617 Standing strong.
December 30, 2011. After 4 hours on the road from Stowe, Vermont, finally I've arived in Boston slightly before noon. Rainy morning and a few gaffes with the hotel as my family was checking in early. The day went by pretty good. Had a stumptous lunch at Legal Seafoods and walked around the Boston Common and Beacon Hill all the way to the Charles River overlooking MIT. After about four hours of walking around, my family decided to head in the direction of Boylston Street to shop, most vividly at City Sports on the 400 block and around Copley Square. Fast forward to dinnertime, we ended up at Max Brenners, situated within a block where both bombs went off. I don't know why but every major attack in the States occurs, I recall my experiences so vividly. And I go on an emotional rollercoaster hating myself for not treating my friends good enough, especially the handful who have stood by me during my darkest days and stood firm on being my friend, when I tried to throw them out, and cussed and hated at them. This makes me incredibly sad, tearing up and emailing a best friend that I love him and value him in my life last night.
And Max Brenner was where it all happened, where I felt touched by a friend on my birthday. Where I ate my first chocolate pizza for dinner. Yum. Walked back stuffed up and went to a liquor store on the same block to buy a beer to drink back in the hotel room.
December 31, 2011.
After visiting Harvard and the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, my family decided to walk across the Charles River bridge to Back Bay. Cloudy skies on new years eve, and the roads sparsely filled with tourists. Walked down all of Back Bay, and I could see Fenway Park from Berklee College of Music. Stumbled upon a fire station, went in and watched the firemen at their drill. Bought a tshirt from them as I thought it'd be neat to own an original fire station t-shirt. Walked further down to the Prudential Center, and my. It was huge. Quardruple the size of the Ion mall downtown in Singapore. Had ice cream at the food court, and the mall was closing early for New Year's eve at 5pm. By then, it was already dark outside and the crowds were starting to line the street for the parade. Floats and street performers made their way down the stretch of Boylston which had been closed off to traffic. My first New Year's eve NOT spent in an airport or in a plane going back to SGP and it felt so surreal.
Boylston will never be the same again.
Like a memory that you can't erase, it's here to stay.
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
Sunday, January 13, 2013
Waiting for death: the destitute low income elderly of SGP
Ghettos, destitutes of SGP's low income housing. The illiterate elderly. Race and ethnicity, the different forms of assimilation, stratification, social groups and urban space. Oh, the six sociology courses I studied in college finally comes alive. I not be talking about theories at all in this recount.
A short twenty minute car ride from downtown brings me to the outskirts of Singapore, in particular, a low income project where the ageing destitutes live. No cacophony of hustle and bustle sounds fill the area. A sense of eerie silence. Blocks of old communal houses which looked abandoned from its facade, have many holed up inside. Windows latched shut with decay, some of them showed signs of rusting, broken from perhaps domestic violence or anger. Think: Detroit's urban decay with the low income, illiterate elderly, destitutes, ex convicts and addicts all live under one roof, to each their own room. A little of the Bronx, in about ten blocks of communal housing clumped together.
Upon reaching the block where an ageing relative of mine lived, the smell of various commonly abused drugs such as ice, crack and pot combined with a pungent whiff of ammonia from whiz and sewage from piping which had not been maintained properly overwhelmed my senses. The housing units had their doors either shut or opened in full view- there were no children spotted on the first floor. No playground or facilities in the vicinity either. These smells combined together, spelled out one word: poverty. The cooridors so narrow and dim, with old lightbulbs hanging from the ceiling made me feel uncomfortable. Realization that I have been living the good life creeped up my spine.
Barely holding my breath with the overload of stench, I made it to the lift, which reeked of urine and blood stains on the floor. Using my knuckles to press the elevator button, I made it up to the seventh floor which Aunt K lived. The very moment I exited, I caught sight of a middle age burly man hastily walking away from the lift landing, throwing his cigarette on the floor and disappearing down the hallway. He appeared suspicious, and the first thought that came to my mind was: Addict, abuser, ex convict. The man had probably thought mom and I were law enforcers, perhaps. Without much hassle, we made it to Aunt K's doorstep. No doorbell to press, we knocked on the door repeatedly and mom speaking in dialect. She replied back, in a cautious tone, making sure from inside that it was really my mom and not a stranger, before unlocking three padlocks, then finally opening the door, inviting us in. She mustered up the strength, all eighty years in her, to carry over two wooden stools, its legs still wrapped in plastic covering- to let us sit on.
