Monday, April 23, 2007

Onward Through The Fog


I was at Choco-Latte in Sagamore the other day, just as the Sox and Yankees were firing up a three game series at Fenway. As I was trying to enjoy my gelato, someone came up to me and asked for directions to Falmouth.

Tourist season is just beginning, and I began to go instantly into that giving-directions mode all Cape residents operate in at times... when I saw that Yankees hat her husband was wearing. This flipped the script.

"You're almost there. Go back over that bridge (the Sagamore) up Route Three, get off at Exit Ten, take a right, then go about a mile." While fronting like I lived in Falmouth (not easy with my accent), I gave them directions which, if followed properly, took them to The Milepost Restararunt in Duxbury, Massachusetts. Of course I wrote it down for them.

For those of you not from Massachusetts, Duxbury is nowhere near Cape Cod... I probably took an hour- maybe two- out of their vacation. I'm glad I did.

Eff them. They should know better than to go out in public dressed like that. I certainly wouldn't walk through Hell's Kitchen in a Big Papi shirt.. and if I did, I'd deserve whatever happened to me. Maybe they got a nice lunch out of it, maybe not... I don't care.

Here's some Sox-related video for you to enjoy:

First, ESPN was nice enough to post video of us hitting not-two-not-three-but-four homers in a row off the Yankers Sunday. Check the steady long ballin' - MLB - Recap

But wait...there's more. Watch someone interfere with a Fenway foul ball and get a pizza to the face for it. It's a few minutes into this video here:

Blog Show No. 5: 'No Gluing of Pubes Onto the Face'

Enjoy and remember this three game sweep of the Evil Empire that we just witnessed. Look back on it fondly when the September Swoon hits, about mid-August. Time has shown that the Yankees will prevail generally, so sit down and absolutely savor us whipping them like a government mule on a warm April weekend when hope seemed to seep out of the tree branches.

As for the family I saw at Choco-Latte.... I hope that they enjoyed Duxbury.

Since we have the topic out there....

- I don't deliberately mislead Rhode Islanders, NH, VT, Maine or western Mass people. I'd invite a fellow New Englander into my house to use MapQuest if I saw a B hat on them.

- When a car pulls up with Connecticut plates, I can tell just by looking at them if they root for the Sox or the Yankees. Connecticut Sox fans go to Falmouth, Connecticut Yankees go to Duxbury. Sox fans call this ability "Hatedar," and it is born-not-taught.

- No other state/team (except the Los Anglese Lakers, and Californians specifically have to be wearing Laker gear) elicits this response from me. Bulls, Bears, Bucks, Bengals, Brewers, Browns... I do the best I can for all of them.

- It's quite possible that they asked for directions in Duxbury, only to be answered by someone of like-me-mindedness (I grew up in Duxbury), who then sent them even further off into the hinterland. This could set them on a Bridgewater-Quincy-Maine-Alabama pattern that might even involve a "ferry" trip that ends in Le Havre (provided the marks run into an Ascended Master of my trade).

- If you're going to try to send Yankee fans to Canada.... remember to send them AROUND the state of New York. They might catch on, otherwise. I like to think that the ride through Maine will make them enjoy Quebec that much more.

I don't dislike tourists. I dislike Yankee fans. Sometimes, the Yankee fan is the tourist, and that's just how the cookie crumbles, folks. At worst, they learn a valuable life lesson... and knowledge is the gift that keeps on giving.

That's the pattern, and I'm sticking with it for the forseeable future. 
The Red Sox go to Yankee Stadium this weekend.... and I really could use some more Gelato.

Sick hockey goal... the kid looks like a lacrosse player

Wednesday, April 18, 2007

The Hood Done Took Me Under


Duxbury Beach, MA... several more storm tides to come.


 That's not supposed to be a dirt road with a salt water lake at the end... but Mother Nature cares very little for oceanfront development. That flooded meadow in the background is where some charlatan is trying to pitch a condo development.


 No, that's not a stone driveway, either... or at least, it WASN'T a stone driveway. That's a front porch and a lawn. This used to be my house, btw...


My old house, again... with the new stone lawn. Duxbury Beach veterans will notice the rupture in the seawall. Once that happens, the flooding of the neighborhood (and especially the new condo development) begins in earnest.

