Marathon Monday

It’s go time.

boston-finish-line-300x200

From the ice cream in Fanueil Hall, to the penguins that greet you as you step inside the Aquarium.  From Yawkey Way and the legendary Monstah, to the pier where I stood amazed as the Tall Ships sailed into the Harbor.  From the record (yes, RECORD) shops in Cambridge, to the Charles River where I watched my brother’s crew team dump him in when his boat won their race, Boston has always held a special place in this New England girl’s heart.  And it always will.  I know many would argue, but the people of this city have the most amazing and resilient spirit of anyone I have ever known.  As they once again welcome the citizens of the world into their homes, their streets, and their hearts, they once again will show how easy it is to prove how this sport of running brings us all together for a common love.

And for that my dear Boston, we thank you.

BostonStrong Collage

 

Enjoy the ride.

From all of us here at Black Dog Central, we’d like to wish everyone running the Boston Marathon the best of luck!  Is Boston on your wish list of races to run?  What other world majors would you like to try?

As we celebrate one of the world’s greatest races, please remember those can’t run or even walk because of spinal cord injuries.  Let’s help them take their first steps by donating to Team Wonder Mutt as we run the Wings for Life World Run on May 8th!

It’s Only Weird If It Doesn’t Work

Okay, show of hands.  Who’s seen this one?

weird

Yes. Yes it is.

Admit it.  We all have weird crap we do in a cosmic, karmic effort to help our teams win.  In this house we have a multitude of practices, including, but limited to:

-chewing on pendants

-turning visors backwards and upside down

-clutching pillows

-throwing away said pillow if it doesn’t work

-rubbing challenge coins

-chewing on said challenge coins

-hugging legs to chest

-shaking the crap out of favorite team’s doll with removable limbs

-tossing said doll at television if team throws an interception

-holding hands so tight digital damage is incurred (may or may not result in trip to ER. AFTER game is over.)

-rubbing nose 3 times, pulling twice on right earlobe, grasping left ankle and hopping 5 times in a counter-clockwise circle while chanting in Swahili

Swahili_Dancers

“Mama-ko, mama-sa, ma-ka-ma-ko-ssa.”

What is it about our love for sports that turns us into rabid, hot-tempered, no-holds-barred, I’m-gonna-kick-your-ass-all-the-way-back-Philly maniacs?  I place complete blame for my sports insanity on older brothers and a husband who’s just as much of a sports freak as I am.  Even if part of his loyalty is COMPLETELY misplaced.

To each his own.  Even if his own is, well, you know.  THAT.

To each his own. Even if his own is, well, you know. THEM.

Growing up in a properly sports educated environment-

Wicked awesome!

Wicked awesome!

and

Bad. Ass.

Bad. Ass.

I was taught at an early age to respect people’s team choices. (Except, of course, when it comes to baseball and football).  However, I also learned the fine art of a properly timed zinger, how to properly deliver said properly timed zinger, and when, in the spirit of sportsmanship, to walk away from what could end up being an inconveniently timed trip to above mentioned emergency department, (i.e., NEVER before halfway through the fourth quarter, the bottom of the ninth, the last 2 minutes of the third period, or if it’s the Heat, and it’s the playoffs, before the last second of the last overtime).

Jesus Shuttlesworth in the clutch.

Jesus Shuttlesworth in the clutch.

That’s not to say I’m very good at the timing, but once in a while – okay a REALLY great while – I am SPOT ON with my digs.  And I ROCK IT.

I love good-natured ribbing, and as a faithful Red Sox fan since the time Mom popped me out into the world, I’ve been on the receiving end of it PLENTY of times.  And it’s all good, especially when it’s all done in fun.  But we’ve probably all seen when schmucks – usually drunk schmucks – take it too far.

Putz times two.

Putz. Times two.

It’s all well and good to be a rabid supporter of your favorite team(s).  Just remember – in the end, it’s all just a game.  The outcome won’t affect the world on its axis, won’t change where the sun rises and sets, and probably will be forgotten a year later.  Unless it’s the Red Sox breaking that goddamn curse and winning the World Series.  That will NEVER be forgotten.

Restrain yourself Kellie.

Restrain yourself Kellie.

Enjoy the ride.

Would you consider yourself to be a rabid sports fan?  Have you ever gotten into a pissing contest with a rival fan?  Who won?  Did it include a trip to the emergency room?