tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-76777533903409763252024-03-05T14:50:50.370-05:00Nate Graziano's Big BlogThe place where all the cool kids hang out with the pandas.Nate Grazianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12221226920544322997noreply@blogger.comBlogger227125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7677753390340976325.post-45866751059672467082014-02-08T13:18:00.002-05:002014-02-09T17:34:42.812-05:00On being a whore<br />
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Unless you're one of the select few in the literary field who simply exists and creates and readers flock to your work, being a writer involves being a whore for your books. Of course, some writers could care less about publication and the recognition/validation of their work by readers; they write because they're writers and don't let the background noise drown out their words. These writers, while few and far between in my experiences, are worthy of admiration---their motives for telling their stories are pure and I suspect undiluted by the need for vainglorious praise.<br />
<br />
Sadly, I am not one of those writers.<br />
<br />
In the past six months, I've seen two of my books sent into the brave new world of electronic publishing, or e-books. The first book, <i>Some Sort of Ugly</i>, a novella of sorts, was published by Marginalia Publications, a fledgling small press, and marketed largely to Kindle-users. It had a small print-on-demand run, but other than the copies I bought myself and signed and sold to friends, almost no one bought the print edition. The masses didn't exactly flock to the electronic version either.<br />
<br />
<i>Some Sort of Ugly</i><span style="color: red;"> <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Some-Sort-Ugly-Nathan-Graziano-ebook/dp/B00FTH8PME/ref=pd_sim_kstore_1"><span style="color: red;">is selling for $1</span></a>.</span><br />
<br />
Recently, <i>Hangover Breakfasts</i>, a chapbook of short prose pieces that was published in 2012 by Bottle of Smoke Press, was reissued as an e-book. It is a book that is dear to me for a number of reasons, and I was excited to see it get another chance at life. Yet again, the sales have not exactly been lighting up Amazon.com since its release last week.<br />
<br />
<i>Hangover Breakfasts</i><span style="color: red;"> <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Hangover-Breakfasts-Nathan-Graziano-ebook/dp/B00I3SKW40/ref=pd_sim_kstore_1/191-1732052-3950620"><span style="color: red;">is also selling for $1.</span> </a></span><br />
<br />
In other words, years of my life's work are available for less than a cup of coffee and still I can't get readers to bite on them. My services are at a bargain-basement price, and I'm still fighting to find johns.<br />
<br />
The first book I published was a small poetry chapbook in 1999 titled <i>A Night at the O'Aces</i>, named after a bar I frequented when I lived in Las Vegas. I had two poetry chapbooks in between, <i>No White Horses</i> and <i>Seasons From the Second Floor</i>, that flashed in the proverbial pan. At the time, promotion involved sending stacks of photocopied ads to the editors of zines and asking them to stuff their SASE's with them.<br />
<br />
In 2002, Green Bean Press, a now-defunct small publisher in New York City, took a huge chance on me and released a hardcover of my short fiction titled <i>Frostbite</i>. While it received some modest attention, it certainly didn't catapult me to eminence. Nor should it have. Looking back, it was a young and deeply flawed book.<br />
<br />
I have since published three collections of poetry with various small presses---the most successful being a collection of poetry about high school teaching published by Sunnyoutside Press titled <i>Teaching Metaphors</i>. While my books have been reviewed in local newspapers and literary journals, print or on-line, here and there, for the most part I've had to whore all of them, whore them out to the world, and self-promote through readings and, now predominantly, social media.<br />
<br />
And these days, it seems, with the rise of self-publishing and the money saved by small publishers with print-on-demand, there are more books and more authors and more whores, and with each new project the process feels more and more futile and little more sordid.<br />
<br />
In past posts, I've likened myself to<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OeiYnVScg7w"> <span style="color: red;">Crash Davis from the movie <i>Bull Durham</i></span></a>, only instead of eking out a career catching in minor league baseball, I've been publishing in the small presses to mixed results and a few "dubious distinctions." When I was 25 years old and envisioning myself as 38 year old writer, I had myself pegged for the covers of <i>Poets & Writers</i> and <i>The Paris Review</i>. I didn't envision myself kneeling beside a literary glory hole, begging for a buck to see a small spike in my Amazon.com ratings.<br />
<br />
While I'm still plugging away at novels, and putting together poetry collections and shorter books, as well as a collaboration with a friend, it would be easier to say, "Fuck it, I quit. I don't want to be a whore anymore." But that is not going to happen. For the most part, writers are masochists, a fact many try to hide with bombastic egos and a feigned sense of self-importance. But, at our cores, we enjoy the punishment and accept our roles as whores. And while having a publicist and a publishing house behind me to help with promotion would be nice, it still doesn't mean the writer can stop being a whore. In many ways, the condition drives the work.<br />
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By the way, did I mention that I have two e-books available for $2? Me love you long time. <br />
<br />
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Nate Grazianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12221226920544322997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7677753390340976325.post-27653859721867230372013-10-12T08:47:00.002-04:002013-10-12T12:28:08.235-04:00Some Sort of Ugly available on Kindle for a buck<br />
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A buck. Think about a buck. What can you buy for a buck anymore? Maybe half a glass of tap-splash at a dive bar. A pack of gum that has already been chewed. An "I Love Tom Boehner" t-shirt. My book.<br />
<br />
Starting today, and for a limited time, you can purchase my new book <em>Some Sort of Ugly</em> for Kindles only at Amazon.com. The book will be released in print and other e-book formats later this month, but then the price for the Kindle-version will increase slightly to a whopping $2.99. Then you can seriously contemplate whether or not you want a beer or the words I've slaved over. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Some-Sort-of-Ugly-ebook/dp/B00FTH8PME/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1381554044&sr=8-1&keywords=some+sort+of+ugly"><span style="color: red;">Here is the link</span></a> to purchasing it on Amazon.com. <br />
<br />
So, you might be wondering, what is this thing that penned about? Here are liner notes that Matt, the publisher at <a href="http://marginaliapublishing.blogspot.com/"><span style="color: red;">Marginalia Publishing,</span></a> wrote to describe it:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
It’s 1992. Kurt Cobain is alive, flannel is everywhere, and Hamlet Burns is starting college. Little does he know he faces four years of rowdy roommates, STDs, and ill-timed explosions of gas. Along the way, Ham drinks a few beers, breaks a few hearts, and has a near-fatal brush with Hootie and the Blowfish. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<em>Some Sort of Ugly</em> is the tale of Ham’s journey from boy to man, and the women that help him get there. The book is a mix of raunchy humor and nostalgic wisdom, and a true coming-of-age journey. </blockquote>
Other questions you might be thinking and I might be anticipating: My grandmother loves to read, should I download it on her Kindle? <em>It depends whether or not your grandmother can appreciate the fine art of dick-jokes.</em> Should I download it for my kids? <em>It depends whether or not you can afford counseling.</em> Does anyone die? <em>We all die eventually.</em> Does anything blow up or burst into flames? <em>Duh</em>. Why are you so handsome? <em>Thank you very much</em>. <br />
<br />
Also, Dan Crocker, a totally unbiased voice who happened to write a few books with me, scribbled the following blurb for <em>Some Sort of Ugly</em>:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="null">“<em>Some Sort of Ugly</em> is both beautiful and ugly in the way life is both beautiful and ugly. It's a hell of a cast of characters here--Ham, Drain-O, Gloria, all of them. Graziano captures the time and place pitch-perfectly, and more than anything, it's funny. Not a lot of people write really good humor, but Graziano pulls it off effortlessly and manages to give us a little to think about in the process. It's a hell of a fun ride."</span></blockquote>
This, of course, will likely result in the following exchange the next time Dan and I get together.<br />
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"Natty, buy the beer." <br />
<br />
"But I bought the last round, Cracker."<br />
<br />
"Do you remember that blurb I wrote for you?"<br />
<br />
I'll shake my head and reach for my wallet. "How much do the beers cost around this joint?"<br />
<br />
"A buck, Natty. One dollar."<br />
<br />
"What the hell can you buy for a buck anymore?"Nate Grazianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12221226920544322997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7677753390340976325.post-82977523595301482132013-09-22T11:35:00.003-04:002013-09-22T13:35:38.423-04:00Some Sort of Ugly and projectial vomit<br />
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Greetings, 21st Century. My name is Nate, and I've written a bunch of books you've never heard of. And now for something completely different. <br />
<br />
Not really.<br />
<br />
For starters, my new book<em> Some Sort of Ugly</em> weighs in at around 17,500 words. In other words, I have a novella-length manuscript, and anyone who has ever had the pleasure of shopping a manuscript knows for many years this would have placed it squarely in the dead zone. Most traditional publishers approach novellas like they're poking a turd with a stick. <br />
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However, with the advent of the e-book, print-on-demand, and a little bit of luck hooking up with the new Marginalia Press, <em>Some Sort of Ugly</em> is going to be available to readers in October when, otherwise, it would've been filed and forgotten. <br />
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I'm excited about this book for a couple of reasons. First, it is considerably different in tone than any book I've previously published. While I've always used humor as my trump card, most of my books tend to drift toward a "some sort" of darkness. This is not the case with <em>Some Sort of Ugly</em>. Instead, I'm pursuing my affinity for raunchy and ribald humor---perhaps tracing my Rhode Island-roots back to a Farrelly brothers influence---and, believe it or not, there is even a love story tucked away in it. <br />
