Picket Fence Post

Boston Globe writer Joanna Weiss wrote an interesting piece this weekend about whether parents should impose their political views on their kids by having them wear politically-oriented clothing:

. . . [T]he idea of an activist baby is also a little disturbing, given the state of political rhetoric today. This is an arena of name-calling and knee-jerk hatred; comments on blogs can be nastier, and a fair amount more childish, than any spat I’ve seen in a playground sandbox. Even the candidates, some of whom strove to look noble for a while, are starting to act like schoolyard bullies or snotty tattletales. And it turns out you can have hostility printed on a onesie, too.

I did a quick search of CafePress and found that you can indeed get baby and kid political-wear. There were, for example, an ”I Hated Sarah Palin Before It Was Cool” shirts and ”Godless Liberal” bibs. Not cool, using a toddler or baby to promote a parental political position.

In our house — which is filled with all manner of political and current events talk — The Spouse and I emphasize that the kids can and should make up their own minds when it comes to which presidential candidate they support.

It’s kind of like the flirtation The Eldest Boy had with rooting for the Evil Empire, otherwise known as the New York Yankees a few years ago. Even though the fact that we bought The Eldest Boy a Yankees cap made The Spouse nuts, I told him we had to allow our kids root for (and vote for or support) whoever they want to. They’re their own people. We shouldn’t force our views on them, even though, in a house full of Red Sox paraphernalia and vigorous cheering, the Sox are clearly the favorites.

That’s why, I can’t even imagine suiting my kid up, particularly a non-verbal baby, with an “I Hate [Fill in the Blank of a Candidate or Party]” onesie. Feels too creepy.

“A lot of people care passionately about the upcoming election, the future of the nation, the pressing issues of our day,” Weiss wrote. “Here’s the reality check: Your infant isn’t one of them. Even if he’s wearing a onesie that said, ‘Tiny Democrat.’”

Image credit: CafePress.com.

I was so disgusted at one point last night by the lackluster, not-even-there performance of the beloved Olde Towne Team, that I was planning to rip down my hand-lettered ”GO SOX” signs that I placed in my front windows the morning after they clinched a playoff berth. It looked like a lock for the Tampa Bay Rays to punch their ticket to the World Series.

Despondent over seeing that my team was down 7-0 in the 7th, I turned on the 11 o’clock news and heard the news anchors say that it was sadly the end of the road. Then the sports anchor, standing outside of Fenway Park, put his hand to his ear, as raucous cheers were coming out of the ballpark. Someone from the station had just informed him via his earpiece that Big Papi had just hit a three-run homer.

The Spouse and I turned the game back on and stayed riveted until the end, when the Sox eeked out an 8-7 win to live to see another playoff game. (The biggest playoff comeback since 1929, according to the Associated Press. The year of another massive stock market crash.)

Another comeback. When the Sox were down and counted out by many. Last year they were down, three games to 1 to the Cleveland Indians in the American League Championship Series. In 2004, they were down, three games to 1 to the New York Yankees in the American League Championship Series. I’m beginning to think that the Sox don’t do well unless their backs are against the wall and they’re considered underdogs. They need that as a motivator.

“You’ve got to believe,” one of the kids remarked this morning, in a “duh” kind of moment. (I don’t remember which kid said it as I wasn’t fully awake and hadn’t yet had my java.)

My laptop computer — the one on which I’m writing this post — was several months old in 2004, back when the Sox made history. During that intensely wild Yankees-Sox playoff series, I downloaded the word “Believe,” with the “B” at the beginning styled like the Sox “B.” That word has been my computer’s background ever since. I see it every time I use my computer. And despite that and despite the framed newspaper front page I have in my office telling the glorious tale of the 2004 World Series Sox win, I, like the rest of Red Sox Nation, sometimes need a reminder:

Believe.

In an attempt to avoid repeatedly nodding off during last night’s pivotal Red Sox playoff game – since most of the games have been epic and run late into the night – I tried to plan ahead.

At around 8 p.m., I drank a Diet Pepsi Max, which has more caffeine than your garden variety Diet Pepsi. No way was I going to fall asleep during this game.

And then what happened?

The Sox folded like a cheap house o’ cards. Phoned it in. Barely showed up. Lost. 13. To. 4.

And I — all stoked on caffeine — was up until 12:30, unable to sleep.

Image credit: Pepsi.

(Seen at BlogHER: Christine Koh, Meredith O’Brien and Erin Kane)

It’s kind of cool when you go beyond the virtual, online world and actually meet — face-to-face — with the folks whose blogs you’ve been reading. It’s a strange, “Hey, you actually exist in the real world” type of moment.

I spent all day Saturday listening to and dishing with a number of gal bloggers who attended BlogHER’s Boston event. (It was, technically, in Burlington, though.) I wouldn’t have made it through the day without a gallon of Dunkin’ Donuts coffee in hand (see photo above), and the several bottles of Diet Pepsi I drank, because I was utterly exhausted from watching Friday night’s epic Red Sox game. I was so dragging. Even slipped out of the last session because I was afraid I was going to fall asleep and insult the speaker.

