This piece really belongs on my “There’s Always Something…” weblog, but it is on summer sabbatical, so “East of Eden…” purists will just have to have patience with me. I have something to say.
During my high school days in Darien, Connecticut I was a Boston Red Sox fan. Ted Williams was my hero at the time.
But that’s another story.
Today I’m retired and living in Arizona and the Arizona Diamondbacks are my team. And the league-leading Red Sox are presently in town whacking our local heroes around. Last night there were 50,000 fans at the ballpark, a record for Chase Field and a full house. Of course, I watched from the comfort of our home.
But it was unsettling. It seemed that about half the fans were from Boston. They were as noisy as the good people. I couldn’t understand this. Boston people go to Florida, not Arizona, for the winter and by this time should be back up north, growling at each other and driving like maniacs.
Our announcer finally explained it. Boston folks can’t get tickets to Red Sox games. They save their vacations and their dollars and come to Phoenix at the appropriate time where they buy huge blocks of tickets for Diamondback – Red Sox games. Here they fill our seats, drink our beer and enjoy life in general while their heroes beat the daylights out of our fine group of outstanding, clean-cut young athletes.
This makes us wonder about these Boston people. Even Ted Williams would, I think, be surprised. Of course his body resides full-time in Phoenix now, but that’s another story – too grim perhaps for a Sunday morning weblog.
Then, Tony Soprano winds up his saga tonight – and I will surely miss him. For years now I have enjoyed his ominous doings. I sense in him almost Shakespearean depths of evil blended with slovenly New Jersey mafia life-style and his long-suffering family problems.
His wife, Carmella, has a wonderful appeal to me as I watch her with – well, interest. I don’t understand this as I’m sure that I wouldn’t like her at all if I knew her. Oh well.
And should you happen by our house about 5 AM any morning of the week, the sight of yours truly staggering down our driveway, picking up the Arizona Republic and the New York Times, you might be impressed (alas, Jo Ann is not) with my resemblance during that one brief shining moment to Tony, sans the gaping white bathrobe, but dazedly doing exactly the same thing. Ah, what a beautiful vision of American manhood.
Yes, Tony is a sociopath, but still I worry about him – tonight. What will happen? You see, sociopath he may be, but he is our sociopath.
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