<br />
Levity is not a bad thing. <br />
<br />
The other reason this project has particularly interested me has to do with <a href="http://marginaliapublishing.blogspot.com/"><span style="color: red;">Marginalia Press</span></a>. Headed by my friend Matt Guerruckey, the press focuses on the electronic format, something I have never worked with. Originally, Matt was only going to have it available as an e-book, but after the kick-ass cover art came back, he decided to make it available through print-on-demand as well.<br />
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Here's the thing: in many ways, this is an old school DIY project, and working with Matt through the process has been a joy. Matt also employed the help of cover artist Allan Ferguson and copy-editor Pamela Langley to really pull this thing together. <br />
<br />
Sure, we'd all like to have our books---our babies---purchased by Random House and reviewed in The New York Times; we'd all like to have enough literary clout to tell Jonathan Franzen to shut the fuck up, but those authors are few and far between. For me, it feels good working with good people to put out a small piece of art. In essence, writers need to write with an audience in mind, and it is my opinion that if you believe in a project---regardless of its marketability in big publishing world---you should do what you can to make sure it gets into readers' hands, somehow. <br />
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In the next couple of weeks, I'll be posting all the relevant information for ordering copies, but for right now, here is the cover art. Indeed, you can tell, it is <em>Some Sort of Ugly</em>. <br />
<br />
In the meantime, here is a free download of my story <a href="http://goreadyourlunch.blogspot.com/2013/06/vandals.html"><span style="color: red;">"</span><span style="color: red;">Vandals"</span> </a>at <em>Go Read Your Lunch</em>. And if you haven't been following my Red Sox column at <em>Dirty Water News</em>, please <a href="http://dirtywaternews.com/author/nategraziano/"><span style="color: red;">check it out</span></a>. Needless to say, I'm looking forward to the post-season. Nate Grazianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12221226920544322997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7677753390340976325.post-52863419200892291852013-05-05T12:45:00.000-04:002013-05-05T12:45:42.271-04:00Sunday ephemera<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Taking it all in at Fenway Park.</td></tr>
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My wife and I landed some free Sox tickets from the owners of the neighborhood watering hole, and once in the park, my cousin hooked us up with the chance to see a few innings from the Monster Seats. Here is a picture of your intrepid Sox blogger watching Salty shit his pants with the bases loaded in the eighth of a game against Kansas City. <br />
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<ul>
<li>My new article titled <a href="http://dirtywaternews.com/a-nation-of-chicken-littles/"><span style="color: red;">"A Nation of Chicken Littles"</span></a> is up at <em>The Dirty Water News</em>. If you didn't think it was possible to incorporate a quote from Sylvia Plath into an article about the Red Sox, think again.</li>
<li>Cinco de Mayo actually provides a reason to stay sober. It is Amateur Hour, along with St. Patty's Day, New Year's Eve and the night before Thanksgiving. </li>
<li>I have my first e-book coming out this summer. <em>Some Sort of Ugly</em> is a collection of inter-related humor pieces narrated by Hamlet Burns, a college student who has a series of bad haircuts and zany sexual mishaps. It will be published by the fledgling Marginalia Press. Look for it.</li>
<li>It seems to me if everyone in the country were willing to fight for education with the zeal, ardor and dogged determination the NRA has when trying to assure the big, bad government doesn't fuck with their guns, we'd be on a path to a solution. </li>
<li>I got my first Kindle for my birthday this year. Love it. Now I can download<em> Some Sort of Ugly</em> when it comes out. </li>
<li>The Red Sox, for whatever reason, can't win in Texas. Houston, we have a problem. </li>
<li>I wrote an essay for <em>The Good Men Project</em> about some problems my wife and I have encountered with co-sleeping. It's titled, ambiguously,<span style="color: red;"> </span><a href="http://goodmenproject.com/featured-content/the-good-life-the-dude-sleeping-with-my-wife/"><span style="color: red;">"The Dude Sleeping with my Wife."</span></a> </li>
<li><em>Bull Durham</em> is, hands-down, the best baseball movie ever made.</li>
<li>Steve Henn wrote <a href="http://theexistentialhumorist.tumblr.com/post/47413919716/review-nathan-grazianos-flash-fiction-chap-hangover"><span style="color: red;">a thoughtful and thorough review</span></a> of my chapbook <em>Hangover Breakfasts</em> that is worth checking out. Honestly, I didn't pay him.</li>
<li>I saw <a href="http://www.buzzfeed.com/lyapalater/21-family-photos-then-and-yikes"><span style="color: red;">this </span></a>linked on a friend's Facebook feed. This is brilliant and creepy and gut-busting funny. </li>
<li>My good friend Dan Crocker wrote <a href="http://www.wewantinsanity.com/am2/publish/Crocker/Crocker_Natty_and_Me.shtml"><span style="color: red;">an article</span></a> about our friendship for wrestling website. I'm not sure if there is a homoerotic metaphor here or not. </li>
<li>Don't forget, next Sunday is Mother's Day. </li>
</ul>
Nate Grazianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12221226920544322997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7677753390340976325.post-15156090699920543362013-04-06T09:41:00.003-04:002013-04-06T09:43:37.525-04:00Damn the damn YankeesHere's this week's <a href="http://dirtywaternews.com/?p=389"><span style="color: red;">baseball piece</span></a>. I think the title, "Damn the damn Yankees," sums it up. <br />
<br />
You have to feel good about the Sox so far. They have gotten some quality starts, the bullpen looks strong, and they've found the new face of the franchise. On the whole, this seems like a team we'll be able to get behind, unlike the beer and chicken and "fuck you, I quit" characters from the past two seasons. <br />
<br />
Of course, give it a week or a three-game losing streak. The songs change quickly on this jukebox.Nate Grazianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12221226920544322997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7677753390340976325.post-57575112692329363342013-03-31T09:33:00.002-04:002013-03-31T09:34:25.518-04:00And just when you're trying to like them...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
[Warning: extreme vulgarity, rooted in righteous indignation, to follow]<br />
<br />
With Opening Day on deck, as fans try to let bygones be bygones and get behind the motley batch of mediocrity that will take the field tomorrow, this shitty diaper surfaces.<br />
<br />
Holy fuckoly!<br />
<br />
Not only does this hokey three-minute cliche make me embarrassed to be a Red Sox fan, it makes me embarrassed to be a human being, co-existing on a planet where something like this is created and marketed. Think about the number of people culpable in the production of this wet fart---producers, cameramen, sound engineers, the fuck-stick singing. These people should receive a prison sentence their crimes against the decency and good tastes of humanity.<br />
<br />
I cannot envision a single person---save said fuck-stick's mother---who could possibly derive a modicum of pleasure from this. I'd venture to guess that even the Pink Hats, the ones who haven't already jumped ship on the 2013 Sox, are vicariously embarrassed by this video. Again, ownership has proven to be totally and completely tone deaf to fans.<br />
<br />
Pathetic. Absolutely inexcusable. I think I'm going to go and repeatedly punch myself in the dick for having watched then blogged about this. For once, I'm speechless. <br />
<br />Nate Grazianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12221226920544322997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7677753390340976325.post-32766231564089324942013-03-23T10:01:00.002-04:002013-03-23T10:10:22.514-04:00New gig, new bookIt looks like I was called up to play for <em><a href="http://www.dirtywaternews.com/"><span style="color: red;">The Dirty Water News</span></a></em> in Boston this year. I will be writing a bi-weekly article throughout the baseball season at the DWN, a free print newspaper distributed in the Boston-area. This, of course, means I would have to drive down to Boston every two weeks to pick up a copy and stare at my byline. However, seeing I'm on the verge of having a full-blown panic attack just thinking about driving in Boston, that isn't going to happen. But my aunt, my cousin, my sister and her husband live in Boston, so I can find someone in my family who will squirrel away copies for me. <br />
<br />
Anyway, the posts that would usually go up on this blog will be linked to the DNW website, which generates slightly more traffic than my blog---although thank you to the two people who continue to regularly check it. The decision is simply a matter of trying to get more readers for my Red Sox rants (someone is feeling alliterative this morning!). <br />
<br />
Here is my first article titled <a href="http://www.dirtywaternews.com/index.php/home/dirty-water-sports/269-they-owe-us-penance"><span style="color: red;">"They owe us penance!"</span></a> <br />
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I will still be using this blog, however, for random rants in between my deadlines. <br />
<br />
Also, I will have a new book coming out in the fall (no pub-date yet). It is a collection of fiction, poetry, and a one-act play that I co-wrote with my good friend Dan Crocker titled <em>Oprah Recommended</em>. Some of you might remember three out-of-print chapbooks that Dan and I wrote--- <a href="http://www.blogger.com/null"><span style="color: red;"><em>Idiot Warriors</em>, <em>Chickenshits</em>, and </span><span style="color: red;"><em>Men of Letters</em></span></a><em>---</em>that<em> </em>centered around two thinly-veiled fictional characters named Natty and Cracker. We revised many of those stories, added new ones and some of our better poems, while forging a semi-cohesive narrative arc. It was a ton of fun to write and work with my best friend on a project, so we're both very excited and grateful that Leah Angstman at <a href="http://alternatingcurrentarts.blogspot.com/"><span style="color: red;">Alternating Current</span></a> agreed to publish it in paperback next fall. <br />
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More information to follow. <br />
