Boston Strong

One thing I love about Boston is the pride that the people have as a community. The people have a care and love for the city that is flowing in their veins. It’s impossible to get rid of. People most often show this pride during sporting events, rooting for the local teams (you know which ones I’m talking about).

It’s shown when a newborn baby is dressed in a Bruins t-shirt, when a five year old sits on his dad’s shoulders at a Red Sox game, when a young girl’s birthday wish is a Brady jersey, and when a couple’s first date is at a Celtics game. It’s shown when people of all ages stay up until 1AM to watch a playoff game, when a child stays up past his bedtime to watch ‘five-more-minutes’, and when you didn’t watch game seven once, because you watched it twice.

This heart-deep love for our sports teams does not only apply to the professionals. For some, the little-league game at the local field is just as exciting as watching Ortiz sink one into the Monstah. Our imaginations turn the backyard ice rink into the Garden, complete with snow-fort penalty boxes. In addition, Thanksgiving Day means that you had better brush up on your touch football skills, because if Grandma gets by you for that TD you’ll never hear the end of it. In short, Boston is a sports town. And the fact that we call it a ‘town’ puts an emphasis on how close-knit the community is, because a town is made up of families who watch out for each other, which is exactly what Boston is. A family.

The magnitude of how close the people of Boston are has been put on display for the past two weeks. The bombing at the marathon was a tragedy that will never be forgotten, and the lives lost will always be remembered. However, the people of this city came together and proved to the world that if you mess with one of us, you mess with all of us. In other words, don’t poke the bear.

The fact that this attack happened during one of Boston’s greatest sporting events meant that thousands of prideful Boston citizens were standing right at the scene, ready to risk their lives to help others. These heroes came running in to help because Boston is a brotherhood, where people watch out for each other. Although the date of April 15^th will be remembered as a tragic day, it will also be remembered as a day where the very best side of humans was shown in the helping of the wounded, and the protection that people gave to each other. After all, ruining a Patriots day in Boston will only result in the people becoming more unified, as the city of Boston singlehandedly invented the idea of a Patriot (1773; if you had to Google it, you didn’t listen in 8th grade History).

It has been little over a week since the attack occurred, and individual Boston communities from Southie, Massachusetts to Portland, Maine have already taken upon themselves the duty that they have to support and represent the united front that Boston is. We root for the same sports teams, we eat at the same restaurants, and we stand together in good times and bad. Boston is a city full of pride, and the people who live here are proud to say that they do. When disaster strikes, whether in a playoff loss or the tragic Marathon bombing, the people come together as one. Like the signs all over the city now say, “We are one Boston.” There’s strong. And there’s Boston Strong. And the difference between the two is 26.2 miles.

A letter to Mr. Claus

Dear Santa,

I know that you are a very busy man, especially this time of the year. It’s the season of giving, and holiday spirit is filling up even the scroogiest of fellows. Although the snow hasn’t begun to fall yet, Christmas lights are lining the streets and trees to be decorated are being brought into houses. Soon, stockings will be filled and presents will be wrapped, bringing about the happiness of people, old and young, everywhere. This is all thanks to you, Santa. All this Christmas preparation would not be complete without your omnipresent spirit.

Now Santa, winter is a magical season. Creds to you big guy, the magic is mostly your doing. However, a small part of the seasonal charm is because of the weather. When the white snowy drifts begin dropping snowflakes, the Christmas season is put into full gear. Hopefully the snow will be falling soon, and the ice will freeze with it. With ice comes hockey, and that’s what I wanted to talk to you about Santa. I know traditionally, presents are materialistic things; however, I don’t want a traditional gift this year. Originally, I would have asked for hockey tickets, but I can’t do that now. So instead, I want hockey, plain and simple. I want the NHL back, and the lockout to finally end.

