Do you ever think it’s on purpose? Like, for some reason, Jon Lester is mad at us?
My puppy does this sometimes. Not so much anymore now that she’s a grown up (take note, Jon Lester). But you hear about it. Your puppy is angry at you so she poos in the middle of the floor. Or on your Fortune magazine.
Is this your middle-of-the-floor poo, Jon Lester? Okay. We get it. We’ll walk you. GEEZ.
Baaaaaad Pirate loss aside (the fricking PIRATES?), things aren’t so stable in the nation.
And, despite what you may read, it’s not just the rotation that’s breaking like hips on osteoporosis.
Oh good. Media reports of “trouble brewing.” I’m so glad we have the media to interpret horrible losses as horrible losses.
Okay. 6-5 wouldn’t be horrible. You know. Unless it was against the FRICKING Pirates.
But, let’s be comforted in the fact that it is just a dress rehearsal. Let’s all take a deep breath and…
Hi, Media. You’re back.
Is Bobby Valentine taking the right approach? <- Really? How can we POSSIBLY know that when haven’t even played a REAL game? Seriously, people. I’m not going to say I’m wading in tulips over the way this week has been playing out, but it’s SPRING TRAINING. They don’t always nail the soliloquies weeks before the show, guys…
The losses aren’t what fills me with motionsicky dread. What fills me with motionsicky dread is the overall organization, or lack thereof. How we’re still in rumored talks with Roy Oswalt (SERIOUSLY) and don’t have a concrete rotation. Or a concrete lineup. Or a concrete anything, really. It’s like a dress rehearsal with only half a script. THAT is what we should be freaking out about. Not specifics. The general icky disorganization.
Panic about the CORRECT thing, Soxies.
Bobby V is still not sure about Bard- I’m okay with that uncertainty. It’s this thing Bobby V and I share. If we were friends, we’d talk about this over cheesecake. Bobby V, unlike most of you, Twitter world, gets the free pass dilemma. Bard keeps handing them out. I think it’s because he’s charitable. There’s no room for charitable DURING the games, Bard. That’s what Jimmy Fund events are for…
“I don’t think that even with his good stuff I could handle the walks,” Valentine said. “Now I don’t know if [it's the] spring…and trying to impress. That’s why I looked for the changeup. If there was a pitch he wasn’t comfortable with and that was causing some of these negative counts, I would have been able to use that as an excuse.”
Of course, look at our options… Doubront… MILLER…
Sigh. With the current troupe of players, Bard might be the default…
I have said all along I trust Aceves’ experience over Bard’s mound moping… I like Bard. I do. I like him in the bull pen. And, for once, I am not alone in the universe…
Speaking of things to get dizzy about- the Red Sox, at $1 billion (which will buy you a lot of yachts, eh, John Henry?), is the THIRD most valuable team, behind Stanks ($1.85 billion) and Dodgers )$1.5 billion). I’m telling you, it’s all those damn trucker hats the Stanks sell.
The Sox were FOURTH highest in TV rankings… But see, no one actually had to watch us last year, with the media’s careful attention to September highlights…
Fun facts to know and tell-
Do you think they’ll refund us our $69 from last year? I sure could use that money. I’d buy eggs.
Have you tweeted me yet? You should.
Speaking of Twitter, apparently, Red Sox Nation was baffled by an Aviles impersonator on Twitter…
PS- They’re trying to make me forget about Jason Varitek again, you guys. I feel as though we should all buy matching NEVER FOREGET bracelets. Who’s with me?
Padilla, arguably the scariest man to ever wear a “B” hat, says he pulled a hamstring lifting weights. But there are lots of ways scary serial killer-looking people pull hamstrings, you know…
To be clear, Vicente, I’m not saying you ARE a serial killer. I’m just saying you LOOK like one. PLEASE DON’T HURT ME.
Anyway, in grand Sox fashion, Padilla is out before he’s even gotten a chance to give his crazy face to Verlander.
Did those eyes mangle anyone else’s soul just now?
