Working Class Hero

Micky Ward is about to make us all proud.  By "us", I mean the good people of Lowell, MA and across the region.  If you literally 'live under a rock' then let me quickly explain.  "Irish" Micky Ward is a former world champion boxer.  He is most famous for his 3 epic bouts with Arturo Gatti.  These were fights for the ages and sporting events that spectators will talk about for many, many years.

Micky's story about his tough upbringing and his rise to champion is about to be told in the highly anticipated blockbuster movie titled, The Fighter (which ironically does even include his fights with Gatti).  Mark Wahlberg plays Micky while fellow Hollywood heavyweights Christian Bale and Amy Adams co-star in the film. Word on the street is that "Oscar" is already spying on this one.  Regardless of what the movie ultimately amounts to, this is a tale worth telling and we should all be excited and proud that we are connected to Micky' story first hand.

Which brings me to my point.  I am not a close personal friend to Micky.  I have had the pleasure to hang out with him during a few charitable functions and that is basically the extent of our relationship.  However, I have spent enough time around him to understand what this man is all about.  Despite the overwhelming attention he has received, Micky Ward is a humble, thankful, respectful (oh, and REALLY TOUGH) human being.  He has no ego about him.  No air of arrogance.  Most of all, he has no desire to be famous nor worshipped.  Micky has spent a lifetime just being a hard working 'man of the people'.  It just so happens that he is one of the greatest athletes that ever claimed Lowell as their birthplace and hometown.

Ward is a rare sensation in a time of prima donnas.  With that said, he is about to be launched into the stratosphere of stardom.  With the likes of Mark Wahlberg and others at his side, Micky Ward could become an international superstar.  He could easily find himself in the electric Hollywood scene of the rich and famous and not look back - at least for a while.  However, I am fairly confident he will be far more comfortable in the setting he has always returned to...a gym full of young aspiring boxers or the local pub with old friends.

Just a hunch.

In any case, if you are a from Lowell, soak in the excitement that will surely surround our city in the coming weeks.

Enjoy the office banter when the movie finally comes out next month.

Brag (as needed) about this story because it is a great one.

Oh, and if you ever have the opportunity to meet  Micky in person; shake his hand, congratulate him, and buy him a beer.

He's earned it.

Happy Thanksgiving!

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Sorry, Was I snoring?: Sleeping at the hospital

Time for some therapeutic writing folks...it has been a s#!^^% week!

This past week my son needed to be hospitalized due to some complications from an endoscopy.  Long story short, he got very ill after the procedure and our doctor instructed us to take him to Mass General.  After several long hours in the leper colony they call the emergency room we learned he had pancreatitus and a few other gastrointestinal complications.  Bottom line, this is a very painful problem and slow process to heal and he needed to be admitted for a about week (yes, I am writing this during my "down time" before I return).


My wife and I have alternated nights staying with him and it got me thinking just how uncomfortable and awkward it is to sleep at a hospital when you are not the patient.


Allow me to relay my take on the non-patient sleepover experience...


First of all...when is "bedtime"?  Most nights I am an early-to-bed-type guy.  9:00-9:30PM, I am usually in bed watching Dancing with the St....er....I mean...the Celtics Game and drift off fast asleep soon thereafter.  But in the hospital, I feel like I need to be some type of hero to impress upon the nurses and staff that I am on top of things.  Even watching TV seems weird.  I admit that I have been caught several times with my feet on the bed watching reruns of Family Guy and Everybody Loves Raymond...and, guess what, I felt stupid. For some reason it seems like the appropriate activity should be reading the History of Medicine by candlelight.  Why?  I don't need to impress these people.  They are being paid to take care of my child and I am simply the tour guide to make sure he doesn't choke on his I.V. chord (which, by the way, can happen a lot easier than one would think...thanks for distracting me Peter Griffin!) while they are out of the room.


Second, what is the dress code?  I am usually a t-shirt and boxers guy (calm down ladies...take a deep breath and remember I am a married man before you start the sexual imagery) but you can't pull that off in the hospital.  Again, I feel like I should be in flannel pajamas, a robe and night cap like Benjamin Freakin Franklin probably wore to bed!  Why?


Third, why is sleeping a bad thing?  I am a very sound sleeper and, admittedly, have had little issue zonking out in the rickety, lumpy pull-out bed.  Nonetheless, I find that I am frequently jumping up throughout the night like I am some wine-o passed out in an ally that needs to get his bearings  before someone finds me.  Sure, the nurses tell you to "get some rest" but they don't mean it.  They want you to stand a post like you are a marine at Guantanamo Bay (Happy 235th Birthday Marine Corp).