The moment I first glanced at Aunt K's home, the paint was fading and the walls turning pale brown from dampness. Her house was the size of a king sized bed plus a bathroom cubicle in your downtown mall. The tiles had a cloud of dust on them, my feet coated in grey. Amazingly enough, Aunt K's kitchen was barely existent with a portable stove and refrigerator, resembling what NFL/college football fans bring to tailgating parties before the game. She was a hoarder, the house cluttered with tons of plastic bags, old shoes, old metal biscuit tins and disposable cutlery from purchased takeout given the welfare workers I presume. Mom handed her a box of herbal tonic and raw fish, deboned and Aunt K showed her gratitude by shaking my mom's hand and repeatedly saying thank you. As I could barely speak the Chinese dialect, my mom did all the talking-- and ever so often, I offered my sentiments in Mandarin which Aunt K could comprehend.
From the twenty minute conversation with Aunt K, she was one of the better, well looked after ageing residents in the block due to her nephew introducing her to a church that looked after him for awhile after he was released from prison. (Backstory in short: Her nephew, who is my mom's cousin has been a drug addict and been in jail all his life. However, during a few years of his release sometime in the early 2000s, he managed to convince his Aunt to attend church and believe in god.) I am not religious but silently feel pleased to know that Aunt K does not have to worry about when her next meal would be, and fork out a single cent for rent and utilities and medical care. Unlike most of the residents in her block who often go without food, she has social workers from the church she attends who pay her a visit about three times a week, bringing her groceries and help her to tidy up the house, keeping her company. In addition, they accompany her on her scheduled trips to the hospital. Speaking of the hospital, I noticed boxes of medication on the plastic table beside her bed, which she has been ordered to take for her various health ailments that come with ageing. A closer look brought my eyes to see that she was taking Bayer Asprin and glucose tablets. Generic indeed, but when your medical care is paid for by the church, on the cheapest plan, this is what you get. (Aunt K did not have pension when she worked as a cleaner back in the day, unmarried and has no family in touch with her over the years since her older sister passed away in 2006 from diabetes. Her older sister's family left her to fend for herself as she was of no use, they claimed.)
The authorities come ever so often to cut off utility supply to the units whose residents are unable to pay the bills. Sometimes the elderly die in their flat without anyone knowing and it can go undetected for days until the stench is unbearable and a neighbor/resident calls for assistance. There is no resident center for the elderly in the vicinity. Unwillingly, she slowly, but hesitantly says there has been a few suicide case in the block she lives at, which yet again, involve the drug addicts- either because they have run dry of money for drugs, or renegade from the authorities during a crackdown, attempting to jump off the parapet to ground level from storeys above.
Aunt K explains that the residential population in her block does not comprise of children, and a vast majority of the residents stay by themselves. They range from their mid forties to as old as ninety years of age and are mostly illiterate and never made it past elementary school. Aunt K never went to school either but is able to read Mandarin. She is unable to speak English.
When asked about the cops, in a hushed tone, she speaks of the frequent police sirens blaring through, and hustling and screams fill the air, similar to an action scene on tv. The police make unannounced checks on offenders and most of the time, it ends up with the dweller being led away in handcuffs, sometimes never seen again. Aunt K seems unfazed by the drama that occurs and whenever she leaves the house, she takes extra precaution by leaving home in daylight hours and turns on the radio as a decoy that she is home, just incase crime might happen. So far, in the years that she has lived there, she has yet to face any injustice or harm. Aunt K does not interact with any of the residents due to the nature of her situtation. Her days are filled with reading the bible, listening to the radio and doing basic reflexology exercises, visitations to the hospital- accompanied by the social workers from church and doing anything to pass her time. She is content with what she has in her twilight years, having a roof over her head and meals everyday, and the simple pleasures of hearing podcasts on the radio.
As my mom had an appointment, we had to make a move, with Aunt K nodding in sadness, her eyes drooping- a stark contrast to the sparkle back when we had arrived half an hour earlier. We slowly bid her goodbye, she tells us to be safe on our way out, as she painstakingly removes the padlocks and opens the door again. This time, the smell overload does not bother me as much, with a sociology lesson in my head, as I try to decompress what I have just learned and heard. We walk back to the car, parked a few streets away in a middle income neighborhood, my guard slightly let loose.
