One week ago today, Red Sox Nation was in a state of choas.  God forbid, the beloved home team had lost 2 out of 3 April games to the Tampa Bay Devil Rays, who may or may not have had Dan Miceli as their closer.  Usually, a remark including the words "may or may not", "Dan Miceli" and "closer" in the same sentence is regarded as sarcasm.  Sadly, my statement was indeed a statement of fact.  At any rate, the irrational Red Sox fans started leaping head-first off the bandwagon and into the path of an oncoming train.  Being a rational Red Sox fan myself, I knew better than to state my case publically at the time, for saying the words "give them time, they'll turn it around" after a poor road trip will get you branded as a traitor in most parts of southern New England.  (Aside to those girls at Monday's game: note the spelling of "traitor".  Next time, you won't look so dumb.)

But then, the Red Sox had a stellar six-game homestand.  It's still too early to tell, but I have a hunch all the callers on sports radio tomorrow will be much happier than they were last week (at least happier than they were before Doug Mirabelli was traded.)

Tomorrow, I'll have some toughts on Red Sox-Yankees, Round 2, as well as thoughts on...get ready for this...NASCAR.  For now, here are some random observations from the past week:

It would seem to me that turning away from a Red Sox game to participate in an online chat with Hazel Mae would be grounds for revoking your fan privledges.  Yet, this chat was only availible to members of Red Sox Nation.  Nothing against Hazel, but I'd much rather watch a blowout like today's game then send a question to Hazel, hoping that maybe, just maybe, she'll answer it.

Am I the only person that has turned Kevin Millar's name into a verb?  Right-handed hitters don't pull pithces foul into the third-base stands anymore, they "millar" pitchers into the stands.  When somebody cranks a pitch just to the foul side of the foul pole on the Monster, that person has "millared" it.  If you've watched Kevin Millar hit, you know what I mean.

Now that Wily Mo's hitting over .300, and providing a desparately-needed spark at the bottom of the order, the Bronson Arroyo trade is starting to look an awful lot better, isn't it?

But if I hear anybody say Pena's better than Pokemon Damon ever was, that, my friends, is crossing the line.

Seanez sucks.

And lastly, how much fun do Don Orsillo and Jerry Remy have up there in the booth?  Most major-league broadcasters make calling a game seem like a job, but the Rem Dawg and Don "I Need a Cool Nickname" Orsillo seem to enjoy every minute they spend together.  I'd love to hear them calling Red Sox games for the next 20 years.

Going into Friday night's game, the Kansas City Royals were having an impossibly horrible season.  Through 26 games, their record stands at 6-20.  For those of you keeping score at home, that is a robust .231 winning percentage.  The Royals are on pace for 37 wins this season.  If they keep up the pace they're currently on, the Royals will obliterate one of the most cherished records in baseball: the 1962 Mets record for losses in a single season.

How bad are things for the Royals?  If the Royals rally and double the win total they're on pace for, they will STILL end up below .500 with a 74-88 record.  I honestly feel bad for every citizen of western Missouri.  First, the Chiefs spring yet another forgettable draft on them.  And now, while they wait for Herm Edwards and his band of merry men to take the field, they have to spend a summer with such studs as career .239 hitter Mark Teahen and Kerry Robinson, who recently suffered from back spasms triggered by laughing at a youth league baseball game (you can't make this stuff up.)  And that doesn't even cover the pitching staff, which might stuggle to record outs in the Rhode Island Interscholastic League.

So, Royals fans, what are your options?  Well, you could bite the buller and witness history, as your team sheds every last shred of dignity.  Or, if you're not really in masochism, you could take the less painful approach of gouging your eyes out with a rusty fork.  Hey, no eyes, no seeing Emil Brown, right?

There is one other option.  Get a satellite dish.  Order the MLB package.  At the conclusion of the season, uninstall the dish and bash Royals management over the head with it.  A lot.

It seems to me that the new trend in the NFL is turning college basketball power forwards into tight ends.  Ed Nelson, Jai Lewis, and other "ballers"-turned-"gridders" have signed NFL contracts in recent days.  NFL teams are apparently tantilized by their combination of size and athleticism, and not at all deterred by the lack of actual football experience. 

What is responsible for this phenomenon?  One thing: the success of Tony Gonzalez and Antonio Gates.  These two men have become prolific pass-catching tight ends, so prolific that it can be argued that both are the focal point of their respective offenses.  Tony Gonzalez played both football and basketball in college, whereas Gates strictly stuck to the hardwood.  It is the rapid rise of Gates that has teans seeing stars in the likes of Nelson and Lewis. 

I have one question for NFL executives: Can I play tight end too?  Five years ago, I played power forward in a pickup game.  I think I had 2 or 3 rebounds.  I also punched somebody in the balls in a horrendously failed attempt at a steal.  Maybe at 5'8", 230+ lbs I'm a little misproportioned for a tight end, but we can work through that.  I also have lousy hands and marginal blocking skills (I did play high school football, I have to give Coach Ferraro some credit for teaching me to block.)  My 40 time is somewhere in the 6.5 or 6.8 range, and I can bench 225 precisely zero times.  With numbers like these, how could Bill Belichick resist me?

So here I sit, waiting for a phone call from somebody in the NFL, knowing that my chance will come soon.  I once played power forward.  My ticket is punched.

Hello guys,

This is my first blog post, as is blatently obvious by the fact that there are no others visable.  Hopefully this blog will be a little bit entertaining, and maybe even a little enlightening as well (although I severely doubt my ability to enlighten the masses.)

Monday night, as the sports media has driven into our heads, the Red Sox played host to the dreaded, hated New York Yankees for the first in what will be approximately 500,000 meetings this season (either that or 19 games, maybe it just seems like so many with the unbalanced schedule).  Going into Monday, the masses of Red Sox Nation were in full-fledged panic mode.  Living in Rhode Island and having little to do but listen to sports radio all day, I heard all the complaints and suggestions fans have for the Red Sox, ranging from sending career .300 hitter Mark Loretta to the minors to trading Josh Beckett back to Florida for Hanley Ramirez.  I looked at the calendar.  Yup May 1st, the Red Sox were in first place, and yet they somehow weren't doing anything right.

All the panic changed, however, with one quick trade.  The Red Sox reacquired backup catcher Doug Mirabelli, and an entire region rejoiced.  Yup, that's right.  A backup catcher would right all the wrongs with the Red Sox.  Suddenly, the critical phone calls stopped.  The fans couldn't care less about the struggles of the Red Sox, Doug Mirabelli was back in town.  People started calling sports radio stations to praise the greatness that is Doug Mirabelli, with his .239 career average and his incredible ability to catch Tim Wakefield's nasty knuckleball.  It's the knuckleball catching, in many minds, that makes Mirabelli almost a diety in these parts.  In a rather rediculous scene, Mirabelli sprinted out of a police cruiser in full uniform just minutes before game time, and Fenway Park erupted.  Yes, the fans were thrilled over a backup catcher.  Around game time, my mother called me on my cell phone screaming "Dougie's back!  Dougie's back!"  I guess I should explain that my mom has some sort of crush on Doug Mirabelli.  Dad should watch out if any pudgy backup catchers move in next door. 

I know I'm not the only one to express this thought, but this could only happen in Boston.  The Red Sox were struggling to score runs?  Johnny Damon with his new Pokemon-style haircut was in town?  Nobody cared.  Doug Mirabelli was back, and he healed the ills of Red Sox Nation.