I want to come home after a long day and be able to sit on the couch and lose myself in the game for an hour. It’d be so nice to sit down, cuddled up in a Bruin’s snuggie, and spend quality time with my dad and brothers by watching hockey. My dad will sit in the big armchair, yelling at the players to, “Skate faster!” or to, “Check him!” My little brother will be wearing his too-big Milan Lucic jersey, munching on chocolate chips and quietly observing the TV. Hidden in the background will be my eldest brother and my mom, both pretending not to care what the score is, and both secretly praying for a Bruins win.

I want to be able to go to the TD Garden, not to see a concert or a basketball game, but to watch my team battle against another. I can recall the hockey rink sounds; the shouting of fans and yelling of vendors and the sharp sound of pucks hitting the ice. I want to hear all the noises in person, especially the chirping of players to their opponent.

I want Shawn Thornton to get in fight. I want him to sacrifice having an attractive nose for the sake of pumping up the team.

I want Timmy Thomas to find his sanity and decide to play hockey again. The B’s won’t be the same without his always present grin and breathtaking saves.

I want to watch Brad Marchand—the little ball of hate—cause chaos all around the ice. I want him to harass the opponent, whether it’s Montreal, New York, or Carolina. He’s a troublemaker, but we love it, because he’s our troublemaker.

I want Marchy and T-segs back in action. I want their bromance to keep being documented through twitter and NESN and other media outlets. Forever known as the two guys on the team who can barely grow facial hair, I want to see their goofy grins lighting up their boyish faces.

I want OT, and with 5 seconds left on the clock I want Bergeron to dangle around the defenders and sink a shot, top shelf, left corner. I want him to jump up in the air and celebrate with Soupy and Krejci, embracing the moment and the blissful feeling of putting the puck in the back of the net.

I want to hear the crowd roar. I want to feel the building shaking because of the fans celebrating the Bruins win. The people will jump out of their seats, high fiving random strangers that, for the moment, are family.

I want the city of Boston to be united again by one amazing team that won a championship. A group of goofballs brought us together and without those lovable losers, the city’s spirit can fall apart. I want to have that special bond with people that only comes when you support the same hockey team. I miss walking through Faneuil hall before a Bruins game and seeing the masses of people wearing black and yellow. I miss wearing black and gold. I miss the Bruins.

I am going to ask for one more thing, Santa, before I close this letter. I know that it is a lot to ask for, but I can’t ask for the Bruins without mentioning it. I want to see #91 skating onto the Garden ice, concussion free, like he used to. I want Marc Savard to get better, and lace up his skates again.

As for now Santa, I’ve got College hockey. But lets be real here, as amazing as BC vs BU is, it will never be the same as the Thomas vs Price match up when the Bruins play the Canadians.

Rest up Santa, Christmas is almost here. Don’t worry though, I got you covered—your milk and cookies will be waiting, fresh on the counter, as always. All I want in return is a couple of hockey games.

Stay wicked (pissa),

ACE

Malcolm in the Middle

            P.K. Subban is probably within the top five on my “people I would like to punch in the face” list. The fact that he plays for Montreal only fuels the fire but, in addition, he’s cheap, he’s dirty, and he pretends that he is always innocent. Even so, the very worst part is that, as much as I hate to admit it, Subban would actually be an okay hockey player if he stopped diving and pulling cheap shots. The chances of that happening, however, are probably on the same level as Jack Edwards becoming a Habs fan (not very likely). This sheer hate I have for P.K. Subban is currently relevant because of the fact that on June 22, draft day, it was revealed that he has a younger brother. The Bruins organization, being full of sly dogs, decided it would be beneficial (and slightly ironic) to draft him.

When I first heard the news that there would be a Subban on the Bruins, I wasn’t exactly thrilled. It was even more aggravating to find out that he, Malcolm Subban, was a goaltender, because that’s a bit of a touchy subject right now. But, I decided to give it a chance. After all, just because people share the same genes doesn’t mean that they are entirely similar to each other. Even Malcolm himself admitted that he “never really liked” his brother that much. Whether this was actually the truth or an attempt to earn a spot in Boston’s heart is up for discussion, but I wouldn’t blame the guy if it were a combination of the two. I do give him points for trying, though, and if Malcolm is willing to publicly diss his brother for the sake of his hockey team, then so be it, maybe Boston is the right fit for him after all.

