The Conch

Every now and again a great power is bestowed upon an unsuspecting citizen as he is engaged in the ritualistic, repetetive minutae of daily exisistence. Perhaps while sweeping a floor, perhaps while preparing a TCI report, he is struck swiftly and precisely with a bolt from the heavens. Then, he suddenly stops dead in his tracks and announces something of such epically ludicrous proportion that any listeners in the vicinity instantly keel over on the floor, and roll around in hysterics, savagely mocking the seeming inanity of what they just heard.

And what they just heard was actually a wisp of clairvoyance granted from the mystical pantheon of Sports Gods, the all powerful cosmic tribunal that sadistically toys with our mere mortal fandoms on an all too regular basis. Routing messages to be broadcast out to this mortal plain via some office temp, or busboy, or cook. Or bartender.

The initial flicker of the unyielding flame that boldly pronounces: "The RedSox WILL Win the World Series!" before the '04 campaign commences, or "Edmonton in the Stanley Cup Finals!" as the ink is still drying on the lockout ending collective bargaining agreement. The inspiration behind these seeming lame duck calls are so ferocious in their intensity that they will be defended to the death by their purveyors.

To make such an outlandish assertion and preach it like it's Southern gospel (despite the legions of naysayers), and to have the seemingly ridiculous claim become reality (or a series of events IMPOSSIBLY close to) is in essence, to hold The Conch. I have held this Conch for a time. It's power is undeniable.

Allow me to toot my own horn by recanting my:

1. Crowning the '04 Red Sox as World Series Champions in the preseason. And KNOWING they would still prevail even after the ALCS Game 3 Bronx Bombardment (in which Sheffield and Matsui drove in something like 4 billion runs, sending Boston within a game of a would be humiliating sweep). Announcing it to a particular rambunctious Yankees fan while watching the gut wrenching drubbing at a bar in Toronto telling him, "In game 7 you will be sitting here weeping in your beer wondering what went wrong."

And perhaps he is still in that bar. And perhaps he still weeps...

Take a gander at this passage from a collection of e-mail correspondances sent during the '04 preseason, between my brother (who will be referred to henceforth as "The Skip") and myself in which I state:

"Manny remains an idiot, a hitting idiot, but an idiot nonetheless."

So prophetic it almost reads like a quatrain, declaring the Red Sox endearing "idiocy" months before Sox first baseman, Kevin Millar, christened the squad "The Idiots". Manny ended up leading the American League in jacks that year, not to mention picking up the World Series MVP. Not too shabby.

Now let's take a look another little snippet from the same correspondence. This one foretelling the Sox chances in the '04 campaign:

"Sure Francona is no Torre and the Sox might do as well as they did number wise but the reason they win this year has to do more with New York finally imploding."

Nostradamus. Whatevs.
















Manny Bustin' A Move After Winning World Series MVP


2. Predicting the Flames Cup drive in February of the same year as Sutter's boys were struggling to grasp a playoff spot. The laughter ranged from guttural bellows, to ear piercing shrieks, to sustained guffaws as it assaulted me at my position manning the bar at the restaurant I work in. It dissipated however, around April and transmuted into congratulatory disbelief throughout May and June when Jarome and the boys came within a game of winning Lord Stanley's Grail.

3. Naming in the preseason the '05 MLB playoff participants, nailing 5 out of 8. The Red Sox, White Sox, Angels, Padres and Cardinals all sported October bunting in their respective stadiums that year. Had the Phills won one more game it would have been 6.


While The Conch is quite a powerful item it is not entirely infallible, sometimes missing the mark by a year. A grand demonstration of this is illustrated by the bold prediction made 6 years ago by The Skip. A cross country telephone conversation between him and myself resulted in his stunning assertation that:

"In 5 years, the AL Central will be the league to beat."

To which I heartily retorted:

"HA. HA. HA."

And shat myself laughing.

To which he replied only one word:

"Yup."

And here we are 6 years later in the heat of an AL Wild Card Race in which the top three teams in the Central are all vying for two playoff spots. The case could be made for the division last year as well, as Cleveland contended for the Wild Card up until the final weekend.

Yup indeed.

The Skip has been known to hold The Conch on many occassions, not unlike Spiderman in the comics who has been granted The Captain Universe power multiple times by the ethereal forces of the Marvel Universe. Some of his works can also be found in the e-mail diatribes we flung back and forth in the '04 MLB preseason.

On breaking down the 1-2 starters of the Sox and Yanks:

"Mussina is a legitimate ace, but can't win playoff games
(He went 1-1 in the playoffs but got a no decision in game 5. Since he was unable to put the series to bed and the Yanks went on to suffer THE WORST COLLAPSE IN THE HISTORY OF PRO SPORT, the Moose's 2004 playoff record should really be 1 and infinity.)

...and Brown is currently being held together by a thin veneer of marine epoxy (had an extended stint on the DL again that year)

...Meanwhile Pedro is Pedro
(Pedro was indeed Pedro, complete with the "I call the Yankees my daddy" comment as well as his tendency to frequently include a midget in his entourage. Which would routinely hang out in the Sox club house. In the midst of a division race. Questioned by no one.)

...and Schilling is the ballsiest pitcher I have ever seen.
(How about putting on one the grittiest performance in the history of athletic competition by pitching off an ankle with tendons sutured together with staples. Shot full of cortizone, blood bleeding Red Sox red through his white sock to comeback in a series down 0-3 against the Evil Empire, en route to the club's first World Series in 86 years. Balls? How about asteroids.)


The Conch is similar to the Stanley Cup in the sense that everyone on the team gets a chance with it. In our circle it is currently being held by Ron, a cook at the restaurant. Ronnie Big Time (as he will henceforth be referred to) held steadfast to an Edmonton/Buffalo final right before the puck dropped in the 05/06 season. At a time when no one had seen hockey for a year and a half, the two squads pre-lockout were god awful. Sticking to his spatulas, he did not waver throughout the season despite the entire staff hailing him as the village idiot. By the time June rolled around we were all left eating our aprons as Buffalo made the semis and Edmonton made it to the show.

Recently, he has been calling an Atlanta/ Columbus showdown for next June, to which of course I initially wrote off....

But Columbus did just sign Anson Carter and Rick Nash is...well...Rick Nash so I will let Ronny steer the course for now until it is evident that his time with The Conch has wrapped up and someone else is appointed its steward.