It’s okay, guys. ONE injury isn’t going to… oh. Hi, Andrew Miller.
Red Sox left-hander Andrew Miller threw only three pitches in the seventh inning before signalling to the dugout that he was in physical distress.
Okay. I get that you want to fit in, Andrew. Can I call you Andrew? But pulling a SEPTEMBER isn’t the way to do it.
Wait. Hold the phone.
YOUR HAMSTRING TOO?
Is anyone else thinking what I’m thinking?
THERE ARE TWO KILLERS!
Quick! Let’s go upstairs!
Is anyone else really not caring about this ST game? It kind of just makes me, like ALL Toronto games, miss John Farrell…
John Farrell, BY THE WAY, doesn’t seem to think Bard’s so smacktastic either.
“It’s getting back to the full length of the season and the total number of innings pitched,” he said. “So when you’re counting on a guy to be an inning-eating starting pitcher, that might be a (multi-) year process.”
See- and we don’t have multi-years, sir. We need to start kicking ass yesterday. That is the ONLY way to get them to shut up about the damn chicken.
You kicked ass today. That’s great. I’m thrilled. Truly. But I’m not dazzled. You can’t dazzle me in an ST game. I’m still wait and see on you, Bard. Wait and see.
So, I have decided to be much more interactive, Soxies. Hence the renewed action on Twitter. Don’t follow me on Twitter? Just a hint- but there are some neat things coming in April- so you might want to get into the Twitter magic by clicking here.
Anyway, I asked the Twitter kids what THEY would like to see in a blog- and they responded. So, stay tuned for that. A nice, easy way to bring back everyone’s favorite… ASK TOO SOXY!
So. TWITTER ME. ASAP. And don’t change that dial. Neat things are coming. Neat things.
I’m very twitterable. Just ask around.
Happy Jon Lester day, everybody! Sorry, just practicing. That’s right! The most Lesterish of all the lefties is primed to attack opening day.You’re watching, right? Because apparently Lester’s father won’t be. And that’s a shame, because Lester’s a special, special guy, and I’m sure he’s sorry about Soxplosion, 2011. I’m sure he’s sorry and that I’ll be getting my apology letter any day now.
I’m expecting one from you too, DOUBRONT. I hate to judge games I didn’t physically watch… but REALLY? REALLY, FELIX?
They were saying NICE things about you. Remember that? Remember THIS?
And you go Lackey on us against the fricking Twins?
And I didn’t forget about YOU, Melancon. I’m just… I can’t… I WILL GET TO YOU LATER. What really frightens me about you, Melancon? Is that Bobby V doesn’t seem to think you are horrible.
“Melancon outing? I thought he backed up the bases pretty well. He had that down,” said Valentine when asked about the reliever…
It absolutely fills me with a cold, hollow, trapped-in-a-well kind of fear when the managers think Lackey-esque performances back up bases “pretty well.” We saw it with Francona and Lackey. We saw it with Francona and Timlin. Need I remind anyone of a man named Lugo? Nearsightedness is a part of the aging process, Bobby V. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Just recognize it now and get some cool specs by April, k? They make prescription sunglasses and you could probably even get a fake nose and mustache for them.
Bobby V says he’s going to “sit down” and have a serious conversation about pitching. Um. Okay. Sure. I mean, I would have had that sit down, serious conversation about pitching while forming my rotation. You know. DURING THE OFFSEASON. But sure, with what, TWO FRICKING WEEKS to go before Opening Day? Sure. Let’s all just SIT DOWN now. You sure you don’t want to wait two weeks? Maybe discuss it over CHICKEN?
I’m okay. I’m okay. Totally over September. TOTALLY OVER IT.
I have said it before. I shall say it again. Right. Now. Aceves for rotation. Do it, Bobby V. DO IT. It’s not like we can…
Wait… what… wh… oh my God you guys… Could it… is it… DON’T TOY WITH ME, BOBBY. I have been hurt before. What’s that? Shining in the distance?
Oh hope, you calculating mistress… teasing us in the form of a…
This is exactly like that early 90s cult classic, “the X-Files,” available now on Netflix.
