So my internet wife, the classy, knowledgeable and handsomely bespectacled Amalie Benjamin is leaving the Red Sox beat, moving on to new challenges at the Globe. Challenges that will apparently no longer involve sleeping in a hotel room in Kansas City, knowing that DeMarlo Hale could be just a couple floors above you, and very likely naked.
I hope this doesn’t mean she’ll also be leaving her spot on the NESN pre-game. Because if there’s one thing in this wretched, Wayans-Brothers-tainted world that gives me any sense of hope, it’s the fact that Heidi Watney and Amalie are going to be on my TV screen every summer night after dinner. And, later, in my mind, engaging in the world’s most awesome popsicle eating contest.
But beyond all my glasses-and librarian-fetish comments, my respect for The Benj runs deep. God knows I’ve given her enough material here to have me deported or at the very least legally forbidden within 50 miles of her exquisitely-crafted derriere. But she’s always responded to my e-mails. Gave us a couple shout-outs in her columns. And even kinda-sorta waved at me when I saw her at the Hot Stove Cool Music show last January. Either that or she was reaching for her mace.
I guess what I wanted to say was thanks, Amalie, for basically growing up before our eyes. From a fresh-faced, twenty-something newbie to a respected, trusted source for Red Sox news and insight. And bonus points for never being caught in a late-night tequila-fueled tryst with Julian Tavarez.
Oh, and congrats on your impending nuptuals. But if you ever crave a last-minute fling with a pasty blogger type… I know a guy.