 2018, Jerry Remy was the final person to speak before the Duck Boats left Fenway for the rolling rally.

Jerry was a hometown kid who lived the dream of playing for his team. I remember him as a player. He left nothing on the field gritty. He was Scooter back then. His career ended with bad knees, literally being carried off the field by Jim Rice after the final injury.

Shortly after his career on the field ended he showed up on WSBK TV 38 as the color man for Sox broadcasts, eventually going over to NESN until this past season when his latest and final battle with Cancer took him. I met him a couple of times over the years. He was a humble shy guy off the air. He always had time for the fans. One of my favorite things was after the Sox games joking with my kids about how fast Jerry would be flying out of Fenway. That was part of his legend, the impossible fast exit. With his partner Don the Remdawg was born. Check out YouTube for anytime you need a laugh, those two made magic together.

In the end he fought the impossible fight and lost. But in between the man who last appeared at Fenway to throw out the first pitch was Red Sox for life and now beyond.

Godspeed Jerry Remy.

At Fenway sitting in my seat I witnessed two people I aspire to be, one young, one elderly, each on the opposite end of life's path with me sitting somewhere in between.

The day was a glorious hot near autumn day. The game mid first inning, crowd still filtering in. My line of vision to the field is clear, yet the people in the isle draw my attention, one stands out, the elderly person with assistance is facing their own version of the Boston Marathon. Frail, masked, each step is a struggle. Ushers step in to help. 20 rows up from the bull pens, 2 in front of me, he stops on a landing, the woman with him answers the usher question with, up there and points for seat locations. Up there could be another 26 rows.

At this point, the other person enters the story, a young woman with inner beauty to match the exterior, sitting in the section next to mine front row, surrenders her seats to go sight or site unseen "up there". The elderly couple protests the kindness, especially the prideful man, just not for long, the act of surrender is mutual, young surrenders seats, elderly surrenders pride. Kindness wins the day.

I never see the young woman again, I think of her kindness and inspire to be so giving, to do right for a stranger. Ashamed I had not thought to do so myself. The elderly person, I see for the remainder of the game, I tell my son I want to be like the man, to have the love of life, love of the game, to make the climb for one more game, to sit in the sun at Fenway, stay to the final out. My son, being young said, you already do. But I don't.

True I do a lot of that, except the struggle, the fight to climb those stairs, the ramp, the walk across the concourse, the hike down Boylston to Ipswich to Lansdowne, no I muscle memory those movements, if early enough I climb the Green Monster for BP, visit every concourse, Jersey Street mall and team store. Touch Pesky & Fisk poles. I did all of that yesterday. No struggle. Not the battle the elderly man had, to meet briefly the young woman who showed such kindness.

So in the 7th inning when the man looked far more healthy, was eating a Del's Italian Ice and looking very content, I saw my future to aspire to one day be kind like the kind young woman and content like the elderly man.