In 1991, the ocean was level with the seawall... which meant that there was nothing to stop waves from rolling in from the mid-Atlantic and smashing directly into my house. Every time one hits, it sounds like you hid in John Bonham's drum kit.


Stairs generally work best when they make it down to the ground, but we'll give them some style points for Location.While I like this family too much to actually wish for it to happen... it'd be funny if one of them (preferably the uncle or the son) tried to go down to the beach in the dark and didn't watch that doozy of a last step!

Something that always stabs at my sympathy when storms hit this neighborhood... the guy who lives at that house landscapes one of the local golf courses. Every year, he comes home from work and tends that lawn to a degree that one could roll a smooth 60 foot putt across it. Then, almost every winter, it gets wrecked.

Yes, I know that- during times of War and Hunger- sympathy isn't meant to be spent on a guy who can't putt on his Atlantic-facing lawn this morning until he shovels a few rocks away.... but people who own oceanfont property have feelings, too. Godspeed, Double R.


In what should probably be a blog entry of its own.... the guy who used to own that house was known for doing naked Tai Chi outside at 4 AM. 


The storm didn't bring down that basketball goal... that came down when some sucka gave me the lane, and I sh***ed on him.

Tuesday, April 17, 2007

April Nor'easter: The Beast Of The East!

 Yes, even more shots of Duxbury Beach getting the beatdown from Mom Nature. Hurricane intensity is measured by wind speed, but locals measure Nor'easter intensity by the length of time it sticks around. While a hurricane does more damage, a Nor'Easter sticks around for 3 days, bringing a distinct brand of mayhem.

Anything more than 4 tides is trouble...and this sonovabitch (we expect 8 storm tides out of it) is Capital T Trouble.


 Say hi to my man Johnathan Livingston Seagull up there in the top center...


 I only show you Duxbury Beach when storms are hitting it... it's reeeeeeeeeeeeeeally nice most of the time, honest...

That dark horizontal line is a 15 foot seawall that the ocean has just breeched. Sensible people call this "Evacuation Time," but we just opened more wine. It may have been 11 AM. 


It looks worse than it is. The highest water you see here is spray, which lacks the hitting power of a wave. I also live on a hill, though....

More Storm Photos Below:


The Hood Done Took Me Under ... click that for storm photo damage


IIIII got struck by the lightning and the thunder.. even more storm goodness.. click that


Monday, April 16, 2007

IIIII got struck by the lightning and the thunder

April 16th 2007 Nor'easter, Duxbury Bee-yach, Massachusetts

When asked about how they deal with these storms, residents of Duxbury Beach point out that the other 364 days of the year rock.


While it looks like pissa surfing seas, you'd end up getting smashed into a 15 foot stone seawall. You don't come back from that...


That's my old yard in Duxbury,,, which I won't be having to tear up and redo, because I live on a hill now.


House As Boat


Someone had to pay the price to capture the feel of this shot... and we all end up paying the price at some point.


That's normally a road and a salt marsh... normally.


One wants to be somewhat set back when taking these kinds of shots. You can get 500 kinds of f**ked up hanging around when the ocean starts fighting the shoreline.


As a teen, I spent (by my own conservative estimate) 100000 nights hanging around on those stairs. It's a fine place to binge drink.


This is one of those waves where you THINK you're far enough back, then learn otherwise. Asians call it "mahapoli," which loosely translates to "soggy Reeboks."


That fence lasted longer than my camera batteries, but not much longer.


The guy with the pickup truck came home from running the Boston Marathon to find his house with an unexpected waterview.
Beats what happened to my neighbors in the Bay:
Bournedale Road is closed, because like 5 of these are happening.
Interesting note, regarding unintended alliteration.... the people involved in this entry were Stacey, Samantha, Stephen and Sheila.

Sunday, April 15, 2007

Run? Like Hell!!


I personally dislike joggers. I view them as a needless hazard to navigation when I'm driving. If one ends up missing, check my fenders for New Balance imprints. Allow me to get nowhere near the Boston Marathon, especially in a car.

I think it is a sign of arrogance and ignorance that Boston feels that traffic is light enough to close down roads and invite 20,000 joggers in for what really isn't that big of a spectator sport. Most of the people there aren't eating/drinking/shopping, so no one is making any real money off this...other than people in Hopkinton who allow you to park on their lawn for $40. I'm sure that whatever money Boston makes in food/drink/hotel is offset by the money lost in security/medical/lost productivity.

