Hey, Soxies: Some moron thinks we’re screwed.
Apparently, some of us are ready to just…
And, unless you’re James Cameron and have a neat submariney thing, it’s really not that fun down there, guys.
The following is an ACTUAL e-mail exchange from earlier today. The name has been changed to protect the identity of a “fan” who can only be described as a complete moron.
So, Lauren. What are you going to blog about now that the Red Sox are fudged*?
(*he didn’t say fudge)
Um. Hi. Well, considering it hasn’t even been a week of baseball… I think we’ve… um… still got a shot.
If you were a real fan and had watched baseball as long as I have, you would know there’s no coming back from this. Obviously you don’t really pay attention.
That REALLY happened.
I have started about eight e-mails to you, MORON, but I… I just can’t…
Okay. Hold on. Let me clear my throat. Shake out my shoulders.
So. In my other job (my, you know, actual job), I do this thing where I let numbers tell stories. Numbers are fantastic. My math geekiness aside, numbers are the COMPLETE opposite of people. They don’t lie to you. They don’t e-mail you ridiculousness. And they don’t make ridiculous assumptions. And they would never EVER make you watch a Nicholas Cage movie.
So let’s look at the numbers.
SIX days of baseball.
SIX games of baseball.
Let’s see… 6/162.
Let’s do iPhone math, shall we, MORON?
Not even FOUR percent.
My advice? Get out more.
No, seriously. Put on a belt (and pants. Try pants!). Slap on some sunscreen (because, let’s be honest, it doesn’t sound like you’ve seen Mr. Sun in a hot decade). Trek out of your mom’s basement (she’ll still be there, trivial pursuit and all when you get back) and hit the sidewalk. Take a walk. That’s what a sidewalk is for. If you’re feeling randy, invest in a scooter!
Because, clearly, baseball spectating is NOT for you.
Let me put it into perspective for you- throwing in the towel NOW is like-
Going ahead and investing in cats now because you’re fifteen and no one asked you to the sock hop.
Making the pudding switch at age 30 because you know you’ll likely lose your teeth at 95.
Never getting out of bed because you know you’ll be sleeping in 15 hours anyway.
Turning off a movie because Nicholas Cage is in the opening credits. Okay. That one is legitimate.
But you’d have to be a MORON not get my point, right?
Here’s something else that’s moronic- Blaming our rotation.
Go back a few years. Pre-Pedro. Perfect rotations? Wasn’t in the pre-season expectations. It was hitting, hitting, hitting. Am I wrong?
You can have the best rotation on the planet (and I am NOT saying we do), but if you can’t hit, you can’t get a run. You can’t get a run, you can’t win.
You can have the WORST pitching on the planet and still outhit another team.
Logic. Math. Numbers. See why I want to snuggle up with them? Math is so sexy, you guys.
I find it interesting that everyone blamed Santos for OUR win. No one said, hey, look, the Boston bats are back.
I find it interesting that everyone blamed Daniel Bard for OUR loss. No one said, hey, look, the Boston bats are paperweights.
I find it interesting that a TEAM sport is an individual sport when you lose…
And that individual is ALWAYS a pitcher.
It’s six games. SIX games. I’m hardly panicking. But I will tell you that my cloud of concern- it’s not hovering over the pitcher’s mound.
I mean, we managed to win Lackey games last year. Remember?
I am flummoxed.
But still planning to watch our boys come Soxtober. You heard me.