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In the meantime, nine days from now I'll be watching the Sox open in The Bronx against the Spank-Jobs. So close. Oh, so close. Nate Grazianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12221226920544322997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7677753390340976325.post-16939014666575124202013-02-28T13:15:00.001-05:002013-02-28T22:45:42.033-05:00Let the B.S. begin<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://cdn.fansided.com/wp-content/blogs.dir/14/files/2013/02/Pedey-and-Papi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://cdn.fansided.com/wp-content/blogs.dir/14/files/2013/02/Pedey-and-Papi.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is, exactly, the bullshit NESN and owners will be spewing this season.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Every year, come February and The Grapefruit League, a sort of schizophrenic fever comes over me. As soon as the pitchers and catchers report to spring training, I'm suddenly torn between approaching the season like a rational human being---someone who bases their ideas and opinions and prognostications on sound logic, statistics and experience---and my bat-shit/nut-bag thoughts as a Red Sox fan.<br />
<br />
Admittedly, the latter are based on nothing but an implausible scenario where I imagine myself condescendingly patting an imagined Yankee fan on the back in October, as said fan collapses into a fit of fury and tears. I then lick the tears off their face and say, "They taste so sweet, so sweet."<br />
<br />
This season is no different. <br />
<br />
Here is what I know logically about 2013 Red Sox: If they win 80 games, we'll consider it a successful first season for John Farrell.<br />
<br />
Let's face it, the last two years, beginning in September of 2011, have been a veritable circus sideshow. From the beer and chicken boys to Bobby V; from a bogus sell-out streak to the slow exodus of The Pink Hats, who may have<em> finally</em> gotten tired of singing "Sweet Caroline"; from cuffing the Dodgers with the ridiculous contracts of the aging and the arrogant and the injury-prone to the asshole who is Alfredo Aceves, following the Red Sox has been like peeking inside a tent to look at a donkey with three dicks. <br />
<br />
This year ownership tells us they're bringing in good "clubhouse" guys like Shane Victorino and Jonny Gomes, who add zero-pop to the line-up. Meanwhile, Mike Napoli and Big Papi will be flipping through their AARP pamphlets as Princess Ellsbury keeps one foot out the door. Oh, did I mention J.D. Drew's brother, Stephen, who will never shake the name "Drew's brother"? J.D. was about as much fun as an enema, so I imagine Stephen will also be doing his post-game interviews with a lampshade on his head.<br />
<br />
In other words, the ownership---aka, The Dick, The Nerd, and The Creep---is trotting out a horse on its way to glue factory and trying to sell fans on the fact that it is a stallion. Thankfully, most of the Red Sox base isn't buying it. <a href="http://www.boston.com/sports/baseball/redsox/2013/02/27/many-red-sox-ticket-holders-fleeing-now/MLPWfKrhpiijX7if0YLMqM/story.html"><span style="color: red;">The Globe reported yesterday</span></a> that even season-ticket holders are starting to jump ship.<br />
<br />
Now here is where bat-shit/nut-bag thoughts start to enter my mind.<br />
<br />
Listen, if Lester, Buchholz and Lackey (who lost 30 lbs., meaning he is now an ass-wad who weighs 30 lbs. less) can win 15 games each, pitching to their potential, maybe the offense doesn't have to be explosive. <br />
<br />
And who knows? Maybe Xander Bogearts or Jackie Bradley Jr. will be the next Mike Trout. Maybe Middlebrooks isn't fluky or still hurt, and maybe Salty will crush 30 home runs. Maybe The Dick (Lucchino) is right, and these guys will be competitive and make a run at the pennant. Maybe Kate Upton will finally start returning my calls.<br />
<br />
You see, these are bat-shit/nut-bag thoughts. I know this and I own them.<br />
<br />
As my father says at the beginning of every baseball season: "Here we go again." Indeed, here we go. Nate Grazianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12221226920544322997noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7677753390340976325.post-92227943056994517392012-12-15T15:41:00.001-05:002012-12-15T15:46:53.458-05:00Christmas ephemeraHappy holidays from all of us here at Nate Graziano's Big Baseball Blog, meaning me. In no specific order, this is what I currently have to contribute to the blogosphere:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<a href="http://www.bospress.net/assets/images/graziano1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://www.bospress.net/assets/images/graziano1.jpg" width="153" /></a>
<li>My new chapbook of prose---I'm not really sure how else to categorize it, if categorization is even necessary---<em>Hangover Breakfasts</em> was published by Bottle of Smoke Press last week. <a href="http://www.bospress.net/order.html"><span style="color: red;">Here</span></a> is the information for ordering a copy. It will make a great Christmas gift for any heavy drinker and/or chronically depressed person on your list. </li>
<li>We bought the kids an<em> Elf on the Shelf</em>, and despite the lameness of all those mommy blog posts with crafty and cutesy tips for hiding the damn thing, the elf is Stalin-esque in getting your kids to adhere to your every parental whim. </li>
<li>I have been writing for <em><a href="http://goodmenproject.com/"><span style="color: red;">The Good Men Project</span></a></em> lately. <a href="http://goodmenproject.com/featured-content/the-good-life-the-guy-having-a-panic-attack/#WIDMcH8xTDITtcqt.01"><span style="color: red;">Here</span></a> is my latest offering.</li>
<li>Thank you, Santa, for bringing us Shane Victorino and Johnny Gomes and the inimitable Ryan Dempster. Hopefully, you put plenty of Ben-Gay and Geritol in the training staffs' stockings this year.</li>
<li>We really need an emoticon for sarcasm.</li>
<li>I'll go ahead and say it: The Patriots are the best team in the AFC, maybe the NFL. </li>
<li>I continue to keep it classy at <em><a href="http://www.drunkmonkeys.onimpression.com/"><span style="color: red;">Drunk Monkeys</span></a></em>, too. <a href="http://www.drunkmonkeys.onimpression.com/literature/short-stories-2/pissing-on-my-own-leg-or-how-i-found-fiction-by-nathan-graziano/"><span style="color: red;">This story</span></a> is nothing short of Faulkner-esque. </li>
<li>My friend Becky Schumejda's new collection of poems <em>Cadillac Men</em> is one of the best collections of poetry I've read in a long, long time. Even if you're not a fan of poetry---which includes about 99.9% of readers---you will enjoy this one. It reads like a novel. Order <a href="http://www.nyqbooks.org/title/cadillacmen"><span style="color: red;">here</span></a><span style="color: red;">.</span></li>
<li>I'll admit it: I love Christmas music. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tlvGsI2OHYs"><span style="color: red;">Here</span></a> is my favorite holly-infused tune. </li>
<li>Do you want to read an interview with me? Tough. <a href="http://www.drunkmonkeys.onimpression.com/interviews/interview-nathan-graziano/"><span style="color: red;">Here</span></a> it is. </li>
<li>Did you notice authoritative I'm becoming in my old age? Look at how many times I linked the word "here." Now click<span style="color: red;"> </span><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Veg63B8ofnQ"><span style="color: red;">here</span></a>. You'll love it! </li>
<li>Merry Christmas, everyone. Please remember to hug your kids. </li>
</ul>
Nate Grazianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12221226920544322997noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7677753390340976325.post-73143235509902113352012-11-21T18:38:00.000-05:002012-11-21T18:38:03.037-05:00Happy Thanksgiving<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<br />
I have been away for awhile, and I certainly have some ideas about the Sox' teenage boy-like lust for Farrell, who was a losing manager for the newly-competitive-since-the-Miami-fire-sale Blue Jays. And I have some ideas about their ridiculous, sad and subservient need to sign for a 56 year-old Papi to a two-year contract to appease Pink Hats who might not recognize another name in the starting line-up on Opening Day, other than Pedroia or Lester or Ellsbury (who has a ticket stamped out of town after next season).<br />
<br />
Instead, I've chosen to enjoy the holidays, put my cynicism on hold, and offer up these mirthful words from a man who would never sell out to corporate America, or Pink Hats (we need a sarcasm font, no?).<br />
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Happy Holidays! Nate Grazianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12221226920544322997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7677753390340976325.post-73702985416195082562012-09-30T12:31:00.001-04:002012-09-30T12:54:12.839-04:00Hangover Breakfasts available for pre-order<a href="http://www.bospress.net/assets/images/graziano.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://www.bospress.net/assets/images/graziano.jpg" width="217" /></a>I'm happy to announce that my new book, <em>Hangover Breakfasts</em>, is available for pre-order from Bottle of Smoke Press. If you're not familiar with Bill Roberts' work, everything is hand-printed and exquisitely produced. His books are pieces of art in their own rights. But they're also limited-edition. There will only be 26 signed hardcover versions that will go quickly, and a limited number of paperback copies. If you're family, a close friend or--- for some strange reason---a big fan of my work, order soon before they sell out. Here's the link:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.bospress.net/order.html"><span style="color: #cc0000;">http://www.bospress.net/order.html</span></a><br />
<br />
<em>Hangover Breakfasts </em>is a collection of interconnected prose pieces that follows four 20-somethings living on a remote lake in New Hampshire after college. Harrowed by drugs, alcohol and a relentless winter, they struggle to find their footing and identities among the elements bearing down on them. End of liner notes.<br />
<br />
This is my first book since <em>After the Honeymoon</em> in 2009 and, honestly, it is one the closest to my heart for myriad of reasons. <br />
<br />
I will also be reading from the book on November 10 in Kingston, New York, with Rebecca Schumejda, John Dorsey and Cheryl Rice. My good friend Becky is having a book release party for her awesome new collection of poetry <em>Cadillac Men</em>, which is being published by New York Quarterly Press. Here's <a href="http://www.nyqbooks.org/author/rebeccaschumejda"><span style="color: #cc0000;">the link for ordering it</span></a>. Even if you're not a big fan of poetry, you'll love this book. It shucks all of the pretension, self-possession and surrealistic abstruseness of so much contemporary poetry. It's a gritty, blue-collar story of real people in the futile pursuit of the American Dream, a Gatsby for the working-class. <br />
<br />
Okay, enough. Football is about to start, and I'm starting to make myself sick with all of this talk about books and literature and The American Dream. It's time to buckle up, be a man, drink beer and watch dudes beat the shit out of each other. <br />