Maybe I am paranoid?  Maybe my senses are just dulled after a long week?  Anyway, I gotta get back to fake reading and unwrap this chord from Frankie's neck....


Have a good day, all!

What a game! Was I there?

Ah, what is more fulfilling in a man’s (and some women – don’t want to start this blog off sounding like a sexist jerk!) life than getting to go to ‘the game’?  No matter the sport, experiencing a game first hand is truly one of life’s great joys.  From the time your Dad takes you to your first sporting event to when you get to bring your own son to the ballpark; there is nothing like it.  However, it recently dawned on me that outside of those special Norman Rockwellian-type occasions there is a common theme to the experience of attending a sporting event as an adult – I don’t remember what the hell happened after I attended!?!?

How can this be possible?  I was sitting near the dugout/behind the bench/ringside/courtside/etc.?  Surely the mere fact of being just steps from the game would result in a deep and clear memory of all that has taken place, right?  Nope. Nothing.  Is it just me?

Conversely, when I am sitting on the couch at home I can recall, with great detail, all that I have witnessed during those two or three hours glued to my T.V. 

Well, after giving it some thought I realize there are a few common themes to why I continually experience these short term memory lapses when I have the joy of being there….

1. Excitement!

Let’s face it, the thrill of getting a ticket to the game, especially if it a last minute thing, is the best.  Phone rings…it’s your best buddy…”Dude, I just scored an extra ticket to the Sox-Yanks tonight.  You in???!!!”

“DAMN STRAIGHT I AM IN!” 

Without giving a thought to work obligations, family commitments or any other previously scheduled engagements, the inherent nature of any self-proclaimed real man is to say ‘YES’ when asked to go to a game (multiply that by a factor of 10 if it involves playoffs or championships).

Your brain immediately goes into a frenzied state and I believe this is the precursor to the contraction of SEAS Disorder: Sports Event Amnesia Syndrome

{Go ahead and look it up Dr. I.M. Smartassenthal, it’s a real disease!}

2. Pre-Game

I will admit it - my exuberance before a game can sometimes (and by “sometimes” I mean “every time”) shift into overdrive.  Be it one of the quiet watering holes near the ball park or a full blown tailgate outside the stadium…it is going to get the best of me.  For whatever reason, I believe I am somehow transformed into Superman (or a 19 year old college sophomore again…God those were good days…I was 20 pounds lighter…could drink all day and never get a hangov….wait, sorry) in terms of consumption.  Consumption in all forms.  Instead of sipping a beer, I am shot-gunning a 6-pack.  Rather than enjoy a nice hotdog, I am inhaling 2 loaded sausages and one of those giant pretzels.  Oh, and how a bout a nice 3-foot-long-neck-breaking Cuban cigar!  Why not, it is Tuesday night after all!

Too much bad stuff coming into this 36 year old excuse for a body way too fast – it is going to beat me.

3. Just Shutup!

OK, so in addition to drinking, eating, and smoking far more than I do on most Tuesday nights, I also find I can not shut my damn mouth.  Suddenly, I think I am freaking Chris Berman.  Spewing my off-color, inaccurate, home-town-biased analysis of the pending game to anyone who will listen (of course that is between the taunting of opposing fans and funneling that Busch Light that somehow found it’s way into the cooler).  This verbal diarrhea begins sometime around the phone call invite from my buddy and ends approximately 1 second after my team starts to lose.  No siree, my idle banter can not be contained and I realize instead of rooting for my team I  find myself intertwined in a heated debate about batting averages with some drunk soccer mom sitting behind me.  Or maybe I am the drunk one?  Hmm?  Here nor there!

Why?  I don’t know…but I wish I could stop.

4. LOOK!

The last, but perhaps the most clear and obvious, reason why I can never seem to recall what I witness at the game is distractions.  Think about it.  You are surrounded by insane fans, loud music, beautiful she-fans in creative team dress, fat drunk guys, skinny drunk guys, food vendors, hat vendors and sometimes fat, drunk, hat-wearing food vendors.  It is all right there in front of me in hi-definition and, frankly, it’s a little too much for this guy’s small brain to process!

So, in closing, when you take a close look at it, my continuous battle with S.E.A.S. makes a world of sense.  I morph into an over-eating, Leaving-Las-Vegas-drinking, village-idiot-screaming super-fan that has no recollection of who scored, who won and, on special occasions, WHO PLAYED….but man, did I have fun being there!

Thanks again for the ticket, bro!