… and in the morning, we shall remember them.

Today was ANZAC Day in New Zealand and Australia, a public holiday
commemorating, particularly, the military disaster that was Gallipoli, as well
as their war dead in lots of other actions.

I had booked a couple of nights in a random hotel in Napier,
with the only condition that it should have a sea view. It (the Te Pania Scenic
Circle) turns out to be across the road from an NZ war memorial, the scene at
dawn today of a service of remembrance, one of hundreds across the country and
in Aus.

I was up before dawn to catch the sunrise – Napier is the
easternmost city and therefore the first to see the new day – and to catch
Justin Masterton’s MLB debut, a convincing performance screwed royally by the
walking wounded who are the Sox bullpen at the moment. Little Manny in particular apparently
looked like death warmed up (by the seventh I’d given up on a flaky mlb.tv and
was listening to Joe C and Dave O’Brien on WRKO radio) and Justin’s 2-run lead
was pissed away.

Napier was flattened by an earthquake and subsequent fires in 1931 and rebuilt mostly in Art Deco style which led to buildings like these:

which has absolutely nothing to do with anything but they’re pretty!

Tomorrow’s game in St Pete is a more civilised early
lunchtime start for me and I’ve decided to find an Internet cafe to watch the
game, in an effort to resurrect my ALDS and ALCS mojo.

Oh, and 15-9, leading the division, Papi getting his groove
back, Manny about to reach 500, the kids looking awesome. What’s not to love
about the 2008 Red Sox?

After a truncated Spring Training, the Sox traipsed all the way from Florida to Tokyo to play a couple of exhibition games and two real games in the Tokyo Dome.

(Image nicked from here)

This place looked like a bigger version of the Metrodome in Minneapolis, including the ludicrous light-coloured roof lining, but with upwards of 50000 noisy Japanese fans.

Then they dragged back to LA to play three exhibition games against the Dodgers, including one in the aging Coliseum, a venue totally unsuited to baseball.

(Image from Diamond Mine Baseball)

This game produced serious revenue for charity and a record crowd for an event involving Major League teams, but it should never have been played in that place.

What next? Off to Oakland for two more real games in the drafty, concrete monstrosity that is the other coliseum.

(Image from Diamond Mine Baseball)

This hybrid is being vacated by the A’s for a proper ballpark at the south end of the bay in Fremont sometime in 2010/2011, and not before time.

Finally, over last weekend, three in the SkyDome in Toronto, on the motheaten  carpet-over-concrete surface that MLB should have banned years ago.

(Image from justzoomin.com)

A good number of the errors and runs in the 3-game sweep by the Jays could be attributed to the ragged rug, the bright, distracting field-level scoreboard and the peculiar backgrounds in this cavernous building.

Leaving aside the effects of all the travel and living out of suitcases for three weeks, the Sox had to cope with the disorientation of the mishmash of crap stadiums with awful sightlines, unpredictable bounces and weird dimensions.

The net result of all this? One game under 500 as they finally start the season properly in Fenway on Tuesday.

World Series have been won on much worse starts than that.

So there I was, curled up in the back of a rental Nissan Pulsar (trust me, you can’t stretch out in the back of a Pulsar), trying to get some sleep, when I discovered Cyn was live-blogging the Sox-Giants game. Exhibition/MLB promo game not withstanding, I couldn’t resist and followed the quirky narrative  until my iPAQ’s and my batteries nearly gave out.

How, you may ask, had a man of my advanced years come to be sleeping in a rental car in a seaport car park in New Plymouth on Easter Sunday night? Thereby, as they say, hangs a tale.

It sort of started three or so years ago when Ben (my younger son) dragged me in front of his stereo and virtually instructed me to listen to In Between Dreams, Jack Johnson’s first (?) album. I was suitably impressed, became a fan and have bought all his output since, including the not-so-wonderful Curious George soundtrack.

Anyway, when tickets went on sale for his three-show NZ tour, I opted for the New Plymouth date, on the grounds that it was reasonably accessible compared to Christchurch or Napier and it was on a Sunday. I barely noticed it was Easter Sunday – mistake, as we shall see.

Baulking at the idea of a 10 hour roundtrip drive, I booked a flight with Air NZ and a local rental car to get to the venue from New Plymouth airport. I planned to get into town four hours ahead of the concert to find a motel for the night (there are literally thousands of motels in NZ). Mistakes numbers two and three as it turned out.

The flight from Wellington was cancelled and I was offered a ‘reroute’ up to Auckland and back down to NP, with, by the way, a four hour layover in Auckland. So I would get into NP as the venue gates opened, with no time to look for a room.

The TSB Brooklands Arena is truly magical: a covered stage built on an island at one end of a small lake with the viewing area a grassy slope just across a small stretch of water. I found a good spot and sat down to wait as the large (by NZ standards) crowd gathered and the sun set.