<br />
And one more thing: Let's go Orioles! Nate Grazianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12221226920544322997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7677753390340976325.post-60648148137115835642012-09-15T11:38:00.000-04:002012-09-15T15:01:20.837-04:00Mittens and Red Sox<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
It's been a sad run for Sox fans this year. But if there's a silver lining, it's watching <a href="http://deadspin.com/5943302/josh-beckett-got-thrown-out-at-first-by-the-right-fielder"><span style="color: #0b5394;">Josh Beckett get thrown out from right field by Carlos Beltran</span></a><span style="color: #0b5394;">.</span> Good ole' Josh. Charlie Hustle. Thanks, LA. How does Boston's nut-sack taste? <br />
<br />
With the Sox out of the playoffs and the Yankees so old and lame it's almost futile to root against them, I'm turning my attention to other avenues, such as indoctrinating my children with my liberal ideals. Actually, as a middle class public school teacher, I don't consider it indoctrination, rather education. I cannot, for the life of me, understand how anyone who is female, a minority, gay, human, or making under $250,000 a year would vote for Mitt Romney. While McCain was a certified nut-job and the idea of Sarah Palin as president was sobering to the core---Matt Taibbi pegged her as "<a href="http://www.rollingstone.com/politics/news/greed-and-debt-the-true-story-of-mitt-romney-and-bain-capital-20120829"><span style="color: #0b5394;">a combustive mix of clueless novelty and suburban sexual tension</span></a><span style="color: #0b5394;">"---</span>at least I didn't have the chilling, puke-in-my-mouth repulsion that a rich man running on a straight-up platform for other rich men invokes. Mittens, in every sense of the word, is certified douche.<br />
<br />
So my daughter and I recorded a version of Neil Young's "The Campaigner" and put it on Youtube. Please, forgive the shoddy out-of-tune guitar playing. At least I used a capo. But my daughter's voice is gorgeous; and, more importantly, here's a 9 year-old exercising her civic rights and railing against Mittens and an antiquated party of rich white men preying on the stupid and paranoid. <br />
<br />
I love this girl.Nate Grazianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12221226920544322997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7677753390340976325.post-89292288936973924332012-08-22T18:18:00.003-04:002012-08-24T14:18:09.605-04:00A Season in Hell<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://wordincarnate.files.wordpress.com/2011/05/hell.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://wordincarnate.files.wordpress.com/2011/05/hell.jpg" width="207" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's been a hell of a season.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
There's been a shit storm in New England for the past year, a shit storm extending itself from the northernmost tip of Maine to the coast of Connecticut, and like many calamities, this shit storm has a name: <em>The Boston Red Sox</em>.<br />
<br />
I know, I know, you hear this all the time from Red Sox fans, a group predisposed to hyperbole and melodrama, but this year <em>seriously </em>was the worst year I can remember being a Red Sox fan. It's as if the collective apathy from the clubhouse spread like a virus and infected the fan base as well. From the top down in the organization, it truly feels like no one really gives a flying fuck about this team. Most fans gave up by the All-Star break, and can you blame them? The crowds the Patriot training camp drew in August was testament to how little people cared about the 2012 Red Sox. In other words, people preferred watching blocking drills to regular season baseball. <br />
<br />
So how did things get so very, very bad? <br />
<br />
Let me start by saying that if I have to hear one more announcer reference the Red Sox as "one of the most prestigious franchises in professional sports," I am going to puke on my chest. If by "prestigious" they mean "a franchise that dumps a ton of money into the team with the expectation that said players will bitch, whine, moan, send text-messages little middle school girls and prodigiously under-perform" then I stand corrected. According to that definition, the Red Sox are, indeed, prestigious. But that's not what my dictionary is telling me. My dictionary tells, it means "having a high reputation, honored, esteemed." Interesting. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://cbsboston.files.wordpress.com/2012/08/2012-ne-sports-survey.ppt">A recent survey conducted by Channel Media and Marketing</a> showed results that seemingly point to the current Red Sox team and ownership as being perceived by fans as the antithesis of prestigious. In fact, the current team, manager and ownership are only a few paltry percentage points above the New England Revolution in popularity polls. <br />
<br />
And how is that the "esteemed" Red Sox have all but surrendered the season---shutting down Crawford and firing coaches and everything else that points to a team in total disarray---yet they're still claiming a fraudulent sell-out streak and charging some of the highest ticket prices in the game?<br />
<br />
Listen, this has all been very bad and very disheartening, a veritable season in Hell for Sox fans. And while I've never been one to see the forest through the trees, there are a few things that I hope can be taken away from this debacle. <br />
<br />
First of all, can we agree that when a team--particularly a team of selfish, entitled, detestable little brats---under-performs and fails to win, it cannot be fully blamed on the coach. I hear a lot of people overzealously throwing Bobby V. under the bus, but newsflash: It's not his fault. This is a team that hasn't been in the post-season since 2009 and hasn't won a post-season game since 2008, and it's same core group of douche-tards. Last year, the beer and chicken gang let Francona take the fall after their historic September collapse, and their train just kept a' rollin' into the 2012 season. Has Bobby V. been brilliant? Far from it. But he was also never given a chance. If we can learn anything from this season, maybe we can learn something about allocating blame.<br />
<br />
Then there's a large lesson in humility. If we---any New England sports fan---had happened to be born in Kansas City and grew up following the Royals, this season would be far from an anomaly. Sure, I understand that the Red Sox dump all of this money in order to field a competitive team <em>every</em> year, thus justifying the borderline thievery of their fans in ticket prices. But sometimes, for whatever reason, either the team you follow or your life in general simply sucks. Get used to it. Things, usually, turn back around, but you might have to deal with some discomfort until you get there. The 2012 Red Sox suck. That's life. And I'll end with this pearl of advice from Dr. Denis Leary. A season in Hell? Shut the...<br />
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Nate Grazianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12221226920544322997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7677753390340976325.post-5641527114005805812012-07-21T15:46:00.001-04:002012-08-07T13:17:59.577-04:00Some lit news and linksI know, this is a baseball blog, so I should stop being such a self-promotional bastard, but this isn't only about me. It's just<i> mostly</i> about me. In all seriousness, I've had a lot of work appear on-line this summer, so here are some links if you're bored and bouncing around the internet.<br />
<br />
I had a couple of pieces from a circle of stories I've been working for, oh, ten years now. The first is flash fiction piece titled <a href="http://www.fiction365.com.php5-12.dfw1-1.websitetestlink.com/?p=3049">"Family Matters"</a> on <i>Fiction365</i>, and the second is a short story titled <a href="http://drunkmonkeys.onimpression.com/2012/06/ninety-days-short-story-by-nathan.html">"Ninety Days"</a> on a cool new website called <i>Drunk Monkeys</i>. <br />
<br />
This also this little feelgood piece titled <a href="http://www.friedchickenandcoffee.com/2012/06/10/opening-day-fiction-by-nathan-graziano/">"Opening Day"</a> on Rusty Barnes' blog <i>Fried Chicken and Coffee</i>.<br />
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I also have a number of poems available to read on-line:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://theorangeroomreview.webs.com/byngrazianojune12.htm">"Waiting for the Cable Man"</a> on <i>The Orange Room Review</i>.<br />
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<a href="http://www.bostonliterarymagazine.com/sum12poetry.html#sum12npr.html">"NPR and the Death of Electric Guitars"</a> on <i>The Boston Literary Magazine</i>.<br />
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<a href="http://www.redfez.net/poetry/1620">"A Married Man Living in a Cheap Motel"</a> on <i>Red Fez</i>.<br />
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<a href="http://www.undergroundvoices.com/UVGrazianoNathanJULY2012.htm">"Confessions of Recovering Crier"</a> on <i>Underground Voices</i>.<br />
<br />
Finally, my chapbook of short prose pieces titled <i>Hangover Breakfasts</i> is slated to be released next month for <a href="http://www.bospress.net/">Bottle of Smoke Press</a>. <strike>Also, the contract is being drawn up for a novella-length collection of sex and humor stories titled<i> Some Sort of Ugly</i> to tentatively be released on Valentine's Day as an e-book and print from a new press called </strike><a href="http://www.onimpression.com/"><strike>On Impression Books</strike></a><strike>. Of course, I'll have more information about that book soon as well. </strike> <span style="color: #3d85c6;">I'm sorry to report that a contract for this book was not able to be negotiated.</span> <br />
<br />
Thanks for enduring my self-indulgence. Back to baseball soon, especially with the trading deadline around the corner.Nate Grazianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12221226920544322997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7677753390340976325.post-68603766770147800422012-07-11T17:26:00.001-04:002012-07-11T18:01:10.722-04:00All-Star Break report card: Part II (Position players)<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://cache.boston.com/images/bostondirtdogs//2012/bdd_middlebrooks_0507_gett.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://cache.boston.com/images/bostondirtdogs//2012/bdd_middlebrooks_0507_gett.jpg" width="136" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The story of the year so far.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So I've already established that I believe the onus for the Red Sox sub-par season so far belongs solely to the starting pitchers, particularly the three donkeys. And it's already been acknowledged that the position players have been stung by injuries this season. Even so, the guys who have replaced the divas have put together the second best offense in the American League, scoring more runs than any AL team other than Texas (Sox are sixth in the MLB). And Texas, by the way, seems poised to go to their third World Series in a row, and I'd expect them to make a move on a big-time starter---Hamels, Dempster, possibly Beckett or Lester if the Sox are willing to go that route---before the deadline.<br />
