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Posts Tagged ‘Alfredo Aceves’

Jon Lester is punishing us for taking away the chicken.

March 21, 2012 8 comments

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.

Check out this depressing read on Carl Crawford. Actually… don’t. You might not want to… Here. Read this pointless article on A-Gonz instead. Or this!

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-

Revenue $310 million
Operating Income: $25.4 million
Debt/Value: 24%
Player Expenses: $191 million
Gate Receipts: $180 million
Revenue per Fan: $69

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?

L

Jackson’s diss. Oh and Theo and Cash are besties now.

February 2, 2012 3 comments

Today has been ridiculously icky. Not only did I have to work (gahk. At least I didn’t fall into a deer carcass this time. See Twitter.), I had to teach my last class at Appalachian State University. I think I scared the bejeezus (that’s a word they use in Boone) out of the little dreamers and hopers. I might have told the little newsy hopefuls that their destinies included $18 k jobs and a lack of health insurance. Oh, and that stress and 80-hour work weeks would cause them to die alone of a heart condition with only the distribution of their underfed cats and a missed deadline to remind people they existed in the first place. You know. Unless that get a snazzy new biz journal job and a the promise of a snazzy new paycheck. But that probably won’t happen to you, I said. You are all too idealistic.

I must make myself pretty for my date tonight (I have a date. Yep. Now that I’m moving. I’m dating. That’s apparently how it works)- but you deserve news briefs. So, here.

And repeat after me- We DON’T need Roy Oswalt.

I’m thinking Alfredo Aceves will astound us all. Um. Maybe. Here you go:

—-

Edwin Jackson dissed us officially. For – and this one will make you roll your eyes- THE NATIONALS. Whatever. $10 mill? Really? Whatever.

Some people say we should go after the Nationals reject now- John Lannan.

Lannan is a groundball pitcher who has never induced fewer than 50 percent grounders, and holds a career groundball-to-flyball ratio of 1.9. His FIP haven’t exactly been stellar despite this, as he’s been about 12 percent worse than the league in that regard over his career.

Um. I’d rather have Scut back.

—-

Curt Schilling WON’T STOP TALKING.

This time he’s not talking about video games. Or the Red Sox. Traitor boy is talking Cubs.

“I would feel very comfortable putting a very large chunk of money that [a World Series title] would happen in the next five to 10 years. This guy is a game-changer from a baseball knowledge perspective. He is as smart, as aware as anyone I have ever been around, and I’m talking about game smart. The kind of smarts that generally have been associated with people who have been on the field.

“He understands the human element to this. A lot of what I learned from and about Theo I’ve taken into my company and tried to help my company grow. Theo gets it, and it’s not lost on the people who played for him. He’s the only general manager I ever played around who fit into the clubhouse. That’s a very dangerous thing for general managers, especially if they don’t fit. He was always welcome. He’s a very smart guy.”

Whatever. Thank you for 2004. Now go home.

—-

So, Cubs. If Curt is right, you’ll get the WS. Whatever. We get your scout. Um. Well, we DO get your scout.

The Red Sox have hired one of former Cubs GM Jim Hendry’s top assistants to help out their major league scouting staff. He’s veteran scout Gary Hughes, who served as special assistant to Hendry before resigning in late September after Hendry was fired.

Hughes is 70-years-old. He scouted Tom Brady as a catcher. So. He’s old. And he recognizes good hair when he sees it.

—-

And in news that makes the reporter in me cringe in utter heebee jeebees, New York Times Company lost like $40 katrillion (eeek!) and had to sell some of its Sox stock to an “undisclosed” buyer.

Let me repeat that parenthetical: EEEEEEK.

So, not only does some rich kazillionaire out there (hey, it could be Snookie people, you don’t know) own us, my industry is melting faster than a wicked witch in a rain storm.

I think my feelings can best be expressed through the dramatic David Grey classic, “Nightblindness.”

You’re welcome.

I really enjoyed Bleacher Report today. Read under-the-radar-free-agents-that-paid-off.

They give Aceves (my personal fav) a shout out:

For a mere $635,000 Alfredo Aceves probably provided the highest overall return on investment.

Seriously. In a year that brought us Crawflop and A-walktofirst-Gonzalez, Aceves was a rock star.

It was such a nice season that Aceves may have a shot at a spot in the Red Sox starting rotation this coming season. Even if he doesn’t start, another season similar to last year’s will net Aceves a considerable raise the next time his contract comes up.

I’d really, really, really like to see Aceves start. Over Bard. Just saying.

Troy O’Leary is another nice example.

In irritating news, our very own East Bound and Downesque Vincente Padilla may be delayed by LEGAL TROUBLE. An arrest warrant in Nicaragua (I have to interview someone in Nicaragua at 5!) for child support something could delay him getting back to the states. So it’s not even a nifty arrest warrant. Like for assaulting a Stankee.

Whatthefrickever.

—-

And here’s something irritating. Theo’s now all roses that him and Cashman can be buddies. It’s all about the shirt.

“I was never able to totally relax because I felt like he was always lurking,” Epstein said. “He had a great sense of the marketplace.”

But now they can jog down the hillside and pick poppies together.

Brian Cashman and Theo Epstein said that after years of being on opposite sides of baseball’s most bitter rivalry, they are looking forward to being able to make deals with one another.

Whatever.

Oh- and Carl Crawford is now an accused swindler.

Somehow, I think Carl can afford the lawsuit.

—-

Have a lovely Friday! Off to get pretty(er).

~L

Nick Cafardo and I agree on something. Oh, and this could be as good as it gets, folks.

January 17, 2012 11 comments

Nick Cafardo and I agree on one thing today. And that is Tim Wakefield.

Who- as I’ve said before- we shouldn’t just write off- despite the imaginary walker.

Not sure it’s safe to assume that his tenure with Boston is over. Even if they don’t sign him right now, what prevents them from bringing him back in May or June or even after the All-Star break if they need a starter? He could always be one of those half-season veteran pitchers.

That’s what I see for Tim. Tim’s a utility guy and a hero. He’s not the guy you parade around the mound for a milestone. He can still serve a purpose.

And every time we write him out- he comes back as a weapon.

Well, you know. Except for that one time. Okay, that several times over the summer.

But that wasn’t his fault, see. It was the number.

Numbers are scary beasts.

So. Here’s the deal, folks. Benny C is playing it… safe? Is that even the word for this? He’s certainly playing it oppositeville. Maybe he was hanging out with Michael Hill… they were playing chess, see, when all of a sudden… the board, it got struck by lightning, right? And their hair frizzed up. Oh! And then, something magical happened like that one time on Gilligan’s Island. They switched brains!!!!!

Or, maybe Benny C doesn’t know we have money.

Maybe he doesn’t read all the disparaging comments people make about how we’re moneybaggers and buy our championships and have a bazillion dollars.

Or maybe he’s busy arguing salaries with our six unsigned arbitration-eligible players: RHP Alfredo Aceves, INF Mike Aviles, RHP Andrew Bailey, RHP Daniel Bard, OF Jacoby Ellsbury and DH David Ortiz.

Or maybe he’s still playing with the rolly chair in what used to be Theo Epstein’s office.

Are we REALLY too broke for Roy Oswalt?

I do not understand how moving around payroll works. I understand that it’s how we lost Alex Rodriguez (blessing in disguise). I understand that the internet understands it better than I do-

…in order to sign the pitcher at his current asking price a corresponding roster move would have to made in order to free up payroll.

Can we unLackey ourselves or something? I mean, it’s not like he can play…

I am so confuzzled by our pseudo-poverty.

So, in other words- this could be as good as it gets- at least for now.

Provided we have Aceves in our rotation- how do we stack up- right now- as of Jan. 17? Because I’m not feeling the rotation strength. The real people we’ll be counting on- Lester, Beckett, Buccholz- they couldn’t pull us out of a Soxplosion. And now they’re starring in our comeback tour? I’m not feeling the pep today, folks.

—-

In other news- it always hurts when someone moves on. You know the relationship is over. You say you’re fine. But it’s like that Gavin DeGraw song-

I think it’s pretty obvious who I’m talking about

~L

Maybe Brian Cashman isn’t (entirely) evil and other stories to spin your Sunday.

November 13, 2011 8 comments

So. Brian Cashman of Stankees infamy does have a redeeming quality: His taste in players. When asked to identify his favorite player to watch from another club, he only said what everyone was thinking.

Kevin Youkilis probably. He really grinds out an at-bat and just kills you. He is so determined,” said Cashman. “You can pitch him in. You can hit him. Whatever. He just gets back in there and it’s sheer determination. It’s never a comfortable at-bat when you’re watching this guy try to do damage against your pitchers. He just finds a way to do it. I appreciate watching how he goes about his business and just how tenacious he is. A lot of these guys are very controlled in this sport, unlike football. But he’s got a tenaciousness that just oozes right through his bat, right there at the plate, and it’s pretty special to watch.”

He IS pretty special, isn’t he?

And, before you totally blink out of oppositeville, guess who Sox scout Galen Car said: DEREK JETER.

—-

PITCHING NEWS

In good news, Captain Obvious’s messages are finally hitting home, as Alfredo Aceves is being conditioned to start in the Sox rotation.

The “I-told-you-so” chorus would be louder, but it is currently Papelgrieving, so…

There are also rumors that Bard’s being looked at for rotation. But that’s a bad idea. Why?

Were you watching baseball this summer? Do we really have to relive the pain? He’s a short-term pitcher with not a lot of inning depth- and his eyes bug out in pressure games. Let’s work him in the bullpen until he’s unJenksed, k?

And rumors are circulating about Matt Cain.

The MANAGER Search

And Torey Lovullo (ex Paw-Sox manager) and Gene Lamont (Tigers) are adding their names to the dating pool for the management gig. And I have a TooSoxy endorsement that may not be the most popular.

TOREY LOVULLO.

Yes, I know he’s a Jay- but just hear me out. Not only has he ALREADY had to deal with Sox drama (Paw Sox, yep, Paw Sox) AND is familiar with the players- he’s currently the righthand of John Farrell. Something HAS to have rubbed off. Darkhorse? Yes. Popular? No. Sveum? No. My choice? YES.

To be fair, Lamont and Sveum have also worked with the Sox- but in a bigger capacity- so they could already be tainted by Front Office whimsy. It all makes sense in my head, see.

