Posted sometime in early January 2005
My friends...........if I may still call you that.......yes I know.....friends don't treat friends the way I have treated you....not calling or signing in for lo these many weeks. You must think that I don't give two craps for you, and I wouldn't blame you if you did. The truth is I that would give many craps for you. Okay--that doesn't sound right--look you must know how I feel about you by now--let me instead try to, if possible, explain my absence. I'm pretty sure that the last time we talked-a certain baseball team was getting ready to enter the playoffs. Anyhow, I was out of town--how'd that turn out. Of course I'm kidding. Like you I devoured every minute of it---the inspiring series with the Angels, the we're-back-from-the-grave-total humiliation of the Yanks, and the four game butt slap of the Cards to WIN IT ALL!!! 'But Mike,' you say,' that was weeks ago--where the hell have you been all this time?!?' To which I say "Kablonitz ya'nega shloogatz.... nes nega frygess' which roughly translated from Mongolian means 'I would have come but my horse had other plans.' But of course now you're really pissed and you say 'You left us alone you asshole!!! You weren't there to help us through this new uncharted thing called THE WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP!! Not only that but we worry about you-you dickhead-and all this time----nothing!!!.....' To which I reply--calm down...take a breath...I'm here now....and name calling will get us nowhere. To tell you the truth, by the time the victory parade had ended I was so filled with boundless jubilation and joy that I was convinced that THE FINAL DAYS of humanity had begun. It was never going to get any better than this! It didn't help that I was hanging out with Stephen King (a bigger Sox fan than even me if that's possible) and that as the duck boat went by holding Manny, Schilling, Pedro, and the trophy, he turned to me with glassy eyes and said 'Make your peace to whatever god you truck with-be he goat headed thunderclap or naked wanderer, for the end of all things is near.' Stephen King is a weird dude. But as I stumbled bug-eyed through Boston I was also thinking that the world was a beautiful place and that I hadn't seen much of it lately. So I decided to do some traveling. I must remind you now that being a rockstar can have it's drawbacks (female stalkers, paparazzi, partying till all hours of the day, sex with groupies, free meals at restaurants, free tickets to sporting events........oh wait.......I lost my train of thought ...whatever....) but it also has it's perks. And one of those perks is that I can travel at the drop of a hat. Since many hats dropped following the Series-off I went. You'd be surprised to find out how far reaching the Red Sox story has become. Maybe the whole world loves losers-but even more so if they finally get off the mat to win it all. Total strangers, seeing my hat, walked up to congratulate me, whether I was in a Scottish pub, renewing my fondness for lowland single malts, or in a New Zealand rain forest investigating the properties of a certain mushroom. And some of them could even talk Pudge and Yaz and Spaceman and Ted, and make you believe that they once even saw those legends walk the field. Weeks passed and still I was traveling, now aimlessly, so I did what I always do at such moments---I tossed a dart at a map. That's how I arrived in Dolandzadgad, Mongolia. For you map freaks you'll notice that Dolandzadgad is the second largest city in Mongolia--second only to Ulan Bator, another city you'll neither hear nor care about for the rest of your life. As luck would have it I arrived during the annual hot pepper festival. And if there's anything I enjoy more than talking about something I know nearly nothing about--it's eating spicey food. I have friends who keep outrageously hot peppers around just in case they need to challenge someone's supposed love of hot stuff. The Mongolians would laugh at them. They eat peppers daily that that would fry the nuts off of most of us casual hot pepper lovers. Why the name of the town itself (Dolandzadgad) roughly translates to 'eat fire-pee blood.' Need I remind you that it was this group of horseman and yak herders that in the 13th century, under the leadership of Ghenghis Khan, conquered most of the land from China to Hungary!! That's still a standing square mile world record in the PLANET DOMINATION game--take that Adolph!! While I was there I met people who had eaten so many hot peppers that their vocal chords were scorched entirely away. I even met a man whose love of the molten veggie had burned a hole through the roof of his mouth and because of this he was able to stick his tongue out through his nose!! Take that you '80's coke freaks!! Having said all that --the Mongolians as a whole are an honest and charming bunch (all of whom claim to be related in some way to the great Khan) and during my short stay there I made friends and grew to like and admire them greatly. So much so that as the hot pepper festival neared it's end, I was invited (through an interpreter) to attend the culmination of the weeks' festivities. What happens is--all of the tribal leaders take a mouthful of the local pepper and then, one at a time, standing on a small stage, they are expected to recount some heroic tale of Mongolia's' past. Apparently, the only way they can keep from dropping to their knees in pain during this ordeal is to get whacked out on fermented yaks' milk prior to eating the peppers. What follows during the storytelling is an amazing array of hand-waving, crying, and gasping---much to the applause and delight of all in attendance. Imagine my surprise when I was asked, as a sign of respect, to take my turn on the stage. You know me-I can't resist a stage and thankfully I was already well into the yaks' milk so it didn't take much coxing. Taking a bite of the lava-like pepper I climbed onto the stage and realized much to my shock that I had nothing to say---panic!!--then the pain hit and the tears and gasping started and I realized I'd felt this pain before------I'd felt it in '75 and again in '78 and----yes in'86 and maybe worst of all in '03 at yankee stadium----and I KNEW ALL OF A SUDDEN WHAT TO TELL THEM. My story, through my interpreter, was about a noble, but cursed and star-crossed tribe who suffered many great and countless defeats at the hands of their bitter enemies. But it was when things seemed their darkest that a group of warriors rose up among them--idiots they called themselves. There was Manny, who smiled but carried a great club, and Ortiz who was fearless and never gave up, and Tek who put his fist in the face of even the fiercest enemies, and finally there was the mighty Schilling ( some even said he was related to the great Khan). It was he who stood tallest when all seemed lost. It was he that, though seriously wounded and bleeding, led the charge that rallied the the other warriors to a great and final victory!! By the time I finished the story there wasn't a dry eye in the house--okay some of that was no doubt due to the pepper influence--but I was convinced that if we mounted horses at that moment, we could retake most of the lost Mongol kingdoms. So there you have it---that's what I did---that's where I was. And as you can see--this Red Sox story translates to all cultures--it's one for the ages. So until next time--I wish you the joy of the season.....adios amigos, mike
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