The gig began around 7:30 with a too-long warm up set from a guy called Matt Costas and Jack Johnson appeared around 8:45.

I watched for around an hour and decided to leave. Not having somewhere to stay was getting me twitchy and sitting on the ground was doing nothing for my back spasms.

As it turned out, I didn’t miss too much more music. Around 10 p.m. some of the crowd decided they’d rather be nearer the stage and piled into the lake where dancing and cavorting ensued. The set was stopped while the water was cleared, Jack played a couple more songs and finished with hundreds of kids in the water again.

I. meanwhile, was engaged in a short and fruitless search for a room. A nice lady in the Plymouth Hotel gently reminded me it was the Easter weekend (a four-day holiday in NZ) and "there’s the Jack Johnson concert at Brooklands".

Every hotel, motel and B&B for miles around had been booked for weeks. I stood no chance. Everyone and his brother was in town on holiday and all his brother’s mates and their girlfriends were here for the Jack Johnson gig.

So it was, dear reader, that I ended up parked at the water’s edge in the port area of New Plymouth, gazing at a sky filled with more stars than I’ve seen in ages, with a full moon lighting the waves, curled up in the back of the Nissan, following the first live blog of the season.

Bliss.

After two meaningless and mildly embarrassing workouts against the kids of Boston College and Northeastern University, ST games got underway today, or yesterday depending where the dateline is, with a big boys’ game against the Twins

Matsuzaka pitched two innings for two hits and no runs, with the defence turning two double plays behind him. The offence later came through with back to back homers from Youk and Tek. In the end, 8-3 was good day’s work although by the end, most of the guys on the field were unknowns, probably to each other as well as to most of the fans.

Meanwhile, Coco Crisp was hitting and running the bases like a man possessed, or more likely, a man putting together a highlight reel. I’m getting ambiguous about centre field. After September and the postseason, I wanted Ellsbury to start this year because I thought Crisp’s offence wasn’t outweighed by his D. Now, somehow, I think there might be room for both.

Joshua Patrick had the day off today, so I thought I’d post his street sign. I’ve driven past this sign at RNZPC every day for more than a year but I only got around to taking this picture last week. No. 19 pitches at 1 p.m. Sunday I think, which is 5 a.m. Monday for me. I suspect he’ll be starting  without me.

Three and a half months since Game 4 of WS 2007 and pitchers, catchers, the big truck, Dice-K’s Japanese media circus and, no doubt, Wally are all in Fort Myers for the start of Spring Training.

The WS game happened in the NZ Spring and we’ve had a great Summer which probably still has some legs, so I guess I can look forward to watching at least some games on my deck with a glass or two of wine.

The long wait was punctuated for me by my great Christmas trip (see earlier posts) and a last-minute trip to the UK to visit my son in hospital. Since I got back, work has been getting in the way as it often does, but now I’m ready.

Bring it on.

On my trip to the US at Christmas, on the way back from the side trip to Greensboro’ to see Ted, I was pulled over on I85 for failing to move to the left lane when passing an officer stopped on the shoulder.

Long story about the validity or otherwise of my NZ driver’s licence, the upshot of which was that I was obliged to accept a tow off the Interstate at a cost of $100.

Emails to Virginia State Police in Richmond and to the Governor’s office finally bore fruit when this 

cheque arrived in the post. Whoopee!

Initially, the Lieutenant dealing with the issue had used what I thought was the classic ‘the cheque’s in the post’ as of 10th January line, but after 12 days it finally arrived today (postmarked, incidentally, 16th January).

I have no clue what my Kiwi bank will make of it, or for that matter how much commission they might take. But, if you’re in Baltimore in May the Milkybars are on me or, rather, the VSP.

Edited to add: My bank made $128.56 of it (Kiwi dollars of course) which isn’t bad.

When I started thinking about what I would do for Christmasthis year, I had two or three choices.

• Stay in NZ in mid-Summer and have Christmas and New Year
  alone.
• Go back to the UK, to the cold, dark and damp for a brief
  reunion with my sons (individually, as they’re not speaking to each other).
• Come to the US for a family Christmas with Anne, Stacey and
  Kiana and a warm welcome from friends here. No brainer.

And the bonus: an invitation to spend some time with Ted and
his family. I don’t normally post photo galleries here but these are some memories of my family Christmas.

Present opening traditionally happens on the floor

Kiana.

Cameras for everyone.

Stacey and the Scoobydoo Castle game.

The Dalton family at Ted’s dad’s house: Ted, Betty, Trot,
Elmer, Angie, Rakes and Ciera.

Rakes, Ciera and a New Zealand Police Teddy Bear.

The assembled company (minus Angie behind the camera).

Little and Large.

Kiana Marie

It turns out that MLB self-renewing subscriptions don’t, hence the almost two month hiatus.

