Is it ironic that Labor Day weekend is the most slothful time of the year? Or was it planned that way? I dunno, but it's Sunday afternoon, I'm drinkin' beer, the Red Sox have won again and I'm goin' fishin' in the morning. (Note: I could have said "mornin'" just then, but I think that would be overkill. You're welcome.) Might as well try for some meager accomplishment today by updating this here blog.

1) My landlady's dogs. I don't like them. I never have. Oh, I don't hate the old blind one. I feel sorry for her, as she is frequently attacked by the two dogs I don't like, the dumb, slobbery, destructive ones. Despite my distaste for these beasties, they are often left in my care. My landlady goes out of town and I feed them while she's gone, in exchange for beer or household repairs or cleaning. No big deal. But lately they've found a secret passage out of the back yard. A couple weekends ago I had to round them up four or five times, and couldn't figure out how they were making their escape. I reported this to her, and she said, oh well, it's a game for them, no big deal. Okay, but a few days later she's away again, and this dude comes to my door. Hostile little prick, real Napoleon complex, but he says "my" dogs have been getting out and they've attacked his dog while they're taking a walk.

Well, I'm sympathetic here, because they've tried to attack Maury a time or two. I tell him they're actually not my dogs, they're my landlady's, and I've already informed her that they've been getting out and she hasn't done anything about it. But this guy's worked up a full head of steam and he's gotta take it out on someone, and it's me. He just won't go away. He says he's gonna call animal control next time it happens. I'm fine with this, but he still won't go. He wants her phone number. Well, I don't have it. She lives next door. Why do I need her phone number? I know she's listed, so if for some reason I had lost the use of my legs and needed to call her, I could drag myself to the phone book and find it. So I give this guy her name and tell him I don't have the number.

"You don't have it - or you don't want to give it to me?" he sneers.

Well, at this point, fuck him. My sympathy is gone. "Why are you giving me a hard time? Go look up the fucking number yourself." Door slam.

Well, I found the escape hatch - there's a little gap between the fence and one wall in the back yard, but it's up pretty high - these dogs must really be working for it. Anyway, I found this patio door that's been sitting in the yard for who knows how long, and used it to patch the hole. Everything seems fine.

And what was my reward for sparing these stupid-ass dogs' lives? My landlady has informed me my rent is going up next month. Hey thanks, karma!



2) But speaking of karma...how 'bout them Sox? I'm not much of a sports guy, and I hadn't followed baseball much in recent years. In college, my dorm room overlooked the Citgo sign and the lights of Fenway Park, and I'll certainly never forget being in Kenmore Square in 1986 when the Red Sox clinched the pennant and I watched some...uh...overzealous fans completely destroy some poor schmuck's car. And I have a vivid memory of being in Charlie's, our late night deli hangout, when the ball rolled through Buckner's legs (though I don't remember if I actually saw it happen on TV or just heard about it on the radio after the fact). Other than that, I hadn't paid attention to the Sox until the playoffs last year. But I did get sucked into the ALCS series against the Yankees, and watched it to the bitter end.

Still, in those few games, I bonded with this team, and so I was on board when the season started this year. I watched their first game against the Yankees, which they handily won when everything was going their way. Then three months worth of .500 ball followed. They fell 10 1/2 games behind the Yankees. No one was too enthusiastic about their chances, but I still liked these guys. They were like the M*A*S*H of Major League Baseball. The Yankees are all clean-cut and businesslike, but the Red Sox are a buch of scruffy oddballs. Plus their theme song when they win at home is "Dirty Water," so how cool is that? Of course, the national sports media, by and large, hates 'em. Get a haircut! Stop having fun and play the damn game!

Well, that's all changing now, and the catalyst was a game that happened while I was home up in Maine, deep in Red Sox territory. Living in Austin, I don't get to watch a lot of the games, but my dad watches 'em all. He was pretty disgusted by the time the Red Sox faced the Yanks that day in late July, and it didn't help when they fell behind 3-0. Then Bronson Arroyo plunks A-Rod with a ball, Rodriguez cusses him out, Jason Varitek gets in his face, and a classic Red Sox-Yankees bench-clearing brawl breaks out.

We went out to dinner for my birthday, and they were watching the game in the restaurant. My niece kept running into the next room to check out the score. The Yankees took a five-run lead in the sixth inning. Then the Red Sox kept cutting it down. The sixth inning went on for over an hour and the game was still on when we got home. In the bottom of the ninth, Bill Mueller hits a walk-off homerun and we all go nuts.

Since then, it's been nothing but good times. That 10 1/2 lead has been cut to 2 1/2 behind the rapidly imploding Yankees. The Red Sox have a 3 1/2 game lead in the wild card race, and they've won 18 of their last 20. For the first time in almost 20 years, I'm into MLB baseball. At least until the next Survivor season starts, or they figure out a way to blow it again.




Here's that fall preview stuff I've been swamped under for the past week:

The Best Indies

Oscar watch

Biggest Gambles

The Lineup

Critic's Picks