On Being from Rhode Island

I've been gone for over 35 years, but Home is always Home.  I couldn't wait to leave back then, but can now appreciate Rhode Island's unique offerings and her (occasionally positive) influence on me.  I recently grabbed this screen shot from an on-line fishing video that was "featuring" the salt-water fishing opportunities of Little Rhody's shoreline; none of these seemed to exist in my youth.  Regardless, I thought it captured the depths to which Rhode Island is misunderstood and under-appreciated.  But that's okay, because what's more natural or easier than that?

Century Mark!

I arrived in Maine with a simple fishing goal; to catch six more stripers during my relatively brief stay.  These six would bring me to The Century Mark, i.e., 100 Stripers caught for the season.  Not bad for a guy from Michigan!  And let's face it, I'm willing to recognize and celebrate just about any fun milestone, however artificial it might be.

Conditions upon our mid-day arrival were clear, bright and windy, and the tide was unfavorably high for good fishing.  But after a quick stop at The Tackle Shop for bait (sand-worms and frozen mackerel), I was down at the dock by 1:30 PM.

It was unusually windy in Portland, Maine on August 22, 2017.  The flags were stiff as I cast my lines.

Weeds made casting lures impossible, and bait fishing was difficult, at best.  By 2:30 PM and having encountered virtually no sign of sea life, I was smart enough to call it (temporarily) quits.  I snuck in a quick nap while awaiting more favorable conditions.

By 4 PM, at least the late, ebbing tide was more favorable, and the weeds were largely dissipated.  I caught two stripers (16 and 20 inches) on worms right away, and then I enjoyed a slow stream of steady action.  While most fish preferred the worms, a couple ate small chunks of mackerel off the bottom.  At about 6:50 PM, August 22, 2017, my float and worm went down, and Striper No. 100 for 2017 hit the deck!

Here's my Century Mark for the 2017 Striper Season!

Mission accomplished; but even better, I still had two or three full days of fishing ahead of me!

Maine Fun 2017.01

I was fortunate to have shared the week of July 4 with family in Maine.  It was a beautiful week filled with good food, celebrations and fishing.  My fishing approach here is simple; throw spoons for mackerel and provide some bait options for striped bass, but most importantly, be there when the fish are there!  My tackle and techniques have evolved over the course of almost 20 years; I think I've arrived at the proper balance of sport while providing for a chance at catching the largest available stripers.  In most years, I am amazed at how many bass there must be, because I will have a good number of chances while basically standing in a single spot.

This year was no exception.  There were many bass to be caught.  Mackerel were conspicuously absent, and the average bass was smaller than in most years.  I can't control those factors, all I can do is capitalize on the chances that are available.  Hopefully I do so while enjoying and appreciating the setting, scenery and wildlife.

A detailed log of the actual fishing can be found here; with this post, I would simply like to acknowledge the peaceful-yet-celebratory mood/theme of the week.

2017's First Striper!  I am always pleased to make their re-acquaintance!

One can get used to such sunrises.  Venus hangs over Casco Bay at about 4:15 AM, July 2, 2017.

Here I am converting a mackerel head into another nice striper on my first morning of fishing.

K is hooked up to a nice fish!

I brought the net for just such fish!

K's mid-day 28-incher was the biggest of the trip!

A nice evening fish; my largest of the trip.

Striper No. 50 for 2017

The hat says, "Live to Fish" and features a striped bass; a powerful combo!

Fish ... Eat ... Sleep.  Whenever one can!

Every day, every tide is different on the landing.  What will the next trip bring?

Family Trip

Plans for our 2016 Thanksgiving were hatched over a year ago.  With both girls now in New England, we were hosted by my maternal uncle on Cape Cod.  Some cancelled and some were mildly ill, but our travels from Michigan were without issue, and by 2:30 PM on the day before Thanksgiving, my wife and I were reunited with our studious girls.  By 5 PM, we were on the Cape!

With fewer people in attendance and the hosting house less attractive due to illness, we had more time to be together as a nuclear family and extra time to explore.  It turned out to be a wonderfully relaxing long weekend!  The trip back to Michigan wasn't too painful, and I even scored a bonus day free from work, so I got to try for a muskie one more time.

Thanksgiving Day itself was very pleasant.  During the meal, we discussed (among other things) boat names.  I've collected quite a few possibilities for my future boats, but when pressed for the likely name of my next saltwater boat, I proposed Mooncusser.  This meets all my requirements for a proper boat name; it's unique, thought provoking and simply sounds just a little bit naughty.

