Red Sox Toothpaste

Boy, them Red Sox have everything. They even have their own official toothpaste.

When me boys and I were at Fenway Park in June, there were giving away samples of it. The boxes say  'Dr. Sheffield's, the Original Toothpaste'. I suppose we just have to take the good doctor's word on it. I mean, I don't happen to have any contrary proof, so there it is.

Everyone received four small tubes, each in their own little boxes with the two red socks of the Red Sox logo on the flaps. There were Extra Whitening, Peppermint, Cinnamon, and Chocolate flavors. To my knowledge those are all standard toothpaste flavors, except for the chocolate. Expecting not to like it, I tried that one first.

I like it. I wish I'd tried it last. Not only do I get the taste of milk chocolate as I brush me teeth, when I use mint mouthwash afterwards, instant chocolate mint. 

Who says the world's not a good place to live?

Time Does Fly

Last Sunday around this time me boys and I were setting off for the Cathedral of the Holy Cross, the Cathedral Church of the Archdiocese of Boston, for Sunday Mass. It's huge, the largest Church in New England if you can believe them Catholics. Then it was off to Fenway Park in Boston for a tour and baseball game. Afterwards we did the greater part of the freedom walk to a few of the historic sites in the city: Paul Revere's home, Old North Church, and the site of the Boston Massacre to name a few. Oh, we saw the Cheers bar too, complete with a cutout of Norm at his corner seat. It was actually rather relaxed for a relatively packed day.

Fenway is a great old baseball stadium. I've been there twice now and look forward to the next visit, whenever that might be. I wish I had taken me Pops there but, spilled milk. 

We had great seats seven rows behind home plate and enjoyed a Fenway Frank, which is perhaps the best hot dog in baseball. Yes, yes, yes: Dodger dogs, Dodger dogs, Dodger dogs. But I ain't been to Chavez Ravine yet, so the taste test will have to wait. For now, the best dogs are Fenway Franks.

I actually found where you can order Fenway Franks online. But it's fifty bucks for five pounds and you are highly recommended to pay for overnight delivery, even though they pack them with coldness insulators of some sort which are supposed to be good for two or three days. That's when a fella has to tell himself that maybe, just maybe, they taste so good because of the company of my sons and the general atmosphere. Reason says they're probably not worth the expense. I gotta admit that I'm tempted to place an order though.

After Take Me Out to the Ball Game at the seventh inning stretch I believe singing Sweet Caroline between halves of the eighth inning at Fenway about the best audience participation event in all of Major League Baseball. The glance me son Frank and I exchanged as the song began (we had been to Fenway in 2016) told me he was as excited for it as I was. I'm glad me son Charlie has now experienced it too. 

I know that a big part of sports is rooting for your region. But it's nice when you're not invested in the outcome of the game, too. We rooted for Boston as they were the home nine, and they won 6-4. The Green Monster was cleared twice by three run home runs, so those were sights to see.

It is vaguely melancholy though when a trip you'd been anticipating for almost six months (our planning began right after the first of the year) is eventually behind you. Yet that feeling is far easier to deal with when you look back and have great memories. Those never leave, never grow old. And the Good Lord willing and the creek don't rise, it won't be the last anyway.

Time Does Fly

Last Sunday around this time me boys and I were setting off for the Cathedral of the Holy Cross, the Cathedral Church of the Archdiocese of Boston, for Sunday Mass. It's huge, the largest Church in New England if you can believe them Catholics. Then it was off to Fenway Park in Boston for a tour and baseball game. Afterwards we did the greater part of the freedom walk to a few of the historic sites in the city: Paul Revere's home, Old North Church, and the site of the Boston Massacre to name a few. Oh, we saw the Cheers bar too, complete with a cutout of Norm at his corner seat. It was actually rather relaxed for a relatively packed day.

Fenway is a great old baseball stadium. I've been there twice now and look forward to the next visit, whenever that might be. I wish I had taken me Pops there but, spilled milk. 

We had great seats seven rows behind home plate and enjoyed a Fenway Frank, which is perhaps the best hot dog in baseball. Yes, yes, yes: Dodger dogs, Dodger dogs, Dodger dogs. But I ain't been to Chavez Ravine yet, so the taste test will have to wait. For now, the best dogs are Fenway Franks.

I actually found where you can order Fenway Franks online. But it's fifty bucks for five pounds and you are highly recommended to pay for overnight delivery, even though they pack them with coldness insulators of some sort which are supposed to be good for two or three days. That's when a fella has to tell himself that maybe, just maybe, they taste so good because of the company of my sons and the general atmosphere. Reason says they're probably not worth the expense. I gotta admit that I'm tempted to place an order though.

After Take Me Out to the Ball Game at the Seventh Inning Stretch I believe singing Sweet Caroline between halves of the Eight Inning at Fenway about the best audience participation event in all of Major League Baseball. The glance me son Frank and I exchanged as the song began (we had been to Fenway in 2016) told me he was as excited for it as I was. I'm glad me son Charlie has now experienced it too. 

I know that a big part of sports is rooting for your region. But it's nice when you're not invested in the outcome of the game, too. We rooted for Boston as they were the home nine, and they won 6-4. The Green Monster was cleared twice by three run home runs, so those were sights to see.