<br />
It's also worth noting that The Sox are fourth in the American League in fielding (sixth, again, in the MLB), so it's not sloppy defense that's led to the ignominious space at the cellar of the AL East.<br />
<br />
Therefore, the position are not only off my Shit List, but I've enjoyed watching their gritty performances so far. While the big-money players have either gotten hurt (that's you, Pedey, Ellsbury, and Crawford), under-performed and been traded (that's you, Youk), or simply haven't earned their paychecks (that's you, Gonzalez), the kids have been a good, if not better, alternative to watching the so-called superstars.<br />
<br />
<i>The Outfield: B+</i><br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://baseballnewshound.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/Ellsbury-injury.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="101" src="http://baseballnewshound.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/Ellsbury-injury.png" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Menstrual cramps are a killer.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I really wish people would stop whining about Ellsbury and Crawford being hurt. First of all, Ellsbury seems to be made out of glass. In the past three years, he's played the equivalent of one season, and it'll be interesting to see how Scott Boris, aka Satan, tries to market him in the off-season. Or there's a good chance, seeing that the Sox are not likely to resign him, he could be moved on the market or packaged in the trading deadline deal. Who wants to buy a broken toy? I don't know. But Ellsbury is great...when he actually plays, that is.<br />
<br />
And Carl Crawford. Remember the game in elementary school where you'd call someone's name, and when they asked "What?" you'd respond with: "You're with it." And they'd ask: "What?" And you'd laugh and repeat, "You're stuck with it." Carl Crawford is the Red Sox equivalent of being "stuck with it." No one in their right mind is going to touch that bloated contract, so, yeah, they're "stuck with it."<br />
<br />
That said. The young guys who have come up and over-performed in the outfield and kept these guys in games deserve kudos. In fact, I'd like to see some of these guys play through the year, although it will be impossible to fit them all on the roster once Glass Boy and Stuck with It come back next week. But I've loved watching Nava and Kalish plays their sacks off. Sure, they've struggled some defensively, particularly Kalish, but still it's been fun. Thinking he'd be watching baseball this season, The Sox call Scott Posednik and he comes in and makes a difference. Although he's been hurt a lot, Ryan Sweeney swings a decent bat and plays hard. The other night against the Yankees he threw himself against the wall trying to make a catch in centerfield. If that were Ellsbury, he would have incinerated and turned to dust. And Cody Ross has brought some pop with him from San Francisco.<br />
<br />
<i>The Infield: B</i><br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://itsabout.server304.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/07/Pedro+Ciriaco+Boston+Red+Sox+v+New+York+Yankees+Uw5WAIw50Ttl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://itsabout.server304.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/07/Pedro+Ciriaco+Boston+Red+Sox+v+New+York+Yankees+Uw5WAIw50Ttl.jpg" width="136" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ciriaco was a much-needed jolt.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I think I can sort out the infield in two succinct statements.<br />
<br />
The first one: <i>The kids and Aviles have been great, given their respective roles and expectations. </i>Will Middlebrooks, up to his recent injury, has been the story of the first half of the season, and now it seems that Pedro Ciriaco is out to the steal the narrative. Saltalamacchia finally starting to play to his potential, and Mike Aviles, so far, gets my vote for the 10th Player Award. Sure, if the Sox decide to throw in their cards on July 31, you might be looking at a Gonzo, Ciriaco, Iglesias, Middlebrooks in-field in a few weeks (I have a hunch Pedey is more hurt that he's letting on), but Aviles has been a nice surprise.<br />
<br />
The second statement: <i>The veterans have been a disappointment</i>. It's really hard to get on Dustin Pedroia for anything. I mean, the guy could take a shit on my dinner table, and I'd probably clap and say, "Nice dump, Dustin." But, let's face it, he's been playing hurt and the stats aren't there. Before he was traded, Youk looked atrocious at the plate, and Adrian Gonzalez, for $22 million a year, should have more than six home runs at the All-Star break. They're not paying him the big bucks to hit singles.
<br />
<br />
<i>The Designated Hitter: A</i><br />
<br />
If the Red Sox brass give David Ortiz anything but a one-year contract next year, they will officially make the donkey-list with Beckett, Lester, Buchholz and Lackey. Obviously, Papi plays better when he feels slighted and he's pissed off about it. Let him pop off to the press and whine and moan about his contract, as long as he puts up the numbers he put up this first half, he's all aces with me.
<br />
<br />
<i>Overall assessment: D</i><br />
<br />
The Red Sox, with their payroll and the talent on their roster, should NOT be a last place team. I realize that other than Kansas City, Seattle, and Minnesota, every other team in the AL is contention for the second Wild Card spot going into the second half, so I'm not willing to completely write off The Red Sox. Yet. If they go into The Trop this weekend and get swept by the Rays then it's time to start dealing. In fact, I hope Cherington is already looking for potential homes for some of the big name donkeys. I would have no problem with watching this line-up for the second half of the season and seeing these kids grow: 1B Gonzalez; 2B Cirieco/Pedey; SS Iglesias; 3B Middlebrooks; LF Crawford; CF Kalish; RF Ross/Sweeney; C Salty/Lavarney.<br />
<br />
For the Red Sox, in the next two weeks, we'll see if they're going to shit or finally get off the pot. Sorry, Pink Hats, the good times may no longer seem "so good, so good, so good." You might have to actually love and understand baseball to follow a team that's no longer contending.Nate Grazianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12221226920544322997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7677753390340976325.post-1354367659756220972012-07-09T15:15:00.001-04:002012-07-09T15:28:45.974-04:00All-Star Break report card: Part I (Pitching)Honestly, this has been one of the most frustrating seasons in recent memory for Red Sox fans. Yes, I realize that the team has been decimated by injuries. Going into last night's game against the Yankees, the Sox had Pedroia, Crawford, Ellsbury, Bailey, Rich Hill, Buchholz, Dice-K (shocking) and Middlebrooks, either injured, recovering from an injury, or on a rehab assignment. No doubt, they've had some tough breaks, but that does not---let me repeat this---it does NOT excuse or explain away the Red Sox dismally average 43-43 record and spot at the bottom of the division.<br />
<br />
Nope. And Sox fans who believe that the return of Carl Crawford and Jacoby Ellsbury is going to turn around the season is either a Pink Hat or an Ass Hat. To put it simply, the problem is the starting pitching, mainly Lester, Beckett, and Buchholz, a.k.a. The Beer and Fried Chicken Gang (sans that pecker-head Lackey). In fact, the guys who have come off the bench, or come up from Pawtucket, this year have played their asses off and contributed largely to the second most potent offense in the AL behind a ridiculously good Texas line-up.<br />
<br />
So let's start there<br />
<br />
<i>Starting pitching: F </i><br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.billy-ball.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/10/Lackey-Lester-Beckett.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="158" src="http://www.billy-ball.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/10/Lackey-Lester-Beckett.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The three donkeys.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
That's right. F, as in "failure;" as in, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2V3CfD8TPac">"Mr. Blutarsky, 0.0;"</a> as you do not pass because your work has been unacceptable. And, really, this is the reason the Red Sox are holed up in the cellar of the AL East, ten games behind the Yankees in the loss column. And you can't really put the blame on the rookie Felix Doubront or Franklin Morales, both of whom have been decent.<br />
<br />
We could put some blame on the front office for giving us the Daniel Bard Debacle, and, of course, Dice-K has stunk for the majority of his overpaid stay in Boston. But the brunt of the blame sits squarely on the shoulders of Beckett and Lester---and to a lesser degree Buchholz---who have to pitch like aces in order for The Red Sox to be competitive.<br />
<br />
What is most infuriating is the fact that it seems like these guys have learned nothing since last September. One would think that after last season, they would be pitching with flames shooting from their bungholes, trying to atone for their bad behavior and ineffable apathy that led to the historic collapse. Nope, again. Hell yeah, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=15P5DibIqFY">they like beer</a>. It seems like they like it more than baseball, in fact. Beckett and Lester have been average at best, perhaps below average, with both posting robust ERA's well over 4.00, and the team is 12-20 in games they've started. Do the math.<br />
<br />
So, go ahead, Pink Hats, keep talking about the good times to come when the Sox get their starters back. Belt out some "Sweet Caroline" while you're waiting. But it's not the problem.<br />
<br />
<i>The Bullpen: A-</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
To me, this is further evidence that the problem lies in the starting pitching. While Bobby Valentine has surely not been perfect at the helm, he has done a masterful job managing the bullpen this year. When you think the hand he was dealt coming into the season, losing Bard and Andrew Bailey in the pen (by the way, I wish the Sox had a Josh Reddick on their ball club), then to have Melancon blown up like a pipe bomb in a pinata in his first few outings, Valentine has done a nice job stringing this pen together. And this bullpen, like many of the gritty starters, has really stepped up. Aceves has been good, not masterful, but certainly serviceable, and guys like Albers, Atchinson and Padilla have been surprisingly consistent.<br />
<br />
While I thought this was going to be The Red Sox Achilles' Heel going into the season, it's not. Not even close. And while the bullpen may be the fattest and ugliest pen in baseball---who wins in a beauty contest, Padilla or Aceves?---they've pitched well, and they've been managed well.<br />