Besides, the killer is always the person you least suspect. And NO ONE suspects Lovullo.

And, since I know how much my opinion means to you, America- start reaquainting yourself to Clam Chowder, New England style, Lovullo. And the rest of you, start learning to spell his name. THREE Ls, people. Come on.

—-

Our FAs

So. Paps is out. But that doesn’t mean we have to lose the rest of our hopes and dreams. There’s Jason Varitek, and FireBrand says it’s time to let go:

Based on what you can expect from a 40-year old catcher, it might best to move on. It’s Lavarnway time but it’s always great to remember how important Varitek has been to the Boston Red Sox and how lucky we were to have him.

TooSoxy has a different opinion.

We’ll never let go, will we, Soxies? (Yes. I went there)

So he’s no spring chicken (Is it too soon for chicken jokes?). Tek needs to retire in a Sox uniform. He’s more than a glove. He’s a leader. I say slide him into Curt Young’s vacancy. He’s more than the catcher. He’s the captain. And after what we’ve been through, we need stability, continuity and JASON VARITEK.

David Ortiz. If Tek is the soul of the Sox, Ortiz is its heart. And he’s not going ANYWHERE. Right, Ben Cherington? Right?

“There’s some interesting guysout there that could factor into our right-field mix,” said Cherington. “A lot of that depends again on David. If David’s here, we’re going to go in a certain direction with the outfield. If he’s not here, it sort of opens it up a little bit. There’s alternatives, both in free agency and in a trade market for guys that can play right field.”

Is anyone else NOT comforted by that?

—–

Letting go

Theo Epstein is really gone. Really, really. And, even though HE CAN’T SEEM TO SHUT UP AND LET GO… we have to.

“How do you describe a death spiral?” he said. “We knew we had issues going into September (even though) we were on pace for 100 wins. We just couldn’t stop bleeding. A lot of things happened at the same time. We lost a few key guys to injury, a few guys had a significant downturn in their performance, and all of a sudden we looked up and we didn’t have enough pitching.”

SHUT UP!

“There weren’t players getting drunk during games. And it wasn’t widespread — it might have been one, two, three guys,” Epstein said.

Stop talking! You are making it worse!

I think this is alllllll part of the plan to steal our manager candidates.

—-

Bizarre News

And, in bizarrely horrific news, remember the Washington Nationals catcher kidnapped in Venezuela? (This really happened) He’s been rescued.

What is the world coming to?

So much news. Anyone else’s eyes rolling around in their heads?

—-

TooSoxy has Twitter

And, in the most exciting news news of the weekend, we officially have a Twitter page. Tweet me. Tweet me like you’ve never Tweeted before.

—-

So, thoughts people! Manager search! Ortiz! Tek! Who should stay? Who should go? Who should be kidnapped next in Venezuela (too soon, Lauren. Too soon)? Onward to the caffiene.

~L

Erik Bedard. Glad to meet you?

August 4, 2011 26 comments

When I start watching, there’s a C.C. Sabathia Pepsi commercial on. Pepsi, I am never drinking you again. Okay. So I don’t drink Pepsi. Or soda. But you know what? I’m double not drinking you now.

Nervous. Haven’t seen the score. Just want to watch Erik Bedard pitch. It is 8:11 p.m. How much damage can be done in an hour? Right. Right.

I like that you are French, Erik. If you are sucking, I plan to yell at you in French. Oh, look. The same bad screen problems.

Oh, Masterson. I loved you so.

I cannot see the score because of the split checkerboard screen.  We must be winning.

3-2. Oh. 3-2.

I am so conflicted. Justin Masterson, I want you to do well, but I want my team to hit your balls. Oh, was that a look of recognition? Did you recognize me through my computer screen just then? We were something special, you and I, Justin. Remember the happy nights we spent together? While you pitched okay plus and I fantasized about your potential? In a few years, we said… in a few years…

Alas. Our love story was not to be. Like “Love Story” with Ryan O’Neal (or is it O’Niel?). Except instead of cancer, you got Cleveland.

Kevin Youkilis. Awkward. Two of my loves fighting, pitcher and batter. I am going to imagine they are fighting for me.

Youkilis is out. I am agape. It’s okay, baby. It’s okay.

Justin! That’s not the way to win my heart. No sir (she says as she shakes her fist at a Theo Epstein graphic. For me, I said, Theo! For me! Why couldn’t you have kept Justin Masterson for me?!).

—-

Strike out number four for Bedard. Okay. I like strike outs. I like how Jerry Remy pronounces your name. Be-dod.

I’m not sure what happened with the three runs. So I am withholding judgment. I was late because I was giving my dog a hair cut. She looks awful. I may take a picture and put it on here. I don’t know. She doesn’t want me to because she’s embarrassed and partially bald on one side.

Oops.

Strike out 5. Okay.

So. Um. From what I see, you’re okay.

So why the three runs again? Was it Lackey? Did you tag him in? Because I meant to warn you about that.

Ellsbury catches. Ends. Niceness.

But 3-2 Indians? What’s with that?

—-

Once again, someone asked me why I am in love with Kevin Youkilis.

It’s really not an easy question to answer.

But I will try.

Well, he’s affectionate.

He’s a hugger, Youkie is.

Oh, and he is a kickass baseball player.

Oh, and he gives me a secret signal. You wouldn’t understand. Ours is a spiritual plane kind of love.

Justin just struck out Ortiz. I think I have a corner tear. Oh. It’s from dog hair, wafting through the apartment. Next time I give you a haircut, Ellie, you will be outside.

Justin Masterson, can you come home? I will give you Jed Lowrie. And John Lackey, Cleveland. And, okay. You can have Bobby Jenks too. But only if you can get Justin to us by the 7th inning stretch.

2 outs. I blame Theo.

Josh Reddick. Home run. 3-3.

Now, Sox-Rox (see comments), Cleveland is not cancer. That’s just mean.

They’re more like Roundworm. Oh! Or Rabies.

That’s less mean. Right? Isn’t that less mean than cancer?

I am drinking vodka and Gatorade tonight. And it is not good.

Home runs are good. Thanks, Josh.

—-

OHMYGODYOUGUYSSHUTUP! It is Jason Varitek. I haven’t seen Jason Varitek in so long! He will do great things for us today. He will… strike out.

OHMYGODJUSTINYOUSTRUCKOUTTHECAPTAIN. You deserve ice cream or something.

NO. No ice cream for the person who strikes out the Captain.

No.

Feelings are confusing!

—-

It is 8:31. And Josh Reddick just spit. CHILDREN ARE WATCHING YOU.

I can’t stand a spitter.

Hi, Bedard.

Qu’est-ce qui était cela?

Youkie. Merci.

Honestly, people. It’s so stressful watching a pitcher you do not know. Oh, and John Lackey.

Hey, you ended the pledge, buddy. I tried.

Hi, Erik.

I like you.

I do.

We’re going to be friends.

We will speak French to each other and say things with French accents. And you can braid my hair.

I think I love you. Enchanté.

Strike two. Full count. “Bedard has not walked anybody in the game tonight.”

He won’t start now. Not when I’ve just professed my optimism. He won’t…

Crawford running catches it. You knew he was going to do that, didn’t you Erik? Clever. Giving him a false sense of security like that. But see, Josh gives me a signal so I don’t have a heart attack. You should… you know what? You’ll learn. You’ll learn. De rien.

Hi, BH (see comments)! Glad to see you. Glad you didn’t miss the Reddick homer. Go away. And then come back. Maybe that is the key to our home runs tonight. Go! Hurry, so you can come back!

—-

Marco Scutaro. Oh, Bedard- à quoi bon? Seriously.

Out. Of course.

Oh, Heidi is talking about Jed Lowrie.

“I need to make sure that I’m healthy so I can help this team win.”

Hah. You. Healthy. Yeah. Okay.

Now he’s talking about in 2009 “playing through the pain.”

Really? When did you EVER play through the pain?

—-

Left Center…. can’t get it! Yess. Ellsbury gets to first. Sweet.

—–

Either of you guys interested in guest blogging? No?

—–

Ellsbury still at first. Pedroia sinks into an out. A stinky, stinky out.

I really hope I get to see at least ONE Stanks game this weekend…

Hi, Masterson. I mean Gonz! I mean Gonz!

So confuuuuuussseeed.

Justin. For old time’s sake. Could you…

No… I could never ask you to be what you’re not.

We live in two different worlds, Justin. It’s like in “The Last Unicorn.” You’re my Prince Lir. It’s very romantic in a mythical cartoony way.

A happy ending cannot come in the middle of the story.

Like the wind off the sea…

Justin Masterson. I just don’t know what to say.

Screw that.

My feelings can best be expressed by Idina Menzel.

Erik Bedard. You are kind of great. I say kind of, because, thanks to checkerboard MLB that I am paying $20 a month for, I can’t entirely tell.

But you seem swell.

My dog looks really horrible. I kind of feel bad. She’s being boarded for a few days starting tomorrow. All the other puppies might make fun of her.

High fly ballllllllll Jacoby at wall… Jacoby leaps… Jacoby flubs. Double. Whatever. WHATEVER.

Oh no. A home run. Oh no. It’s okay. It’s… It’s okay. A two run home run.

Carlos Santana. Pffft. Il ne casse pas trois pattes à un canard. Pfft. We’ve still got this, Erik.

5 to… um… 3.

Pffft. Revenons à nos moutons.

Two runs. Whatever. Two runs is nothing. We’re fine. We’ve got this, you and I, Bedard.

And, thanks, Pedroia. We finally have an out. That’s something. We’re fiiinneeee. Not even worried. Not. Even. Worried. No.

Okay. I just got the memo that wasn’t you, Erik. That was Morales. Because I just saw through the checkboards. And NOW I AM ANGRY. YOU KNOW BETTER, Morales. YOU KNOW BETTER. This is YOUR fault. YOUR FAULT.

FIX ITFIXITNOW.

——

Make. It. Stop.

MAKEITSTOPNOW.

—–

Gatorade is a TERRIBLE drink.

—-

Alfredo Aceves. Ohmygod, Alfredo. Did you see what Morales tried to do to us? Did you see what Morales DID to us? Did you see? Ohmygod, Alfredo.

I ate your pasta today.

Okay. I didn’t. But I wanted too. I went to Which Wich again.