On the other hand, I haven’t had much to say while watching the Santana saga wax and wane and the toothless Mitchell Report thud into remainder bins at Borders all over the country.

My view: Selig should resign (yeah, right). Unless Congress wants to set up a US equivalent of the South African Truth And Reconciliation Commission, MLB should draw a line under the last ten years or so and move on, whilst tightening up its testing policy and aligning penalties with other major world sports.

As to being conned over the past few years, I still believe that the confrontation I saw between Barry Bonds and Randy Johnson in SF in 2003(?) was among the supreme sports moments I’ve witnessed. Alongside it was a moment in the Tour de France around  the same year, when Lance Armstrong looked directly into Jan Ulrich’s eyes on a major climb and then stood on his pedals and rode away from him.

Both of these incidents have been coloured by drug revelations (actual adimissions in the case of Ulrich) but I’m still glad I saw them. Accept it all, learn from at least some of what has been reported and move on.

The Santana deal seems stuck, with the Sox not willing (praise the Lord) to add Ellsbury to the offer, and the media suggesting that, whilst he will move, no deal will be done before mid-January. My prediction for what it’s worth: Ellsbury in centrefield on Sox opening day.

So, Christmas looms, for me in Virginia as an escape from NZ summer and a chance to visit with my sister, Stacey and Kiana, together with a trip to NC to meet up with Ted and his long-suffering wife and rapscallion kids:)

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

In 2004, I celebrated the win at around 5 a.m. on my own in Horsham, UK watching Channel 5’s MLB International coverage.

Here, three years on almost to the day, I found myself half a world away, upside down in New Zealand at 5 p.m., celebrating a second WS win in my lifetime. Again watching MLB International coverage from Sky and mercifully without Fox (odd, that, given the common ownership).

This time though, thankfully not alone but in the cyber-company of as disparate a group of people as you could find anywhere, the commenters at Surviving Grady.

I started reading SG early in the 2006 season, drawn there initially by Cyn and made my first tentative comments sometime later. Despite getting shouted at by Josh Blue and, I think, Dover, I survived and even got to go to the SG San Diego get together this year. (Never did get the Guinness and strippers, though).

As great a bunch of witty, profane, friendly, cantankerous, quirky, sexy, drunken, loud, supportive and imaginative reprobates as you’d find anywhere.

Thank you one and all for a genuinely memorable experience. I’ll see some of you somewhen next season and around the cyber stove through the off season.

Rollcall follows (E&OE), in no order:

Tex/ KickAssChick of F.U.Brigade

Ted D

Beckperson.58

a little night musing
Nancy
Tom Miles
Josh Blue
Amy

Kelly/WonderTwin Drew

Cyn/Red Sox Chick/Wonder Twin JD
JET
NJ Sox Fan
NNews
Rob
JD
hayes
Candaon
Beth
BB
AB
lb
Steve
Johnny Sideburns
Don Penguino and the Tapeworms
Sox on the Beach
Cindy
Alexis
Dover
Kaylee
Cousin Steve
kdb
Larry Young
Red
Denton
Boston Dee
Corky
jenny
coco-a-gogo
Brenken

DeathOpie

VaritekChick
Swedesox
Mrs MLB

HorshamScouse

Thanks again, everyone. KTMFF.

Part way through game five today, Joe Castiglione and his co-commentator mentioned fascinating fact # 93
in their stream of consciousness on WRKO radio. Kenny Lofton has been in more
post season series where the team he was on choked away a lead than almost
anyone in the history of history. Including once already for the Indians. And
he’s never won a WS ring.

I actually quite liked Kenny
Lofton as a regular-guy, journeyman ball player, and spent the 2002 WS series
rooting for him and the Giants (my NL team) as they and Barry Bonds coughed up
a 3-2 lead to the Los Angeles Angels of Orange County and Anaheim.

Now though, after his antics
in this series – dawdling into the batter’s box before hitting his homer the
other day, then dropping his bat trying to con the umpire into giving him ball
four – I’d gladly see him continue his choking streak.

I thought Josh Beckett
showed commendable restraint when they nearly got into it in the sixth(?).
Getting tossed at that point could have jeopardised another playoff master
class. As it was, he pitched through the eighth, giving a 7-1 lead to the Lord
of the Dance and that was that. So back to Fenway for two more.

I watched today’s game in an
Internet café in Taupo in the company of 60 or so SG commenters, the aforementioned
Joe C on audio, and sound-muted Fox video coverage with the execrable Joe Buck
and Tim McCarver. Yes, Virginia, there is someone worse than Joe Morgan but
it’s mighty close.

Following the game and a
celebratory Guiness at Finn MacCuhal’s, I had my first ever thermal hot springs bath. Why did I wait so long? It’s amazing.

Tomorrow’s an off day so
it’s off on the road, either west to New Plymouth and Mt Taranaki again, or
east to Napier and Hawkes Bay wineries. Think I’ll toss a coin.