I’m convinced that the Sox are trying to kill me, as well as all of Red Sox Nation with these games that end in the wee hours of the morning, a continued hazing of Sox fans as if trying to test the level of our dedication. Again. (Saturday night’s game was killer-late and although yesterday’s game started, mercifully, at 4 p.m., I’m still recovering from accumulated lack of shut-eye.)

Anyway, enough about the Sox. Back to BlogHER . . . where I met Boston Mama’s Christine Koh, a conference speaker. We’ve previously communicated only via e-mail about her blog, where she once promoted my book. She was very fashionably dressed. Put me to shame.

(more…)

My kids have no idea how spoiled they are.

Seriously.

As far back as they can remember, the Red Sox have been good. (The older two kids have, fortunately, purged the 2003 ALCS heartbreak from their memories.) They’ve watched the Red Sox win two World Series championships. They’ve witnessed the Patriots win Super Bowls. They cheered on the Celtics this spring after they won the NBA Championship.

And despite the fact that The Girl is still upset about the fact that the Old Towne Team and her favorite player (Manny Ramirez) parted ways this summer, my guess is that the drive to win the pennant (and beyond!) plus her new-found affection for Jacoby Ellsbury, will turn her frown upside-down. At least that’s what I keep telling myself.

Guess I’ve got to make some more “Go Sox” signs to put up in my front windows, thus making me the scourge of my neighborhood. Let’s go for a repeat of last year, shall we? Bring on the playoffs!

Image credit: AP/MassLive.

I thought I was one of a naive minority of folks who thought it unconscionable that Major League Baseball decided to air this year’s All-Star game at 8 p.m., when the first pitch occurred near 9 p.m. My kids – then ages 6, 9 and 9 – wanted desperately to watch the game, but, given its starting time, I told them upfront they’d only get to see about an inning or so live before they’d have to go to bed. I recorded the rest of the game on our Digital Video Recorder (DVR) and told them they could watch it the following day. And I thought that this arrangement stunk.

I felt the same way about the World Series games last fall, which commenced late in the evening and my three young Boston Red Sox fans barely got to watch them (until what I hoped would be the last game and I actually encouraged them to stay up even though it was a school night) because they were prime-time events, airing at times way beyond grade school-aged kids’ bedtimes.  Ditto for the recent NBA championship games in which the Celtics were contending and eventually emerged victorious.

Then along came Stephen King’s column in this week’s Entertainment Weekly, giving voice to the complaints I’ve long had about professional sports which – despite the fact that they cash in on youthful enthusiasm with a variety of over-priced youth paraphernalia and stuffed animals of team mascots — that they’d rather air sports events at night, make lots of money in ad revenue and to hell with the kids and families.

King, a fellow Sox fan, wrote, “. . . [T]hanks to the unholy alliance of Fox and MLB, most ‘event’ TV baseball might as well come with an Adults Only tag.”

Arguing that greed has corrupted America’s favorite past-time, King wrote:

“This year’s All-Star game is a particularly disgusting case of how the game has been pimped out by the very people who pretend to care about its traditions. Fox came on air at 8 p.m. on July 15, and bingo, there go the 6- and 7-year-olds: Sleep tight, kiddies. The game actually started around quarter to nine (there go the 8-year-olds). It rolled past midnight with the score tied (there go the teenagers and working stiffs) and finally ended at 1:38 a.m. on July 16 . . . At 15 innings, it would have ended late no matter what, but if the first pitch had been thrown at 7 p.m., the game still would have been over before midnight. But hey, the kids don’t buy Bud or lawn tractors, so to hell with them.”

He concluded by quoting a sports commentator as saying, “Commerce trumps conscience every time.”

As The Girl continues to come to terms with the fact that baseball is a business, not a national treasure (she’s struggling to overcome her anger and betrayal over the departure of her favorite Sox player, AGAIN, and trying to get through a Sox game without getting upset), I believe it’s my job to give the kids a jaded, realistic perspective on matters involving today’s professional baseball: It’s not about the fans who love the teams, buy the outrageously expensive tickets and shell out hard-earned money for shirts and various merchandise. It’s not about tradition. It’s not about what’s fair. It’s about MLB (the league, the owners and the players). And their money.

Bad news followed us on our vacation to Cape Cod last week.

In the form of the departure of Manny Ramirez.

From the Boston Red Sox.

Manny was a baseball hero to my almost 10-year-old daughter, known, affectionately in this space as The Girl.

Manny originally replaced Nomar Garciaparra as The Girl’s hero. Garciaparra was The Girl’s first favorite ballplayer when she commenced her career as a Red Sox fan in 2003. However, four years ago, almost to the day, Nomar left the Boston Red Sox mid-season and broke The Girl’s heart. After a period of mourning — during which I bought The Girl a Chicago Cubs/Nomar T-shirt — Manny became her Chosen One, her rebound baseball hero.

“Why does everyone I like leave?” The Girl asked through her sobs after she learned about Manny’s departure when we were at an ice cream shop in downtown Wellfleet. “Why does this have to keep happening?”

Now, several days later, her tears have dried, although she still remains extremely disappointed. She’s now in the market for a new baseball hero from the Olde Town Team. Currently in the running: Mike Lowell, who many people think looks like her dad (a.k.a. — The Spouse).

Image credit: The Boston Red Sox.