Oh, Alfredo. Fix this. And then go give Erik a hug. I don’t want him to think we do this to pitchers. I mean, you know we do this to pitchers. But I want him fooled. I don’t want him to think our bullpen hates our rotation. Okay?

John Lackey! Stop talking to Erik! You might be contagious! Stop it!

It’s okay, Erik. I won’t let them hurt you. I hear you hurt easily. I’m going to protect you. With. My. Mind.

Alfredo?

Alfredo? Why?

Why would you… Why?

Double for Matt LaPorta.

“As he plays pepper with that left field wall.”

What does it mean to play pepper with something?

I don’t understand. I am confused.

Google search time!

Oh. That’s what it means?

That does not make sense, Jerry Remy.

We really only have one out?

Alfredo? You’re supposed to fix everything and then you were going to go tell John Lackey to stay off our Erik. You were going to do that intimidating snarl that you do. You know the one. No. Not that one. No. Not that one. Nope.

Oh good. Now the audio is checkerboarding. It’s like a Jerry Remy round. Seriously, MLB. I can’t believe I pay money for this.

GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. Full count. STRIKE. Stop saying that, Jerry! Stopppp it.

I don’t understand why you keep repeating and why I haven’t muted you. Oh. Mute. You sound better now.

And I can hear myself. I will sing.

You are so deprived. I wish you could hear me. I bet my neighbors can hear me.

They’re so lucky.

Did you know there are Youtube videos where you can sing opposite Idina Menzel?

Oh. Neither did I.

After a discussion from Jason Varitek… Yes. An out. You were struck out. With an out. Two outs.

There are supposed to be three outs, Alfredo.

—-

It’s okay, BH. I think I handled it. I explained to Alfredo that there are three outs and that innings are supposed to end. It’s okay now. You’re welcome.

—-

Just YOOUUUUUUUU AND I… DEFYYYYYING GRAVITY….

My neighbors are so lucky.

I can sing and type. Can I sing and type?

Um. Kinda.

Come on, Alfreeeeeddoooooo…..

Striiiikeeee threee… and the indians suckkkkk <- you can sing that to the tune of “Defying Gravity” if you want.

Out.

More Gatorade!

—-

Dear Justin Masterson,

I hope you’re happy now.

Now that you’re choosing this.

I hope it brings you bliss.

I really hope you get it. And don’t live to regret it…

Okay. I’ll stop.

Typing. I’ll never stop singing. Never.

“I met Pedroia at Red Sox Camp,” kid’s sign says. I am sooooooo jealous.

And you jerk. You just outed Youkilis. I mean you gave him an out. I mean you made him out. I mean… he was out. You know what I mean!!!!

Molina spit on an ump? really? Fascinating news tonight, Heidi.It is the bottom of the 6th. And David Ortiz is batting. And it is 9:12. And his helmet is REALLY shiny today.

Clap those hands, baby. Clap those hands! Work it!

See that Justin snarl, Alfredo? If you had snarled like that, you probably would have pitched better.

Just saying.

—-

I think I would like “So You Think You Can Dance.” But I don’t have a television. Is your computer doing weird boxy things that break up your image, BH?

Maybe MLB just hates North Carolina.

Ortiz is walking. Masterson’s first walk.

Thanks, Justin. Thanks.

Don’t think I don’t know that was for me.

—-

You can’t keep doing this, Justin. They’ll know. They’ll know about us. And there’s no telling what Cleveland will do.

Outside ball? They’re going to find out, Justin. And Cleveland will tell Youk. And then we’ll both be in trouble. More Gatorade? Okay!
—-

Electrolytes are good for you. Really. I looked it up.

And an error leaves us with no outs! Swell.

Swell!

But Justin, you’ve got to be more subtle. Belcher’s talking to him. Oh no! They’ve found us out! Quick! Alfredo! Cover Youk’s eyes!

—-

Oh, it must be dramatic. They’re playing previous clips like the Reddick homer. Oh no. I’m sorry I got us into this mess, Justin. Blame it on the ‘rade.

—-

Josh Reddick, aka Joshy-poo, is going to get a three run homer. He will. You’ll see. They’ll all see!

—-

In the air to left. Caught. Joshy-poo?

Two outs. But two on base.

Masterson is faced with a dilemma. Help the one that got away (that’s me) or save face with his buddies in Cleveland.

Ball two.

Jason Varitek.

Jassssooonnnnnn Varitek.

Foul. Two and Two.

Justin. Stand strong. Help a captain out. You knoooowwwww you want to.

Tek is like a FATHER to you. He’s like a FATHER to me. That makes us… um…

DAMNIT, Justin.

We’re over.

Again.

Stop calling me. Cleveland can have you.

—-

I didn’t mean it.

I did!

I like how the commercials come in crysssstttalllll clear.

—-

Anyone know any good knock-knock jokes? I heard this one today about Florida. But it wasn’t a knock-knock joke. It was something like a Canes fan, a Gator’s fan and… um… A Noles fan? Yes. They’re all on this roof, see, trying to show how great their fanship is, right? And the Noles fan jumps to show his devotion and says “This is for …” I can’t remember. But he says something dramatic, right? And then the Canes fan pushes the Gator’s fan off of the roof and says, “This is for the Canes!”

I know. I know I’m not supposed to drink Gatorade. It is not the drink of my people. But it is lemonlime. And at the corner market near my house.

—-

Pestano is warming up. For the best, I suppose.

—-

Is Miller really pitching?

FDA, I have loved Youkilis since he started playing. We got married in April of 2005. I am nothing if not faithful. And marital status does not matter to me in my baseball marriages.

—–

Oh no. Asdrubbbbbbbbbbbbubbbbbbbuubbbbuaaallllaaabear is about to bat. That’s his real name, you know.

Miller. What are you doing? Is this on purpose? Because you are not Erik Bedard. You do not get a free pass from me.

—–

Strikeeeee out. See? Snippy comments work. Good, Miller. Gooooood.

—-

And FDA- I LOVE Youkilis. I LIKE Chinese food.

—-

On the other side of the planet. Um. Internet. Jeb just said the Pirates are losing.

—-

I don’t think Andrew Miller has seen “Wicked.” If he had, he would be inspired. Because everyone in all of Oz, all Wizards that there are or were are totally going to briiiiiingggggg himmmmm dowwwwnnnnnn…

Okay. I’m done. With the typing. Not the singing.

My dog just went upstairs.

Hmmm.

—-

No. No. No. NO.

Cabrera, aka Asdrublahavomitabeaaaarrrr, scored.

—-

I do not know what the score is. Because of the checkerboards. Okay. I do know what the score is. But I’m not typing it. That makes it real. And this? This isn’t real. This isn’t reality. There are too many walls. That’s deep. Deep. Like this Gatorade. They give you a lot for six dollars.

OUT. Fahfricking finally. 6-3. SIX TO THREE. There. I said it. Don’t hurt me, sky.

—-

Let’s write fanfiction about this game. Let’s. Okay.

The game that one day when we weren’t losing

by Lauren

One day there was this game.

It was at Fenway Park.

There were these Red Sox. And they hit lots of home runs. But not normal home runs. Magical home runs. That hit irritating people in the stands and made them fall off Fenway Park. No one died or anything. But this girl with the spikey hair who cut off Lauren on King Street today? She got hurt.

Oh, and Kevin Youkilis got four grand slams. And that was only part of the 87-1 score. Justin Masterson cried a lot. And said, “Whyyyyy? Whyyyyy?” And Theo Epstein (he was wearing this hat. It was a big hat) looked upon him and said, “Boy? Why are you crying?”

And Justin said, “Because no one loves me and I suck now in Cleveland. And my only friend is Drew Carey.”

And, since the thimble didn’t make him feel better, Theo decided to take him away to a magical land on the other side of the stadium.

“Come with us, Justin,” he said. “You will never be sad again. And we’ll let you grow your hair out so you don’t look so awkwardly bald.”

“But, Theo?! However will I escape?”

“I’ve got a plan.”

And, with Youkilis’ help, Theo threw John Lackey and Jed Lowrie (whose injury made him bouncy) and Marco Scutaro at Cleveland and they stuck like double sided tape. And we got this amazing new short stop. Named. Um. Greg. His name was Greg. And he had many home runs.

And The Red Sox Won.

The end.

—-

I am really talented.

I understand why no one wants to guest blog. But if none of you volunteer, I am going to call Jeb again.

—-

Bottom of the 7th. 9:42. Ohno. If the Yankees win (and they are winning) and we lose (and we are losing), we would be tied.

OHNO.

Dustin Pedroia, I hope you heard that. Swing and a miss makes quick work of Pedroia? Stop it! Stop making quick work of yourself!

—-

Clearly your laundry is cursed, BH. Hurry! Roll it around in grass or something!

—-

Adrian Gonzalez. You should do something. Like. Um. Score. Like hit a two-run homer and let the crowd cheer. “Adrian!” They’ll chant! “Adrian!” And then they’ll throw crepe paper and streamers and candy and everyone will be happy again and… Gonz chops it toward the shortstop. And Cabrera ends the inning. Didn’t you like my scenario better?

—-

BH, did I tell you that awhile back you were comment 1,000? You win a prize but I have not drawn it yet. It is something you can look forward to.

—-

If I do not have a guest blogger, my blog will be blogless for days! For days!

—-

I would like seven guest bloggers. SEVEN.

It may not be today. But some day, Cleveland. This day you will rue!

Rue is the name of the kid in the “Hunger Games” books. Not the big kid. The little kid. Great books. A lot like the Red Sox, really. You would like them, FDA. They are violent.

Heidi is telling everyone to donate canned food. I would love to. But see, I can’t. Because no one loves me enough to take me to the games.

—-

6-3. Still. Top of the 8th. Tony fricking Sipp is warming up. I HATE that guy. I think it’s because of the necessary “p” in his name. I’m not a fan of most verbs as names. I am not fooled by the extra letter.

Jacoby makes a running catch. And you are out.

Lalalalalalalalala.

Gatoraaaaaade.

Yeah? Well at least my team name’s not racist.

You heard me.

No. Cleveland isn’t so bad. Blogger friend Bheise is just swell and dandy.

But you, weird fan at Fenway, you are not swell or dandy. And I saw that finger. I saw it.

I met a guy today in a Red Sox hat who told me he was a Twins fan.

Yeah. That’s the expression I had too.

