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Posts Tagged ‘Bobby Jenks’

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.

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…

So we lost. It could be worse.

May 31, 2011 3 comments

It could be worse.

And, curses! It WILL BE.

That’s right. Everyone’s worst gamble, Bobby Jenks, has SOMEHOW finagled a return today. With our history of keeping irritating players around FOREVER (ahem, Lugo, ahem), this should surprise no one.

Now, if this had happened yesterday, we would have said, “drat, but at least we’re in first with a cushion.”

Today, however, there is no cushion. Not even the threadbare straw kind. Today, you see, we’re tied. Again. With the damn Yankees.

So… Bobby. Oh, Bobby. Your goatee looks nice today and doesn’t make you look like a prick at all…

Will flattery work on you?

Screw up and I will… I will… I will do something. Something tantrumy.

If Jenks can pitch more like his old self than his April self, the Red Sox figure to have the type of formidable group of late-inning arms they envisioned in the winter.

Am I just being too negative? Maybe I’m just being too negative. I mean, remember that one time I was negative and then John Slackey actually pulled one out? You know, before returning to miserable, miserable mediocrity?

I mean, this negativity isn’t helping anyone.

So, Bobby. Bobby Jenks. Let’s take another look at you. A fresh perspective. An unbiased look at-

God help us all.

No, no, no. Looks aren’t everything. It’s about the game. And hey, here’s an article where the White Sox aren’t exactly happy to see their old teammate. That’s got to be a good sign, right? Fearing the return of a power player…

Oh. It looks like he just annoyed them so much they don’t want to see him again.

Hard to figure.

Crap.

Well, there’s always Wednesday.

Thoughts? Am I just paranoid? Or is Jenks the time bomb I think he is? We’ll find out…

~L

 

 

 

‘Nah, not a big win at all.’

May 25, 2011 6 comments

“I think I won here in the playoffs,” he said, straight-faced. “It’s not my first win at Progressive Field. Those wins (in October) are bigger anyway, aren’t they?”

“Nah, not a big win at all,” Beckett said sarcastically on his way out of Boston’s clubhouse.

How can you NOT love this man?

In less than an hour, the “ace,” Jon Lester hits the mound- and remember how we’re .5 behind? Not if Lester can help it.

Here’s to hoping he can help it! It’s all about execution.

“I’m just not executing pitches,” said Lester of his last outing. “I’m not going to change anything, not going to the drawing board. It’s just a matter of executing pitches. I haven’t done that the last three starts.”

Let’s also keep an extra-protective eye on Pedroia- set to make his first start since the ankle hiccup.

PS- Cockiness aside, who doesn’t love Asdrubal’s name?

PSS- Lackey watch 2011 update: The Lackluster sloth of the mound could be back as early as June 5. What do you think, people? Can Lackey change? Can anyone really change? Once a flake always a flake? Can we learn to trust Slackey? We’ve been hurt before…

PSSS- Jenks watch 2011 update: Never fear, Tito‘s got our backs. Tito says he’ll likely pitch for the minors before being allowed back on our mound. Crisis averted. FOR NOW.

PSSSS- I love you, Jason Varitek.

PSSSSS Having a lousy Wednesday? This image might help. Click here.

The “B” on your hat does NOT stand for Bobby, Jenks.

May 7, 2011 Leave a comment

Sabotage.

“Unfortunately, I didn’t say anything sooner,” said Jenks, who was placed on the 15-day disabled list on Thursday. “I just continually went out there and made it worse.”

Yes, JENKS. You did.

See, apparently, Jenks sucks now because of a cramp. A cramp he knew about. You know, knew about while taking the mound and winning for the other team?

So, in addition to ump drama (SCREW YOU, ANGEL HERNANDEZ), we have martyrs. You know, like Jenks. Taking one for the team. What a sport, right?

See, Bobby, (can I call you Bobby?) in order to be a martyr, to “take one for the team,” you actually have to contribute. You know, take one FOR the team. Not FOR the Angels. See, you play for the Red Sox. If you forget, look in a mirror. If you can unglue your focus from that mass of fuzz on your chin, look up. It’s on your fricking hat.

Or, if you have a genuine issue… I don’t know… DON’T PLAY. How about we just avoid this issue in the future by… oh, I don’t know… NEVER PLAYING AGAIN.

Oh, Pedro… were you serious about coming back? Because retired people just get fat. No, really. See? It was on Oprah.