It is vaguely melancholy though when a trip you'd been anticipating for almost six months (our planning began right after the first of the year) is eventually behind you. Yet that feeling is far easier to deal with when you look back and have great memories. Those never leave, never grow old. And the Good Lord willing and the creek don't rise, it won't be the last anyway.

Riddle Me This

As we left on our journey to Boston this past week, my son and I left Ohio, yet were still in Ohio. How could that be?

One dry spaghetti noodle to whomever can figure out that riddle.

A needed change

I love baseball, especially October baseball, especially October baseball when I don't have a stake in it. If there's anything positive about my beloved Detroit Tigers not making the postseason, it's that I can watch the games for their own sake rather than chew my fingernails to the bone fretting over the performance of the Detroit Nine. 

Like most baseball purists (and I certainly am one of those) I don't like changes to the game and I worship tradition. There are rumors swirling around that the National League will adopt the designated hitter next year, a move I will offer a giant raspberry. Pitchers should bat. Period. It's in the natural order of things; anything else is barbarity.

Now, where was I? Oh yes: as a purist I don't care for the various innovations which have crept into the grand old game. But after last night's ALCS match between Boston and Houston, I have to come down solidly in favor of using the existing technology and going to the robot strike zone.

It's time. Human umpires are making too many glaring mistakes calling balls and strikes and that element simply has to be removed from the game. Human judgment affected last night's game far too profoundly. J. D. Martinez was called out on strikes in the fourth inning on a pitch clearly out of the strike zone, while the Red Sox lost what should have been an inning ending strikeout in the top of the ninth, after which the Astros scored seven and put the game away.

Yes, yes, yes, the Red Sox still had other chances. They didn't do well with runners in scoring position. Still, how different does that fourth inning become if Martinez gets first base and the Sox have two runners on with one out? How different is the outcome of the game if Boston gets the strikeout they should have gotten to end the Houston ninth? Conjecture, true, so that we never can know for certain.

Still, fairness demands we make things as right as possible. One way to do that is with robot strike zones.

Good times I remember (with help)

I like the memories section on facebook. It reminds me of neat things, good people, and fun times. Fun times such as two years ago these very days on a visit east.

I found Newark, New Jersey is surprisingly cosmopolitan when I did not expect it. I had originally reserved that positive judgment for Manhattan Island. I am impressed by my error. I suppose what changed my mind was having a drink in an Irish pub Saturday evening. If there's an Irish pub, it's a civilized enough place.

After visiting with my son and his fiancee, which was the highlight of my adventure and I mean that despite what detractors shall assert, I most enjoyed seeing Fenway Park in Boston. And New York City impressed me in ways beyond simple prose. Liberty Island, Ellis Island; the reflecting pools where WTC 1 and WTC 2 once stood. Marvelous. We are one nation. It was quiet as we watched the water stream over the black marble of the fountains which make the 9/11 memorial, despite the thousands walking and talking nearby. You really only heard the pools. You only heard the soft voices they made. They spoke powerfully.

Then Boston, which my son and I drove up to see, was pretty cool too. It's New York's sister, if they would both agree to the relationship. She has faced her attackers too. I'm not sure that I've experienced anything close to singing Sweet Caroline so deeply as the Red Sox nation sings it during seventh inning stretches at Fenway. Sweet Caroline, silence, then 38 thousand responses asserting "dun dun dah". Being part of it just once pleases me deeply.

I wish I had taken Pops to Fenway. I think even he would have said, pumping his fist, dun, dun, dahhh. He loved the spirit of the game that much. He would have liked the Tiger Stadium feel as well.

The homesteads of President John Adams (he had two) seemed country and quiet despite having been gobbled up by the Boston suburbs. I'm really not big on historic preservation (we tend to over-preserve, if we are honest about it) but I'm happy those two spots have been kept as they were. They are oases among the sprawl.

So thank you facebook memories. You've served me well this week.

The view from almost the Atlantic Coast

Charles Martin Cosgriff reporting this morning from Newark, New Jersey.

Pennsylvania is one long state. It took forever for me to drive through it yesterday. Much of that no doubt was anxiety. Not the bad anxiety of worry but the one that's a kind on anticipation. I mean, it's as far to drive across PA as it is to drive to da UP, and that drive never feels long to me. But I had never driven across Penn's Land. Very mountainy, but beautiful in the lush green of summer.

I think all the city names were, like, 19 letters long. Every exit on Interstate 80 seemed to offer a glimpse of Franklinhillcountytown or Underhillandoverdale. I passed by Punxsutawny, where that obnoxious, all knowing groundhog lives. I thought of checking it out but that anxiety I mentioned kept me going. And had I stopped, I might have killed that overgrown rat and started an incident. It would have gained me laud and honor outside of Pennsylvania I'm sure, but could I have gotten outside the state? Besides, I have to re-cross it Wednesday, so maybe I'll do the deed on the flip flop.

The traffic in New Jersey hasn't been so bad as I expected. Rather light, actually. But we're going to try driving through New York City on Monday as we trek to Boston. Let's see how my car handles I-95 at mid-morning. Of course, it's a rental, so how much do I care?

This has been Charles Martin Cosgriff from Newark, New Jersey.