A short twenty minute car ride from downtown brings me to the outskirts of Singapore, in particular, a low income project where the ageing destitutes live. No cacophony of hustle and bustle sounds fill the area. A sense of eerie silence. Blocks of old communal houses which looked abandoned from its facade, have many holed up inside. Windows latched shut with decay, some of them showed signs of rusting, broken from perhaps domestic violence or anger. Think: Detroit's urban decay with the low income, illiterate elderly, destitutes, ex convicts and addicts all live under one roof, to each their own room. A little of the Bronx, in about ten blocks of communal housing clumped together.
Upon reaching the block where an ageing relative of mine lived, the smell of various commonly abused drugs such as ice, crack and pot combined with a pungent whiff of ammonia from whiz and sewage from piping which had not been maintained properly overwhelmed my senses. The housing units had their doors either shut or opened in full view- there were no children spotted on the first floor. No playground or facilities in the vicinity either. These smells combined together, spelled out one word: poverty. The cooridors so narrow and dim, with old lightbulbs hanging from the ceiling made me feel uncomfortable. Realization that I have been living the good life creeped up my spine.
Barely holding my breath with the overload of stench, I made it to the lift, which reeked of urine and blood stains on the floor. Using my knuckles to press the elevator button, I made it up to the seventh floor which Aunt K lived. The very moment I exited, I caught sight of a middle age burly man hastily walking away from the lift landing, throwing his cigarette on the floor and disappearing down the hallway. He appeared suspicious, and the first thought that came to my mind was: Addict, abuser, ex convict. The man had probably thought mom and I were law enforcers, perhaps. Without much hassle, we made it to Aunt K's doorstep. No doorbell to press, we knocked on the door repeatedly and mom speaking in dialect. She replied back, in a cautious tone, making sure from inside that it was really my mom and not a stranger, before unlocking three padlocks, then finally opening the door, inviting us in. She mustered up the strength, all eighty years in her, to carry over two wooden stools, its legs still wrapped in plastic covering- to let us sit on.
The moment I first glanced at Aunt K's home, the paint was fading and the walls turning pale brown from dampness. Her house was the size of a king sized bed plus a bathroom cubicle in your downtown mall. The tiles had a cloud of dust on them, my feet coated in grey. Amazingly enough, Aunt K's kitchen was barely existent with a portable stove and refrigerator, resembling what NFL/college football fans bring to tailgating parties before the game. She was a hoarder, the house cluttered with tons of plastic bags, old shoes, old metal biscuit tins and disposable cutlery from purchased takeout given the welfare workers I presume. Mom handed her a box of herbal tonic and raw fish, deboned and Aunt K showed her gratitude by shaking my mom's hand and repeatedly saying thank you. As I could barely speak the Chinese dialect, my mom did all the talking-- and ever so often, I offered my sentiments in Mandarin which Aunt K could comprehend.
From the twenty minute conversation with Aunt K, she was one of the better, well looked after ageing residents in the block due to her nephew introducing her to a church that looked after him for awhile after he was released from prison. (Backstory in short: Her nephew, who is my mom's cousin has been a drug addict and been in jail all his life. However, during a few years of his release sometime in the early 2000s, he managed to convince his Aunt to attend church and believe in god.) I am not religious but silently feel pleased to know that Aunt K does not have to worry about when her next meal would be, and fork out a single cent for rent and utilities and medical care. Unlike most of the residents in her block who often go without food, she has social workers from the church she attends who pay her a visit about three times a week, bringing her groceries and help her to tidy up the house, keeping her company. In addition, they accompany her on her scheduled trips to the hospital. Speaking of the hospital, I noticed boxes of medication on the plastic table beside her bed, which she has been ordered to take for her various health ailments that come with ageing. A closer look brought my eyes to see that she was taking Bayer Asprin and glucose tablets. Generic indeed, but when your medical care is paid for by the church, on the cheapest plan, this is what you get. (Aunt K did not have pension when she worked as a cleaner back in the day, unmarried and has no family in touch with her over the years since her older sister passed away in 2006 from diabetes. Her older sister's family left her to fend for herself as she was of no use, they claimed.)
The authorities come ever so often to cut off utility supply to the units whose residents are unable to pay the bills. Sometimes the elderly die in their flat without anyone knowing and it can go undetected for days until the stench is unbearable and a neighbor/resident calls for assistance. There is no resident center for the elderly in the vicinity. Unwillingly, she slowly, but hesitantly says there has been a few suicide case in the block she lives at, which yet again, involve the drug addicts- either because they have run dry of money for drugs, or renegade from the authorities during a crackdown, attempting to jump off the parapet to ground level from storeys above.