~L

PS- So, to make fun of Jenks’ stupid goatee, I did a google image search of “stupid goatee,” thinking I’d find something hilarious. Guess what came up? Bobby fricking Jenks.

Bobby Jenks. You made my soul cry. Your hater, Lauren

April 30, 2011 4 comments

Dear Bobby Jenks,

I do not know what happened.

I have been interviewing the Doobie Brothers all day. See, while you were hurling a ball around for funsies, I was actually doing MY job.

So… I have not had a chance to completely analyze your FAILURE. I haven’t had a chance to figure out whose effigy I need to construct before my million hour writing crusade tomorrow. But, Bobby Jenks, Youkie Bear says I should talk to you.

So I’m talking to you, Bobby Jenks. I’m talking to you and I am trying to use small words so you can understand me through that mass of irrelevant crap on your chin.

WHAT DID YOU DO, YOU CATERPILLAR FACED TWIT CLOWN??

I don’t know whether to yell at you or do the defeated headshake.

I don’t know whether to shoot you a subliminal toe stubbing curse or throw a “trade him” temper tantrum.

And I’m too tired to think of how many ridiculous things rhyme with your name, JENKS. But I’m sure when I sing in the shower in the AM, I will be inspired to construct lots of nasty lyrics about how UTTERLY USELESS YOU ARE.

There’s this chess game where you play opposite chess. It’s called suicide chess, I think, where you TRY to get checkmated. The first person to force the opponent to checkmate them wins…

WERE YOU PLAYING SUICIDE BASEBALL?

You know what? I can’t do this. My feet hurt. And my tolerance has been crushed by children with sticky fingers and funnel cakes.

So I am giving you a pass.

I’m giving you the whole night to think about what you’ve done.

Sob into your pillow, Jenks. Let it out now. Because Monday, when MerleFest is over, I am going to yell at your face so loudly that if your face was a house with pigs it would be like that fairy tale where all the pigs have to run into the brick house because their straw house dies.

Bobby Jenks, I HATE you.

~L

PS- Random. A reporter today (not me) asked Patrick Simmons of the Doobie Bros if Jesus was still alright with him.

Patrick Simmons replied, straight-faced, “Jesus is just alright.”

You know what’s not alright, JENKS? LOSING TO THE MARINERS. I bet Mike Cameron glares at you in the locker room. You RUINED his homeruns, Jenks. Damn you.

At least it’s not the Orioles again.

This year, the bunny’s bringing a broom…

April 23, 2011 4 comments

I smell a sweep…

Live blogging will commence at 9 o-freaking-5… and we have company. In honor of that terrifying bunny-esque holiday, I am at my parents’ house. Enjoying icecream, clean blankets and the occasional car insurance lecture. But I’m also enjoying super cable.

That’s right, ladies and gentlemen. Tonight’s game will be watched on an actual television screen. Not a laptop screen. A television screen. With my parents. (insert scary music here)

And… if you think -I- am an abrasive baseball watcher…

Well… it should be interesting.

The match-up: Dice-K. Hopefully, it’s the vintage Dice-K we caught a glimpse of last week. The 9-1 fury with that innocent expression that delivered the real-time smackdown.

Can’t wait.

But while we’re waiting, let’s talk trades.

I’m reading lots of internet conversation about Papelbon and Cameron possibilities. After Papelbon’s recent upswing, I’m hoping Theo’s got another thing coming…

I mean, I get it. Bobby Jenks. Bard.

But Theo, have you MET Bobby Jenks?

He. Does. Not. Jig.

What are your thoughts?

Clearly we need a catcher…

Who should we go after?

Who would you offer up? Hmmm…

——-

“I don’t think they’ll trade Papelbon,” Dad said. “Right now they need him.”

8:55. See how impatient we are in this household? The baseball convo has been going on for an hour. It’s interesting that they don’t seem to notice my laptop.

Ohmygod, Firedannyainge. The Easter bunny is the scariest mall model, hands down. Had to man a biz expo booth a few days ago and I could hear the screams from across the mall. It had red eyes. It kind of reminded me of Jorge Posada. But with bigger ears and less of a neck.

8:57. More icecream.

—-

Are you guys watching the Yankees game? It’s stupid.

—–

Now we’re having discussions about soccer. Parents are confusing. Is it 9:05 yet?

—-

Youkie-Bear is back!

Crap. Back to back homers in the Yankees game. This is crap. Trunkneck grosses me out.

