9nine9’s Weblog

My girlfriend and I went on an absolutely fantastic trip to Napa Valley in California last week. It was relaxing and refreshing, and the first of two shipments totaling 22 bottles of wine arrived at my humble Hoboken abode today. The only downside: I don’t think I’ll ever be able to drink generic, cheap wine again after all the great wines we sampled. I’m already a beer snob — can I afford to be a wine snob, too?

We spent the first day in San Francisco, doing the tourist thing at Fisherman’s Wharf — the sea lions remind me of 8-Ball, my big, fat, black cat, lying around, barking and barely moving — and having dinner and drinks with a friend of ours who recently moved out there.

Then, once my luggage fiasco was solved, we hopped into one of the most fun cars I’ve ever rented — a black Chrysler PT Cruiser that we affectionately nicknamed “The Hearse” and “The Deathmobile” — and, with the help of my trusty GPS, headed up north to wine country.

We stayed at a wonderful bed-and-breakfast called the Beazley House. I can’t rave about it enough. The room was comfortable, the people were wonderful, the breakfasts were delicious (and an outstanding pregame meal when you’re about to drink wine all day) and the chocolate-chip cookies were off the hook.

On our first full day up there, we took a tour, mainly to avoid having to worry about drinking and driving, and it turned out to be a great move. Not only did we taste at eight wineries, but we ended up in the northern part of Napa Valley, where we probably wouldn’t have ventured on our own (Beazley House is in Napa, and we went to several places in the Calistoga area).

We also ate like royalty. I can’t even begin to explain how difficult it was going back to “normal” food and drinks after this trip.

I’ll go into detail on some of my favorite places from the trip — food first, then wine.

Auberge du Soleil was the site of one of the most fantastic meals I have ever been a part of. Expensive? Very, but totally worth it. Every last bite was amazing, as was the wine, and the view was just heavenly. This is the type of meal you treat yourself to once or twice a year, and it was worth every penny. It also makes a great birthday dinner for your significant other and scores some serious brownie points (I hope?).

ZuZu was one of the best Tapas places I’ve ever had the pleasure of eating in. Everything we ordered was delicious. And they found the way to my heart with scallops.

And Celadon was also a great find by the person who planned 100% of this trip (that person was, surprisingly, not me!). Not only was dinner incredible, but I have a soft spot for places that are built into old buildings, yet keep the character of the buildings intact, while adding a modern touch. The exposed brick in the dining room was a great touch.

Now, on to the wineries. I am by no means suggesting that these are the best wineries in Napa Valley — just sharing my favorites and why I enjoyed them.

Our very first tour of the trip was probably the most fun of all of them. Del Dotto Vineyards keeps their wine cool by storing it in a cave drilled into the side of the mountain. The candles atop the barrels made me feel like I was in an Ozzy Osbourne video. The wine is tasted straight from the barrels, and it was good wine. I recommend trying to get the last tour of the day. Why? With no one else waiting, the tour guides were quite generous with the wine. “Mas vino!” Thanks, Ray!

Another fascinating stop was Castello di Amorosa. Before raving about the place itself, let me say that the wines were among my favorites, as we ended up buying four bottles, all completely different styles. OK, now I can rave about the place: It is stunning. It must be nice to have money. The winery is an authentic European castle that was taken apart, brought to California and reassembled brick-by-brick. It took 14 years. It is truly an amazing sight.

I have to have a soft spot for any place that produces alcohol and is named after a criminal. Therefore, I really enjoyed Dutch Henry Winery. It’s located in a picturesque rural setting, and they were nice enough to host a picnic lunch for our tour and bring the wines out to our table.

While not as scenic as some of the other wineries we were able to visit, in terms of pure wine enjoyment and an informative tasting, Cakebread Cellars is hard to beat. Our tasting guide was meticulous in detailing every wine, and every drop was absolutely delicious.

My girlfriend finally solved a years-long dilemma of not being able to find a good kosher wine for Passover dinner with our visit to Hagafen. Now we just need to remember not to crack open the bottle of 2006 Pinot Noir in the wine rack until next year’s Seder.

Peju Province Winery is another stunning complex, and their Provence is one of the most unique wines I’ve ever tasted. It’s a table wine that looks like a Rosé, but it has a far more complex taste.

Speaking of stunning, straight from Persia (yes, it’s Iran now, and I know the U.S. and Iran aren’t exactly bosom buddies right now, but this place harkens back to more peaceful times) comes Darioush, another beautiful castle brought over and reassembled in Napa Valley.

Last but not least, it was out with the horses and in with the wine barrels at Black Stallion Winery, another gorgeous building and another taste explosion.

