The great sandwich smacking of 2011.
That was horrible. We were just sandwich smacked. WE BARELY GOT OUT ALIVE.
It was an exploding, rotten sandwich, with icky mayonnaise sauce, coming out from everywhere like lava. This game was a mayonnaise sandwich of ultimate catastrophe.
My feelings can best be expressed through the following clip from the classic 1976 movie “Network,” starring Faye Dunnaway, William Holden and Peter Finch.
And YES. You have to watch the WHOLE THING.
If you want to see the play-by-play torture, scroll down for drunken ramblings. In the meantime, DO WHAT THE VIDEO CLIP SAYS.
LET’S GET MAD, PEOPLE! I am a human being! My life has value!
Get up out of your chairs. Get to the window. Open it. Stick your head out and yell, “I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take this anymore!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
I CAN’T HEAR YOU! And if I can’t hear you, HOW IS TITO GOING TO HEAR YOU????
PS- Tomorrow we start a new campaign. PUT LACKEY ON THE DL. Because I can’t take this tomorrow too.
Conclusions I have drawn from this game? The Red Sox are afraid of the letter “P.”
PS- You KNOW you are in trouble when Beckett is on the “what went wrong” list and BOBBY JENKS is on the “what went right” list. God help us all.
New bar. Get here 6th inning.
Yeah. I saw that.
All of that.
Why Josh? Why?
Adding to my frustration, sandwich game is on a television that is smaller than my computer. It takes me 20 minutes (and I COUNT) to get one of the 12+ big people televisions on the game. They are watching the Florida-South Carolina game. ON EVERY TELEVISION. Really? REALLY????
So, by the time I get my computer out to fake work and really blog- it’s the bottom of the 7th. I cannot talk about the evils that I saw in the 6th. No. I cannot.
And now this Morales guy is stressing me the frick out.
So, new bar. Closer to where I live. Farther from Boone. I think I’m in… *gasp* local territory.
Clearly, I am the only one in here with a job.
Does that sound judgmental? I do try not to be judgmental.
Okay, Morales. We’re cool. 9:05 p.m.
Okay. This big people tv is pissing me off too. It has all these little sparkly flaws in the screen. Is that what not-HD is like? I am going to do the bar dance. I see it. All. Around. The. Bar. The strange bar. Where I know no one. And I really think that guy’s drink is really a tobacco spittoon. Ew. Ew-ew-ew.
Make. It. Stop.
My bartender has to be seventeen. Has to be. Seriously.
Wow. Just got a phone call from a really sweet guy I haven’t talked to in like a year. Because he moved. It was clearly a pocket dial. But how sweet to pretend he was calling to check up on me.
NO. I DO NOT WANT A PBR. I AM DRINKING A SAM ADAMS! SEE? IF I NEEDED ANOTHER DRINK, I WOULD NOT BE PORING OVER MY COMPUTER DOING FAKE WORK AND WATCHING A GAME.
This. This is called AVOIDING EYE CONTACT WITH YOU.
I think this was a bar fail. Hi, McDonald. 9:11. That strike hurt my soul.
AND another thing. There are subtitles. Which is smarmy keen, really. Except that I can’t see any stats. Or anything, really.
Hmmm. Maybe that wasn’t a pocket dial.
I am conflicted.
You know. My mother (the mother that wants me to marry Reddick and not my soulmate Kevin Youkilis) says I should never go to bars alone. Of course not, I say.
Jason Varitek. He looks good today.
Oh, and a close up of Kevin Youkilis. Not while Tek is batting, kids, you’ll distract me! The way the stadium just glistens off his bald head.
But I digress. The captain is batting.
I wish there was sound on this television.
Why aren’t we scoring, Tek? Really. I’ve read allllll day about how kickass awesome the sandwich pitching is.
JERKS. HOW DARE YOU GET TEK OUT AT FIRST?
But also about how kickass awesome the Sox offense is. Seriously. WHERE IS THAT?
Padres. Pirates. Phillies.
OHMYGOD. We have something against the letter “P.” I will drink another beer and analyze this revelation privately. Perhaps on a napkin. 9:16. One out. Top of the 8th. Rallyin’ time. Right? Right?
STOP TALKING ABOUT JAMES SHIELDS!!!! THIS IS A BOSTON GAME.
The subtitle gods can’t spell.
Why are you even playing? You’re like an insta-out!!!!!!! CAMERON! Add a del- before your name and call you loser.
You heard me.
Not even my Boston beer can save us now.
9:19. Scut. Fricktastic. 2 outs.
DAMN YOU, SCUT. 9:20.
Okay. When a girl is yelling at a television screen and throwing coasters, DO NOT APPROACH HER. Tell your friends.
I am using the commercial break to analyze this guy’s jellyfish tattoo. I asked him if I could take a picture of it so you could analyze it too (I didn’t tell him I would put it on the internet) and he was like “no.” He doesn’t seem to want to talk to me. He’d rather spit into a cup.