I am going to start an anti-spitting campaign.

“The spitting starts with you,” it will say. And it will show a little meek child with a quivering lip. And then it will say:

“Spitting means no Santa Clause.”

Yikes.

Hit by a pitch. Yikes.

Yeah. Let’s not do that again. Two on. Yeah. I’m not happy about that one…

—-

Strike out. Two down. But see, two on. And that’s what I’m not liking, Curt Young.

Yes. All of you should e-mail me your guest blogs- ohnolauren@gmail.com.

Pedroia flips to second. Out.

Still 6-3, Indians. But at least that half of the inning is OVER.

Okay. SOMEONE keeps using the following keyword phrase to find my site: “Is Jacoby Ellsbury on steroids?”

Seriously. I’ve gotten six searches in the last day.

Let me make it easy for you: NO.

—-

Youkilis hits it high in the air to left! And…. they make the catch. Is a period the opposite of an exclamation point?

—-

It is the bottom of the eighth. One out. Stupid. Sipp is slinking up. Stupid Sipp.

—-

Speaking of sipping- Gatorade!

If you have NOT answered my curiosity question, I encourage you to do so. Answers entertain me verily.

—-

Ortiz. Monster. DOOOOO IT.

Boston Globe guy catches it.

Whatev.

I would so catch it.

You know. If I was there. SIGH.

David Ortiz, your helmet is muccchhhhh shinier today. Did you wax it?

Ortiz to left… caught.

DAMNIT, GUYS.

Two down.

Stupid Tony Sipp.

Stupid.

9 appearances has not given up a hit to the Red Sox. This will be the day, SIPP. This will be the fricking DAY.

I could be watching “Into the Woods” with Bernadette Peters right now. Did you know that is on Netflix??? I know.

Tony Sipp falls. He falls! He collapses! He’s…. laughing? Laughing? The baseball dirt? It’s tickling, he said? And the ball rolls out of his hands and Carl hits it out of the park.

Oh, sorry. I was fantasizing again.

Come on, Carl!

And he ends the inning. Blah.

—-

Of course. It is great news when we lose. Because we are perfect, and all. Of course. ESPN must overreact, you see. They have to, FDA. Because this will NEVER HAPPEN AGAIN (Right guys? Right?).

—-

Dan Wheeler is in the pen. Chris Perez looks like Johnny Damon. Blah.

—-

It is the top of the 9th. We are still pretending we know how to throw. I say pretending, because you LOOK like a pitcher, Miller. You do. Except for the whole NOT PITCHING THING.

Are we really going to tie the fricking Stanks?

In a way, it’s a good thing. We’ll beat them in Fenway and there will be nothing the punk Stanks can say about it.

Strike out. Okay. Thanks, Miller.

Thanks for the thought. But it doesn’t mean anything, see, until we actually start HITTING THE BALL.

Lester against Colon tomorrow. Lackey and Sabathia (crinnnggggeeeee) Saturday.

—-

Asdrububuablahbloserjerkfacethrowupvomitbrerabel is up. Outside Ball Three. THREE. See this, Miller? Strike. Okay. Okay. Strike. Gatorade. Oh yeah, Asdrubabbeliwetthebedbel, adjusting your gloves. Because -that- was the glove’s fault, I’m sure.

In the dirt. And a WALK.

A WALK. You know who should walk, Miller? YOU. Back to the fricking bullpen.

It’s okay, BH. When we beat them with LACKEY, they will be humiliated.

Swing and a miss. Strike out. Okay. Um. Good, Miller. Good.

Adrublahbrattabel just stole a fricking base.

—-

Miller, your hair is doing this flippy thing. I wish you would fix it. If I could just cut that one little piece…

—-

2 outs. 9th. 2 outs. “A little nubber up in front of the plate.”

Silly announcers.

Okay, Ellie. I’m SORRY. I’ll never cut your hair again. Just come back. It’s like she knows I’m laughing at her. It’s like she’s a people again.

—-

Chad Durbin warming up. Yes…. I like that better than the Sippy Cup.

COMEON. First and third. Distress. Ball. Hit. Foul. Youkie hits the photogs. I’d rather you hit the ball.

—-

Theo, this really is your fault, you know.

Ball off the wall. Double. 7-3 now.

Theo, are you happy?

Yeah, go to the pen. GO.

—-

You know what other musical I like (and it so counts even though it is just internet)? Dr. Horrible’s Sing Along Blog. It is on Netflicks too. Check it out.

Dan Wheeler. He has a Lackeyesque quality to him today. I don’t know what it is…

Matt LaPorta. Please make Matt LaPorta sit down.

—-

Two outs. COMEON.

Seriously, Theo. If you had kept Justin Masterson, none of this would have ever happened. And, with the Butterfly Effect, who knows what other wonders might have ensued? I might have a pony AND a boat by now.

YOUR FAULT.

Gatorade.

I liked Tonya Harding. You know. Before she went crazy. I wasn’t really a Nancy Kerrigan fan. I LOVED Katerina Witt. Remember her? I wanted to be her when I grew up. But I decided to eat.

—-

Crawford catches it. The inning fah-fricking-finally ends. And Josh Reddick is up next. It’s just BOTTOM OF THE NINTH. No pressure.

Your pitcher looks like a classier Johnny Damon.

And catch. One out.

Seriously, Erik. Please do not think this is something we do all the time. Please do not think this is acceptable here. This game is not your fault, Erik. This game is Theo’s fault. This game is an opportunity for me to scream “I told you so,” after telling him so when he fricking ripped Masterson away.

Tek to right field. Caught.

Out.

Two outs.

That’s okay. There are three of them, the outs.

—-

OHNO.

It’s Marco Scutaro. The man who is SWELL at being the last out. SWELL.

—-

Who doesn’t like Dr. Horrible? Clearly Bad Horse has Scut on his side.

STOP ALIGNING YOURSELF WITH THE THOROUGHBRED OF SIN!

Justin Masterson, I do not know what to say to you. I just don’t.

Scutaro. I know exactly what to say to you. But I’ll say it French. That way, Erik and I can have a secret.

Plus. It is very vulgar.

Tu me fais chier! Faut péter dans l’eau pour faire des bulles. Brûle en enfer!

And you, Theo!

Le cerveau il etait en option chez toi. Tu es betes comme tes pieds! Comprend bien, tu parles à un con.

Vous avez le cervau d’un sandwich au fromage.

Blah.

Please lose, Yankees.

~L

I have seen the Potter musical. Of course I am a Harry Potter fan. I am an American.

Happy Sweep Day, Soxies! Live Bloggin’ in the rain

July 24, 2011 13 comments

I say Happy Sweep Day and not Happy Wake day, because Wake Day happens in a few days. See, as of right now (not a few hours from now), Wake is TWO games away from 200 wins. So see, Soxies, today isn’t about us. It’s bigger than us. It’s bigger than you. It’s bigger than me. It’s bigger than KEVIN YOUKILIS.

“It doesn’t take much to see that the problems of three little people don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world.”

That is from Casablanca.

And me. Because I just said it.

See, Tim Wakefield is like Victor Laszlo, right? And Paris is like the year 2007. Which we’ll always have, see, and today isn’t about that. It isn’t about sweeping some Mariner dust (well, kind of). It’s about Wake’s milestone.

And that, you see, is a mixed metaphor.

It’s this failed literary device that some bloggers who are really tired and cranky because the rain took away day two of riverness use to distract from the fact that they have nothing clever to say. Really. Look that up.

1:35 can’t come soon enough.

I’m distracting myself with this game because one of my closest friends is moving to Ohio. And 3ish, 4ish, we’re all getting together for pizza bribes and moving. And I could really use the tardiness, see, so I can make the pizza and avoid the boxes. I’m too pretty, see, for heavy lifting.

—-

Here. Tailgate to some Seattle dance moves. Alerted to this by one of my favorite newly discovered blogs, Red State Blue State.

Ramein noodles: Check. Beer. Check. It’s a party. 35 minute countdown! I will watch Cheers on Netflix. Yes.

—-

Thunder. Lots of thunder. If my power goes out, I will cry.

—-

I am really digging this internet MLB.tv thing. It comes with intro music. It’s quite dramatic.

1:30. “It is Maine Day here at Fenway Park.”

Really? Why? Those are huge lobsters. Lobsters are kind of scary, right? I mean, they look at you. I mean, I know they are dead and not reeeaallllyyy looking at you, but food isn’t supposed to have eyes. It’s also not supposed to be so difficult. I prefer to eat things that don’t require bibs and cracking tools.

—-

Daniel Bard talking about his streak.

“I’m just out there trying to do the same thing every day.”

And Seattle is trying to avoid a club record of 15 losses in a row.

I kind of like Seattle. Their park is amazing. And Seattle is beautiful. And where I would like to live some day. I hope they don’t lose their next game, because they’re totally losing today’s game for Wake. That’s just how it is. It’s bigger than you and me, Seattle. Like in Casablanca. Take comfort in the truth that your loss serves a greater purpose.

—-

It is interesting to me that this game is brought to us by a hot sauce. 1:35.

John Whattery? Swattery? Slattery? What? Who are you?

There goes the bullpen. Watch then prance across the field. I am really loving this MLB.tv. And the not working thing. I never get to see this part. It’s very dramatic, isn’t it? Like the beginning of some epic war movie. You know. Except in color.

Janice Bigos throwing out the first pitch. Puh-lease. I do not know who you are, but I am so much better at girly throwing than you are. I’ve had practice. I’ve juggled.

—-

Tim Wakefield. Looking for career 199.

“Not particularly good numbers against the Mariners.” 4 and 10.

Ball one happened just as a thunderclap smacked into my house. Coincidence?

3 and 0? Okay. Tim, just breathe. 199 is really nothing, Timmy. Nothing. Thattaboy. Steeeerikeeee. <- I can’t really pull that off, can I? Foul makes it a full count. Wake grabs it. Throws to first. And batter, who I will dub “Musketeer,” is out.

It is really scary. See, my new house has this vaulted ceiling lined by windows. Neat for star gazing, terrifying in storms. I’m looking for Ms. Gulch, but I think the storm’s too much for her broom.

My dog is hiding in the bathroom again. It’s quite dramatic.

—-

Seattle batter is kind of hot. I mean, except for the uniform. I wish he would turn around so he could be identified. Ackley. Hmmm. Hi, Ackley. Are you good in right field?