Now that I’ve spent all this time writing about wine, it might be time to stop typing and start sipping. Cheers!

My mail a couple of weeks ago contained an envelope from the Boston Red Sox. I was intrigued. I didn’t think the team was offering me a contract (although I did get five hits in a doubleheader yesterday, and so what if it was slow-pitch softball?), but I was curious what it was all about.

The enclosed letter:

Dear Red Sox Fan,

2008 promises to be a special season for the Boston Red Sox and Red Sox Nation. Not only are we defending our second World Series championship in the past four years, but we are putting on the field one of the most exciting clubs in baseball.

To make it easier for you to follow the Red Sox, wherever you are, the Red Sox are partnering with XM to provide a special offer to Red Sox fans so that you’ll never have to miss another Red Sox game.

XM is the official satellite radio home of the Boston Red Sox and Major League Baseball.

With packages starting at only $99, you’ll get an XM radio and a season-long subscription to XM where you can listen to play-by-play of the Red Sox and every single MLB game from Opening Day to the final pitch of the World Series. Just follow the directions on the enclosed ticket and go to xmradio.com/redsox to sign up or call 866 MLB XM 08.

In addition to XM’s unparalleled baseball coverage, as an XM subscriber, you’ll also get 170 channels of commercial-free music, sports, news, talk and comedy, including a 24/7 all-baseball channel with year-round MLB news and analysis.

We are excited to have you as part of the team, and hope you’ll be able to follow the Red Sox closely throughout the 2008 season.

Sincerely,

Larry Lucchino

President & CEO

Boston Red Sox

What’s wrong with this picture?

First off, the only team I hate more than the Red Sox is the Philadelphia Eagles. I’m a die-hard New York Yankees fan. Calling me a Red Sox fan? That’s a fight in my hood. I’d rather be referred to as a molester of livestock than a Red Sox fan.

Second, I have no idea how they got my name and address. I’ve gone to Fenway Park, but I’ve never ordered tickets directly from the Red Sox. I got Mets stuff in the mail for years after buying tickets to the first interleague series back in 1997. And since I bought tickets to the Dallas Cowboys at the Miami Dolphins last September, the Dolphins marketing people have been total pains in the ass. But I have no clue how the Red Sox organization has my name.

So, Larry Lucchino, take your XM offer and your chowdah and jam them both up your ass. Let’s go YANKEES.

I’d like to thank Continental Airlines for playing an important part in the fight against terrorism. Thanks to whoever examined my bag at Newark Liberty International Airport Saturday, the world is a safer place.

Apparently, my GPS caught the attention of this faithful soldier. Because, you know, the GPS is such a newfangled device, and no one would ever think to actually travel with one. I mean, what’s next? Some sort of thingamajig that actually plays music without using a cassette tape?

So my bag was pulled for further inspection and never made it onto my flight, which I discovered after 20 minutes of scanning the baggage conveyor belt, only to see a bag in a bin marked, “LAST BAG.”

Fine, better safe than sorry: I can see how a GPS going through an X-ray machine might arouse some suspicion. However, Continental’s superhero-like efforts didn’t stop there.

My bag was supposed to be on a later plane Saturday, and then delivered to my hotel. But the courier used by the airline is apparently also a vital part of the anti-terrorism forces. They were so careful to ensure the integrity of my luggage that it took 16 hours to deliver one bag from an airport located 20 minutes away. I guess they wanted to make sure my duffel bag wasn’t trying to incite other luggage into starting a jihad.

And when my bag finally arrived, all my clothes were present, as was my GPS and its power cord. But my Oakley sunglasses and their metal case were nowhere to be found. I suppose you can call them a casualty in the war against terror, but that would be disrespectful to those who are actually putting their lives on the line in the real war against terror. So let’s call my Oakleys what they really are: STOLEN.

Taking 16 hours to deliver a bag 20 minutes away, and then helping yourself to my sunglasses? I don’t know if an employee of Continental or the courier is now shielding his or her eyes from harmful ultraviolet rays on my dime, but I present two raised middle fingers to whoever the thief might be. And those were my favorite sunglasses, too. Bastards.

My strife over the big decision on my car is over. I picked up my trusty merlot-colored Accord Friday, and it looks absolutely beautiful.

I know it sounds cliché, but the car really looks like it just came out of a showroom, which isn’t easy to pull off with an 11-year-old vehicle.

The car’s running great (which has nothing whatsoever to do with the body work, but just saying), and replacing the tacky, horrendous gold trim with normal chrome trim did wonders for its appearance.

Another good result: I’m being extra careful with the car now. Seeing the car looking this good is incentive to keep it that way. I’ll never be one of those obsessive-compulsive people who springs out of his car with a cloth every time a drop of water hits it, but I’m really going to make an effort to keep my ride in tip-top shape.