As a spectator sport, it sucks like Hoover. I'd rather watch two children race 50 yards than watch endless snippets of somebody jogging, even if they're jogging from MetroWest into Boston. At least the children's race would be over quickly. Imagine the clowns sitting out in the rain for this? "Look... someone else is jogging by!"

No drama, either. The winner of the race is usually alone by Heartbreak Hill. The chances that you'll see two runners sprinting neck and neck a half mile from the Prudential Building are pretty slim, about equal to the odds against seeing a German runner defecate on herself. I've seen one of each in my lifetime. If someone dies, they won't show it.

If smokers, fatties, junkies, blue-collars and the ill were better organized, there'd likely be some collective attempt to disrupt the Boston Marathon. While I'm not in love with the idea of using a Dirty Bomb on fellow Americans, there are some benefits to be had from wiping out a large segment of America's holier-than-thou fitness Nazis in one fell swoop..... viewing sanctimonious joggers in light of how people view rap stars as criminals, it would be not at all unlike releasing some Zyklon B into the hall hosting the Source Awards as a sort of decapitation strike against those who glorify street violence.

Still...I'm the sportswriter here, and I do have some professional obligation to examine the Boston Marathon as a sporting event. Here are some Insights from a woman who views running as something Nike made up to sell really cheap sneakers at really high prices.

- The chances that someone with a Swahili-sounding name like Ntambo Mkembe wins this race are pretty good. Ignore those who say that Kenyans run well because they're used to being chased by Lions, and instead try to imagine a bunch of kids running home to their village from a regional elementary school. Now, imagine those kids after 25 years.

- I'm really looking forward to seeing how African runners fare against the Nor'easter.  Not a lot of winter storms hit Somalia, and few Nigerian runners have that Shelby Scott-style natural intuition about just being out in a Nor'Easter. If local runners were more of a factor in this race generally, this would be an ideal time to challenge the Kenyan superiority. Running the race from Boston to Hopkinton would produce record times, as opposed to sending these poor fools into the teeth of a howling gale... but I'll bet that no one even thought of that before I mentioned it.

- People in Duxbury still talk about Bill Rogers and Alberto Salazar going neck-and-neck down Duxbury Beach at the Gurnet Classic Beach Run in the 1970s. While I was a bit young when it happened and have no memory of it, I'm told that Rogers and Salazar finished in a sprint, and crossed the finish line together in a show of Fitness Nazi Solidarity.

- If leaving my children in the care of my husband while I did jail time wasn't such a painful option, I'd try to drive out to some obscure location on the race route and coat the road with cooking oil or floor wax. Then I'd set out a blanket and a picnic basket nearby, and just laugh all day.

Saturday, April 14, 2007

A rush and a push and the land is ours

May 22nd is when the NBA draft lottery occurs. That's the next day I'm worried about, as a Celtic fan.

For those of you who je ne sais this stuff, I'll try to explain. Every year, teams get a crack at the top talent leaving college (or high school, before they changed the rules). In theory, the worst team got to pick first, then the second worst picks next... all through to the best team, which gets to pick last.

Sounds fair, right?

 Welllllllllllll... the problem was that, once a team figured out that they suck, it only made sense for them to lose as many games as possible, so as to get the top draft pick. They call this Tanking, and it's not at all unlike how professional wrestling jobbers work. Special Delivery Jones rarely won a fight, but he sold a good enough ass-whippin' that fans came out to see him perform.

Of course, wrestling is staged (far too much pain is inflicted for me to ever call wrestling "fake."), so it's ok if S.D. Jones gets stomped every's a part of a greater Whole that all makes sense if you watch enough. They also have an audience that is trained from birth to know that sometimes the Hand is quicker than the Eye in the WWE.

The NBA is run differently, and- even though losing favors the Celtics right now- it doesn't look good to say "Come out tonight and watch the Celtics job ("job" = "lose on purpose") to Milwaukee!"  You can fake effort and lose by playing rookies or getting the ball to a guy who can't shoot, but people see through it.

So.. the NBA came out with the Draft Lottery. To ensure that, back in 1985, no one lost on purpose to get Georgetown's Patrick Ewing (or "to ensure that New York got a superstar"), the NBA instituted a closed-room draft lottery. Every team that doesn't make the playoffs gets a few ping pong balls in a big tumbler, and theydraft in the order of which they are drawn.