Aunt K explains that the residential population in her block does not comprise of children, and a vast majority of the residents stay by themselves. They range from their mid forties to as old as ninety years of age and are mostly illiterate and never made it past elementary school. Aunt K never went to school either but is able to read Mandarin. She is unable to speak English.
When asked about the cops, in a hushed tone, she speaks of the frequent police sirens blaring through, and hustling and screams fill the air, similar to an action scene on tv. The police make unannounced checks on offenders and most of the time, it ends up with the dweller being led away in handcuffs, sometimes never seen again. Aunt K seems unfazed by the drama that occurs and whenever she leaves the house, she takes extra precaution by leaving home in daylight hours and turns on the radio as a decoy that she is home, just incase crime might happen. So far, in the years that she has lived there, she has yet to face any injustice or harm. Aunt K does not interact with any of the residents due to the nature of her situtation. Her days are filled with reading the bible, listening to the radio and doing basic reflexology exercises, visitations to the hospital- accompanied by the social workers from church and doing anything to pass her time. She is content with what she has in her twilight years, having a roof over her head and meals everyday, and the simple pleasures of hearing podcasts on the radio.
As my mom had an appointment, we had to make a move, with Aunt K nodding in sadness, her eyes drooping- a stark contrast to the sparkle back when we had arrived half an hour earlier. We slowly bid her goodbye, she tells us to be safe on our way out, as she painstakingly removes the padlocks and opens the door again. This time, the smell overload does not bother me as much, with a sociology lesson in my head, as I try to decompress what I have just learned and heard. We walk back to the car, parked a few streets away in a middle income neighborhood, my guard slightly let loose.
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
Scammed in Hanoi
If I wanted to count the number of every single person who has fallen prey to scam in Hanoi, I certainly would not be able to keep track. This unfortunate mishap happens to the innocent, at the expense of the locals who disregard and have thrown dignity and morals and conscience and image out the window, into one of the many lakes and rivers in the city. As much as I understand they are trying or have to make a living to feed themselves and their families, doing so at the expense of the harmless who have not offended or done any wrong to them, the dark side of humans have been exposed.
Digressing, why does one scam? Greed drives people to dishonesty and using unscrupulous means to churn out the dollars. Unethical and distasteful. In some cases, the "scammer" might not actually want to scam or swindle a foreigner of their cash, but he could be working for a syndicate or someone who takes a huge cut of the amount he has successfully conned from the victim. He could face punishment in the form of getting beaten up if he is unable to earn a certain amount everyday thus he commits that act, although clearly aware that it is not the right thing to do. Deceit to earn more cash to feel satisfied, overcharging so you can go home early? The reasons for why people cheat and commit fraud are never ending.
From reading a good 20-30 articles about scams, and the dangers of it, some authors claim that the swindlers, when told off by them responded that it was their job, some feigned innocence and the rest of the con artists became aggressive. Whatever you call them-- con artists, fleecers, hustlers or fraudsters, they project and shed a negative image on a country, on the contrary to image and face being extremely important in Asian culture. Being poor does not give you the liberty to commit these acts!
I fell prey to various scams in a day, and actually genuinely felt touched for a moment shedding a little tear (but quickly retracted when I knew I was in for a ride that never ended.) Befriending the staff in a food and beverage establishment the moment someone asked me "are you alone here, is this your first time?" and foolishly letting my guard down and speaking the truth. Then I took a gamble and ate street food, within half an hour of consuming it, the food poisoning had started-- stomach upset. Tried to hold it down and went back-- promising that I would be back after I wanted to try a local delicacy. I was still swayed and falling even further into the trap of the scammers and allowed them to introduce me to more crooks. Oh, "never talk to strangers", that infamous line your parents tell you at nursery age, it certainly did not come to my mind. Oh, beware of any local who is overly friendly and excited to help a sick foreigner! What happened after that was a total nightmare.
Getting double whammy-scammed by taxi drivers overcharging with a local who had accompanied me who pretends that she had made sure my fare was correct, then when I hand over a bill, she says it's not enough and I need to give more. Visiting a run down and undeveloped hospitals whose staff spoke not a single word of english, translated from the overly friendly local: I was being told that I needed an IV and to be warded overnight. Despite saying I did not as I knew my food poisoning would probably go away and all I needed was charcoal tablets, they insisted. And so, I was made to pay the consultation fees at the hospital without any medication, feeling worse. The cycle repeated itself twice, with taxi drivers and hospital staff. Finally at a hospital which had an English speaking "senior nurse", she told me I had salmonella and a bacterial infection that I would need pumping and flushing in my body and stay overnight but I could not pay for it since I had no insurance, and her voice still makes me scared and freeze in fear. Yet again, getting overcharged and nothing happening.
