AGAIN!? To the fricking WHITE SOX?
Okay. So. Um. It’s always frustrating. You know. To play THIS BADLY against a team THIS SUCKY.
It felt horrible with the fricking Orioles.
It felt horrible with the fricking Rays.
It feels HORRIBLE with the fricking Sox.
Maybe the baseball gods are confused about their colors.
THAT IS NOT RED, BASEBALL GODS.
What is red? My anger. Coursing. Through. My veins.
So, I can’t actually watch this game, thanks to the wonderful world of journalism, but I can for the next ten minutes. Ohmyfrickinggod.
While I’m working tonight, could ONE of you do something?
Seriously? When I tell you to hit the damn ball, I’m not telling you to give it a fricking high five. I am telling you to knock it out of the fricking park.
Now that we have that clarification…
I’m too angry to watch this. I am going to spend my break watching the Bachelorette.
Okay. Not really. But I AM TEMPTED.
I better come back to this and see some mad rallying. OR ELSE.
How many times have we had to fall in love all over again?
It’s like that. We say we hate them.
Like this: I HATE YOU, RED SOX.
And we come back. And they KNOW it. That’s why they do this to us, FDA. And we let them. Because, like a battered wife, we keep coming back.
So, I HATE YOU, RED SOX (not you, Jason Varitek).
But… sigh… tomorrow I’ll be back…
THIS is why Israel doesn’t give in to terrorist threats, people.
God help me.
God help us all.
Wait… what’s that? 6-10? A score? A score during my rant? What?
Dare I… is that… could it be… hope?! Don’t do this to me Soxies. Don’t do this… do it quick… do it quickly…
Oh… cruel, cruel hope…
A DOUBLE?! Sutton? OHMYGOD. Run faster! Oh… we could do this? We could do this! 2 outs, baby. 10-7. Oh… daring to dream… this is really going to hurt, isn’t it?
Oh God… please… whatever happens… make it quick…
10 p.m. … Gonz. Please?
No. No. Noooooo.
Damn it. I hate you ALL.
10:03 p.m. My feelings can best be expressed by Bonnie Rait. And this bottle of Keystone Light. Which doubles in my apartment as a microphone AND a tasty treat. But you can’t see me dancing on my couch right now, so you’ll have to use your imagination. And in your imagination, my voice should sound EXACTLY like this. Oh. And my hair too. I could totally pull this off.
Have a heart, Tito… And I will have another microphone. Um. Beer.
And, while I’m Youtube ranting…
You! Alfredo Aceves! That’s right! I’m talking to YOU, FREDO.
You. Broke. My. Heart.
And YOU, Carl Crawford. I. Thought. We. Were. Friends.
I can’t even look at you.
KEYSTONE LIGHT IS DISGUSTING.
10:15. Papi. I don’t know what we would do without you. Don’t ever go away.
I hate you, Aceves.
Keystone Light is so cheap. This cost me like eight dollars.
It’s like you poison my coffee a little each day.
That’s from a song.
It’s from this song.
I am too mad too sleep. And too incoherent from a 15 hour day to make sense.
This is YOUR fault, John Lackey.
I mean. Um.
Okay. I’m going to sleep.
You know what I like about Keystone Light?
It has like, absolutely no taste. It’s crisp. You know? Like Miller Lite? And it is like $8 or something.
Hah. YOU’RE ANOTHER STINKER.
I didn’t mean that.
The Yankees! The Yankees could lose! And then we would be tied.
And another thing.
Bottom of the first. 2-0. Really, Athletics? WHY ARE YOU THIS BAD?
I can’t. I can’t watch this.
I need more Keystone Light.
I am going to make a can pyramid. My new apartment needs artwork.
10:27. If the Bruins do not win tomorrow I will:
2. write a fionaappleesque song about how much i hate hockey.
4. swear off sports and do something girly. like watch the bachelorette.
6. throw a temper tantrum that includes the destruction of that record player i have that does not work but does take up space.
7. drink keystone light.
8. write letters to timmy in an accusatory tone.
10. torment everyone in my neighborhood with my cathartic parking lot scream ritual.
11. tear up this pillow.
I am on the Yankees site checking their score obsessively- and look at this little gem about A-roid’s overratedness.
It is 2-1. Stankees. By the way.
Hmph. SOMEONE just said that I should stop “drunken blogging.” That I’m “better than that.”
I am TIPSY blogging, thank you.
And, no I am not!
But I am sleepy.
Stupid Yankees. Someone stay up and tell me if they lose!
It could be worse.
And, curses! It WILL BE.
That’s right. Everyone’s worst gamble, Bobby Jenks, has SOMEHOW finagled a return today. With our history of keeping irritating players around FOREVER (ahem, Lugo, ahem), this should surprise no one.
Now, if this had happened yesterday, we would have said, “drat, but at least we’re in first with a cushion.”
Today, however, there is no cushion. Not even the threadbare straw kind. Today, you see, we’re tied. Again. With the damn Yankees.
So… Bobby. Oh, Bobby. Your goatee looks nice today and doesn’t make you look like a prick at all…
Will flattery work on you?
Screw up and I will… I will… I will do something. Something tantrumy.
Am I just being too negative? Maybe I’m just being too negative. I mean, remember that one time I was negative and then John Slackey actually pulled one out? You know, before returning to miserable, miserable mediocrity?
I mean, this negativity isn’t helping anyone.
So, Bobby. Bobby Jenks. Let’s take another look at you. A fresh perspective. An unbiased look at-
No, no, no. Looks aren’t everything. It’s about the game. And hey, here’s an article where the White Sox aren’t exactly happy to see their old teammate. That’s got to be a good sign, right? Fearing the return of a power player…
Oh. It looks like he just annoyed them so much they don’t want to see him again.