Thanks to all who chimed in with advice. Viva la Honda!

Yes, I know, the Major League Baseball season started one month ago with the Boston Red Sox-Oakland Athletics series in Japan. And every other team has been playing for about three weeks. But to me, it’s not quite baseball season yet.

Depending on whether the Yankees open their season at home or on the road, there are either three or four stages that mark the beginning of baseball season.

If the Yankees open on the road, stage one is Opening Day and stage two is the home opener. If the Yankees open in the Bronx, stages one and two are one in the same.

The next stage is the first home game against Boston. It’s not really baseball season until the venom begins to flow. The Tampa Bay Rays just don’t elicit the same kind of emotions.

But the final stage, which I have yet to experience this season, is the first time I can go to a game in shorts. April baseball can be brutal weather-wise, and this April was no exception.

So I’m hoping that Thursday, May 1 at 7:05 p.m., when the Detroit Tigers visit Yankee Stadium, I will be in the House that Ruth Built, holding the cold beer that Miller brewed and wearing the shorts that Old Navy made. Then, and only then, will it be baseball season.

I’ve been heading into work at different times of the morning, largely due to a plethora of meetings. Because, after all, why accomplish anything productive when you can just sit in a conference room and talk about it?

I tend to go into work on the later side, after doing a little bit of work at home in the morning, but I’ve had to leave a little earlier for some of these meetings. And a theory I’ve had in my head for a while proved itself true again.

I’ll call my theory the Commuting Law of Diminishing Returns. Here’s how it works: If I leave for work in the range of 30-90 minutes earlier than usual, the amount of time I actually save — as in, the time I actually arrive in my office — is cut in half.

Translation: If I leave for work one hour earlier, I actually arrive in the office a half-hour earlier than I would have if I had left at my normal time.

Why is this? Simple: There are far more people on the train platform, on the train itself, leaving the train station, at the newsstand, at the deli, or just plain in the way.

The moral of the story: It’s more efficient to leave later. And whether this is absolutely true or not, I’m running with it.

I currently drive a 1997 Honda Accord with a little over 102,000 miles on it. After recently spending nearly $900 on the car last month due to an encounter with Pothole-Zilla, I’m on the verge of doing something even crazier.

I’ve had the car about six years and, as time has passed, I’m more and more convinced that it was in an accident of some sort and was repainted. What started out as a small sun spot on my roof spread like a virus. And the paint is starting to peel on other parts of the car.

The person who previously owned it clearly had no taste, as they had a chance to change the car’s color and elected not to do so. The previous owner clearly was not of the Caucasian persuasion, either, as the car is dark purple with gold trim. I, however, prefer to call it merlot.

Anyway, a body shop that I’ve brought cars to for years is closing at the end of the month, so I decided to bring my car in and let them have at it before they shuttered their doors.

Bottom line: I am about to spend $3,500 on an 11-year-old car with 102,000-plus miles on it. The plus side is that they do great work and it will look like it came out of a showroom. The minus side? Duh! $3,500!

Am I crazy for doing this? Part of my motivation is that with the way the car looked, I would have been lucky to get $500 for it on a trade-in. Now, at least, if I can get through one more year with it, I should be able to get something half-decent back. Plus, it would be nice for the ego to look like I have a newer car, even though it is what it is.

The car runs well and always has. However, as I said, it’s 11 years old, so performance will inevitably deteriorate, as will parts.

But I really can’t afford a new (and by “new,” I really mean “decent used”) car right now.

So I guess I’ll just keep my fingers crossed and hope I didn’t chase bad money, to steal an expression from the gambling world.

Although I’m a Yankees fan, I’ve taken advantage of the fact that there’s a second Major League (and I use that term loosely) team in the area and gone to quite a few Mets games in my lifetime. And now, finally, in the last year of the existence of Shea Stadium, I found the best seat in the house.

My friend Jesse is pictured enjoying the seat, with all of its perks. It’s 330 feet from home plate, six sections from the nearest men’s room, eight sections from the nearest beer stand and, best of all, you don’t have to watch the Mets!

I mean, what more could you ask for in a seat at Shea? Location, location, location!

Seriously, what in God’s name were they thinking when they put a seat there? Even when the Jets used to play at Shea, it’s not like they take the foul poles down when baseball season ends.

I forgot just how ugly Shea Stadium really is, and I’m not just saying that because I hate the Mets. Shea has two distinct advantages over Yankee Stadium. The field level at Shea is laid out so much better and is much more comfortable and friendly, with far better angles. And the food at Shea is edible — good, even — which has never been the case at Yankee Stadium. For a place many consider to be the temple of baseball, it’s sad that prisoners probably eat better than Yankee fans, and for a lot less money.