I am delightful, I say. Not only should you want to talk to me, you should be astounded and honored that I want to take a picture of your tattoo.
He opens his mouth to speak.
SHHH. The game is back on.
Bobby Fricking Jenks.
Well, now that I’ve alienated everyone around me…
Okay. Out 1. You didn’t do that Jenks. That was god. Don’t get cocky.
Why????? Is John Lackey really going to pitch tomorrow? Really-really? Are you sure he’s not going to get on the DL? Maybe he’s already there and I just don’t know it. You’d tell me, right? You’d tell me?
Bobby Jenks. Okay. It’s going to be fine. He’s better, right? He’s not going to royally, royally, royally screw up. Please don’t Posada us, Jenks. Please? Gonzalez looks pissed. Did you see that? He glared at the camera.
Cameron- is that a tattoo on your neck? Remind me to google that later.
Is it just me or did Jenks trim his stupid goattee a bit? How do you spell goatee? Oh.
Yeah. Strike three. Sit the frick down.
Yeah, I don’t know if that was a strike either. But I’m sure you deserved that call. You know, for being a bad person or something.
9:27. Chase Utley. You look painfully normal. Bobby Jenks. Sigh.
WHAT WAS THAT, JENKS? Did the baseball dirt LOOK like a catcher’s mitt?
Excuse me, random guy at bar? WHAT THE HELL DOES IT LOOK LIKE I’M WATCHING?
Okay. I’m wearing a Fenway t-shirt and a sour disposition. WHO DO YOU THINK I’M ROOTING ON? Look. I can’t be expected to answer your stupid questions.
Did you see that? That was my husband. MY HUSBAND. Thanks, Youk. Bobby Jenks, you should kiss his shoes.
We have really Posada-ed ourselves, haven’t we?
2 outs. One on first. There is no sound. I am so confused about these mystery calls.
I feel like Youkie and I are playing our own private game of baseball charades.
The guy behind me has really big teeth. I’m just saying.
Hi, Jason Varitek.
I don’t think they’re real.
The teeth. Not Jason Varitek.
I should give this guy gum or something. You know. As a test.
Anyone have any gum?
9:32. “A full cout,” subtitle says. I think you mean COUNT.
Cout Dracula. Ahahahahaha.
Time for another beer.
NOW I’m ready for that PBR. Thanks.
My name? Argentina. Argentina Jones. I’m a mathematician, you see. Solving mysteries through math. Like in 3-2-1 Count Down and that show called “Numbers.”
Of course I’m being serious.
Your name? Kip? Seriously?
Don’t laugh, Lauren. That’s rude.
Yeah. Bar fail. It is the bottom of the 8th. STILL. TWO ON BASE (THANKS, JENKS). 9:35. TWO OUTS.
Hi, FDA. I’m glad you’re out there somewhere. Like in Fievel. Commenting from afar but looking at the same moon. Except it’s not a moon. It’s Bobby fricking Jenks.
Josh Beckett makes my soul cry.
Now, I don’t know what happened. I was doing that job thing. So maybe they said something to you, Beckett. Maybe they insulted rocket scientists or something. I don’t know. But I’d like an essay, at least 5 paragraphs, on my desk TOMORROW, explaining exactly what happened and how you sure as frick won’t let it happen again.
YOU TOO, JENKS.
FDA, You really don’t think they’d make us watch Lackey pitch again tomorrow, do you? OUT. Finally. Fah-fricking-finally.
I am very sad.
Shot thirty. Aka: 9:39. Guy came up to me. Said, “mind if I sit?” I said, “Oh, yes. I do.”
Okay. I feel so much better after that commercial break. And that shot. It’s all going to be okay. I can feel it. In my bones. Jelly fish guy can feel it too. I can tell.
FEEL IT IN YOUR BONES, Sutton. YOUR BONES.
I had a second grade teacher named Ms. Sutton. And you know what? She was a bitch too.
We’re losing to junk food, people. I hope you realize that.
One out. 0-5. Top of the fricking 9th. And I have NO idea what that was, Ellsbury. But it was CRAP.
2 outs. Um. 2 outs.
9:43. Skippy! Pedroia! Light of my life. Solace of my soul.
Could you at least swing the bat? It’s this thing. This thing that GOOD players do. Remember when you were a good player? Days ago?
Damn you, LETTER P!!!!!!!! DAMN YOU…
DAMN YOU TO HELL!!!!
You know. I never liked Cliff Lee. Or the Phillies. Their uniform has PINSTRIPES. Just saying. 9:46. Downing an extra drink for Jup.
I keep hearing this cheering. From the tv WITH sound. The stupid Florida- South Carolina game.
DAMN YOU, SOUTH CAROLINA!
DAMN YOU TO HELL!!!!!
When I get home, I have some illustrations just for a crapfest like this. Check back. Did the Brewers win? Lie to me and tell me the Brewers won?
I have a question. Um. What the hell is that green thing in the Phillies’ park? If you know… um… could you tell me? Because that’s terrifying.