April 13 was Miss Danielle Sanzone’s 24th birthday. All she wanted was Johnny Damon to be her very own. Since she couldn’t have the real thing, her friend and my housemate, Laura Fox, went ahead and made her a cake version of Damon, which wound up as dessert after a dinner of homemade sushi last Saturday. Johnny was much more attractive than the fish that was fileted by George and Danielle for sushi, also known as “The Fishgina.” Johnny even looks particularly like a certain savior when lit up with candles. It was a delicious cake with chocolate sprinkles for the beard, cream cheese frosting for the jersey and skin (blended with some red for the perfect tint), and chocolate frosting for the hair. I was lucky enough to eat the nose and mouth.
And for an added bonus – The Fishgina!.

Well, Johan Santana pitched a two hitter today — the kind of pitching performance we’ve come to expect from a man who hasn’t lost since last July. But unfortunately, those two hits happened to be two homeruns. And even more unfortunately, the Twins only mustered one run against Bartolo Colon. And thus, Santana’s 17 game winning streak ended today.
Coming soon… pictures of the Johnny Damon cake.

Should I ever run into Chris House, I must remember to thank him for (allegedly) taking a swing at Gary Sheffield on April 14 and getting his season tickets revoked. Because you see, that left those tickets available for purchase at the Day-Of-Game ticket window at Fenway today (er, yesterday, according to the clock). And after taking the afternoon off of work and doing a book of logic puzzles while sitting in line for three hours, I got two of those revoked tickets for face value. And let me just say, those were some nice seats. Had I been willing to risk getting thrown out, I could have leaned over and touched some Fenway dirt. (Just for the record, because she’d want me to clarify, Melissa Cain sat in House’s exact seat, according to the fans around us.)
Once inside the stadium, Melissa and I ate a couple of Fenway Franks, watched some batting practice, had our picture taken for the “Fanfoto” section of the Red Sox website, and I bought myself a program wherein I meticulously kept score of the game, right down to the pitch count of every at bat. Now, some might say that the play of the game was Miguel Tejada’s homerun in the top of the 8th that put the O’s up 9-8. Or perhaps it was Javy Lopez’s follow-up homer that extended their lead to 3 runs. Red Sox fans might say that it was Manny Ramirez’s 3 run blast in the bottom of the fourth. But I beg to differ, for entirely biased reasons.
In the first at bat of the bottom of the second, with a 1-1 count on him, David Ortiz hit a double into the right field corner that started a five run Sox inning. Sammy Sosa went racing after it, and as the television cameras filmed him scooping up the ball, also visible in the shot were two attractive MIT alumna cheering behind him. That’s right, folks. For the first time in my entire life (that I know of) I was on TV while attending a baseball game. And when they showed the replay in the stadium, I was up on the jumbotron, also a first.
Of course, it should be noted that one of the side effects of the Chris House incident appears to be an increase in paranoia and anal-retentiveness of the security in the right field box. The two gentlemen sitting to Melissa’s left were thrown out in the 8th, essentially for being drunk. Although they were slurring quite of few of their words, they weren’t being particularly rowdy — in fact, I found them to be rather polite drunks. But the security guard still wanted to come over and check on them. The guys were a little upset about this and began flipping off the security guard each time they stood up to do the wave. Seeing this and having none of it, he came over and sent the fellows home. At least two others sitting near us were ejected as well, even though I never observed anyone interfering with the game or starting a fight.
Despite the security, it was still one of the most memorable experiences I’ve ever had at a ballpark. But I can’t help thinking that it would have been even better if we had been leaving the stadium to “Dirty Water” instead of “Goodnight, Sweetheart.”
Oh, and just for the A-Side gang, one of the birthdays that flashed up on the Jumbotron tonight: Manny Ortiz.

If you think that there is any chance that your genes will produce a professional athlete, don’t give him or her a name like Lew, Pooh, Sue, etc.
Everytime Lew Ford comes to bat for the Twins, I think the crowd is booing him. The same used to be true for former Minnesota Timberwolf Pooh Richardson.
I’ve never known a famous athlete named “Sue,” but I’m sure it would be the same.

Growing up, my sister and I used to play “apple ball.” The basic premise was that we’d take the apples that had fallen off of our apple tree, and thus were unsuitable to eat, and pitch them to each other. We’d then try to hit them into the marsh behind our house. Mostly we wound up shattering the apple and spraying applesauce into the yard. But, oh well.

Last night I discovered yet another variation on baseball that results in shattering the ball, albeit more dangerously. It works like this:

• Get large blocks of ice for carving.
• While carving the ice (outside, preferrably), let the large chunks of ice that fly off gather in a pile.
• Get an aluminum pipe.
• Clear out the area of any unsuspecting passers-by.
• Have one person pitch the baseball to softball sized ice chunks to the person holding the pipe.
• Watch as the ice shatters when it connects with the pipe.

As an aside, try to avoid having the ice shatter into the batter’s face. That stung.