A "mooncusser" is a land-based pirate.  You have to admire that!  Their efforts were likely thwarted by moonlight, hence the name.  They depended on luring ships within range by establishing false lighthouses.  I suppose in the deepest gloom, enough captains made enough mistakes to make this a viable method for making a living.

The next day, we were walking the beach at Chatham.  I was pleasantly surprised to note the following:

Municipal Mooncussing; the lighthouse at Chatham, Massachusetts is short and quite a ways inland; a perfect recipe for land-based piracy, especially when combined with shoal water and a shifting inlet.

This shack along the beach caught our attention. It referenced an "Occupation" for some cause, and perhaps has served as a legitimate shelter.

To my delight, I found this inside the shack. 

I can't guarantee she'll be Mooncusser, but the odds certainly have improved!

The trip also included my rediscovery of what was once family property:

This property was once in my grandparents' possession.  I have faint memories of the porch, the hill on the side and the interior lay-out.  I have no recollection of it being so close to the ocean!  But I was only 5 or 6 when the house was sold, and that was before I'd found fishing.

We also poked around the Brewster/Orleans area and found Nickerson State Park.  It was beautifully quiet in the off-season and attractive to the sweet-water fisherman in me.  I am sure we will return again, some day.

Flax Pond in Nickerson State Park, Brewster, Massachusetts.  Some trout were rising; I had no gear.  I met a couple of fishermen on their way out, and it looked like Berkley PowerBait on the bottom was their plan.

Maine Musings

I recently returned from a trip to Maine; all the fishing details are here.  I rushed through capturing those so as not to lose them, but having done so, I can can definitively say that while they might accurately capture the fishing events, they fall short in capturing the true essence of the trip.  And that's what this entire blogging endeavor is all about!

That is perhaps best captured in my youngest daughter's pride and happiness with her new home at the college of her choosing.  That's why we had made the trip.  But the importance of the trip to me was also captured by individual moments that deserve to be noted:

• Completing a couple of hot and dirty tasks for those whom I care about;
• Noticing the distinct phosphorescence of the bay's water as I retrieved my lure on the darkest of the New Moon mornings;
• Catching my first Birthday and September Stripers;
• Exploring some new areas and finding new favorites;
• Being proud to leave my youngest daughter in her new community at 2 PM, but having my oldest daughter fall asleep in my arms by 4 PM as we watched a Red Sox game on TV;
• Sharing simple meals in beautiful settings; 
• Sharing fishing time with friends, old and new; and
• Quietly holding hands with A as we covered a couple of thousand miles in our safe, reliable vehicle.

And of course there was the fishing!  

These travels marked the end of the Raising Kids at Home portion of our lives and the commencement of Our Future.  Getting there will also be a long haul, but the real importance of this new journey will be embodied by the things I notice and appreciate along the way.  Let there be many!

Casco Bay

Bucktail Bass -or- Hair Jig Payoff II

It took me over 30 years to catch my first striper, and it took almost another 20 for me to score one on the greatest, simplest and most versatile striper lure of all time; the humble, yet productive, bucktail.

4:30 AM EDT and all is well!

Of course, I just threw one for the first time while targeting stripers, and it really only took a few dozen casts for me to get bit.  I wish I could say this personally momentous event took place on one of the hair jigs I had crafted over the winter; but instead, I have to admit that I was throwing a nicely tied custom jig from The Tackle Shop in Portland, Maine.

This particular bass will forever remain etched in my memory for the cool, visual strike it provided.  I am accustomed to watching for my lure in the water during the retrieve, and soon after my slowly swimming jig came into view in the low morning light, this bass flashed up from the bottom and annihilated the bait.  She was probably within a rod's length when we connected, and I got to watch the entire strike and fight sequence unfold.  This healthy 26-incher was a perfect match for my gear in hand, too, and it was a pleasure to catch such a fish on a beautiful Maine morning!

5 AM and all is even better!

She might have thought it was a peanut bunker, or perhaps a finger-sized mackerel.  She hit hard, right at my feet.  All of the weekend's bass were thick and adorned with sea lice.

So, I somewhat successfully deployed a "new-to-me-in-this-place" tactic in a truly peaceful setting.  I had carefully selected, quality gear *** in hand, and I even caught a few other fish on this morning.  Some were larger, but none were quite as interesting or as satisfying as this particular bass.  What else could one ask for from a given morning, a long weekend road trip, or a winter spent daydreaming of (and preparing for) such things?