<br />
In short, it's the two donkeys at the front of the rotation, and already, the trade rumors have begun to stir. The problem being that Beckett is 10-5, so there might not be a lot the Sox can do, except make him very uncomfortable in Boston.Nate Grazianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12221226920544322997noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7677753390340976325.post-28258363526704617492012-06-30T11:59:00.002-04:002012-06-30T11:59:34.678-04:00Decisions, decisions, decsionsIt goes without saying that the Red Sox have a lot of decisions to make in the next few weeks. For example, what are they going to do with Daniel Nava, Ryan Kalish and Ryan Sweeney---a.k.a. the guys who have played their asses off and played well---once the big-money guys with the big contracts and the big agents, Carl Crawford and Jacoby Ellsbury come back from their sabbaticals on the disabled list? Do you go with the dirt dogs who have scraped the Sox out of the gutter with their hustle and grit, forsaking the glory? Probably not. Realistically, when the money boys come back, the guys who salvaged the season are either going back to AAA, or they'll be traded for prospects, or possibly a journeyman five starter? <br />
<br />
Oh decisions, decisions. These things will be solemnly discussed and dissected in thousands of bars throughout New England for the next month until the trading deadline. At times, it will become heated; perhaps, a few fists will fly in defense of Daniel Nava. This is important business, and we're all bar stool general managers.<br />
<br />
But here's the thing: This seems to me to be both the beauty and folly of sports' fans.<br />
<br />
Everyday we all struggle with decisions, most of them trivial:<i> Should I wear this loud shirt to work? Should I cut my hair? Should I spend a dollar more for the organic product?</i> Some are more dire: <i>Should I marry this person? Should I take spend the money on grad school for an MFA? Should I spend the children's college funds on a lap dance?</i><br />
<br />
Sports, however, allows us the luxary of entertaining decisions in which we have no bearing on the results. And, ultimately, what is decided has no bearing on our lives whatsoever. It's refreshing.<br />
<br />
Then we go to polls---or sadly decide not to go---and we make decisions that will affect our lives. Should I vote for the person who endorses a socialized system of health care, amnesty for immigrants living in this country, equal rights for gay couples? Or the person toting gun-rights according the Second Amendment, lower taxation, the preservation of conservative ideals?<br />
<br />
It's so much easier to think about Daniel Nava.Nate Grazianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12221226920544322997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7677753390340976325.post-53891841330236602812012-06-23T11:44:00.000-04:002012-06-23T11:44:05.160-04:00The boy and his baseball<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://brandonsneed.com/storage/baseball_nostalgia.jpeg?__SQUARESPACE_CACHEVERSION=1278009957573" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://brandonsneed.com/storage/baseball_nostalgia.jpeg?__SQUARESPACE_CACHEVERSION=1278009957573" width="249" /></a></div>
My son was draped over the fence on the first-base line, his arms hanging down and his baseball mitt secured to his left hand. Not even twenty yards from him, the pitchers in the New Hampshire Fisher Cats' bullpen sat on an aluminum bench next to a bucket chock full of the things my son wanted most in this world: baseballs.<br />
<br />
For a 7 year-old boy, still half a decade away from discovering curves, the desire to procure a baseball in a half-filled AA ballpark was more than a whim; it was a desire, a passion, a visceral yearning. However, by the seventh inning, he had resigned himself to nihilism (something he gets from his mother).<br />
<br />
"I'm not getting a ball," he said, which might as well been translated to: <i>Life just doesn't work out</i>.<br />
<br />
"Keep trying, Owen," his mother encouraged. "I have a good feeling about this."<br />
<br />
Still draped over the fence on the first base line, Owen waited.<br />
<br />
Then, as life's vicissitudes took charge, Owen was tossed a ball between innings from a player warming up the right fielder. That player was Koby Clemens, the son of the newly-acquitted and regionally reviled Roger Clemens.<br />
<br />
Growing up, I had a poster of Koby's dad in my bedroom. In 1986, when Clemens struck out 20 Seattle Mariners (still a dubious distinction given that it was Seattle) in a game, won a Cy Young and an MVP and took the Sox to the World Series, he might as well been curing lepers, turning water into wine, resurrecting from the dead. Like millions of New England boys at the time, I worshiped Roger Clemens with the dogged naivete of an 11 year-old boy, who was still a couple of years away from discovering curves.<br />
<br />
Of course, Clemens' legacy in Boston---and as an athlete in general---would be poisoned by his arrogance, hubris and general douche-baggedness. Would I possess the same level of rancor toward the man had he never donned a pinstripe? Probably not. But when I was a boy, The Rocket was beyond reproach, a hero. And here, over twenty years later, his son, with a simple flip of a three dollar baseball, did the same for mine.<br />
<br />
For the past two nights, Owen has slept with the baseball that Koby Clemens gave him. Of course, someday the baseball will be lost or discarded, like my Roger Clemens poster, but for right now, my son is exhilarated. And sometimes, Owen, life does work out.Nate Grazianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12221226920544322997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7677753390340976325.post-23920968332373507652012-06-01T14:17:00.004-04:002012-06-01T17:53:34.274-04:00Dirt Dogs vs. Princesses<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://l.yimg.com/j/assets/p/sp/getty/76/fullj.f1c88a102e8c8d8ea77a0a937a3228f4/f1c88a102e8c8d8ea77a0a937a3228f4-getty-145505941.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://l.yimg.com/j/assets/p/sp/getty/76/fullj.f1c88a102e8c8d8ea77a0a937a3228f4/f1c88a102e8c8d8ea77a0a937a3228f4-getty-145505941.jpg" width="160" /></a></div>
At the start of this season, I hated this Red Sox team like a penis hates sharp objects. They were a bunch of overpaid, entitled princesses playing the game with the enthusiasm one usually reserves for a colonoscopy. It appeared that no lesson was learned after their epic collapse last September, and we were going to have another season of lukewarm millionaires yawning in left field.<br />
<br />
Early, something happened that turned the season around: The princesses started dropping like flies.<br />
<br />
For starters, John Lackey was sidelined in the off-season to recover from a speciously-scheduled Tommy John surgery, and there was much rejoicing. Ditto Dice-K, but he recovered quicker---probably free-basing radioactive rock or something---and is currently shitting the bed in Pawtucket, poised to shit the bed in Boston. During spring training, the $20 million uber-dud Carl Crawford broke his finger picking his nose, and no one knows if or when he'll be back. Then Andrew Bailey, their purported closer, got a boo-boo on his baby toe and was placed on the DL before he even threw his first regular season meatball. In the shocker of the new <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt;">millennium</span>, Jacoby Ellsbury pulled an abdominal muscle ripping a fart and he's gone, again, until after the All-Star break. And, finally, in what proved to be the Sox most fortuitous injury, Youk went down and paved the path for his imminent successor Will Middlebrooks to come up and rake in the majors.<br />
<br />
Now, the Red Sox are over .500 for the first time this season, and they're winning with a patchwork crew of dirt dogs, who not only play the game hard but are utterly affable to boot. I'd almost rather see the current line-up lose the rest of the season than watch The Red Sox with the princesses from the infirmary win a pennant.<br />
<br />
So let's take a look at the dirt dogs.<br />
<br />
So far, Daniel Nava is winning over fans with both hustle and a hot bat. Carl Crawford can kiss my ass. Let Nava man the Monster for the next five years. I'm down. Then there is Ryan Sweeney, a wild card from Oakland who was packaged with Bailey. Sweeney, who has earned a role as an every day starter, has made some incredible plays in the field---i.e. the diving catch in center where he concussed himself---and he's been putting up the stats on top of it. The aforementioned Middlebrooks looks like the real deal, infusing the team with youth, while even journeyman like Marlon Byrd and Scott Posednik play hard, which is the antithesis of the Beer and Chicken Bitches. Even Salty has come into his own and is putting up All-Star numbers with a hearty dose of toughness to boot. If Ellsbury got a cut on his ear, it would've been a potential career-ending injury. And Mike Aviles, hell, he's made a nice case for himself as an everyday starter at shortstop. On top of it, although part of the millionaire crowd, Papi has his mojo back, and Gonzalez has shown some real character by volunteering to play right field. And Pedroia is Pedroia: the muddy chicken and a consummate gamer.<br />
<br />
Given the Pink Hats and the way the team presented itself to fans last season and the first month of the current one, I'd forgotten what it's like to really root for the Red Sox. However, with the team they're putting out now, I'm hoarse from cheering in front of the television. But, alas, while they take their sweet-ass time to heal, the princesses will return, and the Sox will go back to being the team that Theo built, a watered-down version of the Yankees. When the princesses are healthy, the front office will demand their babies get to play, and Valentine will either comply or get fired, and we're back to the same flat baseball that resulted in last September's disaster. <br />
<br />
But for now, I'm liking these guys. A lot. Like a penis likes soft and wet...forget it. You get picture. Nate Grazianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12221226920544322997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7677753390340976325.post-57836615315931219772012-05-11T16:35:00.002-04:002012-05-11T17:32:58.650-04:00The Red Sharts<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">A shart: here's a quick explanation for those of you with too much elegance, class and maturity to know what I'm referencing. A shart, a word that combines the words "shit" and "fart," is often a gamble, a stare-down with the gods. When one sharts, the individual feels the need to pass gas; however, they also know if they go ahead and fart, there's a real chance they might shit their pants. Sure, sometimes it slips, completely beyond one's control, and the person is left feeling as helpless as a baby with a soiled diaper. And, in essence, the analogy is holds true. This, however, is not the type of shart I'll be using as the metaphor in this post.
