The Boston Red Sox: Defenders of the 2004 World Championship!! "Whoever plunges into his experiences with the momentum of hope, will remember so that he cannot forget." - Soren Kierkegaard.

Thursday, September 30, 2004


Petey... Posted by Hello

Inside my 26-year old body is a nine-year old heart. I'm a big kid. I still play videogames, still get a secret thrill from being able to play whiffle ball in the house, still watch cartoons, still like toys, still get literally enthralled by movies like "Finding Nemo" and "Babe." And I still look up to people like I'm nine and they're twenty years older than me, not five or six. Like my sous chef Dave. He's only a year older than me, but in my little kid brain he's way older and way wiser than I'll ever grow up to be.

Pedro is one of those people that I look up to. He's like a hero to me. I've totally idealized him to be the baddest, most in-control, confident, best pitcher in the Bigs. I neither know nor want to know much about his personal life - I already know that he parties with midgets and that's maybe a little more than I need to know - but watching him pitch, it's watching a master at work. It's not the goofy, blissful, feel-good ass-whoopery I get watching Manny hit. When I watch Pedro, he commands my respect.

The last four of his starts have been hard to watch. Is this how it's going to end? Is this how he's going to go out? Not Pedro, not like this. Mike text-messaged me while I was at work tonight about how Pedro worked his way out of a bases-loaded, no outs situation, and I whooped because I thought, "That's it, Petey, c'mon! Bring it back!" And then whatever "it" was...went away again. I want to fucking email him or hit him up on his cell or fucking sit at the end of a deserted bar with him and keep the bartender there past last call to assure him that it's okay and tell him that I still believe in him and that he's still the coolest if anyone asks me. I want to send him a Strip-O-Gram with baseball cards of all the Yankees players covering her naughty bits that he has to peel off with his mouth. I want to take him out to a Denzel Washington movie and buy him a bag of Twizzlers and a large fountain drink.

Pedro, you're the fucking Man, el Hombrón, and if there is a God (which there isn't but that's beside the point) and this is the way that it's going to end, then I pray that we all part ways with a bang and not with a whimper.