—-

Just breathe, Wakey. Try not to be distracted by Ackley’s hotness. Oh no. Oh no. YES. Ellsbury makes a miracle pitch.

“We’ve talked so much about Jacoby Ellsbury’s defense but look at his offense,” announcer said.

Yes. Look at it.

Miguel Olivo. I like your last name. But I do not like your goatee. Have you met Bobby Jenks? You two would be great friends.

Yuck. Two run homerun.

I hate your name. It is stupid.

This rain is so scary. It sounds like my house is going to fall down.

—-

Timmy. Darling. I get that you’re nervous about 199. I do. It’s adorable. Really, it is. And I get a kick out of your humility. But this is NOT THE TIME.

Curt, I hope you are watching. Because 199 or 199, if this continues, it’s time to switch it up. Off the wall. Almost another homerun. Are you WATCHING THIS, Curt?

—-

Mike Carp. Aka: The Fish.

That was a dramatic out. Gunned down at the plate.

Dustin Pedroia batting second coming up, trying to extend his hitting streak. Rain like this makes one think it’s raining all over the world. I’m glad it’s not raining in Fenway. I don’t want this for you guys. If I drown, could somebody tell Youk I love him? But not FDA. I fear her Youk-prejudices would make horrible news even worse. You do it, Peter. Just tell Youk that I will always love him and to remember me every time he dances at the plate. Oh, and make sure he cries a lot. Thanks.

—-

Michael Pineda. Pitches amidst a crazy, cracking, scary-as-hell thundercrack.

I love you, Jacoby. A double.

“Once again turns around an inside fastball…”

I’ve always loved you. Since you gave America tacos. I mean, I don’t eat Taco Bell, but I appreciated the gesture. Remember that time you stole home against Pettitte? Ahhhhhh.

Hi, Pedroia. Thanks for bouncing that wild pitch, Pineda, so Jacoby could steal third. Speaking of Pettitte… wouldn’t that be great? A home steal? Hi, Dustin Pedroia. He just laughed at that inside pitch. Did you see? Do it again. Oh, a Pedroia fan is holding a bright green posterboard Perdoia jersey. It is weird.

Pop out. But Jacoby is still at third. So I am okay.

Michael from Newburgh, ME, I could do sooooo much of a better job than you.

—-

Gonz. Grounder to center. Jacoby scores. Adrian driving in his 81st run of the year! And taking first! I always did like the Muppet Babies. Not the Muppets. The cartoon ones. The puppet ones frightened me.

And now, my lovely husband. KEVIN YOUKILIS. Doing his sexy bat dance.

In the air. Deep left field. HOMERUN. By my husband. 3-2. See why he’s a 10? I remember the first day I saw you like it was yesterday. I was at Geno’s sports bar and my heart fluttered. I could tell you felt it too, Youkie-poo. And then it was only you, baby. After Nomah, I didn’t think I would love again. And then there was Johnny Damon. But I see now that was only a fling. You were the real thing, Youkie. The real thing.

David Ortiz. Comes to make Pineda cry. I kind of feel sorry for Pineda. Maybe it’s my Seattle sensitivities. But he looks so scared up there. I would be too. Especially with those sunglasses Ortiz is spouting. And Ortiz gets a single. It’s the sunglasses. Those are so badass.

They’re talking to Pineda now. Seriously, Seattle. Don’t be too mad at him. We’re just very good.

Carl Crawford. In the air to left. Gets some wall. We are killing that wall today. Double. Ortiz on third. Crawford on second. Poor wall. Poor Pineda.

Alas, there are greater forces at work than you, Pineda. You should really just go with it so we can all get out of here at a reasonable hour.

Josh Reddick. You get that everyone has done something but you? I am counting Pedroia, because of that wild pitch that launched a Jacoby steal. Every little bit helps. Like in recycling.

I really hate Pineda’s chin fuzz. I bet your mother tells you to shave it all the time. All. The. Time. You should listen to her, Pineda. She seems like a smart lady. Reddick strikes out.

That’s okay. See, that was for you, Pineda. Because you were feeling down. A pick-me-up so you don’t cry or something.

—-

Saltalamacchia. Base hit. Two runs in! 5-2. What a nice inning. And he’s on first. Nice.

“And Saltalamacchia cleans it out.”

The announcers are not annoying me as much today.

Hi, Marco Scutaro.

And they’re talking about Tito’s 1,000th.

“You’re only as good as your horses and he’s had some very good horses in Boston,” announcer said.

715 wins in Boston. Joe Cronin had 1,071. We’ll get there.

“The sun is shining brightly today at Fenway Park.”

Really? Because I am in the middle of a rain-nado.

Inning over. But 5-2. Swell.

—-

Kennedy. I remember you from the Angels. We are not friends.

Your black lipsticked cheeks cannot hide your evil Angel-ness. Strike out. Yes. Strike out.

Jack Cust. Out. See, this is a nice inning. THIS is what we want you to do, Wake. Now that we’re clear… Franklin Gutierrez. Ellsbury catches you. Top over. Yes. Do that again in the 3rd, Wake.

—-

Jacoby Ellsbury.

Announcer said it looked ominous but the weather has cleared. That’s because I summoned it here to protect you all. I am so sweet.

Hi, Jacoby. 2-2. That last one was really outside. Pineda’s sweating. Poor lil guy. I hope there’s an icecream sandwich with his name on it back in the pen.

He deserves it. He’s had a tough day.

Ellsbury strikes out.

Whatev.

On a slider.

It’s okay, because the Destroia is here to extend his hit streak. 416 average, leading the majoris in July, announcer says. Chop left side. Out. Blah. 2 down.

That was close.

Gonzo at the plate. Strike. Stop it, Gonz. Stop it. Homerun or bust.

Up the middle. A bust. An out.

Still 5-2. Third inning coming up.

—-

Heidi Watney. Says Tito won his first 14 years ago.

Yeah. I think I should go blonde again. It may be the only way I can get your job, Heidi.

2 outs. But we weren’t paying attention. Because of Heidi. I promise you, America, when I am Heidi, I will never distract you from your game!!!

I will distract you during breaks! And I will never make you watch me eat strange things at ballparks. This I promise you, America. If elected, not only will I be an amazing blog, but I will have a scandalous affair with Kevin Youkilis that will entertain you all through tabloids, rumors and thinly veiled truth.

—-

If you get tired of my rambling, my friend Peter is also blogging today. Click HERE to check it out.

—-

Apparently the moose is the state animal of Maine. Moose are scary. Did you know they can be the size of pickup trucks? True story. I am terrified of Moose. Almost as terrified as I am of possums and slugs.

—-

My Youkilis was “retired.” I don’t like that phrase. It makes me fear the time when you are no longer with me, Youkie.

David Ortiz. Hi, Papi. I named my puppy, Elliot-May-Precious-Ortiz after you. Don’t let me down. That’s a song, right? Don’t let me down…

Who is this Slattery guy? I know who Mike O’Malley is. He used to host GUTS. And GET THE PICTURE. You know. On Nickelodeon. And yeah, he’s on Glee and stuff. But remember GUTS? I so wanted to scale that rock. I remember being athletic. Kinda.

I had this weird dream that was kind of like Guts. Except it was in Charlotte. And I got some new job in television. And it was a 9 to 5. And I was crying I was so happy in my dream. Because that meant I could go out every night and actually meet people. Which was my problem when I worked the AM shift in tv in Charlotte. Yes, Heidi. I like your hair. It will be mine. Thoughts? Should I stay with red? Because Red Sox nation only seems to embrace blonde Heidi Watneys. And, like all Heidi Watneys, I just want to serve the nation.

Carl Crawford. Swings. Base hit to left field. First.

Nice. I am digging you Crawdad. No? Crafjord. No? Craw… You need a better nickname! Carlita?

He’s going to steal. I feel it in my bones.

Hi, Reddick. I wonder if you and Drew are friends in the dugout. I hope so. You look like you’d be a good friend. And Drew needs friends.

And Crawford steals. Teehee. Haha. The ball bounces out. From an out call to a safe call in half a second. I do love Carl Crawford. I really think I do. I think the trust is finally there. It took awhile, Crawford. Now tat you are in my Sox family, please do not make me regret giving you full citizenship.

Strike out. And Mike O’Malley (GUTS!) and this John Slathery? Slattery? Slappery? will be here after the break. To answer to all important question: WHO THE FRICK IS JOHN SLATTERY?

Oh. THIS is who John SLATTERY is. I have never seen Mad Men.

Mike O’Malley at least recognizes that  no one cares what actors have to say. That’s nice.

Mike says he used to sneak into games. Oh, I like you, Guts man.

Reddick makes the grab. 2 outs.

John Slattery, with the exception of the hat, looks like he’s dressed for a golf game.

Picnic in the Park. I wish I could go to that. But it is not in North Carolina. Which is kind of prejudiced, if you ask me. But no one did. They never do.

And Kennedy is out. and it’s the second half. That is how you play baseball, my friends. And John Slattery.

Um. Peter. Um. Can you really get electrocuted with a computer mixed with a thunderstorm? Um.

“I’m very superstitious when it comes to the Red Sox,” O’Malley said.

Redsoxfoundation.org and you can bid on fun things. I was sold until they said stuff was going for 50k last year. That’s more than my seven dollars.

O’Malley has a kid named Declan? I dated a guy when worked at the Playhouse in Derry, Ireland named Declan. Ah, nostalgia.

Maco Scutaro. I am sorry I have been neglecting you. But that is no excuse for that strike.

Yeah, O’Malley and Slattery. Time to go. Go. Bye.

I do not want to see Slattery. I want to see Ted Danson. Or. Um. Someone else.

Poor Pineda. 70 pitches deep and digging, digging, digging.

Scut is thrown out.

Jacoby Ellsbury

Pineda is wearing this weird rope thing around his neck. I keep trying to get a good look at it. Can you tell what it is? Is it hemp? Or metal? I really can’t tell.

Ellsbury fouls it off. 2 and 2.

Stop talking about PICNIC IN THE PARK! I get it. It’s amazing. And I can’t go.

Blah.

Out. Ends the inning. “And our conversation for now,” announcer says. Good. The convo ending. No tthe inning ending. Good.

—-

2-5. 2:52. If you haven’t checked out Peter’s live blog, do it. Do it now.

