Monthly Archives: October 2009

Tea Time: Winter Truly Begins When The Green Comes Out

The days get colder, the nights get frosty, the trees become gold and orange and red, and our streets and highways fill with buses full of leaf-peepers, clogging traffic to look at, you know, trees.

I always loved that at the very time the outside is losing all of its green, the Green are inside the Garden heating up.  Rather poetic I think.

In celebration of the winter sports season finally being in full swing, today we talk sports over green tea.  Many health benefits, I’m led to believe.

This week’s teatime was done during the Celtics’ season opener with Cleveland, so I was vaguely distracted.  Also:  maybe it’s the loss of sunlight making us grumpy, but our list of people deserving smacks upside the head is growing.  Just an observation…

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Tea Time: Recovery Processes

You may have noticed we didn’t have tea time last week.  There were a few reasons for this.  First of all, we were much too busy with therapy after the end of the Red Sox season.  We had to face that pain, and in doing so, writing blog posts took a back seat to bashing our heads against the wall, tearing out our hair, sobbing in the corner, and wistfully gazing out the window.

But now there is nothing to do but look to the future, to a winter of not the one paltry sport of summer but three wonderful sports all in season at the same time:  football, basketball and hockey.  And so, baseball, we bid you adieu until that glorious day when pitchers and catchers report to Spring Training, this week over our cup of tea.

Oh, and then there was also some football game on Sunday.  Went well for the Patriots, I hear.

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One for Six

So.

Okay.

Back in July, before I left the safe-haven of Boston for the ferocious, vicious wild lands of the west (it smells like cow farts where I live. I consider that wild, okay?) I decided that to counteract inevitable homesickness, I had to have a ticket for when the Patriots came to Denver, just to be by some of my own people and be able to viably cheer against the home team, instead of just being That Silly Kid In A Shirt That Is Irrelevant. (see: wearing a Bruins jersey to the Avalanche home opener against the Sharks. Um, yeah.)

So October 11th came, it was 25 degrees at game time, here I am bundled up in my underarmor and my sweatshirt and my white Wes Welker and no gloves, and it was glorious (Mile-High sells this strange concoction of hot cocoa and peppermint schnapps – kept my hands warm as well as my insides!) The first thing I did was some people watching in the lower bowl. Pats fans, be proud – you represented New England as one of the highest ratios of away fans to home fans that I’ve ever seen outside of a Sox-Orioles or a Sox-Yankees series.

Yeah, it was like that.

Yeah, it was like that.

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Tea Time: Tea From The Vending Machine

Specifically, crappy, weak, bitter tea that isn’t even a close approximation of the real stuff, as it includes neither all the essential components nor the appropriate process.

I would have liked to have Tea Time this week– really I would have.  But Sarah has midterms and is in the middle of some epic mayhem and we keep missing each other online.  Seriously.  On this curve:

Sarah is probably way, way off the charts, past where they’ve labeled “Exhaustion” and down into, like, negative performance, which I’m hoping doesn’t mean she is functionally dead.

Regardless, I had to call in the backups.  I’ve got some sports-savvy friends on hand to provide brief commentary on various topics, and will be providing my own handy totally cliched cheers and jeers or whatever section, since I can’t bitch and moan to Sarah like I usually do.  I’ve got a whole bunch of Bruins stuff to write about, so they aren’t discussed today, but check back in later this week.

I’d put that picture of the pretty cup of tea here but really, this post isn’t quite worthy.  I dunno.  Imagine a paper cup of weak tea being spat out by that machine in the kitchen at your job.  Yeah, that’s kinda what this is like.  It gets the job done.

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