It’s NOT OVER. No. NO IT IS NOT. Live Blogging, Sox vs Stanks

WHO’S WITH ME??????

6:49 p.m. Apparently not the Red Sox. Because they are down 3-0.

6:52. Two outs. This is stupid.

6:55 p.m. I could be watching “Babe, Pig in the City” right now.

6:57 p.m. To recap. It is the nightcap. John Lackey is pitching. And it is the bottom of the second. A horrible game. And Teix just got a hit. And Carl Crawford couldn’t find it. And then he just threw the ball randomly. And it rolled around a little. And now we’re looking at whether it was a foul or whatever. Of course they won’t rule it a foul. Of course. But now jackass is out at third anyway. The Sox think this will make me feel better. STOP PANDERING TO ME, RED SOX. I mean, the Stank got a single. Oh. And another single. So there’s TWO now on base. But, whatever. WHATEVER. The indifference is scathing. SCATHING. It’s like boiling tar indifference. Oh, look, Curt Young appears at the mound. Which is like the first time I’ve seen you, so I think this is the first time you ran out of whatever your equivalent of sunflower seeds is. It’s probably like, now and later or some kind of really sticky, tooth pulling candy. I bet you have a lot of cavities, CURT YOUNG. Whatever. WHATEVER. I mean, there’s only one out. And, oh look. Another hit. Pedroia catches. So. There’s two outs. I mean, it’s better than one out. I mean, Lackey can’t get an out. So any out is an out. OUT. Please? John Lackey. Lackey. Slackey. It is 7:02 and I have this weird mash up of gross indifference and numbing anger. So it’s like I’m … numb. It’s an interesting feeling, really, feeling the hope rush out of your veins. Tingly. I mean, I’ve felt it before (thanks, Red Sox). I just kind of… I don’t know… thought the numbness was over and that… Oh. A catch. Okay.

Annnnnd that’s over.

Whatever.

The commercials are more intriguing than this game.

—

And pop out. POP. OUT.

Marco Scutaro. Hi, Marco Scutaro. Hi.

You got a hit, Marco Scutaro. YOU know how to play. YOU watched the Goofy video.

YOU don’t hate me.

It’s nice to have SOMEONE I can trust.

Oh, Jason Varitek! I am so glad to see you. So glad. I mean, I knew you were catching. I knew that. But watching you bat, it’s like… like… I love you, Jason Varitek. Because you WANT to win. It’s you and me and Marco and Jacoby. It is only us now.

Oh. You’re out, Jason Varitek. YOu are out. And… Um…

Okay. I will… I will respect your… THAT’S CRAP, TEK.

Jacoby. Jacoby will save us. We don’t need you. We don’t need anyone. It’s Jacoby and me and Marco. We’re going to start a band. A BAND. It will be called the winners. You can start a band and you can call it the losers. Or the Lackeys. Which is a synonym for the Losers.

Our band is going to be so cool, Jacoby. Soooooo cool. Oh. You’re out. Oh.

It’s okay. You’re still in the band. I guess.

But Scut, don’t be getting any ideas.

—–

John Lackey clearly wants to be the band frontman since he is sucking.

I mean, there’s one out. But he still sucks.

You still suck, John Lackey.

You know, a surprising number of people find this website by googling “Lackey sucks.”

Mark Teixeira is evil. Does clumsy defeat evil? Nope. Not even whimsy. I saw that look, John. Yankees fans LOVE John Lackey.

The Angels gave us John Lackey. They’re smarter than they look, FDA.

Yes, FDA. You can feel free to send me new, exciting paintshop pictures. You’re very good, and my blog needs pictures. You should illustrate this. Inning by inning. I tried to. But I got mad.

It is 7:21 and Nick Swisher doesn’t respond to my psychic head implosion glare.

There is no point hating the Rays. No point. They are too irrelevant to hate.

The Orioles too.

I reserve hate for calculated enemies. The kind that can, you know, actually beat you and not just rely on your own mound imploding in a metaphorical volcano.

Their pitcher keeps touching his pants. It’s creeping me out.

We are NOT irrelevant. We are just uninspired. Sadly, we remain relevant.

Out. Oh, Pedy…

My friend Daniel just texted: “Doing anything tonight?”

I responded

“Eating ice cream with a fork, crying and watching the box score.”

Danny Ainge is not calculated. Because I have not heard of him.

I hate I hate I hate I hate I hate.

Lackey does NOT care. Lackey HATES us.

See? See how much Lackey hates us?!