“I can’t go on Glee because I can’t sing,” announcer said.

Great. Why don’t you go practice and leave us with game noises?

“Swing and a miss.”

Yes. You are supposed to say things like THAT. Not things about Glee.

Hi, Wake. I would feel more comfortable with another offensive push.

“They actually should replace you. For Charlie Sheen in ‘two and a half men.’”

NO ONE CARES.

“I’m going to boycott it. … I can’t watch the show without Charlie.”

Oh, good. I’ve been staying up at night to see how you feel about CBS, announcer.

I want to be an announcer. If you elect me your announcer, America, I promise never to talk about Charlie Sheen or John Slattery ever, ever, ever again.

J-Lester is back tomorrow! Yay.

One out. One on. Time to move it, T-Wake.

Crap. Grounds through to the right side. And Youk catches but not in time to keep that guy from third. It’s okay, Youkie. That wasn’t your fault. You can’t be expected to do everything.

This is the 5th inning. Pay attention, Curt Young. Pay attention.

Brendan Ryan’s facial hair looks ridiculous.
Just saying.

—-

What a lovely tag. 2 outs. Brendan Ryan sends one to the wall. Scores that stupid third baseman. Two run ballgame.

See, Curt Young? See?

Crawford ends inning.

I’d like to see some hits, people. HITS. And you, Dustin Pedroia- time to extend the HIT STREAK. Which you can do by HITTING.

—-

Jeff, Cheers really is my favorite show. That and Meet the Press. Oh, oh, oh! And that show. About that guy. With the cake shop in New Jersey. In Hoboken? With the cakes?

Some day I am going to own a television.

PEDROIA!!!! He is 0 for 3. This makes me sad.

Fix it. Fix it now.

Why are we we watching more Maine clips? Ice fishing looks horrible. I would rather eat lobster. Scary eyes and all. No. That’s not true. Maybe.

—-

Yes. Off the glove! Gonzo. See, Dustin Pedroia? Like that.

—-

Kevin Youkilis. Doing his bat dance. I do think with ink pens sometimes before interviews. You know. Just to feel.

Aaron Lafferty is warming up in the bullpen.

Whatever.

Crazy pitchin’.

Gonz, you could have ran.

Show some initiative.

Hi, Youkie-bear. Did you see that? He winked through the computer at me. Tell me you saw that! He knows. He feels something in his heart of hearts. Or beard or something.

And another crazy pitch.

Poor Pineda.

STOP TALKING ABOUT ICE FISHING, ANNOUNCERS. YOU ARE MAKING ME COLD. AND IRRITATED.

You are NOT JACK LONDON.

Hi, Youk. Don’t let them distract you with their ice talk.

Now they’re showing clips of a guy fly fishing.

Stop. It.

There is no fishing in Baseball (sorry, Carp).

Walks on. The God of Walks. And my heart.

No thanks to YOU, ANNOUNCERS.

Grr.

Which member of the Red Sox had his first career home run against the Mariners? I have no idea.

I’m surprised you stopped ice fish talking to even ask that trivia question.

—-

I like Wings, too. Jeff, how do you feel about Wings?

—-

It is still raining. I could drown. I hope my doors and windows don’t blow away.

—-

Teehee. Loaded bases. Third base vacant. We skip there. I would be irate if I were a Seattle fan. David Ortiz is my hero. And my puppy-daddy. And so much fun.

—-

Carl Crawford. Crawford to left! From third base comes Crawford. Youkie- comes in… 7-3! 7-3!

Thanks. See what happens when you people listen to me?

“Now we’re starting to see the real Crawford.”

About fricking time.

I love you, Kevin Youkilis. Mike Lowell who?

I want to be at Fenway sooooooo bad. Someone buy me a ticket and put me up at your house.

—-

Reddick hits it off the wall. Nice. Ortiz scores. 8-3. Reddick, you make my heart smile.

So, Pedroia. Darling. You’re the only one not in the club. And you’re the one on streak. So you’ve got to get on this. Okay? Okay.

Jarrod Saltalamacchia steps up to inspire Pedroia. How nice.

That rain is loud. If it were louder (hint-hint), I wouldn’t be able to hear these announcers.

I’ve been in radio. It’s where I got my broadcast start. I know the merits and necessities of idle chatter. I get it. But to talk about ice fishing when you could be talking about how amazing Kevin Youkilis is? For shame. Aceves is making noise in the bullpen. And Salty base hits. Around comes … everyone. 10-3. Nice. Nice. Nice.

This pleases me, offense. Yesssssssss.

Now I am planning my clever moving outfit. What does one wear to fake help a friend move? I’m thinking cute handkerchief thing for hair, jeans, and “old” t-shirt that’s not really old, but kind of old. But looks old. And has the illusion of not being planned. I think my Pedroia All Star T-shirt with the paint stains will do the trick and still make me look adorable. This is important, my friends.

2 outs. Bottom of the 5th.

Now they are talking about being tv extras. AGAIN. SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP, announcers.

“He’s talking to himself. I have a tendency to do that.”

Clearly.

Oh good. Now they are talking about ice fishing again.

“It’s pretty sad that I do not have a hobby. I do not have a single hobby.”

Really? Because you’re good at the small talk, Jerry Remy. I figured irritating the masses was your hobby.

NO ONE CARES ABOUT YOUR FISHING.

Stop showing us fishing shots!!!!

“Sometimes it’s windy out there and you hate wind.”

I don’t care.

Is anyone else sending them psychic eyedaggers?

Wings (the food) freak me out, see. They’re too primal… the bone eating thing? Icky. It’s like lobster. It’s too much work and too messy and if it requires moisty naps I won’t eat it. I won’t.

And the inning is over. But the tv show… Antonio is my favorite. No. That’s not true. Lowell is my favorite. No. That’s not true. Fay. Yes. Fay is my favorite.

—-

10-3. Wake on the mound. 3:24. Miguel Olivo. I don’t like you, Miguel Olivo. You are trying to keep MY Timmy from getting 200. It is your personal mission. Hateful. So my personal mission is to find something that rhymes or puns with your name.

Weird twist to that strike. Dare I say… Oliver Twist? No. That wasn’t punny enough.

I think I saw one Seattle fan in the crowd. Poor Seattle fan. You and Pinedo should really go for lobster when this is all over.

I think Pinedo will be free.

Ew. The batter just spit. Ew. America saw that, Olivo.

There is a wicked mustache. It’s a fan in a green shirt and you can see him from one of the camera angles. Look. It will be like our own blog version of “Where’s Waldo?”

Fly ball. Reddick “puts it away.”

Reddick pointed up. Probably to me. Hi, Reddick. I see you too.

Strike one to Justin Smoak.

Anyone who can help Jerry get a hobby tweet Heidi? When I am elected your Heidi Watney, America, I will NEVER make you do this.

Out. Two down.

Close up on lobster again.

They look sad. I mean, they’re dead. So they’re not happy.

Well, maybe. Perhaps they are in a better place.

That big ocean in the sky.

Stop talking about Jerry Remy’s hobbies, damnit!!!!

I’d rather see fishing clips.

Strikeeeeee. Nice.

2,000th in a Red Sox Uniform.

Oh, and Jeff? I’m like this sober. Really. It’s scary.

—-

2,000 strikeouts. That’s amazing. Roger Clemens ahead of him. But Roger had… ahem… help, I hear.

Dustin Pedroia. Now would be a good time to continue your hitting streak, champ.

In the air. And off the scoreboard! Two second base! And he extends his hit streak to 21. Thanks, Dustin. Thanks.

—-

Gonz. Hi. Through the right side! 11-3 as he pushes Dusty to a run.

NICE.

23 multiple rbi games for the season…

“And the offensive beat goes on for the Red Sox this afternoon…”

Yes. Talk about that and not FISHING.

Hi, Youkilis. Shut up, announcers. I need to concentrate.

My concentration is vital now.

Remember when you caught a ball barehanded and scared me, Youkie?

He threw that DIRECTLY AT YOUK. Did you see that? Jerk.

I’ve got your number, Wright.

Hi, David Ortiz.

Outside ball.

One and one.

I love your sunglasses.

Ball caught. Bat breaks. Whatever. David Ortiz give the bat to an old lady. I would fight you, old lady.

I mean. That’s nice of him.

Hi, Crawfish. Let’s see this power we’re starting to like. Starting to love. Starting to jump up and down about.

Crawford takes a ball outside. Two and two. “A very good return of the DL.” understatement.

Swing and a miss. Strike out. Ending the inning. Maintaining his humility. I get it.

—-

One out. And now we’re talking about Dunkin’ Donuts. But this makes sense. They pay for it. The sport of fishing does not.

Josh Lueke warming up in the pen.

A hit. A single. But that’s okay. Because it is the top of the 7th. And it is 11-3. 91 pitches from Timmy. 91. 3 runs against him. But see, when the offense actually comes out to PLAY, it is all good. All of it. Most of it. ALl of it. Yes.

2 and 0. Outside. Okay, Curt Young. Pay attention, now.

To centerfield. Base hit. Okay, Curt Young. Let’s have a mound convo. Okay? Let’s do that.

B-12. Hah. Yeah. I’m sure it came in Flintstones form, Jeff.

Aceves in the bullpen. Warming up. This comforts me mightily. Mightily.

Hi, Tito. You are very clean shaven today. Ew. Tito spits. America watches. Ew.

This is not 1867. Civilized people don’t spit.

Base hit. Bases loaded on three straight hits. Okay. Ahem. Curt Young? Ahem…

Kevin Youkilis, Could you yell at Curt Young for me? Because I think he’s watching the cartoons in his head again.

99 pitches. Really. That’s admirable. But I’m ready for some Alfredo. NO.

Grand slam. GRAND SLAM. 11-7. SEE WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU DON’T LISTEN TO ME?????

I can’t do this for you, Curt Young. I wish I could. Really. I wish I could take over your brain with my mind. But. Clearly. I. Can’t.

And Tito makes his way to the mound.

And Timmy is done for the day. See, if you had done that when I ASKED YOU TO, he could prance off and not do that downward head tilt thing.

—-

I am angry. Not at you, Timmy. This is not YOUR fault. You pitched 7 innings. You are tired. And we know what happens when you are tired. WE KNOW. But apparently Curt Young needs to rewatch old tapes.

