Josh Beckett and my dog are exactly alike. Oh. And I am out of fricking peeps.
Just got home. From an Easterrific Easter. Have whole box of peeps. Am most pleased at my present. Most pleased.
I shall have one. Just one. You know. As a special reward for following the speed limit (kinda).
Now, to see what happened to the Sox today. Hello, Google News Alerts…
Two beers later. And I am fine. I am so fine. I think I will walk out to my lovely patio and… Oh. Right. My windows had an… ACCIDENT…
So. Three losses. No blinds. No peeps.
So… it’s not exactly ruining my life. But it is ruining my weekend.
Actually, I don’t blame Josh Beckett. You are just one man, Josh Beckett. And I don’t blame you, Alfredo Aceves. I NEVER said that you were a closer.
Bobby V. did.
In fact… the only things these three games have… in common… is YOU, Bobby Valentine. YOU. YOU and failure.
YOU kept Josh Beckett in forever. YOU didn’t kick Jacoby in the ego Thursday when he refused to play baseball. YOU let the runs stack up today. YOU, YOU, YOU.
I am too angry for an iPhone video.
My feelings right now on Bobby V. can best be expressed by Stephen Fry:
GET it together, SOX.
It’s just three games. It’s only April.
And I’m only having an icky case of the dejavuz…