Allow me to explain.
See, for those of you who were like, seven when this came out with mean parents who didn’t let you watch the X-Files because of “graphic content” and nightmares and stuff (and you don’t have Netflix. Because, if you have Netflix, I’m sure you’re already a “believer”), the X-files is about these two FBI agents. There’s a skeptic. Her name is Scully. She’s not relevant to my rambly metaphor. But I like her hair. And then there’s Mulder. See, Mulder, really WANTS TO BELIEVE in things like extraterrestrials and scifi stuff and an afterlife, right, because it gives his life’s mission purpose. It means there’s something out there that means something, see? Oh, and that his sister isn’t dead. But you can get a full explanation on that sideplot from wikipedia.
“I want to believe that the dead are not lost to us…”
Dice-K, I WANT TO BELIEVE in you, because that gives the 80 katrillion dollars and 17 gallons of tears I have shed for you a purpose. But I need evidence.
Much in the same way that, in season 2 of X-Files, Mulder needs EVIDENCE to continue his quest.
Can you tell what I was doing before I made Raleigh friends?
So see, Dice-K. You’re the aliens. We want to believe in you. But you’ve got to stop abducting people and just have a nationally televised conversation. And. You know. Pitch.
What do you think, Soxies? Do you believe in Dice-K? Or do you think we’re alone in the universe?
In other news, the media is really sorry about all that chicken sh#$ (see what I did there?) they spread in September and they’re trying to apologize by over compensating Lavarnway style. I appreciate the attempt to keep my cries of “VARITEK! WHYYYYY” at a minimum. But, seriously, Boston Globe. You don’t have to pander to me. All I need is time.
Some encouraging words about Jose… I mean, we didn’t win. But, apparently, he caught a cool ball. So that’s nice.
Oh, and the media, so astute they are, have decided to tell us all that Bobby V is not Terry Francona. Thanks, Yahoo Sports. What would I do without you in my life? I get you mixed up too, media. Like, just the other day, I was like, Why, Hello, Anderson Cooper! What are YOU doing in the booth? And then I realized it was Jerry Remy. You make THAT much sense, Yahoo Sports.
In conclusion, today was a sucky Red Sox day. Except for the bit about Lesterness.
So, comment, nation. Comment away. Doubront, or not to Doubront? Dice-K, or not to Dice-K? Aliens, or no aliens? Scully or Mulder?
The following guest post is by TooSoxy friend Andrew- in celebration of his new book. Want to check it out? Click here! Want YOUR writing on TooSoxy? Awesome. Because Lauren is busier than she’s ever been, and loves posting things she doesn’t have to write- particularly fan testimonials. EVERYONE loves a good fan testimonial. E-mail me for details- email@example.com.
It’s a funny thing this Red Sox fandom. There are good days, there are bad days, and then there are Red Sox days. Sometimes they all blend together.
I have been living in New York City for the last four years. Having been born in Portland, Maine (yes, I own a couple Sea Dawgs t-shirts) and growing up in the North End of Boston it is safe to say my sports interests did not mesh with the natives. So what do you do? You find a safe haven. A place of refuge. In Manhattan there were four such bars when I first moved here. There are now three. Places where you could wear your Sox hat, drink Harpoon, and let the provincial Boston accent slip out after a few drinks. Truly glorious mirages in a wasteland of Yankees/Giants/Jets/Rangers/Satan fans. But a funny thing has happened. Especially last year (even when the Sox were the best team in baseball – you do remember that don’t you?) the bars were not as full. Hell, one of them even closed down. The manager told me “The Sox fans just don’t come out like they used to.” I could see it. The fans just weren’t there.
Certainly there were the diehards, but the casual Sox fan (the ones who had their pink hats on in 2004) are no more. They have moved on to pink Tebow jerseys or Jeremy Lin shirts.