I am angry at Curt Young. He did this to you.

It’s okay, Timmy. It’s okay.

Jacoby makes the catch.

Do you mean what you said in the comments just now, FDA? Or are you just plotting against the great love I have for Youkilis? Because after what you said yesterday about Mike Lowell, I don’t know if I can trust you again. It will take time to rebuild.

—-

11-7. Red Sox on top. Mid 7th. Commercial break.

I’m thinking ponytail. That looks very I’m-not-planning-my-moving-outfit.

It is still raining. Which really interferes with both my style and my enjoyment of baseball on my computer. Because I keep thinking about what Peter said about electrocution. He’s still blogging hard, by the way. Check it out here.

This is a long commercial break.

—-

So. No more grand slams for Seattle. Okay? Okay. That does not mean, however, that you can’t work toward that, Soxies. Josh Reddick. With cool sunglasses. I wonder if Reddick and Ortiz went sunglasses shopping together.

One and two. Come on, Reddick. If you get a single. And then two more batters get a single. And then a batter gets a homerun, that would be a grand slam. And a grand slam is not just a breakfast combination at Denny’s, after all.

My mom wants me to marry Josh Reddick. She tells me in text messages all the time.

A base hit. A single.

Excellent. This is in my plan.

Oh good. Heidi has hobby suggestions.

“Jerry already has a hobby. It’s playing air guitar.”

The top suggestion is knitting.

Yes. Knit. It’s hard to knit and talk, you know.

Seriously, if you elect me Heidi Watney, I wouldn’t do this to you.

Salty a base hit. See how they’re listening to me? Another single.

And then a grand slam. This is how it shall be. 4:01.

I mean, if you want to go out of sequence and just get the home run now, I’d be okay with that.

WHY ARE WE WATCHING CLIPS OF A GUY READING BY THE BEACH? Seriously.

YES! Drops in short left. From third comes Reddick. 12-7. Yes.

I mean, it’s not a grand slam. But I will forgive you. This once.

Hi, Dustin Pedroia. If you get a single. You will load the bases, see. And THEN, oh then, Gonz can make a grand slam dream of mine come true.

So please? Thanks.

One out. Bottom of 7. And he hits it. For a double play. Oh. Not a double play. Good. Dustin!?

It’s because I implied that Gonz should take the grand slam, isn’t it? It’s not that you COULDN’T, Pedroia. It’s the way the lineup works out. It’s nothing personal. See what happens when you take what I say personally?

Gonz. At the plate. Ground to first base. Inning over.

blah.

—-

It is still raining. Make it stop. Thanks.

Top of the 8th. Crawford. Who seems to like hitting today.

I may just give him an MVP for today. And Youkilis. Because Youkilis was amazing.

Justin Smoak. We meet again.

Swing and a miss. And a pretty swing and a miss. Alfredo, when I like you, I like you a lot.

0 and 2. Come on, Alfredo. I’ll eat your pasta again if you do this for me.

Ground. Pedroia. First. Out. Nice.

Do it again! Do it again! Mike Carp. Wake’s 2,000th strike out in a Sox uniform. Your turn, Alfredo. Strike one. Nice job, Fish.

Now the announcers are talking about Yoga. Because that’s relevant. <- Sarcasm.

Now he’s talking about yoga in the heat and trying it. No one wants to see you in the downward dog position, Jerry. I speak for America.

A single for Carp. Great. Fish on first.

Aceves?!

We were going to be perfect. Remember? Could you aim your next wild pitch at the announcers? Thanks.

Crawford has cool sunglasses too. See? They must have gone on a shopping trip. Without me. And I LOVE shopping. Not. Fair.

strike out. good.

catch. good.

My last update sounds so very caveman. But I’m trying on moving outfits, you see. I’m ever so busy. Can I pull off overalls?

Um. No.

—-

Brandon League. the Closer?

Hmm.

—-

What is on the back of your neck, kid? Did you guys see that? Look at the back of his neck and please tell me what that is. Navarro at bat.

Kyle Weilland in the pen.

An All-Star, they say.

Okay.

I think it stopped raining.

—-

I hate to do this in the bottom of the 8. But I have to walk my dog while there is a break in the clouds. Peter is in charge. Behave yourselves and check his blog over the next ten for updates. 12-7. Sox. Bottom of 8th. One out.

top of the 9th. Still 12-7. Didn’t miss much…

Pedroia gets the ground. Fires to first. First out.

Nice.

Two outs left, guys.

—-

Scut shoots it to first.

Second out.

One more, kiddies.

—-

“It can be the most beautiful ocean in the world and I will not go in. I will go in the pool.”~Jerry Remy.

There is something wrong with you, Jerry Remy.

Alfredo Aceves stares ‘em down. Another strike. 2 and 2.

One more, baby.

And….. and….

And….

Thisistakingforever…

And…

Ball three? Stop it.

Foul.

Come on, Ackley.

Oh, it’s Ackley.

The hot one.

I’ll be your consolation prize.

I didn’t mean it, Youk.

Not really.

Left field… off the score boar???? Gut scores? 12-8? Really?

“You’ve got to like what you see from Ackley.”

Yeah, baby.

No. No, Lauren. Stop it. He is your enemy.

We could be like Romeo and Juliet with a happy ending, Dustin Ackley.

No. Stop it.

You are taken. Kevin Youkilis is right there.

Hi, Miguel Olivo. Could you end this inning for me? Thanks.

2 strikes. Let’s wrap it up. Foul.

Come on!

—-

In the air. Left. Crawforddddd makes the catch! Red Sox wins.

Sweep.

15 consec losses to Seattle.

Sorry.

I’ll root for you. You know. Tomorrow.

“A tremendous offensive day.”

As you can see, Elliot-May-Precious-Ortiz is not as impressed as I am with today’s Sox game.

Loving it.

Thanks for playing, kids!

~L

And the nation is relieved

June 9, 2011 9 comments

While we wait on this dang-blasted rain (that’s what they say in North Carolina. I prefer downpour of torrential irritation), let’s reflect on the best news of the day:

Pedroia is A-Okay!

Quick, cue the parade!

And all is right with the world.

“I fully expect he’ll be hitting second tomorrow,” Francona said.

Pedroia took the train back (with Jenks, also on the DL! I have a much different reaction to that tidbit) and got all checked out. And he’s fine. Thanks be to Fisk. Because news earlier today said he could be out for a month. Pedroia says its his leg that has caused his hitting slump. What do you do to fix a bone bruise, anyway? Oh. Ouch.

“Bruised bones are extremely painful and, unfortunately, the pain lasts and lasts.”

Ouch.

“Scientists investigate the possibility that bone bruises are predecessors of future problems.”

Okay. Research is depressing.

So. Let’s cease.

Did you know Pedroia is afraid of flying? Me too. That means we’re soul-friends. (Soul-mate is still K-Youk. Ah… K-Youk…)

Another fun fact- did you know Joba’s out?

And, if you enjoy the Stankee rivalry, you’ll enjoy this article about what happens when a “Yankee cast-off” hits New York. Nice review of last night’s pounding if you missed it: “On Wednesday night, the Yankees got a taste of what they let go. “

“It doesn’t matter which team we play,” Aceves said on Thursday, in Spanish, when asked about facing his former team in the Bronx with the crowd yelling for the Yankees to rally.

“We just want to win against every team. There isn’t a particular enemy.”

Oh, Alfredo. You are fricking adorable.

Now if only Salty would get better

Papi, I love you.

Okay, rain. You done yet? We’ve got some Stankees to sweep.

LOL Sox puts out its most hilarious image yet!

L

PS- New York, thanks for your hospitality. In honor of you, I am including a YouTube video of NYC from Annie. In my imagination, it’s being performed by Derek Jeter and Nick Swisher. But you’re not in my imagination. I still think you’ll see the resemblance.

PSS- If you’re looking for a good live blog- I found one that’s just as annoyed by the rain as I am. That blog will be fun to read if we complete the sweep…

—-

10:48. Okay. It is too late. The governor is coming tomorrow. I have to tour a new ASU facility. I have to finalize Sunday centerpiece. I have things to do.

I am not going to watch this whole game.

I am not.

But damnit, Josh Beckett! Did you not hear the GREAT THINGS I said about you? Don’t, don’t, don’t let me down.

Do you want to SHARE the top with the Stanks, Josh? Because it gets awfully crowded up there.

FIX IT.

11:05. Did you know the guitar strings on today’s version of Google make noise? Seriously. Go to google.com right now. FDA showed me this and now I can’t stop. I can play Silent Night. And part of the Beauty and the Beast theme song. Angela Lansbury would be so pleased.

Right. The game.

I’m watching. I’m watching. Geez.

—-

11 p.m. So, found a live pro-Yank blog. Would be more fun to read if, you know, we were winning. Pro-Yank blog hopes A-Gonz gets hit with a pitch.

I hope Derek Jeter swings so hard his arm falls off.

Strike.

—-

11:08. Does C.C. remind anyone else of Baloo from the Jungle Book?

You know, but evil?

And stoned?

No?

—-

11:13. Fading fast.

I have reeeeaaalllly got to go to sleep. Think you kids can handle this? You know, without the Carolina cheerleader? Because I have to get up so early…

FDA, I’m leaving you in charge. Don’t let them lose. I mean it, FDA.

—-

11:15. Someone seems to have a litttttle problem defining the STRIKE ZONE.

Damnit, FDA. Part of being in charge is yelling at the Umpire. Loudly. Do it.

—-

11:17. You know. Life is a lot like a Disney movie.

11:18. I am really glad I found my airport bottle stash. That will keep me awake. For at least a hot minute.

—-

11:19. “I know Varitek has never really been a threat…”

The things people blog about!

Go Posada yourself.

—-

11:22. This is going to be a looooooooooong game. Google string thingy is so much more fun than this game.

—-

11:23. Yeah. Sleep. Now.

Win. Please?

Do it for the Bruins. They need your inspiration.

11:25. Cervelli, your name sounds like a bacterium.

11:27. Okay. NOW I’m asleep.

11:28. Well, clearly not NOW. One can’t be asleep when one is saying that one is asleep.

11:29. You get my point, right? I can sleep now?

11:30. I canNOT sleep when Curtis Grandersnot is at the plate. Blah.

J-Beck. Please do not let Grandersnot on a base. Please?

