An until-I-go-to-sleep Live Blogging experiment. Is it really Monday?
Just got off work. Turn on browser just in time to see Scutaro kamakazi catch that. Sweetness. Like the ice cream I am going to indulge in. A treat after a long day. Is it really almost 10 p.m.? 9:58? I need a weekend already. Is it really only Monday?
Okay. So. Jon Lester. 0-0. Top of the second. Wait. Why do they have two on base? Why do they have two on base, Jon? 2 outs.
Okay. I get it. You were waiting for me. You didn’t want to start being a badass until I got here. Okay. Well, I’m here now, Jonny. You can stop scaring the good people of Boston. Thanks.
And an out.
Now that my new internet is working, I certainly am blogging a lot. You know what? Today brought my 900th comment. That was kind of neat. For comment 1,000 I should do something. I will. Um. Draw you a picture.
A walk to first by Ortiz and more annoying prattle by Jerry Remy. I am not going to be able to handle this whole game, am I?
I really like Crawford. I really do. I like base stealers. He’s fun to watch. He breaks up the monotony of long games. And Reddick… a double as Crawford scores! 1-0. Nice.
Yes, Crawford. We will be friends. I will make you a friendship bracelet.
May 19, 2008. Lester’s no hitter against the Royals. I remember that. That was the day I bought my car, Sweet Caroline. We watched the game at a Ham’s Restaurant near the car dealership. The food was terrible and the potatoes were cold. But Jonny, you were red hot.
Now they’re talking about whether you can wear Royals gear at Fenway and not get mauled. I read a blog the other day saying that Sox fans throw nachos at people wearing other jerseys. Anyone ever experience this?
I bet if someone threw nachos at you, you did something to deserve it. Unless you were wearing a Joba jersey. That in itself is deserving of a major cheesing. You don’t have to do anything.
And now they are showing clips of Jonathan Papelbon throwing tomatoes.
I don’t know. What are you thinking about Lester? I know they’re scoreless (so far) and he’s striking three of them out- but he just doesn’t seem to have his usual Lester snap. Am I just being paranoid? Evidently, because, as a speak, a cutter strikes out another Royal. And another strike out. Well, I feel better.
Bottom of the third. 0-1. Jeb, the Pirate Princess, sent me a fantastic link that you should check out right now:
The Boston Red Sox have shaken off a woeful start to the season to take pole position in the American League and a near lock on a playoff spot. Unlike other recent great Red Sox teams, this year’s Boston club is doing it almost entirely with hitting.
~The Wall Street Journal
I think the current rate paid per win is approximately $4 million, so to have four different position players giving you over $16 million each of production at this point is pretty damn good.
For those of you who do not know Jeb, he is a kindred spirit. Just misled. He, like me, is stranded in North Carolina. Unlike me, he is Pirates fan. But in Boone, NC, you take what you can get.
And Pedroia extends his hit-streak to 22!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Can someone explain this Muddy Chicken thing to me?
Another message from Jeb:
“You’ll love/hate this. John Lackey’s total WAR is currently -1.1. I think replacement-level is an average AAA player. So if you had started the season with an average AAA pitcher in Lackey’s place, you’d be 63-36 instead of 62-37. Poor John Lackey “
I will not love this. Not. Not. Not. Blah.
We can’t think of John Lackey today, Jeb. Jon Lester is back. And he must consume all of our brain cells. All of them, I say!
I do not like how we’re loading the bases up. First. Second. I do not like this one bit. One out. Okay. I’d like to see a Sox offensive pop here in a sec. I have a feeling we’re going to need it.
Salty makes a catch. Salty is looking kind of hot today. Does his hair always look like that?
Jonny, you’re freaking me out with the first and second. Let’s not do this again, okay? Brayan Pena. And Youk throws it to first and ends the inning. Okay. It’s 5 hits to our 2. Let’s put some snap in our step.
Bottom of the fourth inning, Youkie at the plate. Do you think he gets his beard professionally trimmed each day? Because his cheeks have been looking smooth lately.
First out. Oh, the pivot turn. He looks dejected. It’s okay, baby. I’m still here. I’ll always be here.
David Ortiz. Over the shift and into right field for a base hit. 4-game hitting streak.
Carl Crawford. My new best friend. He looks like he’d be a great best friend. Oh, the happy times we could have together. Like at the zoo. And the park and stuff. I could swing. And you could push the swing. Because, if you can wield a bat like that, you can totally push a swing. We could tell secrets and swap stories and roast marshmallows and have great adventures.
I am going to make a children’s book about us.
I am going to call it “Carl Crawford and me.”
Ohhhhhhh. David Ortiz out on a steal. Papi!
Alcides Escobar. What a great name. I want to date someone with your name. But not you. Because you are a Royal. And just took a walk. No me for you.