Let me tell you why my favorite Sox bar had to close: The Sox just haven’t been exciting. They are no longer a bunch of lovable idiots. They are no longer underdogs. They have a payroll the size of many countries’ GDP. They have cry babies. They have guys who don’t seem to give a frick*. They are a team that quit in September. They are a team that hasn’t made an ALCS since 2007. They are overpaid and overrated. They have been for the last four years.
So this is what I’m saying, Red Sox. Give me a reason to be excited. Give me Iglesias at shortstop. Let me see Bailey come in and light the world on fire. Let me see this so called team come together for something other than seventh inning stretch video game playing. Give me a reason. I don’t need much. But I’m going to tell you something; you guys need to get your act together because your TV ratings are down, fan moral is at an all-time low, and you guys are all driving Mercedes. It doesn’t sit well.
You’re not reading this. You’re watching basketball. So I can be as unorganized as I want with this post. By the way, while watching the Vermont game, see if you can catch TooSoxy blogger pal Chris on TBS. He’s the Vermont announcer…
I’m with Youkie-Poo (who, by the way, turned THIRTY-THREE yesterday).
“I don’t think I’m a leadoff hitter, preferably,” he said. “I think I can do a lot better down in the order for this team. I think I can help protect guys down in the order more. That’s why leadoff isn’t for me, personally. But I’ve got no say in anything here. I just go out and play.”
Which LEADS (I’m so punny) to the question… who’s leadoff batter for 2012?
Since Bobby Valentine reads this blog (I’m sure. Who doesn’t?), make your selection carefully in the comments.
In OTHER news… Bobby and co are taking out their scissors. Bye, bye, Will Middlebrooks. We barely knew (or cared) ye…
Since he was eying Youkie’s spot and I’m anti ANYONE eying Youkie but me (ahem, JULIE, ahem), I’m cool with this cut. COOL, I SAY.
Oh, and I’m outvoted again. I STILL say Aceves in the lineup. There are those calling for Doubrant…
Speaking of being outvoted… bye-bye, Inglesias… Glad we’re continuing THAT tradition. Oh yes. You’re doing great. Go away now.
Oh, and in other obvious news, people like Dustin Pedroia. Um. Yeah.
PLEASE, baseball gods, let this be true. USA Today is reporting that… my FAVORITE Yankee player to watch of ALL time has mounted a comeback.
Nope. It’s not Joba (who you know fills me with giggle fits) or that humble stalwart Johnny Damon.
It’s not Grumps (aka: AJ Burnett, who you know I also adore).
Nor is it the scariest pirate of them all, MATSUI.
Oh no. MY favorite Yankee player to watch should undoubtedly be YOUR favorite Yankee player to watch.
He is, after all, the greatest Yankee player of all fricking time.
You heard me.
It’s ANDY PETTITTE.
Really, Andy? It’s been since 2010? I kind of thought you were hiding behind CC Sabathia’s Balloo belly…
Why is Andy Pettitte the GREATEST Yankee player of ALL fricking time, you ask? Why, because of THIS moment:
Pettitte is 39 which, as we have ALLLLLLL learned from media coverage of Tim Wakefield and Jason Varitek, is like Father Time. I am so happy you are back, Andy Pettitte, and I hope you continue to mouth curse words. Because the Andy Pettitte drinking game has NOT been the same without Andy Pettitte. Who’s YOUR favorite Yankee to watch? It’s Andy Pettitte, isn’t it?
In honor of Andy Pettitte, I have compiled a list of FAVORITE Andy Pettitte moments in recent history that DO NOT involve Jacoby. Could you imagine these links being watched to the tune of “Memory” from “Cats?” Thanks.
Those two days when you errored.
“If what I did was an error in judgment on my part, I apologize,” Pettitte cries. “I accept responsibility for those two days.”
Oh! That time you testified.
Oh! And that time you ratted out Clemens.
And that time when you ratted out Clemens, but he got indicted.
Longtime Clemens friend and teammate Andy Pettitte told congressional investigators that Clemens confided to him that he had used HGH. “I believe Andy has misheard” the conversation, Clemens responded. He said he had simply mentioned to Pettitte a TV show about three older men who used HGH to get back their quality of life.