Unfortunately... running an NBA team involves a great amount of risk assessment... and the best chance a bad team has to get better is to get the best college players. General Managers usually have short contracts, and are under pressure to produce quickly. It ends up that teams now tank to get more ping-pong balls, as opposed to flat-out tanking to get a particular pick.

Which adds risk... you can lose every game, and still not get the top pick... but a 38% chance of getting the next Abdul-Jabbar is better than a 15% chance, especially when your ass is on the hot seat and the fans already know that team you assembled blows like the North Wind. Those silly little ping-pong balls become the hope that your career hangs on.

 So... 20 years after the fact... the NBA Draft lottery has actually increased tanking. A team that was looking at the 13th overall pick in 1984... perhaps a great team that had their best player injured the year before... now has the chance to bring home the next Larry Legend with just one funny bounce of a ping-pong ball. That team- which may have played for the sake of pride before, or for the benefit of the fans who supported them all year- now goes out and clowns through a game.

Granted, a higher draft pick doesn't guarantee success. The team that drafted Shaq never won ditka with him...or the team who drafted Kobe, Dr. J, Moses Malone, or Charles Barkley, for that matter. Also, draft picks can be botched. At least one man thought that drafting Sam Bowie over Air Jordan was a good idea. Millions thought Bush would be a good President. Mistakes happen.

 How does this get to me? I have this sore spot on my hand, which will never go away. I got this sore spot by slamming my fist into the table when San Antonio beat us out in the draft lottery for the right to draft Tim Duncan, who went on to win 3 titles and maybe more. We finished the next season with Ron Mercer to show for our draft. Ron's out of the NBA, currently.

 Whenever I see Tim Duncan, the pain in my hand returns. I've grown to love the pain, because the pain came through the acquisition of Wisdom. Wisdom is that little voice in your head that overrides your urge to act on impulse... sort of how Freud viewed the interaction of the Id and Superego, and why you don't tell the cop to suck an organ or why you don't bang your wife's friends.

Wisdom is setting off all kinds of alarms in my head right now. Some have been quited. It looks like we'll hold off Milwaukee for the greater amount of Ping. One of the two better college players- scoring machine Kevin Durant- is coming out. Either Durant or Greg Oden would be a nice fit alongside current Celtic keepers Paul Pierce and Albert Jefferson. These facts comfort me.

Oden is the one I worry about. He's a 7 foot monster, he's about 19 years old, he moves in the post like a young Hakeem and instinctively goes after every shot taken within 15 feet of him. There aren't 5 men on the planet who combine his size and skill set. You can't teach that, and getting this kid makes you a contender almost immediately. Given Jefferson/Pierce and the fact that the Celts play in an almost comically pooor division, Oden could carry us right into the Finals.

Unless, of course he A) stays in college or B) gets drafted by someone else... which is what torments me right now. I'm betting that he'll drop out of college- he'd be a fool not to. What scares me is where we started off here... the draft lottery.

Once those ping-pong balls start tumbling, anything can happen. Those of you who think the lottery is rigged occassionally might expect Oden to end up in Seattle (which is struggling to stay afloat as a franchise) or a big-market team like Chicago or Los Angeles (New York won the Ewing lottery). Or a team right behind us- say, Atlanta or Charlotte- leapfrogs us and takes our big monster. Either one of these scenarios screws up my 2007-2015 NBA seasons, and might just drive me to kill.

As of now- April 14th- I'm just a soccer mom who knows things like what a Tommy Point is, and how to execute a box-and-one zone defense. By May 22nd, I might be Ma Barker. I'm small and pretty, too... you'll never see it coming. Few of us do.

Sunday, April 8, 2007

Hoppin' Down The Bunny Trail!!!!!


Wishing all the best to Christians, Pagans, and Bunnies everywhere!

YouTube - Jesus vs. Easter Bunny (long version - The Daily Buzz) (Jesus wins)

YouTube - Easter Bunny Rap (Interminably cute.)

YouTube - Easter Yeggs (Bugs Bunny takes over the job)

YouTube - Bosko's Easter Eggs (For about 3 minutes, you're amazed at the racism... then you just realize it's a bad Foghorn Leghorn episode. At the end, you think Bosko is cute. Remember... I'm French, and all of you sort of sound like that to me.)