*** One of the pleasures (and potential frustrations) of fishing this spot is matching my tackle to the available bass.  While they have probably averaged about 24 or 25 inches (probably about six pounds) over the years, on any given day, the bites can come from micro-schoolies weighing in at a pound, or from unstoppable freight trains of unconfirmed size.  Moreover, my available tackle in Maine has always been a little limited and make-shift.  But with my increased saltwater fishing interests and participation over the last few years, I have purchased some high-quality saltwater reels and a couple of travel rods.  This day's set-up: the newest version of Shimano's Stradic 4000, spooled with 30-pound Momoi Diamond Braid; a heavy action, 7-foot Cabela's Fish Eagle 50 rod; 25-pound Seagar fluorocarbon leader;  and the 3/8-ounce sparse bucktail tipped with a 3-inch Lunker City shad body.  This was a fine delivery system that just felt good, at least to me!

Little Rhody Road Trip

An arranged long weekend; my girls in Providence and Boston; and a full tank of gas; it was clearly time for a quick road trip to my home, Rhode Island.  I've barely been back for the last 20 years.  I spent a good chunk of my youth planning to escape; and now I can foresee a future where I end up back there (or closely nearby.)

We arrived in Providence at about 11:30 AM, having taken a final highway named for a Woonsocket-born actor of the 30s (really; is that all they could come up with?), but since M had plans until 6:30 or so, and K's train didn't come until that time, either, A and I had some time to poke around.  We could have chosen to go south to the beaches, or east to the Cape; but we'd had enough driving.  We chose to go a few miles north, to my home town, Cumberland.

The remembered route home, along the Blackstone River, was closed to traffic (since 2004?) and so we could not enjoy the winding trip past the old textile and nut and bolt mills.  I couldn't race over the railroad hummocks and throw our stomaches into our throats.  We were instead shunted into Central Falls.  The roads here are old; narrow and tortuously winding; many of the bridges and underpasses are single lanes.  Honk as you approach, cross your fingers, and go through if it appears to be clear.  It usually works, but when a truck, clearly too tall to go under a railroad bridge attempted to anyway, we had to back-track.  We went past Macumber Stadium, where I played American Legion Baseball.  The field looked the same, but a foul ball to either side would now deposit the ball on Prison Land (the barbed wire was impressive), and a homer to right would land on the roof of a closed mill.  Forget parking one to left or center; 360 feet down the line to left (I did hit the wall once for a triple), and well over 500 feet to dead center.

We did find a pleasant (new-to-me) access to the Blackstone River, so we took a short walk here.

We quickly found an unexpected campground in Central Falls!  It was pretty well deserted, this entry provided free samples of native poison ivy, and the Blackstone River smelled somewhat familiar; but what a beautiful day!

I've got The Granite of New Hampshire in my muscles and my brains, but I suspect that it's dissolved in Blackstone River water.

The Blackstone was running low and clear; clearer than I'd ever seen.

From here we went to see the old homestead; but first we stopped at what was once my maternal grandparents' home.  This neighborhood was remarkably familiar; many houses were still the same color they were in the 70s!  My grandparents are buried across the street, and we quickly found their tombstone.  I can't exactly say I paid my respects, but it is a good thing to at least know where these things are.

My maternal grandparents' house looks pretty much exactly the same as when they sold it in the early 1970s.  (It's white instead of gray.)  This is where I famously ate a whole chicken at the age of 3 or so, and learned how to ride my bike.  Since a baseball friend's family bought this house from my grandfather, I spent a lot of my time here in my early teens, too.

From here it was off to the house of my childhood.  We took the back way there, and we encountered a fair amount of "new" development.  My favorite house (the one with the porch roof built around a fully grown tree) was gone, but the nearby "Piggery" was still there, unlike The Pond.  Both were important portals to my fishing life.  Many bass (and some impressive 'gills) were caught from each.

They've added a wing to the house I grew up in and paved the driveway.  A little fancier paint job and extremely well-kept, but otherwise totally familiar.  My pond, fields and woods are mostly gone to development now, but it looks like a nice place to live.

At this point it was time to look for lunch; both A and I wanted an authentic R.I. grinder.  We took a tour through the various burrows of Cumberland and turned around at the high school.  We found a sub shop from my high school times and sat down for lunch.  It was about here when I realized that I didn't really want to encounter somebody I actually knew.  But the demographics of the place seem to have changed, and it was the middle of a work day; so I never actually realized this concern.