In short, I was taken from place to place to lighten the cash I had brought to spend on vacation. The overly friendly local then suggests that I should change my ticket to go home earlier, and yet again, I was taken for a ride. Made it to the ticket office, and more cash evaporated when there was no need to-- in fear that I might die from this food poisoning. All in all, I should not have told them the truth about needing a pharmacy-- which had them jumping at the thought of "Time to phish and make some money!" Every single person that I encountered said they did not know what charcoal tablets are-- when it is the most common form of food poisoning/stomach trouble medication, the red flags should have been waving in my face, but sadly no. Sickness and panic exposes your vulnerability writes "target" all over you.
Where was the spirit of humanity when it was painfully clear from your looks that you were sick?
Moral of this incident: never tell strangers the truth, and if you're a single woman traveling, always say you are married/ the boyfriend/husband is back at the hotel or out shopping/you will meet him in awhile. Also, buy travel insurance shall you really require medical attention, and do not forget to bring full supplies of pills when going to a less developed nation!
Digressing, why does one scam? Greed drives people to dishonesty and using unscrupulous means to churn out the dollars. Unethical and distasteful. In some cases, the "scammer" might not actually want to scam or swindle a foreigner of their cash, but he could be working for a syndicate or someone who takes a huge cut of the amount he has successfully conned from the victim. He could face punishment in the form of getting beaten up if he is unable to earn a certain amount everyday thus he commits that act, although clearly aware that it is not the right thing to do. Deceit to earn more cash to feel satisfied, overcharging so you can go home early? The reasons for why people cheat and commit fraud are never ending.
From reading a good 20-30 articles about scams, and the dangers of it, some authors claim that the swindlers, when told off by them responded that it was their job, some feigned innocence and the rest of the con artists became aggressive. Whatever you call them-- con artists, fleecers, hustlers or fraudsters, they project and shed a negative image on a country, on the contrary to image and face being extremely important in Asian culture. Being poor does not give you the liberty to commit these acts!
I fell prey to various scams in a day, and actually genuinely felt touched for a moment shedding a little tear (but quickly retracted when I knew I was in for a ride that never ended.) Befriending the staff in a food and beverage establishment the moment someone asked me "are you alone here, is this your first time?" and foolishly letting my guard down and speaking the truth. Then I took a gamble and ate street food, within half an hour of consuming it, the food poisoning had started-- stomach upset. Tried to hold it down and went back-- promising that I would be back after I wanted to try a local delicacy. I was still swayed and falling even further into the trap of the scammers and allowed them to introduce me to more crooks. Oh, "never talk to strangers", that infamous line your parents tell you at nursery age, it certainly did not come to my mind. Oh, beware of any local who is overly friendly and excited to help a sick foreigner! What happened after that was a total nightmare.
Getting double whammy-scammed by taxi drivers overcharging with a local who had accompanied me who pretends that she had made sure my fare was correct, then when I hand over a bill, she says it's not enough and I need to give more. Visiting a run down and undeveloped hospitals whose staff spoke not a single word of english, translated from the overly friendly local: I was being told that I needed an IV and to be warded overnight. Despite saying I did not as I knew my food poisoning would probably go away and all I needed was charcoal tablets, they insisted. And so, I was made to pay the consultation fees at the hospital without any medication, feeling worse. The cycle repeated itself twice, with taxi drivers and hospital staff. Finally at a hospital which had an English speaking "senior nurse", she told me I had salmonella and a bacterial infection that I would need pumping and flushing in my body and stay overnight but I could not pay for it since I had no insurance, and her voice still makes me scared and freeze in fear. Yet again, getting overcharged and nothing happening.
In short, I was taken from place to place to lighten the cash I had brought to spend on vacation. The overly friendly local then suggests that I should change my ticket to go home earlier, and yet again, I was taken for a ride. Made it to the ticket office, and more cash evaporated when there was no need to-- in fear that I might die from this food poisoning. All in all, I should not have told them the truth about needing a pharmacy-- which had them jumping at the thought of "Time to phish and make some money!" Every single person that I encountered said they did not know what charcoal tablets are-- when it is the most common form of food poisoning/stomach trouble medication, the red flags should have been waving in my face, but sadly no. Sickness and panic exposes your vulnerability writes "target" all over you.