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">There is a second type of shart. Here, the individual, in a bold act of hubris, believes they are above shitting their pants. They believe they are better than a person who shits their pants. They believe they are impervious to such shame. So the arrogant son of a bitch goes ahead, gambles, and lets loose. And what happens? They have a total and complete mess on their hands. They're utterly humiliated, and they stink of ass.
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">The 2012 Red Sox are a shart.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Let's begin with the hubris factor. If you remember back in spring training for 2011 season, Mr. Josh Beckett predicted his team---who would go 5-16 in September and top off the worst collapse in baseball history---would win 110 games. I will say nothing about the fried chicken and beer, nothing about the way the players took no accountability for their own bad behavior. It's a new season, and they have a chance to atone.
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Nope. These arrogant bastards have come out this year and have played like a bunch of entitled teenage princesses. Them, shit their pants? No. Never. They're too good. They're too popular. They can fart wherever they damn well please with total impunity. They can fart at the theater, they can fart at clubs, and they can certainly fart on the golf courses. Hell, it'll never happen to them. And, if it does, so what? There's no humility on Yawkey Way these days.<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Instead, it's the Red Sox fans enduring the humiliation. Due to the fact that there is zero accountability in the clubhouse, we're the ones standing in the center of room, dung dripping down our legs, running for the exits. We're the ones <a href="http://www.sportsgrid.com/mlb/red-sox-paper-bag-fan/">wearing bags over our head</a>s, disgraced. We're the ones who hear the collective laughter of the entire baseball world as they hold their stomachs and point their fingers at us and our hometown team. Sure, being a Red Sox fan my whole life, there have been some miserable times---i.e. 1986 and 2003---but, honestly, this feels like rock-bottom. I have never felt embarrassed to wear my Red Sox hat in public, but these days, there's something slightly shameful, something that smells real bad.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">So what is the solution? The solution is simple. Clean up the mess, throw away the old shorts and replace them with a new pair, and then move on with your life. In other words, start by dumping Josh Beckett, the ring leader, which will be difficult seeing he's a 10-5 guy. However, this will, at the very least, break up the player entitlement and bread with the fans. Hell, dump Buccholz, dump Papi, and dump Youkilis, too. Clean up the whole mess. This season, I'm sad to say, might actually be the Red Sox bridge year, the start of new beginning. Bring up Iglesius, keep Middlebrooks at the corner, get Lavarney some AB's, and start thinking toward the future. In a year or two, this will all be a bad memory. In a year or two, we'll start to forget about the 2012 Red Sharts. In a year or two, this all will seem like a bad, bad dream.</span></span></span></span></span>Nate Grazianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12221226920544322997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7677753390340976325.post-83804738047602941282012-04-22T10:36:00.016-04:002012-04-22T13:51:37.893-04:00Douche-tards<a href="http://cbsboston.files.wordpress.com/2012/02/bobby-valentine.jpg?w=300" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; "><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 225px;" src="http://cbsboston.files.wordpress.com/2012/02/bobby-valentine.jpg?w=300" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><span style="font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span style="font-size: 100%; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-style: normal; ">Douche-tard [doosh-tard] </span><i style="font-size: 100%; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; ">noun. Slang: vulgar.</i><span><span style="font-size: 100%;"> A contemptible person who behaves as if he/she were retarded. </span></span></span><div style="font-style: normal; font-size: 100%; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span><br /></span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-size: 100%; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span>The word has been ringing in my head, repeating like a mantra as I've watched this despicable and disgusting entity that the Red Sox ownership has presented to Boston fans for the first fourteen games.</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-size: 100%; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span><br /></span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-size: 100%; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span>Douche-tards.</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-size: 100%; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span><br /></span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-size: 100%; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span>But wait! Fenway Park is a century old! There's plenty of "Sweet Caroline" singing to be done! Let's overlook the fact that the hucksters who own this team are selling the most expensive tickets this side of Yankee-land and pushing a sub-par product. Let's forget the fact that this is the same team who coughed up chicken bones, puked Bud Light, and died on us last September. Let's forget the fact that these guys should feel the need to atone for such a shameful display last fall by playing like there were rockets shooting out of their asses. Instead, let's have Tim Wakefield and Jason Veritek roll out Bobby Doerr and Johnny Pesky, wipe the mist from our eyes, and forget the fact that Bobby V.'s team is a hot fucking mess! </span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-size: 100%; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span><br /></span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-size: 100%; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span>Douche-tards.</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-size: 100%; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span><br /></span></div><div style="font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span><span style="font-size: 100%;">Here's the essential problem, and it's a problem that has reached epidemic proportions in our society: accountability. Why would ownership---the Crypt-Keeper, the Wimp, and the Uber-Douche---dump more money than necessary into a product the Pink Hats will buy anyway? After all, they have a soccer team in Liverpool to fund. Why should these players, with their fat avaricious guaranteed contracts, care if they win or lose? They should feel free to call out their manager, piss and moan, when someone criticizes them. Who gives a flying fuck if this team wins? There's the Fenway Park museum to take in, $8 beers to swill, songs to sing in the eighth inning, regardless of whether or not you've choked up a nine-run lead to a team that regularly summons bile. No one is accountable here. Winning is negligible. Bullpens, who needs them? Bend over and open your wallets, Sox fans, there's a </span>centennial<span style="font-size: 100%;"> party going on.</span></span></div><div style="font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span><span style="font-size: 100%;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span><span style="font-size: 100%;">Douche-tards.</span></span></div><div style="font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span><span style="font-size: 100%;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span><span style="font-size: 100%;">Perhaps the most disheartening part of this debacle that continues to unfold like a </span>Shakespearean<span style="font-size: 100%;"> tragedy is the fact that this is a team that is, at its core, utterly loathsome. While watching Kevin "Dr. Ass-Hat" Millar and Pedro muck up a toast (Did you know it was a world record? Hurrah!), prancing back and forth like drunken sailors on the top of the Sox dugout, the magnitude of what was happening hit me; it really sunk in: The Red Sox organization is in the business of peddling nostalgia. Win or lose, it's immaterial. Instead, we're going to shovel nostalgia down your throats and beg you to remember when "the good times never seemed so good." It's sad, really. Really sad.</span></span></div><div style="font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span><span style="font-size: 100%;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span><span style="font-size: 100%;">Douche-tards.</span></span></div><div style="font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span><span style="font-size: 100%;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span><span style="font-size: 100%;">Don't blame Bobby Valentine. Instead, let's turn the mirror on our selves. Blame the "fans" who continue to pay the exorbitant prices at the park. Blame the "fans" who tacitly condone losing, who could care less if Ryan Sweeney is batting in the two-hole, who want to sing their song and get on the T to beat the traffic after the game. The problem, folks, with the 2012 Red Sox is systematic, and we're all guilty.</span></span></div><div style="font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span><span style="font-size: 100%;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span><span style="font-size: 100%;">Douche-tards.</span></span></div><div style="font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span><span style="font-size: 100%;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span><span style="font-size: 100%; ">Exactly. </span></span></div>Nate Grazianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12221226920544322997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7677753390340976325.post-61274806321107210172012-03-30T13:16:00.010-04:002012-03-30T16:21:20.496-04:00Hangover Breakfasts and other news<span><span style="font-size: 100%; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-style: normal; ">I've been sitting on this information for a few weeks and now I'm happy to announce that my quasi-memoir, a chapbook of short prose pieces---flashes, short-shorts, burps, whatever you'd like to call them---titled </span><i style="font-size: 100%; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; ">Hangover Breakfasts</i><span style="font-style: normal; "><span style="font-size: 100%;"> is going to be published by <a href="http://www.bospress.net/">Bottle of Smoke Press</a> this summer. <i>Hangover Breakfasts </i>tells a loose narrative about the year after college when I lived on Lake Winona in Ashland, New Hampshire, and all the ensuing chaos and sadness</span></span><span style="font-style: normal; "><span style="font-size: 100%;">. </span></span></span><div style="font-style: normal; font-size: 100%; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span><br /></span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-size: 100%; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span>Check out a sample from the book, "Headless in a Hole," published <a href="http://bluefifthreview.wordpress.com/" style="font-style: normal; ">here</a> on <i>Blue Fifth Review</i>.