My parent's sporting goods store is apparently still owned by the original buyer.  He moved it kitty-corner across the parking lot.  The neighborhood had a new tattoo parlor, but was otherwise familiar.

The original Sportstown was across Mendon Road from a Rhode Island Icon; Del's Lemonade.  This was probably The Original Gatorade, and many Little Leaguers were motivated to great performance heights by the prospect of a post-game Del's.  These were sold in different sizes; the 5-center was small, the dimer was adequate, and the 25-center was a giant reward.  I'd usually pick up a pack of Topp's Baseball Cards, too; awesome gum and 10 cards or so for a dime.

There's no reason to suffer from scurvy in Rhode Island.

We had to stop!  We shared this drink.

We couldn't resist the commemorative cup.  I'm enjoying an 800-center!

On our way to the local State Park (Lincoln Woods), we stopped at Ann and Hope.  It's no longer open as a department store, but the building seemed to be in good repair (for a former mill of such age.)

The original department store?  Now it seems to host flea markets.

The Dividing Line on a foot-bridge over the Blackstone River.  Access to the river was much easier!

The inviting Blackstone.  But if you look carefully, there's a sheen and an absorbent boom by the factory downstream.  There's also a property of seemingly deserted semi-trailers to the right.  So things are better; but they could be better, yet.

As our designated meeting time approached, we wandered down to Providence.  This city seems to have cleaned up pretty well and was more vibrant and accessible than I remember.  Plus, there are now fish in Narragansett Bay, and there seems to be so much more to do!

Upper Narragansett Bay, from Providence's India Point.  The windmills are new-to-me!

The Providence Waterfront at the head of Narragansett Bay from India Point; this area now has easy access.  The Hurricane Barrier is kind of behind the bridge.  This area hosts seasonally excellent striper and blue-fishing.  The current was ripping, but there didn't seem to be much going on, here, fishing-wise.

There is some concern that the greeting "What Cheer, Netop?" will become common practice within the family.

Who can argue with a heritage that includes participation in "a lively experiment"?

I've always loved the understated beauty of the Rhode Island flag and motto.

Rhode Island's Capitol; The Minuteman (ready in a minute to defend his state and religious freedom) stands watch atop.

My maternal grandfather has his own government building in Providence.

Entrance to the Powers Building.

By 7 PM we were all together and in the truck, bound for our hotel in Middletown.  After a nice informal meal of local pizza, we were well poised to "do" Newport the next morning.  Katie and I made a quick trip to the Goat Island Causeway, where some folks were squidding.  But we were all tired, so we were soon in bed, awakening to our first (and only?) Rhode Island Dunk Do' of the trip.

It was a beautiful morning, and we spent the day wandering around Newport, doing the Cliff Walk, checking out beaches, shopping and eating.  

My girls, on the rocks.

A little time in downtown Newport made me all artistic-like, so I took this picture of the green bike against the green wall.  There's no other purpose to this pic other than I like the colors.

What's a trip to Rhode Island without going to Newport Creamery!  Drinking three "Awful Awfuls" used to get you a 4th one for free, but a single "Junior" is enough for me now.  Make mine Coffee, please!  And I love their trademarked slogan.  It is, after all, a drink.

The evening had been planned around the rising of the Super Full Moon.  We picked our spot and enjoyed each other's company as we waited, freshened by a comfortable sea breeze.

We set up for a view of the Super Full Moonrise.  We were positioned perfectly, but  a fog bank at sea muted our experience.

The moon got a little more impressive as it rose, but for A, it's all about the horizon.

The next morning it was another good Middletown meal; but then off to Boston to drop K off at her summer digs. I was pleased to see her accommodations seemed nicer than expected.  At 11:28 AM we said goodbye, got on I-90 West, and headed home.  With a pleasant stop near Buffalo for the night, and two easy border crossings, we were home by 2 PM the next day.  That gave us enough time to clean up, rest a bit, reflect on this weekend, and prepare for the week ahead!

Just a small example of the artwork that adorned the entirety of our most excellent hotel near Buffalo, NY.

All this was made somehow better and more enjoyable for all, because there were no fishing plans.  It was all relaxation, with no anticipation or trepidation.  Of course, how could I not day-dream of some Block Island squid-hounds, the local hot fluking, or a trip to the Cape Cod Canal, an iconic tackle store, or (dare I even say it)  for Cape Cod/Massachusetts Bay bluefin tuna?  I can go back for those when the timing is more appropriate.  I suspect there will be many more opportunities to do so.