—-

Now my father is explaining tome why HD is the bomb diggity.

He says he was watching HD the other day and a girl in the stands held up a sign with “will you marry me?” and a phone number. He said the camera kept shooting back to her with a “holy crap” expression on her face and lots of phone calls.

This, dad (aka mr. history) says is where when “the Red Sox were down by three runs, top of the ninth, american league division series… the angels were within one strike of winning the series. They had all the police officers lined up… everyone was about to jump over for the last strike and Henderson hits a homerun and the game is tied. And before you knew it, we won. And we won the series. That was 1986.”

Gosh, Dad, you’re old.

“and 1986 is when…”

Yeah, Dad, I know.

—-

9:09 “Any worries about his foot, that’s gone,” Dad said.

Smart base steal. Good description, announcer.

Yay, Pedroia. My mother just suggested I target him for marriage instead of Youkilis. “He’s married, mom.”

“Well, it doesn’t really matter, does it?”

“Mom?!”

—–

“Tell your boyfriend not to spit when he’s on the camera,” Mom said.

“He sweats more than anyone else on the team,” Dad said.

It’s okay, Youkie-Bear. You don’t have to listen to them.

There is controversy, great controversy in the TooSoxy Parental Household in regards to that “strike out.” 9:14.

“I wish they still had Beltre,” Dad said.

—-

Oh, TheCatcher, I hope you’re right about Bard… but I’m not seeing it as an asset that’s worth losing Paps… how will we boast our victories without the much-loved jig?

—-

Hi, Dice-K. Look at all that green behind Dice! Is there anyone at this game?! That Gordon Levitt kid would have been ashamed of ALL OF YOU,  Anaheim! Heaven can’t help you if you don’t believe!

Oh, I can’t watch this. Full count. Come on, vintage Dice… And… an easy catch by JD Drew.

“The key to the game is scoring better,” Dad said.

“That’s very insightful,” Mom said.

—-

Yankees are 13 now? What the frick, Buck Showalter?

—-

Yeah… this is the Dice-K pace. The efficiency of last week a distant memory… high pitch counts… Let’s just hope that the skill of last week continues. So far so good. The parents are still discussing the lack of fans in the bleachers. It is a little weak, heightened by the smarmy HD. The “A” kind of looks like it’s puncturing something. You know? Like, it’s not a halo, it’s a flesh wound. Would I have noticed that if this wasn’t HD? Anddddddd the Angels go down. Second coming up. Now we’re doing that super-not-annoying channel flip during the commercials thing. Flip. Flip. Flip. Nope. Not annoying at all, dad.

—-

Hey, Papi. You know, the A also kind of looks the Space Needle.

I never realized how dumb the A looked before.

“He’s my favorite,” mom said.

“Oh, the played him just right,” dad growls.

Out.

“We don’t care about y’all,” mom screams at the announcer banter.

Annnnnnddddddd ground rule double…. the Parentals rejoice.

SHUT UP CHUCK FINLEY!

Ew. These Angels close ups are grossing me out. Jered Weaver and his gum. Was it this gross in non-HD? I miss my small screen. Ew. Gagging. Ew.

“They’ve already shown him many times. Can’t we just watch the game?” Mom, re: Chuck Finley. There is much aggravation at JD Drew on the couch.

“You were three and o and you struck out,” dad yells.

I am the quiet one. Wow.

And the look my dad just gave Crawford.

“Crawford,” he huffed. It was more of a growl, really.

See, we don’t talk baseball on the phone, so I don’t really know how they feel about our 2011 team… but I’m starting to see that they are… um… passionate.

Off the glove and into the outfield! Yay, Crawford!

Lucky, they say.

Wow. I find myself defending Crawford…

“He’s one to twenty three? Why are you even worried about the guy at first base? The pitcher shouldn’t even worry about the guy at first,” Dad said.

Stop giving the Angels tips, dad.

It’s okay, Tekkie. I think you can knock it out of the park. Right here.

“If those announcers don’t shut up…” mom growls.

Hmmm….

“Oh come on! He didn’t go around! That’s two,” Dad said. And other things. We are not pleased with the umpires. Oh no.

Flipping the stations again. Good. Good. How long does this game last again? Oh good, the subject shifted to my car insurance. Good.

—-

“It never gets old talking to Chuck Finley,” Announcer said.

Really?! Really?

