48 hours without a game has siphoned away my last few ounces of mojo. So instead of an actual post, I’m just emptying my head of various and sundry thoughts. Apologies come in advance, folks.
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Wade Miller pitched five scoreless innings last night in Pawtucket, hitting 91 mph with his fastball, striking out three and allowing five hits. This is good news for the pitching-starved Red Sox. More significantly, it brings me just a bit closer to realizing my dream of a Miller to Mueller to Millar double play.
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Separated at birth: BJ Surhoff and actor John McGinley of Scrubs. Check it out and get back to me.
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I miss Gabe Kapler. Like, something fierce. It’s not even like I miss his playing. I just miss that Gabe Kaplerishness he brought to the team. And make no mistake, Kaplerishness was way, way better than Gilkeyishness or Grebeckishness.
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I watched The Fisher King last night for the first time in a couple years, and I’ll be damned if this doesn’t represent the single greatest career moment for Terry Gilliam, Jeff Bridges and Robin Williams. On the surface, it’s a striking and bizarre melange of Arthurian legend and New York alienation, but dig a bit deeper and you’ll find a hauntingly moving tale of romance and redemption. If you can get past the numerous scenes of an alarmingly hirsute Williams prancing around in the buff, the rewards are ample. How Williams won an Oscar for his schlumpy doc in Good Will Hunting and not for this portrayal of a man sent spiraling into dementia after witnessing a senseless act of violence is further proof that “The Academy” is run by gerbils. My only complaint: Not a scrap of extras on the DVD. Even the promised “Theatrical Trailers” aren’t for The Fisher King at all, but rather for… gasp… Patch Adams!
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I’m betting that tickets for the next Fenway Devil Rays series fetch higher prices than the next Yankees series. Speaking of the Yankees, they lost last night to the CaliforniaAnaheimDisneylandLaJolla Angels. Brown pitched pretty well, but still sits at 0-3.
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Okay, Baltimore, I am officially concerned about you. Not yet afraid, mind you. But concerned.
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My personal “Sideburns Hall of Fame”:
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The Beatles or the Rolling Stones? You can only pick one. Who’s it gonna be?
