By Jon Fucile
After a rigorous, grueling and drunken search the Red Sox have reportedly settled on a new manager and have imported Bobby Valentine and a years supply of sushi all the way from Japan.
Many were wondering what was taking Boston so long to find a new manager but their hiring process is like no other. They had to make sure that any new manager would fit right in to the culture they have worked so hard to establish over the past few years.
Each contestant had to endure Double Dare style physical challenges as part of the interview process.
Bobby Valentine apparently schooled every other candidate according to reports. He aced disgruntled ex-manager Terry Franconas slime filled obstacle course!
He was able to bench press an ever-growing David Ortiz, complete with over inflated ego.
It must be all that healthy eating and fish in his diet over in Japan. Nice work Bobby V!
Valentine was then subjected to a drinking contest with the Red Sox club house and reportedly drank the entire pitching staff under the table, and was still able insult Josh Becketts beer belly.
Valentine was also a very willing participate in the pre-practice Chicken Chase and corresponding Chicken Cook Off in the locker room.
Perhaps most important to Red Sox management was the exceptional ability Valentine showed when he went through the thrown under the bus trials with a smile!
Reports even said that Valentine has a fool-proof plan to turn John Lackey into a respectable pitcher once Lackey returns from injury.
Oh, right. Sorry, Bobby.
Anyway, welcome to Boston and good luck whipping this sorry bunch into shape. Also, go Bruins!
With the passing of Arnold Palmer, CSN's Kevin Walsh looks back on an unforgettable encounter he had with the golf legend
It was May 2000. I had just finished playing golf at Pebble Beach. I walked out of the clubhouse and a Lincoln Town Car pulled up to the putting green, Arnold Palmer hopped out. It was as if he’d fallen out of the sky.
I had my tape recorder with me and asked if I could ask him a few questions about being a caddy in his younger years in Latrobe, Pennsylvania.
“Yes, but I have only about five minutes,” he said.
I was very nervous and having trouble putting the cassette tape into the recorder. He eventually took it out of my hands and did it for me.
My nerves were gone.
So we’re talking and the door to The Lodge bursts open and a guy yells “Hey Arnold! We’re in the bar having a beer!”
“Well,” Arnold yells back, “Order me one!”
Arnold was hard of hearing. He saddled up next to me, and tilted his head so I could talk right into his ear. I couldn’t believe I was talking directly into Arnold Palmer’s ear. He was practically stepping on my feet. He wore tiny hearing aids that were only visible if you were as close as I was.
After ten minutes of talking, I reminded him that he had friends waiting, and a beer that was probably warm by that time. He wanted to make sure that I had enough. I did and I was beaming. I’m not sure my feet touched the ground on the walk back to the car.
Arnold Palmer brought a country-club sport to the masses with a hard-charging style, charisma and a commoner's touch. At ease with both presidents and the golfing public, and on a first-name basis with both, "The King," died Sunday in Pittsburgh. He was 87.
Alastair Johnson, CEO of Arnold Palmer Enterprises, confirmed that Palmer died Sunday afternoon of complications from heart problems.
Palmer ranked among the most important figures in golf history, and it went well beyond his seven major championships and 62 PGA Tour wins. His good looks, devilish grin and go-for-broke manner made the elite sport appealing to one and all. And it helped that he arrived about the same time as television moved into most households, a perfect fit that sent golf to unprecedented popularity.
Beyond his golf, Palmer was a pioneer in sports marketing, paving the way for scores of other athletes to reap in millions from endorsements. Some four decades after his last PGA Tour win, he ranked among the highest-earners in golf.
On the golf course, Palmer was an icon not for how often he won, but the way he did it.