Where was the spirit of humanity when it was painfully clear from your looks that you were sick?
Moral of this incident: never tell strangers the truth, and if you're a single woman traveling, always say you are married/ the boyfriend/husband is back at the hotel or out shopping/you will meet him in awhile. Also, buy travel insurance shall you really require medical attention, and do not forget to bring full supplies of pills when going to a less developed nation!
Thursday, January 3, 2013
Challenge: Tell me the story of my life
Credits to http://www.jabizraisdana.com/blog/tell-me-the-story-of-my-life/ , this challenge would fittingly be my first post of 2013 on this (mostly sports related) blog.
My version, using Jabiz's photos:
Mid January- end April looked mostly like this:
Final semester as an undergraduate. One year later, I miss what seemed like endless nights of cramming. Being jobless and gypsy teaching isn't very much fun when I want to explore the world/visit Bangkok to meet my lovely friends (Billy, Pete, Gob, Pennee etc) for intercultural chat sessions.
The first thing that comes to my mind would be looking out of the Esplanade Library of Singapore. Some evenings spent there getting absolutely lost in the music collection(while failing miserably at associating theories from race and ethnicity)
Somewhere only (I) know, where dreaming big and being a child is the best thing ever, not having to worry how to feed yourself financially. Is my future prince waiting for me in the castle grounds? Passed by Universal Studios on the way to the beach for a much needed bike ride, two days after I quit my desk job that certainly wasn't made for me.
This might not be 2012 material, but it sure does bring back memories of public relations class: Creating a (fake) website site rebranding a franchise/brand and press kit in Singapore. This was one of the many assignments given, and only a week to do it. Here are the links: https://twitter.com/VivaVurg http://www.facebook.com/people/Viva-Vurg/100002637145710#!/pages/VivaVurg/123689841056584?sk=info http://nnchalnt.wix.com/vivavurg ((NOTE: Everything is fake in its entirety and was done for a graded assignment, which yes, I passed and got a B+))
Days in between gypsy teaching and interviews were mostly spent like that. (End September- mid December.) In 2012, I fell in love with A Million Little Pieces by James Frey, Triumph of the City by Edward Glasser, The Secret Olympian... and many more books to name a few.
Born and raised in S-G-P!
Live everyday to the best and your life will be a celebration. I clearly should have applied this to my life last year with too much anger consuming me and losing friends, memories and failing to see the beauty of my surroundings.
Coming up in the next post would be my version of the story of my life in 2012.
Saturday, December 15, 2012
Blog title change!
Changed the title of the blog from This is love, this is life to Jabberjaw in Singers. With due credit to Pat, my long distance best friend. It's all good in the hood with him now. :)
It's been a month...
Writing this from my bed at the Citadines in Bangkok (third time in Bangers this year, 7th overall since 2007), one big fish after another for the Anaheim Angels. Two Rangers signed to multimillion dollar deals in consecutive years (CJ Wilson signed last year) plus Albert Pujols. Arte Moreno sure does have hidden wads of million dollar bills deep inside his pocket. By not resigning the ageing Tori Hunter, and going after a division rival free agent, lets see if this move pays off. Josh Hamilton was signed to a 5 year contract approximately the same amount that Pujols is making per season. Last year the Oakland A's leapfrogged everyone by surprise and made it to the ALDS before losing in five games to Detroit. Would the team that makes the biggest splash in free agency win the World Series next year? We shall see. The Yankees who have the highest payroll have only won it twice in the past decade, at the opening and closing, in 2000 and 2009. Many questions await, how would Josh Hamilton assimilate into Los Angeles where the drug dealers a'plenty and the girls around? Would he have a relapse? The lineup of Mike Trout, Albert Pujols and Josh Hamilton, if they were to go anywhere in the 3-4-5 batting order sure does spell NIGHTMARE for every pitcher, especially when they are on a red hot hitting streak.
Josh Hamilton has been an inspiration to me, for years following his trail to stardom in the major leagues. He took the road less traveled going off track with drugs and alcohol abuse but eventually made it to an everyday player and voted to start in the All Star game and winning league MVP which solidified his remarkable achievements. Not many people can overcome these obstacles and become ultimately successful, but Hamilton has beat all the odds, shut the naysayers up. All that is missing from his storied resume is that elusive World Series title to his name, which he came up short, twice. In 2010 losing to the San Francisco Giants in 5 games, and last year in a heartbreaking 7 games to the Cinderella St Louis Cardinals.
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