***The trip was also made better by my new ability to text-message and share pictures with my brother.  He finally got a 21st Century phone!

2013 World Series Musings

2013 World Series Musings

Written over the course of the last eight days…in diary form and not re-visited (except for spelling and grammar.)

October 23, 2013

Over the last couple of months I’ve grown a powerful Red Sox Beard and they’ve responded well; so well in fact, that they play host to the Cardinals for Games 1 and 2 (and 6 and 7?) of the 2013 World Series.  Of course, I’d prefer that the Sox win the Series; and I predict they will in 6 games.  But I don’t really care if they win.  They’ve provided a fine season, with fine character.  I’m not going to let a specific outcome (Series Won or Series Lost) tarnish my appreciation for the process by which they’ve restored The Faith to Boston and Red Sox Nation.

What a different feeling from 1975, 1986, or 2004; not to mention 1978 or 2003.  How liberating!  The NEED to Win has been replaced by a Healthy Desire to Win, and this Desire is a much more amenable team-mate.  The Sox have now been there before, and I suspect they’ll be there again.  So on World Series Eve, I’m willing to just enjoy the games, to let the outcome be decided on the field, to not get too invested, and to reasonably manage my sleep schedule.

October 25, 2013

The Series is tied, 1-1, after a couple of games in which the defenses faltered.  I think Defense is the most interesting aspect of baseball.  The outcome of a batted ball, in play, rests in the balance of the defense’s execution, and the drama persists until the play is over.  Much of the games’ beauty and athletic expression resides in this execution.  Defensive failure typically doesn’t add to my enjoyment of the game, but I’m OK with the split, originally thinking that this will likely take six games.  But I do have to specifically note that the Cardinals’ tying and winning runs in Game 2 scored on an extremely ugly play involving possibly the shallowest World Series sacrifice fly ever, a dropped ball and an over-throw.   The Sox seemed like a Team of Destiny when Ortiz broke the Game 2 shut-out with a lead-changing 2-run homer; but their mortality was revealed by this play.

October 28, 2013

The Series is now tied, 2-2, after two more very interesting, although strange, games.  Each ended in a fashion unbecoming of the stage, each in a different team’s favor.  The Series will be decided in Boston (which I applaud), and I’m still on track with my original prediction.

Game 3 ended in an “Obstruction” call which awarded home plate to the Cardinals for the winning run in the bottom of the 9^th inning.  It was a true walk-off in that the play was dead, the outcome already decided.  I’m pretty sure that Cardinals’ 3^rd Base Coach Jose Oquendo should be credited with a steal of home, because I think his protests provided the notice and motivation for the call.  I’m not disagreeing with the call; everything was too fast, confused and subjective to argue against it.  It was just disheartening to see a World Series Game decided in a manner outside of the hands of the players. 

This play encompassed a lot!  It’s simply hard not to acknowledge the awareness and athleticism of both Pedroia and Nava.  These players (by which I mean all players at this level) are good!  They pretty routinely pull off plays that are beyond what can be expected from normal humans.  A truly unique 4-2-5-7-2 double play, with both outs at the plate(!), simultaneously unfolded and was erased by the umpire’s call.  One beautiful thing about baseball; you never know what you’re going to see.  Another Baseball Truism illustrated there-in is that the ball will find you.  Middlebrooks, cold off the bench and in at third base as a defensive replacement, was found Guilty of Obstruction, and the entire inning had been set up by an infield hit to Bogaerts (moved from third to short to accommodate Middlebrooks) and a scooting double, within reach, but under Middlebrooks’ glove.

The play also evoked memories of Baseball’s Hopeless Bystander.  I had several seasons end as a spectator on the field or in the on-deck circle, powerless to affect or continue the play.  This feeling is one of the big reasons I’m currently a fan of objective individual sports (swimming, track and field, etc.), because you can’t really blame the clock.  But perhaps a worse feeling is that of Participant in a famous or decisive play.  I’m no Billy Buckner, but my High School baseball career ended with a probable bunt situation, an exploding line drive to third, a ricochet off the knee into the stands, and the awarding of two bases to each runner…thereby plating the tying and winning runs and determining the league’s playoff participants.  Can you guess who had been shifted from short to third to defend the bunt?