Seriously? It’s been two years? I’m so glad that Roger Clemens has been in our lives so that I haven’t been able to miss you. My little heart would have bursted. Are you SURE he retired? Maybe he was on vacation…. Ahem-fromtesting-ahem….
Tonight, on a bracket high (for a whole few minutes. SCREW YOU, VCU. SCREW YOU), I decided to go out.
See, this is big deal. Now that I work like, a real job. With, like, sleep requirements… my social life… well, it’s a lot like the beginning of a romantic comedy. Jill just has no time for boys! Until Jack comes into her life with a charming sense of whimsy…
So, I went out with Allison and Dave. I know Allison from college. And I know Dave from Allison. So, it’s easy to see why they are my two BEST FRIENDS.
A guy sits next to me with shoulders you could… well… um… hit people with.You could totally use them as a weapon. Like, you could fit them into your purse (it would have to be a big purse) and beat someone senseless.
We start talking. He’s a minor league baseball player. Or was. He wasn’t so good at the English. Outfield, I think. Something about San Francisco? Anyway, with shoulders like that, I thought I could understand him just fine.Venezuela. Say it again, I say. Venezuela.
That’s when it got weird. He starts talking about PINEDA. In present tense. Then he starts talking about how Nick Swisher is his “man.” And he’s serious. Oh, he’s serious.
In my defense, imagine him saying the word “Venezuela” with this lilty Latino sex vibe… oh… and the shoulders. I mean, I’m sure he had like a face and stuff too.
Why do the hot shouldered guys of this world have to like the Yankees? I say, “I’m a Red Sox fan.”
But it’s not like a, “wow, you’re so astute in your baseball team selection” kind of smile.
It’s a “I am thinking hilarious things about you in Spanish right now” kind of smile.
I don’t like this fricking smile. But I let him talk… because, well, you weren’t there. You didn’t hear him say “Venezuela.” So you can’t judge me.
He tells me he thinks David Ortiz has a ‘tude. I think that’s what he’s saying. He could have also said he had a David Ortiz nude.
I tell him my player is Kevin Youkilis. And he did this shady laugh thing. A SHADY LAUGH THING.
What the frick.
He asks me to come back to Fuquay. It takes me a really long time to realize that’s a place in North Carolina. I say, no thanks. And he loses interest very quickly.
But I sat for awhile thinking about how, after all these years, even in a new city with ACTUAL Red Sox fans, I am still a fricking Yankee magnet. Is it me? It must be.
I wonder if I should go out with this guy just so he’ll say Venezuela again. I have been drinking.
Did you know I have to be at work at 7 a.m.?
Venezuela. What a sexy place.
I knew a sky diver from Venezuela.
So. Um. Clearly I can’t go out with this guy.
Right? Um. Maybe he would just read my answering machine…
I could go out with him just once.
You know, even the dream guy (the guy who is perfect, other than the living in Boone thing)- his parents are Yankees fans. Hmm.
I. Lauren. Filled out a bracket. What? Like it’s hard? My bracket is already generating commentary from my male-dominated office. At first, I thought that they were just dazzled at my astute and well-thought out deductions. Like how, since NC State fans and their wolf fingers don’t make sense, their players must not make sense, and I don’t want to bet on a senseless team. Oh. And how Gonzaga sounds like Gonzo, who was never very good at basketball in the Muppet Babies. I am sure the illustrated explanations in the margins went a long way in showing how seriously I take my ten dollar investment. But I heard giggling a few minutes ago… And now I am thinking they might be… Um… Making fun of me? Well, hah, I say. When Harvard pulls a Reese Witherspoon goes to law school style upset, you’ll allllll be sorry you didn’t take my advice.
Just kidding. Obviously I am not that ditzy. I didn’t pick Harvard…
I picked Kansas because I have these really neat red glitter shoes at home and look great in Dorothy-style blue pinafores.
I cannot wait until baseball. I told my coworker I like baseball. He laughed and said, “like you like basketball?”
Exactly, I say.
