Let’s just jump right into Day 2, shall we? I am awoken somewhat suddenly to the sounds of someone tromping around the creaky wooden floors of Addy’s humble abode. I am not in the same place I fell asleep. In fact, I am confused as to where I am. I am in a bed, though I fell asleep on a living room couch. The clock on the nightstand contends that it is before 8 AM. If that is true, my body is still in pre-7 AM territory. I don’t remember feeling horrible at that moment but, add the time of day to the activities from last night, carry the 1, and it’s easy to see that I wasn’t ready to ride a merry-go-round. That said, I am not getting up unless the rightful owner of the bed comes and threatens to move me with brute force. Even then, I’d probably say, “Unless you have a crane in your back pocket, I don’t see moving me as a real option.” So, despite my unknown location, I go right back in to a deep slumber.
Somewhere around 10, I wake again. Now, for some reason I am feeling like a superstar. I get up, figure out where I am, and go check to see what’s the happity haps. My PICs were still dreaming of the catwalk girls. I prepare for a shower only to find Exhibit A (see previous post) as I enter the bathroom. More confusion. I immediately document my findings and begin searching for clues, but to no avail. After a refreshing shower, 3 ibuprofen, and some clean clothes, I decide it's time to wake up the boys. I don’t know about you, but I hate being woken up suddenly. I prefer the gradual approach and decide to implement that in to this morning. I retrieve a glass of ice water, a small plate, 6 ibuprofen, and my camera. The following video shows what happened next. Enjoy.
After a small jam session, we developed the theme song for the weekend. The last time I was in Boston, Addy and I took in the baddest band in the land at Fenway, where they covered The Talking Heads’ Burning Down the House. I haven’t gone a day without listening to it since Fenway, shooting it to my #1 favorite DMB cover (okay, I lied. It’s tied with Peter Gabriel’s Sledgehammer). Throughout the rest of the weekend, we hooligans would bust out lyrics at a moment's notice. THERE HAS GOT TO BE A WAY, BURNIN’ DOWN THE HOUSE! Singing any part of that song was like getting a B12 shot. Definitely a big contributor to our never ending enthusiasm. The song also plays a major role in two men sharing an intimate moment later in the day….but more on that in a bit.
My stomach was calling to me at this point. I felt like I was wasting away like Michael J. Fox at the Enchantment Under the Sea dance. We hit the Heinz 57 bus down to Fenway all decked out in Minnesota Twins gear. As far as we were concerned, the Twins were in town, not the Mariners. Turns out our apparel would be somewhat of a conversation starter. We roll in to Cask and Flagon for some eats. Not long after we sat, we were approached by two different sets of MN residents, simply because of our gear. One girl came up and before she said two words, she pulls down the front of her jeans and shows us a Twins tattoo right by her hoo ha. I’m normally not a tattoo fan but when I saw that one, I got a semi.
Next up, a Fenway Park VIP tour. Ant had never been to Boston, let alone Fenway so needless to say, he was pretty excited. The tour guide began by asking what kind of fans were in the group. Instead of waiting for her to specifically ask for Twins fans, we took it upon ourselves to announce our presence with authority. The rest of the tour was just alright. It would have been great if we didn’t have to follow the tour guide around while she blabbed on and on about nothing in particular. Fenway Park is a gem because it is so small, intimate, and old. I preferred to tour it with my eyes, not my ears. There is so much to look at, that it became really annoying, having to sit through the guide's endless ramblings. I mean, the visiting Mariners were running routes in left field! We couldn't even go in to the Green Monstah seats because her 20 minute story carried over in to BP thus making it a life and death risk to venture on the wall. Weak sauce. Here are the other highlights of the tour:
Anthony yelling out ‘Yeah Smoltzy!! Yeah Smolty!!’ to get a wave from John Smoltz, as he walked back to the clubhouse from the bullpen. Maybe you had to be there.
The tattoo girl from lunch (that happened to be on the same tour) found us and got a picture with us. Anthony, not letting the opportunity slip away again, asked for a snapshot of the tattoo. His wish was granted.
We got shushed by an old lady during the worthless storytelling rants of the tour guide. Twice.
We had a random old guy take our picture. Instead of ‘Say Cheese!’ he said ‘Say Shit!’ That became our new pre-picture saying, probably for life.
Finally, at tour’s end, we nearly walked out with our FanFoto picture because we thought it was free. Once they told us it was $20, I took a picture of the picture with my camera, gave the FanFoto back and we left.
Look at how excited the Big Guy is to see Fenway.
