Home > Drunken Live Blogging > It is 9:37 and I just got home, if that is any indication of how bad my night has been…

It is 9:37 and I just got home, if that is any indication of how bad my night has been…

But this 1-0 lead makes it a little better.

Wait. What is going on with THIS inning, Wakey? One out. Bottom of the 6th, man on second.  Wait. Okay. The MINUTE I start watching… tie game?

Really?

Well… I guess that’s kind of how my Friday night is going.

——–

Sometimes people are infuriating. Really. And sometimes you just get annoyed and have to leave the bar. It’s for your own sanity, really. And to protect people’s sensitive, sensitive eyes. So easy to tear out, you know. Sometimes you just have to call it a night.

Even if it is only 9 p.m. and it’s only your second Friday night off in an ever. Really. It was that bad. But… I picked up a bottle of pinot (the G) on the way home. So don’t you worry about me, Soxies. Spend your time worrying about Timmy and number 200.

—–

Okay, kids. You know what you were getting into tonight. You knew you’d have to slug ‘em out. You knew Wakey would need it. Let’s allllllll be honest.

And still, you refuse to hit the ball.

Just saying. I expected more from you. Especially you, Carl Crawford of the icky strikeout. I thought we were friends now. Compadres. Compatriots. High fivers.

I guess not. I guess NOT.

“That was real close to being trouble,” announcer says, patronizing what could have been a Salty homer. Jerks.

Two outs. Three outs. 7th inning stretch. Oh, I’ll stretch. I’ll stretch your face, Salty. Oh. Apparently you got our only run. Okay. That bought you amnesty. I should find someone else to take out my shitty night on. Any volunteers? Fast runners preferred.

—–

I’m having all kinds of chicken and egg revelations. If… if… I didn’t watch the game tonight… would the score still be 1-0? It’s like “The Shining.” By Mr. King. A Red Sox fan:

“Well, you know, Doc, when something happens, you can leave a trace of itself behind. Say like, if someone burns toast. Well, maybe things that happen leave other kinds of traces behind. Not things that anyone can notice, but things that people who “shine” can see. Just like they can see things that haven’t happened yet. Well, sometimes they can see things that happened a long time ago. I think a lot of things happened right here in this particular hotel over the years. And not all of ‘em was good.”

My negative energy is like those scary twins in the hall of blood. Sticking around and seeking company.

See?

Bottom of the 7th. Two run homer. I blame myself.

—-

A less selfish person would stop watching.

Maybe, deep, deep in my soul… I secretly want us to lose. Just so everyone else is as bitter as I am tonight.

One of those “If I go, I’m taking you ALLLLLL with me” rants is coming, I’m sure.

Just wait for it.

1-3. It is now the top of the eighth. Well. Two outs. Of course. 10:02. Time flies when you’re pissed off. Did I say two outs? I meant three. Because five seconds just passed. And, apparently, that’s all it takes for dreams to die. I’m going to watch orca whale videos on youtube again. That ALWAYS makes it better.

——

Alfredo Aceves. You wouldn’t believe my evening. You wouldn’t make it worse, would you? You are really growing on me. I could love you, you know. I love how Catholic you are. And I’m not being the slightest bit sarcastic. I love it.

Reddick catches. That does not make up for your complete and utter lack of offense, Josh.

But thanks for trying.

Two outs? Did that happen while I was on the phone? People sure do call me a lot.

Due up: Pedroia. Did he extend his hit streak? Because hit streaks are meant to be extended. And not rot. Stagnant. Like a lovely girl on a Friday. Or a rotten thing. Like. Um. A tomato.

I am realllllyyyyyy getting tired of this town.

——-

Oh. Two outs away from losing to the fricking White Sox.

Oh.

Ortiz.

Strike. Mmhmmm.

Foul.

Mmmhmmm.

“Two outstanding pitches,” announcer said.

SHUT. YOUR. FACE.

Anger eyes. Yes. Do those anger eyes again, Papi.

And the count one and two.

Sox, I hate your stupid pinstripes. That make you look-

Check it? Check it? No. I don’t think so. I don’t.

Damnit.

Oh. Good call.

He didn’t.

Oh. Good call.

Good call?

Wow.

What does that mean for America?

Ground ball. To first. Out.

Two down.

Of course.

Youkie. It is up to you. Don’t stress, Youkilis. I will not blame you this time when you fall, fall, fall into the abysmal crap that is my evening. Like bird poo on a sweater.

Strike.

Mm-hmm. I kind of thought so.

A foul. Out of play. Mm-hmmm. Because if they had caught it would be over. And no. We want to drag this on, don’t we?

Of course we do.

Why end pain quickly?

And this isn’t pain, really. It’s duller. Like the numbness of sitting for a very long time.

This wine gets better the more you drink it. For $8? Swell.

Strike? Oh. A foul. Oh. Okay.

Baby, I admire you for trying. Never giving up. That’s why I love you. It’s sad, really. In this sweet, write-a-book-about-it kind of way… or a song. A sad song.

Ball. Two and two.

And caught.

Oh.

Okay.

~L

We lost, by the way. But… you caught that.

Yep.

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  1. July 29, 2011 at 10:23 pm | #1

    all accounts and play by play are the exclusive property of major league baseball and cannot be used or disseminated without the express written permission of the baseball commissioner.

  2. July 30, 2011 at 11:13 am | #2

    Yeah, but we don’t really have a “commissioner,” do we? “Bud Lite” is a poser. Lauren, it wasn’t your fault. It was my fault. I was trying the “live-blogging” thing for the first time. And you are so much better at it than me.

    Jeff

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