Finally, the ump called Obstruction and so Obstruction indeed took place.  No arguments here.  And yet, our understanding of this concept comes from a Rule Book (with its limitations in wording, scope, anticipation, and understanding) and the implementation of the rules.  Does this fully capture the innate truth, the core essence, the Numenon of what physically took place?  Or does this simply provide a theoretical construct /Real-World Paradigm for us to evaluate our surroundings?  I think by definition, this is the case; thrown balls and running men mean nothing without the context of the rules.  They at least mean something within a specified context.  But let’s face it, the ump could have just as easily NOT called obstruction; and we’d have an entirely different interpretation of reality with exactly the same set of physical events.  Are our perceived realities really this fragile? 

Like I said, this play encompassed a lot!

Game 4 ended with the tying run at the plate, in the form of Carlos Beltran.  He’s got quite the October resume.  But then the bat was taken out of his hands when a Cardinal got picked off first base.  This just shouldn’t happen, but it did! Based on his reaction, I’m not sure anybody was more surprised than the Sox’ pitcher, Uehara, but he’s operating at a different level these days.   This felt like a decisive play.  Decisive, not only in the sense of this game; but for the Series.

October 29, 2013

Game 5 was simply a pleasure to watch.  It featured:

·       Two Aces, each throwing well;

·       A little pressure relieved early on, with Pedroia and Ortiz both doubling in the first for a one-run lead;

·       No real sense of urgency after Holladay’s long drive to tie the score; 

·       Only a single, meaningful walk combined, and no defensive errors; and

·       A new, joyful Hero-of-the-Night (Ross) for the Sox with his double down the line for the go-ahead run in the seventh. 

All in all it was a satisfying, comprehensive team victory that was earned, and not bequeathed by an overly generous opponent. 

So now it’s back to Boston with a chance for the Sox to clinch a World Series at Fenway for the first time since 1918.   I can appreciate 95 years; that’s older than any living relative I can claim, and I doubt there’s anybody who can prove they were there when Babe Ruth’s Red Sox last won at home.  I doubly doubt that said person would be able to throw out Wednesday’s First Pitch, but I’d love to see it.

October 30, 2013

It makes sense to end it tonight.  The weather forecast for tonight is seasonable, but there’s a bunch of rain on the horizon, and I remember the long wait for Game 6 in 1975.  I don’t see anything good arising from any weather-induced rumination periods, and I’d hate to see weather/field conditions play a deciding role in the Series’ outcome.  So here’s to a quick, clean game tonight.  Will the Sox have Carlton Fisk, Luis Tiant, Freddy Lynn or Bernie Carbo throw out the First Pitch in celebration of Fenway Game 6?  Regardless, I look forward to watching the game’s end after my shift with The Man, catching a satisfying night’s sleep, and wearing my Sox pullover to work tomorrow.  I can always claim I’m dressed as Napoli, Gomes or Ross for Halloween.

October 31, 2013

I couldn’t help but recall Game 6 of the 1986 World Series last night.  My work kept me away from watching most of that game, but I recall that the Sox were comfortably ahead with Cy Young-winning Clemens on the mound as I returned home; the score was tied as I turned the game on; and events were leading up to The Billy Buckner Play and a subsequent 18-year wait for another Series Opportunity.

But the 2013 Sox held on to their lead as I travelled home last night, and when the Cardinals’ rally fizzled in the 7^th (5 runs short; could only a Red Sox fan envision a Holladay 3-run homer, followed by a collapsed bullpen and who knows what else?), the day’s drama was over.  The rest of the game played out concisely and according to script.

Most baseball players are pretty lame Public Speakers and most don’t seem to know how to comfortably celebrate in public, so events after the last out seemed pretty anti-climactic.  It’s all just a game, and so all non-invested adults should know that the outcome really doesn’t matter in the big scheme of things.  But I have to admit, “Winning” is generally better than “Losing”, and a World Championship probably does have some tangible benefits for the City of Boston and its citizenry.  Personally, it was awfully nice to share the rare moments of family snuggling in the late-night glow of the TV as the games were played.  Finally, there is beauty in witnessing any group of professionals at the very pinnacle of their field; it’s awesome to acknowledge any complete, successful team effort; and my Red Sox Beard has been a fun way to publicly participate in this.

Now every good Red Sox Beard has a name, and I’m pretty sure mine is “The Alienator”.  With the season now complete, I can go take a shave; but first I have to consider any repercussions for the local Lady Pioneers and their current efforts in winning their State Swimming Championship; and I can just picture what the Bruins would look like in late May, should they adopt The Beard in the quest for a Stanley Cup.