9:37. Dice-K with the game face on.

—-

I like this HD thing. I wonder if I could fit this television into my car. I wonder if they’d notice. I wonder if I can steal cable. I don’t mean that, thought police.

“He always looks like he has a stomachache,” mom says of Vernon.

—-

Crap. Crap. Crap. Crap. I thought Dice-K was going to die. Right. At. His. Face.

Crawford catch makes two outs.

I’m glad you’re not dead, Dice-K. So is my mom. Dad wishes you would throw less balls.

Annnddddd STRIKE OUT. 9:46.

—-

Did you know there’s a Military Channel? Apparently that’s what we watch during commercials now.

Jacoby! Yay. Pedroia with his Destroia face on.

Andddddddddd a Jacoby steal. Love it.

Ohhhhhhhhh, Jacoby. You just gave me a mini spasm with the steal to third. A mini-freaking spasm.

Yessssss! Gonz, you are swell. And Boston, thanks to the base stealing dance by Jacoby… is two up. Here’s to taking opportunities!

Hi, Youkie-Bear. Did he just mouth “hi” to me? Did anyone else see that?

Okay. There’s some Youk hate going on in this room and that, Soxies, is unacceptable. He has a bruise, people!

Hi, Pappppppyyyyy. Nice. Left center field and we’re on first and third, baby. Lots of Sox cheers in the crowd. I’m trying to hear something… anything, a “go angels.” Can’t hear it through the “Let’s go, Red Sox” chanting.

Inning ends and we’re back to watching Sylvester Stallone on the Military Channel.

—-

Oh, yuck. Tom Brady’s in the crowd. I’m sorry, Pats fans, but that hair and my Miami heritage are two reasons I cannot endorse that..

Yuck.

What do you think of Tom Brady, mom? She purses her lips and narrows her eyes.

“I’m obviously not as impressed as our northern neighbors. But I do know where he lives,” Mom said. A little scary… um…

—-

Third strike out for Dice!

This guy has huge eyes. Like… huge eyes. Andddddd another strike out. Way to go, Dice KKKK.

And JD fricking Drew ends it.

—-

Top of the fourth. Drew taking a strike. I do not like the home plate umpire. Someone find me his name…

One, two, three. Crap.

Dice-Dice Baby…

Dad is vocally trying to help you, but I don’t think you need help today.

This pleases me.

Top of the fourth, two outssssssss…. and three outs.  Yay.

—-

My mother is critiquing the fanware. So that’s where I get it…

A great steal by Jacoby. Great. I will buy you two tacos for that steal, Jacoby.

You suck, 44!

But you know who sucks the most????? You, Home Plate Umpire!!!! I have counted four super bad calls. FOUR.
And THAT is why he’s my husband. Oh, Youkie-Bear. Thanks for doing that right over Bobby Abreu’s head, in particular. I hate Bobby Abreu.

Loveeeeeeeee.

 4-0, baby.

“He does sweat a lot, Lauren,” mom said.

“He does,” dad said.

“Maybe someone poured something on his head,” mom said.

Shut. up.

—–

Bottom of the 5th. Dice-KKKKKK. Did I say Dice-KKKKKK? I meant Dice-KKKKKKK. That was fast.

—-

5-0. Hi, Captain.

—-

Bottom of the 6th.

It’s gotten a lot more serious on the couch, I see. No time for fun in the 6th inning. Now we’re talking about how easy leads are to wreck.

Anddddd a stellar catch by Youk.

I hate Bobby Abreu. Dice, I NEVER condone hitting people with pitches. NEVER. But… um… if you were going to…

I didn’t mean that. Really, Dad, and you don’t mean it either.

Remember this? Almost two years to the date.

Two outs. I still hate you, Abreu.

Time to get serious, Dice, baby. Otherwise they’ll do something stupid like send us Jenks.

Yeah. Eat it, Abreu. Eat it and choke.

—-

Guys, guys, guys! I just checked the standings anddddddd… we’re not last anymore! Well… okay, we’re last… but so is Buck Showalter! BOTH of us have 8-11 records… which means… which means… if we win… we REALLY won’t be last! Huzzah!

Hey! I saw that! Did you see that? Santana’s trying to KILL my husband.

“Kevin has a knack for getting hit by pitches, 71 times,” announcer said.

Papi just gave him a death stare.

That’s right.

Crap. Youk is shaking his head. I’m with you, baby. I’m with you.