Poooooooor Mariners. Swamped by the Stanks. I was really rooting for them. And not just because it’s the Yankees. Because I know how it feels when you just can’t get a break.
This is for you.
1-0, Boston. One on first. One out. Bottom of the 5th. Picked off… Gonz fires to second! Out! Out! Out! A fun moment in the midst of kind of a boring game…Or maybe I’m just tired from my fourteen hour work day…
And… strike out to end the inning.
Salty’s on base. Salty has been on FIRE. Remember when those crazy bloggers (um, um…) kept saying he should go? Remember that? I am simply shocked and… um… appalled…
Okay. So I’m eating my words.
At least I know what to flavor them with.
Scutttttt. I always liked you better than Lowrie.
Full count. You can walk there. I don’t care how you get there. Just get there if you can. That’s a song.
NICE. That’s exactly how I wanted to get you there. Single. Nice.
Salty takes third. Jacoby is out. But Salty took third.
First and third with two outs. Let’s see some offense dazzle. Or fine. Just strand yourselves and end the inning. Sure. Okay. WHATEVER, RED SOX.
I am concerned about post-DL Lester going 77 pitches. I am concerned. Full count.
Curt Young. Are you watching this?
Through the left side. Base hit. Single.
Jon Lester. You know I love you. But 81 pitches might be enough. We need you, see. In October.
Billy Butler. 82 pitches. Billy Butler looks like a guy from our pressroom. Into the corner. And you let them score. It’s not your fault, Jon Lester. I blame YOU Curt Young. Look at you. Not making eye contact. Looking into your clipboard. I called this like a hundred words ago.
Tie game. CURT YOUNG.
“I wouldn’t be surprised to see this is the last hitter for Lester,” Remy says.
I would. Curt Young NEVER listens to me.
88 pitches. BALL FOUR. DID YOU SEE THAT?
Tito is heading to the mound.
Poor Lester. He looks frustrated. It’s not your fault, Lester. I love you anyway.
Curt, I will deal with you later.
Do you know what I like about Lester? He’s in the dugout with death eyes right now. Mad. You can see the anger. See, John Lackey how he gives a shit? Remember all those times when you sucked it up- a LOT worse than Lester, I might add- and do that shrug walk-off thing that irritates me to no end?
Albers strikes ‘em out. Nice.
Lester, I wish I could give you a hug. It’s going to be okay. I promise.
Ground ball up the middle. Pedroia tags. Out.
Bottom of the 6th. And I am fading fast…
Another night asleep at the keyboard. At least this time it’s baseball and not city council… ah… the life of a reporter.
Hi, Gonz. Could you slam one out of the park? I bet that would make Lester smile. Or just strike out. Sure. Okay. <- Sarcasm.
He got something in his eye. Poor dear. Okay. Now we’re ready to rumble, he says.
Yikes. That one was straight for him. He’s getting good at ducking those.
Ground. Up the middle. Out. Close. I’d like to see a replay, please. Youk made it back to that dugout in about two seconds. Yikes. Did you see that lunge? It looked painful. Youkie, stop hurting yourself! And Ortiz thrown out.
Well. That sucked.
1-1 game in the 7th. And I’m droopy. I may not make into the 8th. God forbid this go extra innings.
Seats are emptying out. That’s what happens when it’s this late on a Monday.
Pena out. Thanks to a snazzy throw by Pedroia.
This game is hurting my brain.
Full count. Close up of Tito sweat. Thanks, cameras.
Crawford makes the catch. Because he’s my best friend.
And there are two outs.
STRIKE THREE. Out. Despite a dramatic jump-away by a faker. Good job, Albers.
See, Lester? I told you there was nothing to worry about. It’s alllll going to be okay.
Oh. Right. It’s still tied…
Tim Collins. Pitching at my BEST FRIEND. Hi, Carl. What is with Collins’ hair? It’s like a back mullet. It’s a new invention, clearly.
First out. It’s okay, Crawford. Let’s meet up for hopscotch later.
Hi, Josh Reddick. You are not having a good hair day either. Just saying. If I can’t tell you tehse things, Josh, who can?
In the air… Caught. Out.
This inning blows.
I could be watching “The Tudors” or “Wings” on Netflix. Or. Um. Sleeping.
Salty’s up. Bottom of the 7th. Two outs. Keep hope alive, Salty. Keep hope alive.
Speaking of hope, Daniel Bard is warming up in the pen.
Who is umping? Do you know? Because he’s obnoxious.
Grounder to third…. and out.
That inning was worse than Tim Collins’ hair.
Pedroia fires to first for the out. And they replayed Youk’s bag slam. I knew he was hurt! I knew it! If he’s really hurt, I’m driving to Kansas. I will!