But field level aside, Shea is just an ugly, ugly building, inside and out. I know some Mets fans will miss it simply for the fact that it’s where they grew up, but the new ballpark, Citi Field, looks like it will be absolutely gorgeous.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a foul pole to sit behind.

One weekday in the early 1990s (way too senile to remember which season), one of my close friends and I decided to take in that night’s Yankees game. As any baseball fan reading this knows, the Yankees were pretty brutal in the early 1990s, so getting tickets wasn’t an issue. However, both of us were going to be pushing first-pitch time. So, rather than getting the tickets up at the Stadium, I went to the Yankees Clubhouse Store at lunchtime to fetch them.

Everyone has their preferences on where they like to sit for baseball games. My preference is behind home plate, no matter what level. I love being as close to home plate as I can, even if I’m in the nosebleeds. It’s especially helpful at Yankee Stadium, as the way the ballpark is built, if you sit down one of the lines, you lose your view of most of the corner of whatever side you’re sitting on (if you’re sitting by first base, you can’t see the right-field line).

So upon arriving at the Yankees Clubhouse Store, I asked for my usual: two as close to home plate as possible, any level. I usually ended up in the tier boxes or reserves, occasionally getting lucky enough to secure a main box.

Not on this night: “I have two in field box 5.” Field box 5 is on field level (duh), right behind home plate, and generally the dominion of corporate season-ticket holders, so I figured the guy at the ticket counter was pulling my chain. “Yeah, right, do I get to manage the team, too?” was my smart-assed reply.

However, he was actually serious. And even though $46 was a ton of money to shell out for a ballgame at that point in time, I took the plunge and bought them, and it was a great night. It was a lot of fun to be in seats that close. I’ve been to more than 1,000 games and rarely gotten that opportunity.

So why am I suddenly babbling about getting great seats to a game more than 10 years ago? Shut up and read, and I’ll tell you.

When I realized that the gloomy weather forecast for this past weekend was completely inaccurate, I briefly thought about going to Saturday’s game. I don’t have any weekend tickets, so I went online out of curiosity to see what was available. I didn’t think I’d find anyone to go with on such short notice, so I searched for one ticket, best available, again not expecting anything wonderful to pop up.

After going through the annoying Ticketmaster process of having to type in the two words that appear as an optical illusion, as well as the obligatory two-minute wait, anyone care to take a wild guess what seat popped up? If you said field box 5, you win the prize.

However, there was no repeat of the glorious excursion of several years ago. Why? The ticket would have cost me $325. Wow. Just wow. I mean, everyone knows costs have skyrocketed for sports tickets, but wow.

And Lord only knows what the equivalent of field box 5 will cost next year, when the Yankees move into their new ballpark across the street.

$325? Wow.

I’m a longtime New Jersey Nets fan, and I absolutely detest the New York Knicks. When the Knicks were a contender and the Nets were brutal, beating the Knicks felt like 10 wins. And even when the two teams’ fortunes were reversed, I still relished beating the Knicks, and they couldn’t possibly lose enough games for me.

Needless to say, as bad as the Nets’ season has been, I still look across the Hudson River and chuckle.

Unfortunately, the Knicks won three of the four games against the Nets this season, winning the season series for the first time since short-shorts and big Afros.

But I have a way for the Nets to get back at them.

The Knicks just hired Donnie Walsh from the Pacers to run their team. I have a better chance of coaching the Knicks next year than Isiah Thomas does, and the front-runner for the job appears to be Mark Jackson, former Knicks point guard and current Nets TV announcer.

Unless the Nets get him first.

I know people in the Nets’ organization love the current head coach, Lawrence Frank, and I can’t say I dislike him, but I’ve never been a fan of his substitution patterns. Plus, every time the Nets call a time out, I want to cry. If the Nets have the ball, the end result is usually a turnover or a horrible shot. If the opponent has possession, the end result is usually a dunk, a layup or a wide-open three-pointer.

Does Frank deserve to lose his job? Maybe, maybe not. But I’d gladly sacrifice his position to name Mark Jackson to the post and deprive the Knicks of his services.

Why do I want Mark Jackson to coach the Nets? I think he’s got a great basketball mind. He knows the game inside and out. He was a damn good point guard without having better physical skills or speed than most of his opponents. And, frankly (pun intended), I flat out like the guy and don’t want to see him end up in Madison Square Garden hell, where I have no choice but to root against him.

So, Rod Thorn, get moving on this: Letting Mark Jackson go to the Knicks would be a poor decision. In the words of Jackson himself, “You BETTER than that!”