How long do you think it will take before my water cooler sox vomit ruins my serious journalist street cred?
I wrote this from an iPhone because I am technologically advanced now.
Yankees hat? Biebs? Really?
You were everywhere during Soxsplosion. You were so helpful, news media. Like the stalker from SwimFan.
Pointing out everything from our beer choices to our attitudes. I, for one, really appreciated the loyalty. You stuck it out with us, us specifically. I mean, one would think we would see more coverage of Bravesplosion. Since, numbers-wise, it was kind of worse. Or coverage of the Cardinals. You know. Since they won. And, see, I thought the World Series was a big deal. But I also like to listen to Justin Bieber on my shower radio, so, sometimes my thought process is different from that of other 28-year-olds. I kind of thought you would pay more attention to the Stankees, since their loss was pretty hilarious. Seriously, for like a brief second, I thought you were going to abandon us for ten minutes. But nope, you’re nothing if not loyal, you faithful ones, you. Through November, when you made sure that, even as people started to forget the Cardinals’ new rings, they’d NEVER forget that time Josh Beckett pudged up. Oh, and in December. When you were so considerate. Spreading your Soxsplosion evangelism. Just to make sure Americans really, really got those oh-so-subtle fried chicken cracks. (Can someone tell another chicken joke? I feel like it’s been a month since I’ve heard one) I love how you continued your close, personal relationship with us in January and February. Remember all those special blurbs about us? Even when everyone was paying attention to the Giants and the Patriots- you didn’t let them forget about how Papelbon left us and how Papi wasn’t worth the cash and how our players are old and how Jacoby is leaving us someday and … oh… something about chicken…
Where are you now, Media? When we do things like shut out the Stankees?
Suddenly, I feel so alone. It’s like, the world is dark and all I have is the ability to laugh at Justin Bieber’s hat.
Tell me you’re at least still bugging my closet.
I have my best phone conversations in there.
I’ve been working for sixteen hours. SIXTEEN HOURS.
I miss you.
SERIOUSLY, Kyle Weilland? SERIOUSLY?
In the Astros’ 4-3 win over the Yankees, Weiland threw four no-hit innings, using his sinker to get early swings and needing just 49 pitches to get through them.
Well that’s just FRICKtastic. Let’s sound the 76 FRICKING trombones in Houston.
Never mind that it’s a SPRING TRAINING game.
You know. AND NOT THE MOST IMPORTANT FRICKING GAME OF THE WHOLE FRICKING YEAR.
Oh, yes. Let’s take THIS opportunity to not melt into a blubbery mess on the pitching mound. Are you doing this on PURPOSE? Are you a double agent, Kyle? Because that’s such a cliche. You were working for Houston ALLLLLLLLLL along. Weren’t you? WEREN’T YOU? Where the FRICK was this miracle in September?
September was like “Misery.” The movie version. With Kathy Bates. You’re Kathy Bates, Kyle.
(And not the book version. With imaginary Hattie McDaniel. Hattie sure is scary in my imagination. But I think the Kathy Bates reference is more visual. Don’t you?)
We’re just lying there. Trying to collect enough painkillers in our teeth to put the fricking season to sleep, see. It’s not like we can go anywhere. Our fricking car hit a fricking tree, Kyle. And you’re Kathy Fricking Bates with a hammer making right angles out of our ankles.
AFTER WHAT MY ANKLES HAVE BEEN THROUGH, YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED.
And now. ALLLLLL of a sudden. YOU GIVE US “GREEN effing TOMATOES?”
WHY THE FRICK DOES HOUSTON GET TO BE MARY LOUISE PARKER?????
I can’t even look at you, Kyle Weiland. You disgust me.
I miss Whitney.
I blame you for that, TOO, Kyle.
What are your thoughts? Choose an option below in the comments:
1. Kyle Weiland was body snatched.
2. Kyle Weiland is a jerk.
3. Kyle Weiland is a double agent assassin like that hot Russian guy in “From Russia With Love” who can’t open the briefcase on the train.
4. Baseball is a lie. There is no Kyle Weiland.