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  • Writer's pictureBK Auto

Guest Blog - This Blog Is NOT About the Red Sox

A story about me crying sending you into Memorial Day Weekend

Note from the editor: Today's guest blog comes to us from BK Auto and he is a far better writer than me so I think you'll enjoy this one. He also sent this over at 5 and I didn’t post it until 10 PM because I am a bad editor, so hand up, I promise to be better.

266 Days. That is how many days are in between Labor Day and Memorial Day. Most of which were spent in the depths of the long and cold New England winter. Seems like a long time right? The good news is: We made it. The sad news: 99 days until Labor Day and the fun is ov-. We won’t get to that right now because we live in the present.

Phone off the hook, fan on, and no alarm set. 8:30AM will be the earliest my filthy, callused, size 9 feet hit my bedroom floor this morning. Why even bother? I want to feel my Comfort Zone Dual Propeller window fan blow that Summer air onto my butt naked body all morning as I knowingly put my career on the line. This is one of the few weekends where corporate middle America is on the hot seat and we need to attack. If you don’t elongate this already long weekend, then you either hate the troops or ran out of vacation days.

Shoving pork rockets down your throat for 3 straight days should be the only pressing matter on your mind, not your boss worried about his TPS reports. We’re drinking beers for the boys that didn’t make it back home (and a host of other things). There is a lot of shit, for a lack of a better word, going on these days. Yet as humans, we’re still here keeping on. Personally, I will be taking this weekend OOO on the cape (shoutout my roommate’s parents) to drink some whiskey and beers. (Our Bourbon of choice here at is Buffalo Trace).

Now let’s talk about me for a second. I played baseball when I was 10 years old, Double A to be exact. Sadly enough, as a kid born in the late summer, I was told I would have to play down with the younger kids because I did not make the cut-off date. Throughout the season, and as coaches do at this age bracket, they rotated us around the infield and outfield. Of course, simple logic: Make sure every kid is able to play each position a plethora of times. But being the oldest on the team, I guess I was a bit predisposed to growth and maybe some athletics that develop around that age. In this, our coach made me pitch every single game. Every single one. My arm was a noodle by the end of the season, and I literally cried in the 5th inning of our last game of the season and got pulled because my arm was hanging so bad. Picture me crying on the mound, then our coach and my dad slowly walk out to me with his head down extremely disappointed in the loser he raised. Very embarrassing. To this day my arm will hurt after throwing a football/baseball more than 10 time in a row. I literally put my life on the line for Colorado Rockies in ‘07. That was the last time I played baseball and played lacrosse every year since then.

So what kind of writing to expect from a guy who played baseball for one year of his measly little life? As a contributing author on this very prominent Red Sox centric blog I figured I cannot in good faith talk about the Red Sox. What I can do is simple; give you a god damn lock heading into the weekend. CHARLES SCHWAB CHALLENGE LIVE BET: DAVIS RILEY TOP 10 +320.

Now that I got that off my chest I am going to go down The Cape to play the Ocean Course at New Seabury. Weekend starts now. I’ll be back from vaca-TBD with hopefully more to say.


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