12 Months of Boston

12 Months of Boston

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I started drawing this before Friday’s car chase, shootout, manhunt and lockdown (which was voluntary, martial law whiners) craziness. Boston (And its neighbors, who I didn’t forget, because I’m using “Boston” as shorthand for Greater Boston.) will return to normal. The bombings will cast a pall over the year, but we’ll still find reasons to day drink and get way too worked up over our sports teams.

I’ve had a lot of people on Twitter ask if they can buy a print of this cartoon. The answer is yes. Just put “12 Months of Boston” in the info field. I would’ve done something that gives the proceeds directly to The One Fund Boston, but that’s a lot of paperwork. You’ll just have to take my word for it that I’ll donate 20% of the sale of each print ($5) to the fund.

Francona’s Strategy

The Red Sox have been flirting with .500 for what feels like an eternity. Pretty soon I’ll have to give up hoping that it’s just a slow start and begin to admit that this team isn’t very good, particularly the pitching.

As for the Bruins, they’re in the third of what feels like an infinite number of NHL playoff rounds. Which is fine by me. They’ve been fun to watch all season.

I am 5’3″, and therefore unqualified to comment on the Celtics and basketball in general. Except to say that I’ll be very glad when that clip of Rondo dislocating his elbow stops appearing everywhere and grossing me out.

And so concludes “Brian Blogs about Boston Shit” week.

Obscure World of Sports


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Since the 2010 baseball season officially ended for me this week, I thought I’d turn my attentions toward some lesser-known sports.

I had to make some last-minute changes to this cartoon after Googling the original final panel and discovering it was one of the least original ideas I’ve ever had. I usually do this before drawing, but I was lazy this week, both in joke-writing and joke-checking.

This idea was so unoriginal, it even appeared on an episode of Rock of Love. I’m blaming my lameness on the blinding rage I go into whenever a gigantic, sidewalk-hogging stroller obstructs my path. Those things are bigger than bikes, and as a result, parents and their SUV-sized strollers should be relegated to bike lanes whenever possible. (Parents who use baby bjorns and/or compact strollers, you’re cool.) I won’t even get started on how annoying these assholes are on public transit.

Next Week: The Intellectual Underground

When in Fenway…

Tuesday night, Phill Jupitus took me along on his annual Fenway Hajj. I can’t thank him enough for letting me park my broke-ass in the front row of the Green Monster with him. It’s a rarity for me to even see the games in HD. (I usually tune into the radio broadcasts on a clock radio.)

I was squarely in Dan Tobin’s camp when it comes to the 8th Inning Anthem, but there is no denying what I have done:

You can see the look of terror as I realize I’m about to sing The Song That Makes No Fucking Sense at a Baseball Game. But then I just went with it, and it was fun.

Unless I find myself spontaneously singing Living on a Prayer at some dive in Revere, I don’t think I’m at risk of becoming a Pink Hat.

If you’re not familiar with Phill’s work, I highly recommend the Perfect Ten podcast. And if you’re into that sport fer’ners enjoy so much, there’s this. Listing all of his other awesome projects would require far more computing power than I have access to.

Baseball’s Not-So-Greats

Baseball's Not-So-Greats
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Baseball season is finally here. It’s been a long winter.

I’m cautiously optimistic about the Red Sox’ chances this season. The average age of the roster is a little too high to instill much confidence. Last year, when everyone was a year younger, the team was already plagued with injuries.

Work on the new Big Fat Whale book continues. I hope you will buy it when it’s done.

Next Week: The Bankers’ Dozens