So, here’s a question worthy of more thought than this game. I might cut my hair all off tomorrow. I mean, I know I have said that before. But I really might. Thoughts? Or maybe I’ll go back to being blonde. I don’t know. Oh, and the boy is coming tomorrow (theoretically). May I could chop my hair off and dye it blonde.

So, I turned the sound off on the game, and I’m listening to Fiona Apple on Spottify. It is improving my day.

Oh look. It is still 3-1. Oh look.

HOLD THE PHONE. IS THAT JD DREW?

HOLD THE PHONE.

WHAT?

DID I JUST START PAYING ATTENTION? AM I HALLUCINATING?

IS THAT REALLY YOU?

WHAT?

HOLD THE FRICKING PHONE.

Ohmygod JD Drew it is so good to see you. I am seeing you, right? It is him, right? RIGHT?

OHMYGODPLEASE.

It is! It is! it isssss!

Ohmygod. Ohmygod. OHMYGOD. Jason Varitek! You decided to get on base! AHHHHHHHHHHHH

This is the best game ever! The best game ever!

Of course, my ever bar is the past week…

I mean, I wish you had hit the ball, but throwing yourself in front of it, that’s noble.

OHMYGOD We are going to be okay, FDA.

WE ARE GOING TO BE OKAY.

Vacuuming stairs is hard.

WE ARE GOING TO BE OKAY!

What.. What? Jacoby? JACOBY? You just can’t have Drew stealing your thunder, can you?

TYPICAL.

I don’t know. I cut it short(er) last time. Maybe I should slice it all off in protest of September Sox.

FDA, we should fast.

Like Gandhi.

Oh. John Lackey is still pitching. I mean, if we were the Yankees, they would have pulled him. Or the Blue Jays. See, I know that, because I PAY ATTENTION TO THE GAMES, Curt Young.

Okay. So I want to look cute, but cute casual. So, I found this purple shirt with stripes at Goodwill today and I am going to pair it with these pink hair clips. Yes? Tomorrow?

This is so much more important than this loser game. And then I have this pink glitter eyeshadow stuff that is subtler than it sounds. Yes. And black jeans. And heels. Crap. I’m not supposed to wear heels anymore. Ankles. Screw that. Heels!

Oh look. Inning over.

Maybe small heels.

There are lots of ways to fast, FDA. I am giving up grilled cheese sandwiches. You could give up cursing. You could do a cursing fast. You know. Because you like cursing!

If you spit nails, could you take a picture? I will put it on my blog and call it Kristin (or is it Kristen, I forgot already?) spitting nails.

Look. They are playing. Kinda. Pedroia, could you join the club of people that know how to play? Thanks.

They look a little selfdestructy. Nice to see that in a team that’s not us.

Since Curt Young doesn’t watch the game, maybe he should go out and get everyone ice cream so that they can eat it in front of the Yankees.

This is a terrible, terrible, terrible game.

Wait.. wait… did something… did something GOOD just happen? We’re on second AND third? AND third? Did something…

I am going to stand very very very very still.

Adrian GONZALEZ, I will HATE YOU UNTIL THE DAY I DIE AND-

Oh. We got a run.

Oh. Um. Maybe that’s why you did that.

Oh. Um.

Oh.

You still can’t be in my band!

3-2.

3-2? That’s… That’s… 3-2? We could… we could… I mean…

3-2?

3-2!

No. They NEEEEEED us, FDA. They’re like our children. You have to love them no matter what. Even when they are in meth debt. That hop thing Pedroia did just now was cute.

I mean, irrelevant, really. But cute. Kind of Harlem Globetrotty, so, clearly he reads this.

—

OHMYGOD My computer is working! So wordpress decided to break. Which was okay, because the Red Sox were fixed. And they were not fixed. And now Morales is messing everything up. And there is only one out. And I am so angry I could… well… did, throw things. They were ink pens. And they broke against my wall dramatically and it took me like ten, maybe fifteen minutes to clean up. DAMNITNO.

I hate this game. I hate this game. I do not understand why this is happening.

Hi, Jere and Andrew. I am glad I am not alone.

Yes. Yes. Talk to him. TALK TO HIM.

JD Drew is back. That’s good.

Andrew, this is the internet. Maybe I don’t have a shirt. Maybe I have five shirts. You don’t know.

I seriously almost died in the 9th. I was okay in the 10th and 11th. In the 12th I started to get aneurysmy again.

We go the 14th? I hope so. My computer (unsurprisingly) must be slow, because it is in the bottom of the 13th.