Soon after he was drafted, talk of a newfound rivalry between Montreal and Boston began to circle the internet. Peter Chiarelli himself even said that, “it’s going to be part of the rivalry. As a by product, it’s kind of exciting to watch.” It is going to be very, very interesting when the B’s and Habs play each other if Malcolm Subban does play. However, Tuukka, Khudobin, and Turco are just a few the guys who are more experienced and already waiting for their turn to be in the spot light. Quite frankly, I’m not entirely convinced that Malcolm Subban will be on the Bruins roster for a couple more years. The Bruins already have three worthy goaltenders, and four other up-and-coming one’s. Chiarelli did say that Subban is, “very athletic,” and also, “very, very competitive…He’s big and strong. His lateral speed is tremendous.” Malcolm Subban appears to be a solid goaltender who, according to Shawn Thornton, could, “make our team better in the future.” However, as Chiarelli went on to say, Subban still, “needs a little bit of work.” He did just get drafted, but when he does get a chance to play against his brother, I’m sure that the wait will be worthwhile.

As for now, I trust Peter Chiarelli. I’m sure that he made the right choice of bringing a Subban into the organization. As long as Malcolm doesn’t let family get in the way of business, and can accept that his brother has already dug himself a grave in Boston, then I am sure that he will do just fine.

Turning Red to White: Kevin Youkilis Dons New “Sox”

          Kevin Youkilis will forever remain in my heart as a true part of that Fenway culture. He’s big, like the Boston athletes have a reputation for being, and he’s got that tough look about him that makes you think that you shouldn’t mess with him. This partially may be due to the fact that the only hair he has is in a mustache, but also because he radiates an aura of veteran knowledge. It’s not complicated: he does have veteran knowledge, a whole nine years of it, with only Big Papi being on the team longer than he has been. Or, I suppose I should say ‘was’. Because as of yesterday, Youk is no longer a member of our beloved Red Sox.

It pains me to say it. It really does, and you can go on about how Middlebrooks is the better fit for the Sox or how Youkilis had a bad attitude but it doesn’t change the history that Youk carried. Remember how he hit a homer in his first game, at his second at bat? He walked up to the plate and got his batting stance all ready— a stance that Boston kids now constantly imitate in their backyard baseball games—arms up, elbows out, bat awkwardly high up and getting swung in little circles as the ball comes barreling closer. He stepped up to that plate and hit one home. Remember 2004? (That’s a stupid question, of course you do). With Youkilis gone, Ortiz is the only remaining member of the wonder team that somehow reversed the curse. It seems like a lifetime ago that October 27 happened and a band of idiots won a ballgame, turning New England into a chaotic combination of crazy people crying tears of joy over the fact that Babe Ruth was no longer relevant. Kevin Youkilis was on that team. He knows the significance of 1918 because he experienced Boston during those 86 years of waiting. Yes, he was only a rookie in ’04, but he was still there, on the team that everybody expected to lose. With him gone, the current Red Sox roster is an entirely different group that, with the exception of Papi, doesn’t truly know what the Fenway Faithful went through during the Bambino years.

Youkilis was a veteran for the Red Sox; he was one of the guys that I, for some reason or other, thought would always be on the Red Sox. I remember going to Sox games with my Dad, back when I was at the age where it was acceptable to wear a pink hat, and confusing the shouts of “YOUK” with “BOO.” It was quickly explained to me that I was hearing the wrong thing, and once I realized the significance of all the screaming, I joined in with some 37,493 other people. We were all celebrating one person, one person who was unimportant in the grand scheme of things but almost God-like to those of us who took the time to appreciate him, one person who was stepping onto a baseball diamond: Kevin Youkilis.