With the conclusion of the tour, it was time to hit our favorite pre-game spot, The Baseball Tavern. A beauty of a bar with 4 levels, the fourth being the roof with a view of Fenway. Not long after arrival and shots of Jameson, we are chatting up the bartender (Lisa) with the best proposal of the night so far. We noticed the music playing on the bar stereo is being played from an i-Pod with a simple cord plugged in to the headphone jack. My phone doubles as an mp3 player AND it has DMB’s Fenway version of Burning Down the House. Of course the song had to be played for all to hear. Our determination to make it happen would be undeniable. We tried to make a deal with her but she wanted the following; a kiss between Ant and I. Not exactly what we had in mind, but being stubborn and desperate to hear the song over the bar speakers, there was no other option. It was the shortest peck in the history of straight man kisses. Addy tried to capture it on film but luckily he failed and caught only the bartenders’ reactions. Now was the moment we had been waiting for since the idea was hatched. I’d like to say that when I plugged the phone in and pressed play, glorious sound filled the room putting us in musical heaven. But I can’t say that. I can’t say it because it didn’t happen. Instead when the phone was plugged in, we heard silence with the crackling speakers echoing ‘Homo! Homo!’ Actually, Addy was chanting it. Don't worry, right after that, we hi-jacked the i-Pod and became bar DJs and TOTALLY redeemed ourselves.
Despite having my dreams crushed, I still managed to win a dollar from Lisa and some props from the crowd. After about a 5 second pour of peppermint schnapps missed its intended container and ended up covering the bar, my instincts kicked in and I went in for a fake lick of the bar. That led her to offering me a dollar if I actually did it. I would have done it for free, so naturally 3 seconds later I am cleaning up the spill like it was Exxon Valdez. After countless cheers and high-fives from the other patrons, I collected my dollar and was asked to be in several photos holding my spoils. Interesting the things that bring fame and fortune these days. Now that we were well prepared, to the Sox game we go.
We managed to slide in to our seats moments before the 1st pitch after dominating some steak tips and Italian sausage right outside the Fenway gate. The food was so good, we started pushing it harder than the vendors while eating it. The game did not disappoint. Lots of offense, homers, a famous song, one of the best Waves I have ever seen, all topped off with a home team comeback to bring us bonus baseball (which we watched from behind home plate). The only thing that could have made it better was a Sox win. Not that I am a fan of the Sox. I am a fan of walk offs. Short of a strikeout to complete a perfecto/no-no, walk offs are the best way to win ballgames (and I would have loved to hear Dirty Water again at Fenway).
Between pitches at the game, there were some other happenings that occurred. At some point during the game:
We came back to our seats after a beer/bathroom break to find people in them. We then became friends with them, and met them out, after the game.
Anthony called his mother.
There was a lengthy discussion with a Boston Globe employee about the internet's effect on the dying newspaper industry.
Anthony swore at the old lady behind us because he thought she asked him ‘What is the f***ing score?’ Turns out that's not what she said. When she got pissed at him for swearing he apologized.
We began another theme of the weekend.
Each of us took some heckling from various Sox fans about our Twins apparel.
Anthony found an interesting looking pole, and then got kicked out of the section when he commented on it next to a couple kids.
After the Sox game, we head over to the Cask to meet our new friends that tried to steal our seats. I know one reason we befriended them was because at least one guy was from MN. He also happened to look like Bill Murray circa 1980. While waiting in line to get in, we spot a guy that looks kind of like William Hung, wearing a White Sox hat. We let him have it with everything we had. We chanted ‘White Sux suck!’; ‘3rd place White Sux!’; ‘She bangs! She bangs!’; and we sang ‘Go Cubs gooooo!’ At first he tried to dish it right back at us and seemed legitimately pissed. He even dared us to be ‘Loudah, loudah, loudah!’ with a huuuuuuge Boston accent which made us crack up even more. When he realized he wasn’t winning the battle, he got over it and then it was cool.
The details of the night get more and more hazy from here on out. I know I got a picture with a guy wearing a Vlad Guerrero Expos jersey shirt and we got free drinks from another guy just because we had Twins gear on. In fact, 'Hi, we're from Minnesota' was pretty much a pick-up line that never failed on girls OR guys. We left the Cask for greener pastures following the Shorturican. Addy and I lost him on the way, when we met some people. Guess where they were from. The new crew made it in to another bar where we got mixed up with some Irish fellas and the next thing I know, I'm being kicked out of the bar, and whisked in to a cab without Addy. At this point, all three of us are separated and none of us know the whereabouts of the others. Really, I'm not even sure if I'm still in America. A 15 minute cab ride later, I arrive at an apartment and am given a fresh beer. That was enough to make me feel right at home. To my suprise, Addy arrives shortly with the rest of the crew and the Irish guys. We proceed to play tippy cup on the deck until the neighbors come out and yell at us. I don't know what their problem was. Who doesn't play drinking games on a deck at 3:30 AM? Losers. Shortly after that, the night ended with a serious pass out session.
I don't know who you are, but will you marry me?
Dolla dolla bill y'all!
Cinderlla story. Outta nowhere. A former greenskeeper, now, about to become the Masters Champion.