Or walk him. Sure. Yeah. Okay.

Time to get mad, Beckster. Time to get mad. Let’s see anger-face. No. Not that. That is NOT anger.

—-

11:35. Okay. I want to hit Alex Rodriguez with a pitch as much as you do, Beckett, but loading the bases… that’s a bit much, don’t you think? Is this one of your show-off moments were you load them up then slam them down?

11:37. Oh, thank you. You really had me going, Beckett. I never doubted you. Never. You know. Except that one time in the first inning when you handed Curtis Grandersnot a homerun on a silver fricking platter. You know, that time.

11:41. The. God. Of. Walks.

You know. And awesomeness.

11:44. You hit Papi with a pitch and it is on. Remember this, Stanks. You have been warned.

Bottom of the fourth. Really sleeping. So. Um. When I wake up. This will be fixed. Better. Yes.

Oh, Google…

8:05 a.m. And THAT, ladies and gents, is how I like to start my day.

PS- That live Yankees blog is a dead link this morning… shame…

War Room?

June 3, 2011 2 comments

No one enjoyed the break more than I did. No one. I was theoretically off work today (four phone calls, five articles later). Which means pool time. Sunshine. And work.

But hey, work with sunshine and pool time isn’t as bad as … um… work without pool time and sunshine….

Speaking of working, Theo Epstein’s hitting the grind, prepping for draft day, Monday in the “war room.” That’s how this writer describes team Red Sox…

It makes sense. After the past week, the past HORRIBLE week, we should definitely firm up our WAR plans…

Back on the ranch, surgery looks like it’s happening for Dice-K… which means decisions on the horizon: Timmy or Alfredo? While everyone will admit Alfredo has a fun name to say (and is a great pasta sauce), on my end, the decision is pretty clear.

KEEP LACKEY ON THE DL.

No?

Okay. Then Wake it is.

Oh no… Lackey… back for the June 5 game. Oh no.

Okay… more reading.

Here’s an article where it’s doubted that Dice-K will ever play for us again…

Thoughts?

Yikes.

That’s an expensive bout of bad news…

And here’s another one: Was Dice-K worth the $$$?

Thoughts? Could we have done 2007 without him?

“Like other Japanese pitchers, Dice-K fades…”

Depressing news today.

You know what else is depressing? This whole fricking week.

Let’s just wipe the slate clean and start winning, k?

Bruins, I’m talking to you too…

I’m going back to the pool…

L

Another heartbreaker

June 2, 2011 8 comments

That’s what they’re calling last night. Not just a heartbreaker- ANOTHER heartbreaker.

The tear jerking, rip your heart from the platform and sacrifice it to the firegods kind of heartbreaker.

Okay. That may be my own interpretation. But Dan pretty much says that in THIS ARTICLE.

And the Sox won. Oh. Right. The WHITE Sox. WRONG COLOR, PEOPLE.

We lost Rich Hill. To a crap throw.

And gave Whitey an excuse to use the term “fearless” to describe one of their players.

Awesome.

‘‘Everybody dug in and [came] to play and get good at-bats all this week,’’ Guillen said.

See, Red Sox? CAME TO PLAY. That’s what you’re supposed to do. AND UMPIRES, COME TO UMP.

Add to the pressure of our leg shattering fall from the top of the ALE- Dice-K may really, really be done for. At least for 2011.

So Wakefield? Aceves? What to do? What to do? I am still with the – leave John Lackey on the DL and take a chance on Wakefield until he can’t hold the ball and the walker at the same time… but that’s just me.

And here’s an interesting article about the Yankee-Red Sox rivalry and how dead it is:

The bitter divide between the Yankees and the Red Sox seemed to fade when Red Sox fans watched in horror as Johnny Damon put on a Yankee pinstripe uniform in 2005. With a clean-shaven face, Damon wasn’t Damon anymore.

Really? Because the Damon thing was my last straw. It did the opposite of fade that line for me…

Rivalry dead? Thoughts? I don’t think so.

But what do I know? I spent last night with a punching bag and Keystone Light.

Oh, and cake.

You know, the trifecta of a healthy Wednesday evening.

3:56 p.m.: Ran into THIS interesting survey. Dice-K: Worth it or not? What do you think? Could we have done 2007 without him?

Why?! What is it that you have against .500, exactly?

May 10, 2011 7 comments

Note: If it is too painful to recap this game, feel free to click here.

.500. What. The. Frick. It’s just a number. It is not like I am asking you to murder a puppy.

Come on people.

Now, I realize there could be a goooooood explanation for the stomach twisting 4-4 I see before me at 9:07. I have, after all, missed the majority of what I see is a spiffy performance (Jon, I will get to you in a minute).

But remember that discussion we had yesterday? Remember?

How some of us have things to do other than pitch? Remember how I said, pleaded, begged, wept for you people to just keep it at 9 innings? Fix it, boys. Fix it now.

—-

9:14. 5-4. Okay, guys. So. Not. What. I. Meant. Why do you guys have to take me so literally?

—-

Okay, Jon Lester. Don’t get so excited. We can… we can talk about this… no… you don’t have to throw it all away. You have innings to live for, Jonny. Innings. Happy times ahead, do you hear me?! Do not go gently into that dark night… turn the boat around, buddy. Miles to go before we sleep. Miles to go! Do it for the children, Jonny! 9:18.

—-

9:20. Okay, Jon. What do you want? Unmarked bills? A helicopter? Well… I… um… can’t get you that-but-no-wait… wait-wait-wait… I’m sure we can work something out! How do you feel about chocolate milk?!

—-

Hi, Rich Hill. We don’t really know each other. I mean, we’ve seen each other in passing. I’ve… I’ve always liked you. Really, really I have. It’s your name, really. Simple. Direct. So, now that we’ve established that we like each other… about that .500. Did I mention I have salt and vinegar potato chips? 9:24.

—-

Ohmygodohmygodohmygod. Okay. We’re okay. We. Are. Okay. 7th inning. Okay. Hit, people. Hit for AMERICA. Stop stalling! That’s what Canada WANTS you to do! 9:27.

—–

While we’re having this special moment, Pedroia (and it is special, Skip, it is), let’s try to get to the heart of this .500 issue, shall we? Is there some childhood trauma you associate with .500? Like… um… some video game reference I don’t get because I was too busy playing with barbie dolls or something? Dusty, baby, if you can’t talk about this with me, you should talk about it with someone. A trusted adult, perhaps? 9:29

—-

Gonzzzz! You get a treat. It’s a psychic cookie.

Sorry, Youk. You got cookies last night.

—-

Speaking of my one and only… Hi, Youkie-Bear. Buttercup. Show ‘em how it’s done. Let’s stop this silly fake hitting and get down to the nitty gritty, the kind of hits that kill birds and dent space shuttles, k?

This is stressful. This seems more stressful than normal. Is it the .500? That pleasant spark of mediocrity that’s just in reach?

Why do you build me up, Buttercup baby, just to let me down…

9:41

—-

Many phobias stem from the parents. Did your daddy issues contribute to your utter avoidance of a .500?

—-

9:47 p.m. A strike out. Okay. That’s something.

Now is not the time to hit people with pitches, Aceves, but I appreciate your enthusiasm. Save it for Friday. I… um… didn’t mean that.

—-

8th inning. You know, that’s the best time to rally, really. I’d muuuucccchhhhh rather rally in the 8th than the 9th.

Okay. I like Jed Lowrie when he’s not injured. Which apparently happens now. A double, people.

OHMYGODOHMYGODYOULISTENEDTOMYRALLYCALL. 5-5.

SALTY got a single?!

Wait… is this the part where my heart goes a flutter and you rip it out?

Yes, baby. 13-7 hits. Yesyesyesyesyes.

10:13. I am tired. You are doing this on purpose. Let’s just all admit it. Youkie, can you tell your boys to stop building me up for heartbreak? You’re supposed to be only one with that power, sweetikums.

—-

Hi, Daniel Bard. Keep that last convo we had… keep that in mind, k? Okay. I am going to go walk the puppy. I will be back in five minutes. FIVE MINUTES. FDA, I’m leaving you in charge. Don’t screw it up.

6-5?! 6-5?! Someone needs to tell me what happened. Is this my fault for leaving? Is this my puppy’s fault for having to go outside? Is this my carpet’s fault for not being grass?!

—-

9th inning. Okay! No worries. All hakuna matata here, kiddies.

Okay. All kidding aside, this is a kickass game. Thanks, Gonz, for improving my attitude with your sexy homerun. 6-6. Annnndddd, darling Youkie-Bear, I’m going to let that massive strike out pass. You better buy Gonz chewing gum or something. He just saved you from a mini-me-rant.

—-

Thunder. Did anyone else hear that?! Of course not. Because you guys are in Boston. I wish I was in Boston. Anybody have any jobs in Boston? I write stuff.

That was fun. I’m glad I saw that. Jose Iglesias, you’re alright. More wild pitches, please!

Anddddddd… Carl Crawford. Blast. Out. Yep. All’s back to normal.

Okay. Let’s take to inning 10, people.

Okay, people. We need a tight ship. We need… Albers?! Well, um, okay, Curt… if you’re sure you know what you’re doing.

That thunder is super loud. You might can hear that in Boston.

Thunder means my 35-lb sheltie-shepherd mix is a lapdog. It’s kind of hard to see over her. One. More. Out. 10:42.

—-

And the tenth starts with the Captain. Remember when that wouldn’t make you nervous? Fisk be with us all.

Dustin Pedroia. It is up to you. If you do not knock one out of the park, I will have to stay up to see inning 11. Trust me. You don’t want that. You wouldn’t like me when I’m cranky.

Crap, that lightning was close! I know it’s all cool to say things like, “I love thunderstorms, I’m exciting like that, blahblahblahblah….”

But I don’t love thunderstorms and I am NOT exciting like that.

So, Pedroia, if you could knock that ball hard enough to divert a thunder cloud in North Carolina… my puppy is shaking so hard she looks like she’s having a seizure.

Damn it.

Okay guys, let’s make it to 11 innings. Who else is glad Bobby Jenks isn’t in the bullpen tonight?

—-

I am so stressed out. Why are you on third?! Why?

No. No! Nooooooooo!

Crap.

.500, I never knew ye…

Dugout, you need counseling! Your daddy issues are getting in the way of .500 mediocrity!

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