Scut dives on his face.
Jeb’s still awake. He’s watching the Pirates, as indicated by our recent Facebook convo:
Two outs. Billy Butler sits down.
They called a balk on Bard. A bullshit balk. I don’t understand. The announcer doesn’t seem to understand. No one seems to understand. Except the pricky umpire.
2 outs. 1-1. One on second. Just so you feel my pain. Because this is painful.
Throw to first. OUT.
Bottom of the 8th. Paaaaaiiiiinnnnnnfullllll.
Marco Scutaro. Up against Aaron Crow.
And the crazy Fenway yelling commences.
Pena makes a foul catch. Blah.
I love looking at fans’ faces when the ball flies.
Jacoby. 0 for 3 tonight. So this is his moment. Right? Right?
Papelbon is warming up in the pen.
Ellsbury! Base hit! Single! 7 game hitting streak for Jacoby.
Ohmygod there is a bug on my computer screen. Ohmygod.
Eeek. Now it is on my bed. And the lights are out and…
It’s okay. I’m okay.
A double play. Which is horrible, because it pushes us into the 9th. But the real horrible thing is, there is a bug in my room. And it is dark. And I’m sure it’s on me. And I can do nothing.
It’s probably like some rare African bug that will burrow into my shoulder while I’m sleeping. Ohgod.
And… Johnny Paps…
Catch. Out one. Out 2.
I am so upset. “After hobbling around, Youkilis leaving the game.”
I am so upset.
He better be okay.
Bottom of the 9th.
Okay guys. Get serious. I am only half awake. I can’t do a 10th. So score for me, okay? And for Youkilis. Who had better not be broken.
Alright, Gonz. You have done NOTHING today. It is time.
We need to get the spark back. There is NO SPARK.
The K-Guys are holding the A-Gonz sign. That’s for YOU, A-Gonz. YOU.
And Gonzalez strikes out. An 0 for 4 night. Really.
Yamaico Navarro taking one for the Youk. With a base hit! Youkie is welling up with pride and-
OHMYGOD THE BUG. I will get you this time, bug. I see you and… OHMYGOD IT FLIES.
It’s like an ant. But with wings. It’s an ant thing. It’s like the Pegasus of ants!
OHMYGOD. It’s alive.
Speaking of holy terrors, David Ortiz staring down Crow.
And I could watch that if I didn’t suddenly feel ants all over me.
Paranoia. Delusion. It was just one ant thing.
Just one, after all. You’re fine.
It was like a dragon ant.
Ortiz hits it on the ground- it gets through! Navarro on third! Ortiz first! Somehow that ball got through. Looked routine. Went through second baseman. Went through shortstop. Gave us sweet, sweet hope.
Hi, best friend Carl Crawford.
This is so stressful. Please. Please. Please, Crawford. Please.
That strike was crap. The announcer agrees with me. He did not swing.
2 outs. High fly ball… Catch. DAMNIT.
Damnit, damnit, damnit.
Extra innings. Damnit.
That check swing call was crap. I blame the ump.
Morales. And I am asleep. Please don’t let him screw it up… Going to sleep.
Damnit. We all know I’m lying. Come on, Morales. Get this DONE.
Josh Reddick. I love you. There have been some great dive catches tonight, no?
That was hot. No wonder my mother wants me to marry you, Josh.
Out one. And a pop out to Pedroia means out TWO. Okay. Alex Gordon. You are going to be out three. Right, Morales?
Pedroia. First. Out.
One to one.
Come on, offense. Now is your chance to help me sleep. DO THIS. This is painful.
This is the song in my head right now. I do not know why.
Better than Jar of Hearts, at least… And I think it expresses my feelings about this game quite eloquently. I saw Joan Osborne sing this at MerleFest a few months ago.
Damnit, Salty! I specifically told you to score.
Fly ball. Caught. Scutaro, you are a jerk. Two outs.
Jacoby. You have grounded out, struck out, flown out and singled and OHMYGODTHEFLYINGANTISBACK.
It’s okay. I’m okay. I’m okay…
What if there’s more than one?!?!
Ground chop to first.
Are we even trying???
Navarro!!!! Youk would have caught that. Cabrera singled. Damnit. And there’s a dragon ant trying to eat me. But other than that, I’m fiiiiiiiine. Crawford catches. First out. Two more. And please let that be it.
Eric Hosmer. You look familiar.
Throw to first! What?! That was out. That was completely OUT.
“That really was borderline,” Remy said.
That really was out. These calls are crap tonight.
I do not know who is umping, but I would not be surprised if it was Angel Hernandez.
Crawford makes another catch. Two outs. Because he is my best friend.
Terry comes out. Dan Wheeler to come out.