—-

“When the batter moves back thinking it’s going to hit him and it’s a strike, that’s a good pitch,” Dad said.

Dice, this is the first time I haven’t questioned you being in the 7th inning in… a long time.

So could you not screw it up? Thanks bunches.

Two outs. nobody on. Bottom of the 7th… exhausted. This house feels like it’s in a different time zone.

Annndddddd Dice-K’s 100th pitch is…. a…. a foul. Okay.

But it’s a one, two, three inning. Nice.

—-

“We need another insurance run,” Dad says. I like the way you think.

“I’d just like to see some homeruns to up their stats a little bit,” mom said.

Um…. yep.

Lowrie. Oh, Lowrie.

“He’s on fire,” dad said.

Apparently my Lowrie issues aren’t genetic.

AWESOME. Great job, Bobby Abreu.

Do it again!

And Crawford breaks the streak and causes a few expletives on the couch.

Hi, Tek.

Earn that C! Earn it! Look at those Boston fans in the background! They LOVE you. What a pretty day in Anaheim.

And the Captain nods. Come on, baby. Top of the 8th. The time moments are made. Crap.

Still 5 nothing. And still Dice? Um… okay.

—-

Just practicing “sweep” images.

You know. Just in case.

One out. Bottom of the 8th. A good strike call by the home plate ump against Kendrick. I’m amazed.

Oh… the announcer reminds us John Lackey’s at the mound tomorrow…

Two outs!

11:25 p.m. A girl with hair extensions is talking about an Angels calendar. So they can mark their shame with frowny faces?

Three outs!

Top o’the 9th.

Can you rally when you’re already spanking them?

Come on, Jacoby! Two runs scored, two stolen bases… and I want more!

You know, it’s interesting. Since we’ve been winning, my blog visitors have gone down. I thought this was curious until I saw the exorbitant amount of Yankees and Angels fans that have subscribed to this blog.

Seriously, more of you who read this hate the Sox than love them. It’s curious. It’s like… you guys like seeing me rant in frustration… but hate cheery pep.

Well, no more, people. The Sox are BACK. So it’s all positive from now on. So adapt.

Okay, Jacoby. I will forgive you this one time. Your hair looks terrible.

Hi, Pedroia. It’s time to play baseball.

Damnit, Pedroia!

Anddd… damnit. Three outs.

—-

Bottom of the 9th. I’m feeling a shut out… shut out? Yes, shut out.

And Bard? Well… okay… 99 mph fastball… well… okay…

Safe? BARD!

Okay, my dad (who is a tv photog) is now critiquing the base camera’s color correction.

Okay. Bobby Abreu. This is important, Bard. Okay. You don’t know this, but there’s history. Sordid, sordid history.

Defensive indifference? That’s crap.

“See? Look at how the sox look orange from that other camera behind the plate? The settings on that are wrong,” dad said.

But Bobby Abreu’s out? Oh so right.

Goes down swinging.

Last out. Come on, baby. Do it for Dice-K.

Do it for me. Do it for my father, who is quite invested in this game.

Do it for… YES! Pedroia! Pedroia will back you up during your weak moments, Bard. A diving play and a shut out.

Hi, Bobby Abreu. How did that feel?

And Crawford? Out of a slump? Um… okay.

But we won! Yay.

MLB! Update your fricking standings online! I want to bask!

Because, soxies, we are NOT in last place! We’re not the worst!  Huzzah!

OHMYGOD you guys! It’s better than we could have ever hoped. We are in THIRD PLACE. THIRD PLACE!!!!!!!

I mean, so is Toronto, but THIRD PLACE! And a FOUR streak! A FOUR streak!!!!!!!!

Click here and see for yourself. Kiss your computer screens and let the world feel the love.

How Bobby Jenks and Saltalalalalalalalalalamacchia tried to stress me the frick out. Why would you do that to me, Bobby? Why? Why? Why? Is it because you weren’t loved as a child? Does it have anything to do with a beloved family pet? Because Bobby, I’m not a fricking psychologist. I’m just a girl. Trying to watch a game. Damnit.

April 23, 2011 2 comments

Grrr.

Damnit, Salty!

“I was looking for Bobby — I looked at him real quick, turned around; I didn’t think the ball hit off my glove, I thought I had trapped it in the dirt,” Saltalamacchia said of the passed ball. ” Obviously not.

Bobby Jenks!