I’m sure you can imagine the shock, almost betrayal, I felt when I discovered that “YOUK” would no longer be regularly shouted by the Fenway Faithful. I can only hope that he will be just as successful in Chicago because I have nothing but good memories associated with him. As much as it pains me to know that Youkilis will now be donning white socks instead of red one’s, I know that no matter where he is, Youk will always remain in my heart, not just as a member of that 2004 team, but as an amazing baseball player.

March on, Marchand

Well, it’s that time of the year again. The Sox have decided to slack off during the most critical part of the season, Brady’s more worried about his haircut then scoring touchdowns, and, let’s be real here, there ain’t gonna be no basketball season. Even the Revolution (that’s New England’s soccer team) are in second to last place. Soccer fun fact of the day: it’s the Vancouver Whitecaps that are the total losers. (Seems to be a pretty common theme in that town, eh?) Which brings us to hockey.

Unless you’ve been living under a rock for the past few months you’ve probably heard a thing or two about a certain hockey team from Boston that just won a certain silver trophy. You probably know about all the partying that has been going on in New England because of that said hockey team. And like the saying goes, “There ain’t no party like a Beantown party, cause a Beantown party don’t stop.” This saying, apparently, is especially true with Brad Marchand. And yes I’m talking about THAT Marchand. The one who was on Boston’s Most Eligible Bachelors list. The one who was on Boston’s 25 Best Dressed list. (Which raised a few eyebrows, I might add.) This is the guy who scored twice in Game 7.  The one who helped win Boston the Stanley Cup.

Okay, before we get into the details, let’s cut the guy some slack. He’s 23, and in the NHL. He chose a carrier of complete immaturity, and that’s okay because it benefits the rest of us. But (and yes, there’s a but) sometimes he seems to go a little bit overboard. The prime example? Google image his name and scroll down until you’ve gotten the idea. How many shirtless party pictures do you really need to see?

Now, apparently, right when the celebration began (I hear the locker room was the place to be), some of the guys back in Boston invited an illiterate tattoo artist to join in on the fun. So when the team arrived at the Garden to continue their festivities, there was quite the opportunity waiting for them. It’s easy to imagine how the whole event went down. Someone noticed the tattoo guy, and then Marchand, Seguin, and a few others decided that it would be simply brilliant to get the incredibly creative phrase, “Stanley Cup Champions, Boston Bruins, 6. 15. 11,” tattooed on their abdomen. Sounds simple, right? If you said yes, you must have forgotten that the aforementioned tattoo guy was illiterate. And so “Stanley Cup Champions,” turned out to look more like, “Starley Cup Champians.” Which might not have such a horrible thing, except Marchand felt it was necessary to show the whole entire universe the unfortunate typo.

And then the media got involved. I never would have thought that a misspelled tattoo would make for such a huge news story. But in the end, Marchand got his tat fixed. And although he sometimes goes overboard, he’s still a Bruin. He’s still a hockey player. And in the end, he’s just some guy who got a tattoo misspelled. Just some guy that got to eat Cinnamon Toast Crunch out of the Stanley Cup, which, I must admit, is pretty ‘pissa’. And quite frankly, if Marchand wants to go get another misspelled ‘Starley Cup Champians’ tattoo next year, I’m all for it. Make it a habit Marshy!

But unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you look at it), the ‘champianship’ summer is drawing to a close, and in less then half a month the new season will have started. So in these last few precious days, go ahead and celebrate a little. Be like Marchand and soak in the feeling of being a champion. Brag to all of your out-of-state friends. Just don’t get a Stanley Cup tattoo (that’s the player’s privilege). So for now, I’ll leave you with some food for thought, words from the one and only Shawn Thornton, “hey, we won the Stanley Cup, if you’re ever going to do it, all I hear about it how hard the guys from ’72 went, we had to live up to those expectations.” Don’t worry Shawn, with Marchand at the party, you’re more than covered.