YouTube - Super Chicken - 14-The Easter Bunny (The Bunny chooses the dark side)

YouTube - Happy easter with the smurfs!!! (Some 1950s Sinbad-style Smurf animation...I've been waiting for a live-action Smurf film)

East of Boston - Smurfs, Babies, Kimbo, and Joey Jihad (tying everything together)

from my family to yours!

Friday, April 6, 2007

The Great Kimbo Slice

I like to follow a happy Easter movie with Kimbo, the titanium-jawed street fighter.

Here's a sampling of Kimbo's particular art:


Kimbo Vs Byrd (Kimbo fight 1) - Street fights - FIGHT TIPS

Among the funniest things I've ever watched.


Kimbo vs DreadLock Guy (Kimbo fight 3) - Street fights - FIGHT TIPS

The one hitter quitter!


Kimbo vs. Gannon (Kimbo fight 2) - Street fights - FIGHT TIPS

I like my fights bare-knuckled, 10 minute rounds, with 10 guys jumping in every two minutes. I may be mistaken, but the white guy may be a Massachusetts cop.

Kimbo vs. AfroPuff and Big Mac - Street fights - FIGHT TIPS


Kimbo vs. The Bouncer - Street fights - FIGHT TIPS



Thursday, April 5, 2007

Checking In On The Ancestors For Easter

Check out my cousins, as they welcome a new baby duck to Smurfistan....where the favorite food is Duck.

Smurfs Springtime Special:WB


Ironically... I hate Smurfs....but few people get to choose their nickname, so here we are.

A lot of people don't hate Smurfs, though... so sit back and get Smurfy.


Tuesday, April 3, 2007

That's facing a blizzard in a ****ing tank top

Emptying My Photobucket

Grazing Fields Farm, Bourne, MA


My niece took this one... I'm pretty sure it's Florida


Same here...


My sister went to Florida to see my brother... so this blog is almost a full-on family affair now. We're like the Ole and Arn Anderson of photojournalism.


We hop fairly freely between Florida and Cape Cod in this journal... this is one of my neighbors.


This is another... note the centralized, patriotic lobster. Also note the fish carved into the shingles on the left.


You need a lot of balls to live near me, I'll tell you that....


This brook looks cooler than I photographed (?) it. Deal (v).


Little Buttermilk Bay, frozen over




Monday, April 2, 2007

April Morning

Sorry for the avalanche of Me lately, but everyone else in the house is in their sick bed.

The Colonel has been sick for almost a month. It's funny, because he is normally the picture of health. He has remarkable power and stamina- he drove from Duxbury, MA to my brother's house in Ocala, FL once, non stop.

I sleep like a log myself, usually from the moment the last kid conks out until the moment the first kid wakes up.. and I recall leaving Duxbury, driving all damned day, planning to get a hotel, being like "Ooohhh.. we're almost in North Carolina".... then nodding off. I woke up, apologized for nodding off, then asked where we were. "Your brother's house," I was told.

 The Colonel was too busy laughing about all three women in his life sleeping through three states (I was pretty into the painkillers then) to notice that he drove like 28 straight hours. He didn't sleep until we all had breakfast... and even then, he considered a quick shot to Disney for the girls' sake.

Therefore, it's troubling to see him all listless. He goes to work most days, although I hid his keys last week, once. I have no problem at all with calling in sick for him before he wakes up, as this is also the only period he'll allow me to take his temperature.

Throw in two kids and a Shea who also picked up the flu, and here we are. We'll see when Team Monponsett starts getting out of bed this morning, but it's just You and I for now.

As for me.. I never get sick. Ever. I break stuff and fall off mountains, but I never get the flu. I used to be a teacher, and I was exposed to every illness imaginable. I went through 10 sick days a year for the first two years, then never missed a day again for a half-decade unless I was really, really close to giving birth. My immune system had risen to super-powerful levels, sort of the anti-AIDS. I could bang a leper, with no ill effects whatsoever.

I'm healthy enough that yesterday, after chopping onions, I went to my husband with crying red eyes, telling him that I didn't feel well. He got all concerned... then I was like "April Fools! I feel fine." He went off to vomit, while I congratulated myself on being healthy enough generally that my having the flu could be viewed as some kind of (quite literal) Sick Joke. 

I bet librarian (a teacher's spiritual cousin) Jack Sheedy never gets sick, either... just a guess, though. I've been out of the classroom for a few years, now.. should be interesting to see how I hold up against whatever viruses the Gabber starts bringing home from school next year. As for now, though... I'm in superb blogging shape, at least until someone wants ginger ale.