Hard to figure.
Well, there’s always Wednesday.
Thoughts? Am I just paranoid? Or is Jenks the time bomb I think he is? We’ll find out…
See, this is a special game for a North Carolina Red Sox fan. Well, a Charlotte-area North Carolina Red Sox fan. Well, for me.
Because when the White Sox were testing out Peavy, they tested him out in Fort Mill with the Charlotte Knights. And I was there. And it was awesome.
Many of you know my turncoat status when it comes to triple A. Lived in Charlotte. Needed baseball. Knights (a White Sox affiliate) gave me my fix.
Wore a Knights hat. Drank cheap Knights beer. Snuck in cheap food. You know. Like a real fan.
But… when the Paw Sox came to town… wore my real sox gear, hung out with my real sox friends and shunned the Knights, their fans, their merchandise and their foam fingers (did not shun their beer).
So, even though I cheated on the home team every chance I got, I still have a special place in my soul for the White Sox. You know, in honor of those two years I spent in Charlotte and the baseball comfort they brought me on those thirsty, thirsty Thursdays.
Now that I’ve poured my soul out to you, there’s one last thing to say.
Pulverize ‘em, Lester!
Silly White Sox thinking they can pink up our lineup. Get it? Because white and red makes…
Yeah… still recovering from the dresser fiasco. I have a bruise. It’s dramatic and stuff.
PS- Most hilarious baseball related blather of the day? Click here to read about why Tampa Bay had to issue a weekend apology to its fans…
Not yet. One game… victory. And a sweet Papi-esque stomp at that. Exactly what I was in the mood for.
But this game?
Blah. Who does this Verlander guy think he is? Verlander kind of sounds like Highlander. There can be only one.
It will be Beckett. Right, guys? Now, I’m just tuning in, (officially 100 percent moved! huzzah! but my back and brain hurt) so I’m not altogether clear on the drama…
But 4 hits to our 2? 2 runs to our… none? What’s going on, guys?
And Detroit… you’re starting to play. Did the rain give you super powers? Was it like, radioactive rain? Like the kind of rain that turns geeks like Peter Parker into spiderman?
Oh. That was a spider bite. It says so here on wikipedia.
But I’m sure there was a super hero in comic book world that got that way from acid rain.
Thanks, Google. But that is not what I meant….
Maybe it was Captain Planet.
Ohmygod I loved that show.
Josh Beckett could so be Captain Planet. You know. If Josh Beckett was green and relied on magical electricity from jewelry.
Josh Beckett. He’s our hero. He’s going to take Detroit down to zero…
This beer feels great. Like, really great.
Like, Lauren’s body was melting away like… like… acid rain? And this beer put her together again.
So, I lifted this gigantic dresser up my stairs today. I need to take a picture of these stairs and show you. Even someone with amazing shoulder muscles like Kevin Youkilis would have trouble He-manning these stairs.
I had help. An editor at my paper and I broke my wall (kind of), our faces (almost) and our dignity to get this thing up a narrow, narrow staircase, through a loft and into a bedroom.
It was dramatic.
See, Beckett, if I could do that, you could win this game for us.
When I have the strength to push a button on a camera, I will totally show you.
Speaking of strength, this beer is strong.
It’s mocha stout from Highland Brewing Company! <- A North Carolina brewer.
This Verlander guy is smarmy. Can’t you tell? He has a swagger. Swaggers are stupid. He should drink a highlander. It would help with his swagger. Then he would be Verlander. With a Highlander. Working on his swagger.
I am going to walk my puppy. Drink another beer. And splash cold water on my face like eight times.
I. Will. Be. Back. It is 9:46. Please do not let them do anything dumb.
10:19. Painful… Where is our offense? Maybe they moved dressers today too. I hear it takes a lot out of you…
Thanks to the wet stuff, we’ve got a double header with Buchholz and Beckett at the mound, respectively.
But hey, we also got a rest day. Kind of.
A wet, icky rest day. A much well deserved wet, icky rest day.
And the Stankees? They got another loss to Seattle, Lauren’s new most favorite non-Red Sox, non-Marlins team.
So Red Sox, today I’m going to ask you to play your socks off. Don’t do it for me. Do it for Seattle. And the stankcrushing they have done for you.
Ahhhhhhh… ALE. It’s lonely at the top… but someone’s got to be up here. Nice view, though. I think I can see Cleveland…
We meet this Verlander guy we keep hearing so much about today… I hear he’s okay.
And… oh no… oh no… Jenks could be… back soon…
PS- Super important decision to make. How exactly should I vandalize Jeff-the-Tigers-fan’s cubicle Monday? I was thinking real brooms, but I don’t know if that’s dramatic enough. I might paper his desk in pictures of brooms. I don’t know. But I feel like my conscience is telling me it should involve brooms…
Oh! And Bard has an excuse for sucking lately! (kinda) Wait, when was that sucky game? So, spread the word if you’re in the DC area.
And, by the way, as of 10 a.m., our 4-streak is tied with Arizona as the number one streak in baseball…
Oh, Seattle, you beacon of hope…
FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS NOT APRIL, 2011, CLICK HERE, PEOPLE. CLICK HERE!
Bask in our first placeness.
Damnit! Someone show me how to save a screenshot on a Mac computer!
It’s a proud time to wear a B on your hat, people.
I just love you, Seattle. And Ichiro, for like, a whole minutes, I think I was in love with you.
Our story would have been a little like this:
Adorable, but it never would have worked out, Ichiro. Alas. We are too different, you and I.
Red Sox and Mariners. No. These things never work out, Ichiro. But, my love, we’ll always have Paris…
And the Sox increase their win streak to 4.
Now, at 11:42… there’s only one thing left to say.
(Even thought your moose mascot is dumb)
You have… um… a pretty stadium…