‘Tis the Season.

Just when the gettin's good, Mike Lowell throws a bag of dog shit on our porch and lights it on fire. As much as I liked (not loved) Mike Lowell on the team I'm not even pissed off at him for not revealing his injury to the medical team. After all we know that JD Drew would have 100% sat out the rest of the season with this. And for all the time we bitch and moan about players not playing hurt (because we think we would) and Mike Lowell has now done it twice and although painful to watch he has been an absolute warrior and even though he is not the best option for THIS team whomever he signs with or gets traded to will be getting a quality player and more important a class individual.

I've also got to say that after listening to Dustin Pedroia on The Laser Show, with Mutt and Bradford, he is leaps and bounds ahead of Kevin Millar in the comedy department for the Red Sox. I'm talking Richard Pryor shit, take a listen.

Other than that there isn't much baseball but, lo and behold, I had a Christmas Party!

Now most Christmas parties consist of hugging, figuring out who's pregnant (or trying), and griping about work. Don't get me wrong everyone gripes about work. But this Christmas, it was about which ass Tiger will wax next, ridiculing mercilessly the one bad wardrobe choice at the party (rhinestones), and alcohol; buco amounts of alcohol.

First off, Tiger is an animal. That is not just an ironic statement because a tiger is in fact an animal, but Tiger is a friggin lunatic. We came to a few conclusions at the suarez and they were the following:

• Everyone that golf's (meaning the people at the party) now needs to get asked 15x if they were really Sinking Putts or Nailing Sluts.
  
• When your wife is as hot as Elin and undoubtedly with a name like Elin you probably want "it" all day long
  
• Even when you think you're the most powerful man in the world, and seemingly have the world by the balls, your wife still has you by the short hairs. Remember that one boys.
  

As far as you all know I'm the next GQ, as far as I'm dressed. But in reality I'm a Plain Jane for lack of a better term. And for family functions you will catch me in one of a few things:

Summer- Khaki Shorts, Polo shirt, and a backwards ball cap (essential with most of my outfits)

Winter/Fall- Khaki Pants, button down long-sleeve, and my square tip dress shoes (also a must because I'm not like everyone else who wears the normal pointed loafers)

Spring- Khaki Shorts, Sweat shirt, and a backwards ball cap (it seems a little counterproductive to be warm in a sweatshirt but cool in shorts, but it provides a perfect array of comfortability)

 

Now it really doesn't vary much from that. But, knowing the extended family that I was going to be partying with for the Birth of Christ I would DEFINITELY not have gone with Rhinestones. I'll give this one person credit however; he had the stones to pull it off impeccably, despite the deploring.

At most of these shindigs the alcohol flows like T-pain on a hook *spoken in my gangsta voice*, and this was no exception.

Pre-Swap

When everyone comes to the party they all make their rounds, but if you watch carefully their rounds are made strategically so that it is the most efficient path en route to the Alcohol Hutch (it's not a hutch more a cabinet with liquor on top of it but the word will suffice). All the guys come in holding massive amounts of presents and all of their wives things from the car put them down and proceed to kiss every female family member until they are within fingertips of the drinks, and then the magic happens. The uncorking, unscrewing and top-popping of alcohol and then the fun begins.

Swap Time

The Yankee Swap. This is the loudest, most fun part of the day (for the adults) and it is more alcohol infused than a party at P-Diddy's (is he still going by that?) house. There were 32 people in this year's swap and more alcohol than I had ever seen in one place other than a liquor store. We're talking handle's of Captains (mmm), a fifth of 100 Proof Captains (salivating), and a fifth of 1800 Tequila (coma) just to name a few. Everyone drinks the Captain which is unfortunate because that is my vice, Tiger has blonde's I have Aargh (get it?). So I decided to be unconventional, Theo Epstein if you will, I went with the 1800 which also came with a tub of margarita mix. I was number 11 of 32 and through 31 I was feeling pretty good about myself that I was going to leave with an ass-load of alcohol. Oh did I get the shaft. The 32^nd person to go (not the last because number 1 gets all the fun) decided that they were going to give me a local Chinese/bar gift card and take my bottle. Well see that's all well and good because I like Chinese food but fhat the Wuck, I want to closet drink damn't!

Post-Swap

This is the time where the women folk play with the children and talk about how grown up they are getting, and the men go downstairs after eating too much and refill their drinks. This is not just the casual refill. This is the one where you double your previous drink in attempt to drown out your wife's demands of playing with the kids when there is a football game on, and your just inebriated enough to not drive home so you tell her that you're sobering up so that she doesn't have to drive in the snow. Trust me gents, it works.

The family gatherings are nothing short of a phenomenal time and to cap off another year I couldn't have envisioned a better group of people to spend it with. Now, onto my family's!
I'll have a few stories for you come Xmas day.

Stay Tuned

Ryan