Please do not mess up. Thanks.
One on first. Two outs.
And his first pitch… a ball. Of course.
I get that you guys love baseball. That’s great. But please do not love 12 innings worth of baseball. Hear me, Sox offense?
Strike. Nice. Do that.
Do that again. Foul. Okay. Whatever.
YES. Cabrera does something stupid, runs and is tagged the frick out at the base.
Now it is up to you, Offense. Up to you. Do it. Do it NOW.
Adrian. The shouts make me think I’m watching Rocky.
Gonz to left field… OFF THE WALL.
Thank you. Thank you for doing something, Gonz.
A single. One out. And Gonz on first. Okay. Gonz. You have to score. I’m not kidding. You have to. HAVE to.
Okay, Navarro. Don’t be a hero. Just get on a base. ANY BASE.
Strikes out. Two down.
Youk would have had that. I’m just saying. It is one in the morning. SOME of us have to work.
David Ortiz. Okay. Papi. Okay. Let’s do this. And by “let’s,” I mean you, Papi.
Closeup on Jacoby and Beckett in the dugout. Jacoby is drinking a red drink. Suddenly I am thirsty.
Come on, David Ortiz.
Bounce. Kicks. Gonz scampers to second! Yes! Yes! Do that.
Now Gonz is on second.
And they’re going to walk Papi.
There are boos in Fenway, but I am okay with this.
He is on a base. That is all that matters. He is not out.
Crawford up. My best friend.
Come on Crawford. Buddy.
ANOTHER bad strike call.
“Crawford’s about had it… that pitch being called a strike.”
When Remy knows the umpire sucks, the umpire SUCKS.
Strike. Two and two. Okay. He looks apprehensive. Don’t be apprehensive, Crawford. Please? Breathe, baby. Breathe. Ball three.
Full fricking count.
That was my head hitting the keyboard. Let me demonstrate again.
I can’t do this guys. I have to sleep. Have to.
I am sad. Randy Williams warming in then pen.
I am so tired. So tired. Soooooooo
Walk. Guy on first. Thanks, Wheeler.
I blame the umpire, actually. The umpire that HATES my new best friend, Carl Crawford.
Sacrifice. And the runner is on second. One out. Damnitdamnitdamnit.
Only one out.
I can’t type unless something monumental happens.
strike out. good. 2 outs. throw to first. out. bottom of 12. please score please.
Okay. Let’s do this. And by do this. I mean score. Hi, Josh Reddick. Just get on a base. If four of you get on a base, that is all it will take.
Do it for your fallen comrade. Speaking of fallen comrades, I would like an update on my husband, please.
The announcers want this to end too.
“Put it right where you want it, Josh,” Remy said.
I would like it over the green monster. Thanks.
Reddick… base hit!!!!
“Thatta baby,” Remy keeps saying.
Three more and we’ve got a ballgame.
one for four. single. Okay. let’s. please.
Youkie is watching. I know he is. He should be asleep. But he’s not.
I should be asleep. But I’m not.
Salty. Scutaro is after you. But let’s not need him. Let’s just use you, Salty. And your bat. In the air. Left field. Catch. FAIL.
Marco. Hi. Can you hit something? A triple would be nice.
YEESSSSSS. Ball gets away and Reddick stops at THIRD!
One out and we are at THIRD. Yes. Yessssss. Yes. Okay. Scut. Do not mess this up. Do not.
Reddick is out. He was trapped. Squeeze play. Damn it. Scutaro missed the sign. Scut missed the sign, Remy said. Damnit, Scut. DAMNIT.
If this goes to 13, so help me…
Homerun or you are NOT going back to the dugout.
Base hit. And Scutaro is OUT AT SECOND BASE.
Scutaro. Scutaro. Scutaro. SCUTARO
13 inning games are the reason I am cranky at work.
Holly likes this.
Jeb: Is this on TV? I’m following online. So I see that Boston’s odds just went down. http://www.fangraphs.com/livewins.aspx?date=2011-07-25&team=Red+Sox&dh=0&season=2011Red Sox win probability for Monday, July 25, 2011a few seconds ago · Like ·
Seriously. I am making no sense. I need to go to sleep. Tell me who won?
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- A Youktastic Wednesday. But Youktastic means something different, see…
- I do not want to talk about it.
- Youkilis is turning me into a bad Rihanna joke. I want to blog about something else but I can’t.
- I can’t sleep and it’s because of that blasted Youkbot.
- Johnny Damon loves my blog. Why else would he keep saying things just for me?
- A new direction. Um.
- Robinson Cano, if you want a boyfriend, try Match.com, not Joe Fink.
- Kevin Youkilis wants me to be a Stepford Wife but I don’t DO dishes.
- Lauren meets Kevin Youkilis