The second of several entries regarding the Celtics parade. This one is just a cloud of confetti.
Sometimes God serves me a waist-high fastball for a White Wife joke, and I can't think of one.
... like I'm gonna survive 500,000 people in Copley Square... I watched the rest of the parade in perfect comfort on the big screen in Boston Common.
Coolest Man In Town?
Checklist... NBA Finals trophy, check... hot wife, check... 100,000 people chanting "MVP" at you, check.... fat, Auerbach-style Havana, check.
Yup... Paul Pierce is running the town today.
A parade makes everyone cute... even a hulking 7 footer.
I kind of miss a lot of shots because I'm sort of retahhhhhhhhhhhhded.
The quality of the pictures will improve once I upload the ones Angela (above, in the sweet KG shirt) sent me... she knows how to zoom and focus and stuff, unlike your favorite Smurf.
Lucky The Leprechaun, big-ballin' and shot callin' down Tremont Street, leading a parade that roughly followed the Make Way For Ducklings route.
Lord... all I want is a parade where I can mack like that with people yelling for me... and none of that Cart To The Gallows chicanery either, Big Man.
We took the whole gang up to Boston yesterday to see the Boston Celtics parade.
Boston was totally crowded. We caught the show from Boston Common, right near the State House. The parade ran from the Gahhhhhden to Copley Square, so we were in the middle.
Lucky the Leprechaun leads the festivities. Sure, he's a 5'9" leprechaun, but all the short ones can't dunk.
Mother fuc**ng Tommy Heinsohn, my second favorite Celtic announcer eva!
I took about 125-175 pictures, so I'll break this up over several entries. This one will focus on the parade itself.
NBA Finals MVP Paul "The Truth" Pierce
The championship banner, which will be hung with 16 sisters in the Garden rafters.
KG was working the side of the street that we weren't on, so we got this as our best Garnett shot.
A very happy Eddie is in the House.
A good time was had by all... especially our photographer.
As they say on Cape Cod.... you can have 354 buoys on your wall, but the 355th one makes it all tacky and stuff.
I've considered buying this... except that I'm the only sports fan among my sisters, and it would make me look awful strange(r) on holidays. It does kick ass, though.
If I owned a gay bar, I'd buy this guy, display him prominently, and call the place Captain Reacharound's.
We used to have a wheel like this (a touch smaller). If you have a fireplace that's 10' across, you can display it properly. Otherwise, it just owns whatever room it's in.
One of Melissa's favorite things on Earth... the fake cow outside Sand and Surf. We've taken her to real farms, and she's afraid of real cows.
If I ever catch the Colonel cheating ( a real concern in a home with a comely teen nanny), I won't kill him or kick him out. No, I'll just make him transport me everywhere by rickshaw.
I love this bush.
I love my cabin in New Hampshire. Unfortunately, this isn't it. This is actually in Wareham, MA.
Everyone's favorite bar in Buzzards Bay.
This is "A" Dock.
Most of this entry is from this antique store on the Wareham/Buzzards Bay line.
Old friend Rocket Roger Clemens turned up on our radar a few times this year, which isn't bad for someone who doesn't actually pitch anymore.
Of course, how he is appearing isn't the way you want to appear- steroid hearings, 60 Minutes, mistresses confessing to the media... he's sort of f*cked.
He was even outed by former child songstress Mindy McCready, who said that she and the Rocket has a thang goin' on when she was too young to work after school legally.
Here's an explanation, with pictures:
One thing you never hear mentioned when steroids are discussed... and it's by far the most important thing....
There are drugs out there that can make us better/stronger/faster. These drugs will let you casually smash records that have stood for decades... even centuries. While I'm sure that some bad-ass knights sat at the Round Table, I'd bet on the 6'7", 275 pound artificially-enhanced guy who is as quick as a mongoose.
All I know about the downside of steroids is that they are A) illegal, B) considered to be cheating in baseball, and C) supposed to rot you from the inside.
I want proof. Cobain convinced me about heroin. You can look at Whitney Houston and know that cocaine is a losing proposition. Pretty much all of the steroid guys seem to be doing just fine physically.
I need to see Clemens, Bonds, or Canseco die really young/soon in order to alter my opinion that we are sleeping on a radical, species-altering turn in medical science.
Imagine what safe steroids could do for this country. Think about a factory full of juiced up workers, setting productivity records on the regular. Think of the pollution/natural resources savings when people can leave the car behind and do the 7 miles between home and office in a 28 Days Later gonna-kill-you sprint.
In fact... what about our heroes laying it all on the line in godforsaken Afghanistan? John Kerry did a lot of whining about cheap flak jackets and lightly armoured APCs, but he totally failed to mention that there are currently easily obtainable drugs that might make every single Leatherneck currently dodging roadside bombs in Mesopotamia suddenly start kicking ass like Sergeant Alvin Motherf**ing York.
If I were stalking through some Shiite Asian Hell, I don't know who I'd shoot first if I found out that some stuffed shirt back in the States doesn't want me to be able to lift more/run faster because it's cheating.... but I know I'd be shooting somebody.
You can buy drugs right off the TV that will let you get a 6 hour Woodrow that a doctor may have to fix. You can serve a cocktail of drugs to a hyperactive 3rd grader. You can make tea out of dozens of strange, exotic roots and herbs from who-knows-where.
Yet... there's a superdrug out there that can make you physically superior, or at least better than you were. And they won't give it to us.
Shoot... even the old argument about steroids giving you the Needle Dick don't seem to be true. Barry Bonds spent considerable sums of money keeping a mistress on the side. Jose Canseco went 40/40 on Madonna. Roger Clemens seems to have been grabbing girls off The New Mickey Mouse Club to satisfy a sexual longing that, according to the generally accepted urban legend, shouldn't have been there.
The only guys that can tell us the truth about it are muzzled by fear, and are currently viewed as outlaws.Senators currently ignore $3.55 a gallon gas prices to spend days finding out just what Jose shot into Roger's ass back in 1989 or so.
We're fighting 2 wars, we need to reproduce faster than the Mexicans do, and American business and labor need a boost from out of nowhere. Our options are limited.
We can redesign the education system like after Sputnik went up, show full-frontal on Nickelodeon to get the kids f*cking earlier, and make more Guns than Butter.
Or everyone can just take a little pill.
Roger Clemens, we here at Cape Cod Today salute you. Stephen Cooper, your hometown still loves you. You are renegades, Chemistry Cowboys, pushing yourselves and medical science to the limit. You are showing us all that we may one day become.