And, oh, do we have a lot of Sport to discuss today....

First... March Madness ends this evening... in April, just like Madness dictates. I never do get that worked up about college sports, but I'll be watching Ohio State/Florida quite carefully.

The Celtics will have a high selection in this year's draft, and at least 3 of the top 10 guys in the country will be warrin' tonight on the tropical hardwood. If the cookie crumbles properly, young Mr. Gregory Oden will be dropping into our laps next June. Oden is widely considered to be the next Olajuwon, and he's just the kind of kid I'd like to see wearing the Shamrock.

Mr. Oden will be opposed by the tag-team of Joakim Noah and Al Horoford, who beat the snot out of him earlier in the year. Florida also has Corey Brewer, who most likely won't be wanting for basketball-themed employment next season. Florida won it all last year, and already whooped up on OSU by 26 earlier this year.

Only a fool would bet OSU, but it would make a great story if Oden:

A) beat Horoford and Noah like they stole something

B) scored 38 points and grabbed 21 rebounds, while blocking 7 shots

C) led his team to a double-digit victory

D) entered the draft, and joined the Celtics

E) leads us to 13 titles in 16 years, before ascending into Heaven and being God's left-hand man.


What will most likely happen- given how I view my luck, which is intertwined with that of the Celtics- is:

A) Oden gets wiped out by the two more mature Florida big men, and Florida wins in a rollover.

I can actually live with that, because we're just watching Baby Oden right now... seeing him take a beating in 2007 is like watching a schoolyard bully push around a baby Mike Tyson back in 1979 or'll help make him mean. It's simply the rearing back of the Karma Sledgehammer that so few of us get to wield at any point in our lives. When my day comes, I shall wield it with impunity

B) Either Oden or 1-A Kevin Durant doesn't enter the draft, and we get the #2 no-superstar pick...or worse, #5 or something.

C) Danny Ainge has fallen in love with some obscure tweener guard in this tournament, and will trade down to select him, garnering a useless second round pick in the process.

D) I go up to Boston and kill Danny Ainge and Doc Rivers (Rivers, a nice enough guy, dies because he failed to stop Ainge himself.... I'd have hung Rommel for the same reason if he were alive when/if I were running the Nuremberg Trials).

E) I rot in prison- still blogging occassionally- and think endlessly on what might have been.

However it all breaks down, the ball starts rolling tonight. Death or Glory!

Speaking of Death or Glory, the Red Sox kick it all off today at 4 PM. Noted blogger Curt Schilling takes the mound for the local 9, with Heart Attack Beckett and the Rising Son waiting in the wings.

I, for one, think that the Japanese kid is going to flop. I don't have a logical reason for this feeling, and I certainly don't want to be correct about it... but I smell a Jack Clark negative-impact signing. The Japanese guy I like is that backup outfielder with the cannon arm, who should be put in for Manny every time we get a big lead. I forget his name, but I saw him steady gun down two guys at the plate this spring, and I don't watch THAT much baseball... at least for a sports fiend. of The Only True Sport can rejoice today, as Wrestlemania ended with:

 A) Massachusetts home slice John Cena holding onto his WWE title

B) Veteran strangler The Undertaker beating a steroid-swollen Battista to win the World title

C) Melina- currently my favorite woman on televison- held onto her Women's title, slapping around that slut Ashley (April's Miss Playboy, or whatever Hugh calls the top Bunny). All is right with the world.

D) Vince McMahon losing the Battle of The Billionaires, and having to allow Donald Trump to shave his head.

We tried a hair-vs-hair match back when I wrote for W.O.W. The original girl slated to lose her hair quit, and the boss had to throw money at Ice Cold- who really wasn't losing anything particularly beautiful, in her case- to be tied to the chair for the Shaving that the crowd expected to see. The going rate for a head shave in 2001 pro wrestling was $1500, and I'm pretty sure that the check didn't clear.

Finally-finally.... big ups to the Barnstable girls, who took home the state hockey title. Coach Kim Sullivan put together a veritable Murderer's Row of ass-kicking Chick Hock talent, and it's nice to see that the Puck Stops Here on Cape Cod. The Barnstable Girls asked for no qurater, and showed none. Somewhere, Paul Stewart and Jay Miller are smiling.