</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-size: 100%; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span><br /></span></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><span><span><span style="font-size: 100%;">Also, my new and selected poems, appropriately titled </span></span><i style="font-size: 100%; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; ">My Next Bad Decision</i><span><span style="font-size: 100%;">, has also been accepted for publication by <a href="http://artisticallydeclined.net/">Artistically Declined Press</a>. This tome, my best scribbles from the last decade or so, will be released at a date yet-to-be-determined. I'd guess it will be some time in late-2013 or 2014, assuming we're not all dead in December, like the Mayans supposedly predicted. If we all end up dying via some </span>apocalyptic <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EX9XAPpmH8M&feature=related">eruption</a> on Dec. 21, then the book won't be released until 2015. </span></span></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><span><br /></span></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><span>More news and plenty of Sox blogging to come. </span><span style="font-size: 100%; font-family: Georgia, serif; "> </span></div>Nate Grazianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12221226920544322997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7677753390340976325.post-63362826638487244032012-02-18T13:18:00.004-05:002012-02-18T14:58:56.729-05:00Straight scornI still don't forgive them, and I'm not sure I ever will.<div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div>While the Superbowl is too painful to talk about---hence, my conspicuous silence following said event---I've decided to report earlier than the pitchers and catchers this season and start by saying this straight out: <i>I hate these goddamn Red Sox</i>. </div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">I hate this team. Even watching Tim Wakefield's retirement speech, an event that would have/should have had me weeping like a widow yesterday, I couldn't fight through my utter disgust when The Keystone Cops (Beckett, Lackey, Lester) showed up in their shades and respective nightclub outfits, feigning to care about a fellow teammate---or someone other than themselves. I was surprised they didn't crack Bud Lights and split a bucket of Popeye's during the speech because, you know, they weren't required to do anything else. I would've thought that they would be winded six minutes into it and running to the clubhouse for cover.</div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">Assholes, straight up assholes, that's what these guys are. </div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">What you're reading right now, folks---and may I be presumptuous enough to say I'm speaking on behalf of all true Red Sox fans---is pure, unfettered venom. Yet, here's the thing: despite the fact that they've behaved so badly, used and abused me as a fan, I'm running back to them as always. Unlike these phony prima donnas on the pitching staff, I still care about the outcome of this season. </div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">However, for the first time in my life, I'm questioning whether or not I'll be able to fully forgive this team for their lay-down-and-die routine last September. And there is nothing I can say about the lack of professional accountability that Mazz hasn't already said far more eloquently and articulately in <a href="http://www.boston.com/sports/columnists/massarotti/2012/02/josh_beckett_missing_the_point.html">his Globe column</a>. </div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">Here's what I would like to see happen, and this would serve as proper vindication: </div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">I want to see the ownership---mainly The Crypt-Keeper, The Wimp, and The Dick---give out 35,000 free tickets on Opening Day to fans who can prove, via an extensive exam on the team and its history, that they ARE NOT Pink Hats. I want us all to tank up at the bars surrounding Fenway, where all tabs will be picked up courtesy of the ownership that has been ass-raping fans in ticket prices for the past decade. Then, tanked and belligerent, we will pack that shit-hole on Yawkey Way so that the players from last year's team will have to look us fans in goddamn eyes when they're announced on Friday the 13th of April with the team who took their playoff spot last September watching from the opposing dugout. As they're announced, we will boo their sorry asses like it is our job to jeer, just so The Beer and Chicken Shit Crew can see what it means to actually DO YOUR JOB! Finally, en masse, we will file out of the ballpark and leave them to play their home opener in an empty stadium. </div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">Somehow, I doubt this will happen. But that's what it will take for me to forgive this team. </div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">Either that, or they go out and win a World Series this year. That'll do, too. </div>Nate Grazianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12221226920544322997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7677753390340976325.post-17916857536689120842012-01-27T15:23:00.011-05:002012-01-27T16:52:28.861-05:00I hate New York City<a href="http://graphics8.nytimes.com/images/2009/08/09/sports/vecsey190.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 190px; height: 286px;" src="http://graphics8.nytimes.com/images/2009/08/09/sports/vecsey190.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>I hate New York City. <div><br /></div><div>There, I said it. I hate the Yankees. I hate the Giants. I hate the Jets and the Rangers and the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Knicks</span> (although I don't follow basketball), and if I didn't pity them so much for having to live in their obnoxious older brothers' shadows, I'd hate the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Mets</span>, too. I even hate the Dodgers and the San Francisco Giants for having their roots in New York City. </div><div><br /></div><div>I hate the Empire State Building, mostly because I'm afraid of heights. I hate Broadway and musicals, mostly because I can never get past the plausibility problems of people singing and dancing through their entire days. I hate traffic and crowds and things that are overpriced and pretentious. Admittedly, using that line of logic, I should I hate Boston, too. But this isn't about Boston. This is about New York City. And I hate it.</div><div><br /></div><div>And holy truck-load of shit, I hate it when my wife watches reruns of <i>Sex in the City</i>.</div><div><br /></div><div>I especially hate the athletes who represent the New York franchises. I hate A-Rod and Eli. I'm pretty sure even New Yorkers hate Rex Ryan, but as a non sequitur, I hate <i>The New Yorker</i>, too. I hate <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Jeter</span> and Fatty McGee (a.k.a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Sabathia</span>) and Jacobs and Nicks. Truth be known, I grew up a Giants fan, and I hate myself for that. </div><div><br /></div><div>I hate the stupid way the crowd chants the Yankees' players' names in the first inning of each home game, and I especially hate the goddamn "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Cruuuuuuuuuuuuuuuz</span>" call whenever Victor Cruz makes a catch. I try to convince myself they're yelling, "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Yooouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuk</span>" and sometimes it works. But mostly it doesn't.</div><div><br /></div><div>However, let me make this much clear: I <i>do not</i> hate the people who root for New York. In fact, I love them for hating our teams. It's what makes this coming Super Bowl so rich. It's what makes each of the 18 regular season <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Sox</span>/Yankees games breathless. It's the reason a relatively meaningless Bruins/Rangers game on Saturday afternoon in January will still pack the sports bars. While it only takes ten minutes of listening to sports talk radio to realize some people use their allegiance to their teams as a platform for blanketed hate, make no mistake, those people---to put it bluntly---are complete fucking morons. </div><div><br /></div><div>Listen, I have a lot of friends and family who are New York fans. One of my good buddies, who I lived with for a year, is a New York fan. My cousins and uncle are New York fans. I have colleagues who are New York fans. Hell, my agent is a Yankee fan. And the list goes on. So while I can understand the primordial need to want to see the opposing team not only stomped, but humiliated, it's nothing that should ever become personal. If you find yourself physically assaulting someone in the stands at <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Fenway</span> or The <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Meadowlands</span> (<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">MetLife</span>, whatever), or harassing someone on the subway in NYC or the T in Boston for wearing the enemy's hat or jersey, you're not a fan, you're a thug. </div><div><br /></div><div>Yes, I hate New York City, but without it, I'd have a lot less to love. </div><div><br /></div><div>Go Pats! </div>Nate Grazianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12221226920544322997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7677753390340976325.post-89266705477648122632011-12-31T11:41:00.003-05:002011-12-31T12:36:52.645-05:00Inventory<iframe width="420" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/3vmPwZT-9zY" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe><div><br /></div>Yesterday, I had my cell phone replaced due to the fact that I couldn't hear the callers unless I put it on speaker phone. This had been going on for three months, and it created some awkward situations in restaurants and other public places. Therefore, I stopped talking on the phone and sent text messages to people instead. On Thursday, I finally hauled my lazy ass to Verizon and had a replacement phone sent to my house yesterday. Seeing that nothing in my life goes off without a hitch, in the process of switching over phones, I lost all of the phone numbers for my family and friends. Now, I realize I could call Verizon, wait on the line for forty years, and then talk to someone in India about the problem, but I have beer to drink and a tap-dancing routine to choreograph. I'm a busy man.<div><br /></div><div>While meditating on the problem, however, I also realized that my lost contacts provided me with a chance to take some personal inventory (How's that for optimism? From now on, call me Sunshine). The truth of the matter is that I only talk to a handful of people with any regularity, and my number hasn't changed, so if someone wants to get in touch with me, they can. And there's always the "bitch" button...</div><div><br /></div><div>So I started thinking (always a bad sign for Sunshine) about New Year's and taking inventory. If nothing else, New Year's is an opportunity to look back at what you've accomplished, failed to accomplish, and ignored over the past 365 days. So the one thing that I've been meaning to do all year, have failed to, and will now accomplish is post Frank Zappa's 'Why Does It Hurt When I Pee?".</div><div><br /></div><div>Done, done, and done. Happy New Year, kids. </div>Nate Grazianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12221226920544322997noreply@blogger.com0