Okay. I’m back. I’m back, guys. SOMEBODY say SOMETHING to make me feel better.

ANYTHING. SOMETHING.

I don’t know. I don’t know!

In the interim between broken wordpress and fixed wordpress, I turned the volume wayyyyy up on the Sox game and vacuumed my stairs. All of them. Well, except for the middle two stairs. I’m not sure how to do that. I can’t carry my vacuum (it’s huge) and the extendy tube does not reach those two stairs.

It’s horrific.

So I have some great stairs. And two crappy stairs.

It’s like the Red Sox.

And those two crappy stairs just ruin the whole team of stairs.

Now it is in the 14th! But Jere already knew that.

Okay. Seriously. Commercial break. PEPTALK TIME.

True or false… I should chop my hair off.

You are guys. You don’t care.

I miss Kevin Youkilis.

We should take bets on how many innings this will go. I’ve got five on 16.

Why are they doing this to us, Jere?

Why?

Andrew. If -I- were in New York, I’d be busy FIXING THIS.

Oh yeah. Now that I can type nooooooooo one wants to comment anymore.

Yay! We did something! We did something, guys! We’re on base again! We’re on base again! Marcoooooo Scutaroooooooo….

I must be like five minutes behind you, Jere. This is great. You can warn me before horrible things happen.

Jacoby Ellsbury will save us. He will save us all.

I have to work tomorrow. And make lasagne. And clean my kitchen. And do all of these things by like six p.m. because, theoretically, that is when the boy gets here. Even though I have a meeting at 6:30 that I kind of forgot about. Conundrum. If I don’t go to it, it won’t be in the paper. And if it’s not in the paper, it didn’t happen. And if it didn’t happen, I didn’t need to go in the first place.

I love logic.

I also love you, Marco Scutaro. Because you are on a base.

Something went out of the park? DAMN YOU MLB delay. Salty is batting right now.

I want to dance. I want to dance… damn it.

DAMN YOU, SALTY. Pop caught. But you guys know that. Jacoby at the bat. I am excited. I feel like I am going to my own surprise birthday party. I LOVE fake surprises. Must. Adjust. Makeup. Before turning doorknob…

I just fell off my couch.

I knew it was coming. You told me it was coming. I just fell off the couch.

It felt like calories, Andrew. It felt like calories and I LOVE food.

Are you crying? I’m crying. I don’t think a baseball game has made me cry since Tek got his last home run.

7-4.

I… I…

I need a minute with my thoughts.

I can feel again, guys! I can… feel…

It’s like… how centuries were judged before and after Christ? You know, BC? AD?

All moments from now on will be referred to as AJ.

After Jacoby.

I hate babies. But I’d have yours, Jacoby. I would.

Please, Andrew. I belong to Kevin Youkilis. And. Um. Jacoby Ellsbury. I think Kevin Youkilis would understand.

Okay. Bullpen. All you have to do is keep them from scoring three times. Think you can do that? I think…

I think I don’t trust you. Curt Young. Tito. I will blame you. I will not blame Felix Doubrant. I will blame YOU.

All I have ever wanted in my life were these three outs.

OHMYGOD I hope so. We have one out on my computer. One out. I hope we won.

You can tell me the ending. It’s okay. It’s not a Hitchcock movie.

Well. Um. Kind of. It’s kind of like Vertigo, don’t you think? But with a positive (I hope) ending.

So. Um. Not like Vertigo.

Pleasepleasepleaseplease strike out. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Felix Doubrant. I won’t make fun of you the next time you play. Probably. Just do this for me.

TWO OUTS! TWO OUTS! TWO OUTS!

Just one more. Just. One. More.

I am thrilled to fricking pieces at the prospect of winning.

And perplexed, because this took 14 sucky innings. And confused, because we win the Lackey games and lose EVERY OTHER GAME.

And angry, because this is not how I wanted to enter the post season.

And happy, because this game is a big middle finger to Tampa.

And angry, because Joe Girardi is spiteful.

And happy because I like winning. And grilled cheese sandwiches.

We… We WON! We won. WE WON.

Let me rephrase. JACOBY ELLSBURY WON.

JACOBY ELLSBURY WON.

Jacoby.

I miss Kevin Youkilis.

I have to go to sleep.

I have so many mixed emotions.

Maybe.. maybe Lackey SHOULD pitch during the post season…

Um.

Thank you, Jere and Andrew, for sticking it out. All we have is each other.

And Jacoby Ellsbury.

~L

I think I am happy.

Thank you, Jere. I might. 🙂