Kevin Youkilis and Representing the Red Sox

I’ll remember Kevin Youkilis like many other suburban baseball fanatics, as one of a handful of great Jewish athletes.  The Don, Sandy Koufax, began a string of baseball players of the Jewish faith that allowed fans of the similar religion to associate with professional athletes.  There was Hank Greenberg, and more recently Shawn Green.

Whenever Youk’s name is mentioned, somebody always drops a snide remark about Jews, but the beauty of Kevin Youkilis is that when I think about him, my first thought isn’t about his Judaism.  It’s about how hard he played and what he represented to a Red Sox generation that relied on identity.  He was in his first year when the Sox won their first World Series in 2004, and he didn’t have a huge impact, the same in 2005.  In 2006, when finally given the opportunity to take more than 400 at bats, he showed what the hype was about.  He had 100 runs, a career high, and 159 hits.  In the Sox 2007 championship run, he contributed a similar offensive effort but also won a gold glove.  In 2008, he scored 91 runs, got 168 hits, 29 home runs and 115 RBI, it was his finest season.

However for Youk, contributions weren’t measured by stat lines.  The 2004 Sox bought into Kevin Millar and the “Cowboy Up” movement that enchanted spectators with goofy dance videos and old-school American music.  That year the team was so unique, so cohesive in it’s diversity that you just knew after one year a shift in identity would be needed, then came Youk.  His frustrated face always ready to shout in defense of a teammate.  His intensity seeping through his fingers as he grasped the bat so tightly that he was the hardest out in baseball at one point.  He’d fight off pitches that he shouldn’t have had a chance at, and out of pure angst and anxiety the pitched would walk Youk.  He was the Sox tough guy, and the whole team identified with his love and passion for baseball.

I remember going to a Tigers-Sox game at Fenway where Youkilis charged the mound against Rick Porcello.  He threw his helmet at him, and furiously ran at the pitcher.  He didn’t beat Porcello down while the crowd goaded him on or some other form of a gladiator-like bashing.  Instead, it was a quick tussle that ended as fast as it began, but everybody in the park knew Youk needed to charge, and that’s what Kevin Youkilis did.  Whether the team needed a runner on base or someone to strong-arm a tougher team, Kevin Youkilis did whatever the Red Sox needed him to do, and that’s all you can ask from a baseball player.

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Fantasy Baseball Will Pay Off

It’s the most wonderful time of the year.  Playoff beards are a plenty in anticipation of the start of the hockey postseason in just two days.  The Red Sox and Yankees sluggish starts make for a tense beginning to a normally tedious baseball season.  The Atlantic division is up for grabs as the Knicks, Celtics and Sixers add drama to the end of the shortened basketball season.  However April, like March, vanishes like all moments of euphoria, hastily and elusively.  In two months, we’ll be longing for multiple viewing options, as a White Sox – Orioles game lulls us into a summer coma.  The antidote for long days of humidity and PBA bowling?  Fantasy Baseball!

For the first time in my life, I’ve drafted a fantasy baseball team.  It always just felt too high maintenance for me.  A football season is 16 games, which made fantasy upkeep necessary but not suffocating.  The prospect of organizing a lineup 162 games a year was intimidating and just kind of felt not worth it, but I decided to give it a shot and am already feeling the rewards.  The beauty of fantasy baseball is exactly what kept me away from it.  The constant attention required to maintain a team keeps you involved in the day to day of baseball.  It’s an activity that distracts the audience from just how slow the game can be at times.  For a younger generation that is growing more disillusioned with baseball by the year, fantasy is a final hope to keep the youth entertained.  So for now it’ll be fine ignoring baseball, occasionally checking in during empty moments of the impending playoffs.  However when the deep summer hits, and you need your fix for a true adrenaline pump from sports, you’ll realize that fantasy is the perfect way for attention-fleeting fans like me to keep busy.

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Dealing With a Devastating Loss: Understand Perspective

This is my first article in a long time.  As an avid Pats fan, I didn’t want to jinx anything before the Super Bowl, and immediately after, I was afraid any sort of penmanship would transform mid-sentence into a suicide note.  Before the game, I imagined every losing scenario possible; preparing myself for the inevitable colonoscopy-like violation that is a Super Bowl loss in person.  Now that it’s over, the pain lingers, but I try to remind myself that I’m blessed with a healthy family, a great education, and loyal friends (some of whom revealed there true classless colors with post-game texts and will be receiving excessive hate mail when the Knicks flop and realize that Jeremy Lin isn’t Pete Maravich.)  But here I am, bitter and heartbroken, taking shots at the Knicks in a blog not even half way through the season to appease my own anger.  The astonishing part is just how angry I really am.  The next person that tells me I’m lucky to at least have been at the game because “it was a great game,” will get punched in his/her face while I blast the “Cape Fear” soundtrack.

If my father or any of his brothers read this, they’d slap me in my smug face.  I’ve lived a privileged sports life.  More than privileged.  The Red Sox, Bruins, Celtics and Patriots all have won in my lifetime.  Not just in my lifetime, but late enough that I can vividly remember every championship.  The truth is, I’m luckier than any New York sports fan, and I’m not just saying that out of the venomous hatred I have for everything New York (except bagels and lox, that’s a universal win).  No city has experienced the glory that Boston has recently, but that’s just my problem.  I fear, deep down, that we’ve peaked.  Like Darius Miles or 50 Cent, my best days are behind me.  I’ve settled with the fact that the Celtics, though always dangerous, are at the end of a run I’ll always be grateful for.  The Patriots, well they have as good of a chance as any next year, but there’s just a lingering sensation that my football happiness left with Mike Vrabel.  Even though I love Bobby Valentine, the Red Sox are in disarray to the point that I might have to borrow a couple of their beers for my sorrows.  As much as I care about the Bruins, I can’t claim them of equal importance to me as the other major sports.

I’ll miss the days when the Patriots were underdogs, and seemingly mandated from up above to win Super Bowls.  I’ll miss that unforgettable moment of KG hugging Bill Russell after beating the pretty boy Lakers.  But when I think about missing these things, I think about the Red Sox 2004 run.  I think of watching my dad’s face, vulnerable and vivacious like I’ve never seen before, embracing me while we watched Keith Foulke underhand toss the ball to Doug Mientkiewicz, fearful of fumbling a city’s history.  His dad died when he was 15, and he never got to see the Boston Red Sox win a World Series.  That’s a moment that will always trump a Welker dropped ball, or a David Tyree flash of brilliance.   Perspective is important for us Boston fans, now more than ever, and watching a grown man I’ve always admired jump in glee because he was able to share something with me he never could with his father is as humbling as it gets.  Knowing that it’s been a historic decade for Boston sports has helped/helps console the vicious loss.  Plus, somebody outside the stadium bought my used Super Bowl ticket after the game for $20.  Generic, cheap liquor it is.

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