You let BOBBY ABREU kick your ass! You were out Bobbied and you ARE a Bobby! Damnit, Jenks.

Matt Albers?!

Who ARE you and why are you trying to ruin my game?!

Bobby Jenks!

You deserve two chastisements! For shame!

Salty!

You too, Salty.

“It was frustrating. I’ve never done that before. I can’t remember ever doing that. But we still got the win.”

—–

Darn tootin’.

Six of the past seven? Wins.

3.5 games out. Oh, and Bucky boy? We’re a half game from not last.

9:05, soxies. 9:05.

Here’s to hoping that the time machine has been destroyed for good and old school Dice-K will have to make an appearance tonight. And YES Crawford. I saw that. It was okay. It still wasn’t worth a katrillion billion dollars. Geez, Crawford. No, that’s all the recognition you get. Don’t like it? Why don’t you go journal about it?

Paps, I love you.

~L

Waking up to a win…

April 22, 2011 6 comments

Feels good, albeit slightly strange, when you wake up to Game Day on your computer citing Bobby Jenks as a WINNING pitcher after the other day’s atrocities

And an old school win in the final hours…

Happy thoughts and observations:

Beckett is back. There are haters. Doubters. Fluke sayers. And they are wrong. Beckett hurled out his third consecutive power appearance, albeit with a minor two-run slip-up. 2009 Beckett is back and he’s actually starting to look a lot like 2007 Beckett. Clearly someone followed my advice and killed the time machine. You’re never getting back to your world now, 2009 Beckett. Might as well enjoy the 2011 ride… And 125 pitches? Stellar anyway you slice it. No one can call you broken.

The Gonz is worth the G’s. Seriously. With a tie-breaking double in the 11th, Gonz ponied up an offense worthy of the questionable cash. It’s no longer questionable. Gonz has been consistently great or okay throughout an otherwise atrocious start for the Sox. It’s interesting, since we as a nation were wayyyyy more excited about the not-so-impressive Carl Crawford. Gonz, you’re part of the family and you’re already shining. With you at the plate I’m starting to feel that Mike Lowell confidence… and it’s a nice change from the, “sigh… Crawford again? Damnit”s we’ve been experiencing lately.

JD Drew. A spark? With a vital single at the end, we’re starting to see him do SOMETHING. I’m encouraged that our power hitter is in there somewhere. It just might take something drastic like shock therapy to get him out…

K-Youk. I’m concerned. Majorly concerned. And his bats were just starting to come around. Getting 2010 Pedroia flashbacks. If we’re going to be contenders, we need his old school consistency and fortitude. Even the haters have to see that. But Tito says he’s okay…

Jacoby. Just as fun to watch as ever. Pounding ‘em through and wiping the bases. I said this before- this could be your year, Jacoby. He’s like old school Johnny Damon (but without the beard and with a soul), spry and fast, and this year he’s upping the power.

Speaking of dodging bullets- check out this little gem about the ownership that could have been…

Tonight’s another late doozy… don’t think I have enough caffeine.

~L

Jon Lester and the streak

April 17, 2011 3 comments

A battle’s raging at Fenway.

Between two nations. The United States. And Canada.

And it’s being semi-live blogged. Right here. Right now.

It’s a battle for a 2-game winning streak.

Top of the 5th. 4 to 1. Jon fricking Lester.

But today’s game isn’t just about Jon fricking Lester.

Today’s game is also about Jacoby fricking Ellsbury.

My feelings on Jacoby’s three-run homer can be best expressed by the chorus of the song “Defying Gravity” in Wicked.

I don’t know how to classify this post since I’m sober and enjoying the sunshine between game shots. Seriously. Only half watching the game. That’s because I’m trusting you, Jon Lester. TRUSTING YOU.

It is a beautiful day and I have a porch. And I plan to use it.

But I can’t resist watching Lester pitch… he’s making me nervous today, for some reason.

3:04.

Sweet. Jon, I’m glad your last name is Lester and not Lackey.

3:07.

Sunshine. Porch. Tequilla. Blender. But no Margarita mix. I do have lemons. Hmmm…

Right. The game. Coming up on bottom of the 5th.

And Crawford bats. He’s 0 for 2. Surprise.

Make that 0 for 3. Not surprised.

He’s … Crawful. <- get it?

Hi, Destroia. Make Litsch work for it, baby. Crap.

Well, that was fast.

Coming up on bottom of the 5th. And a sunshine break. 3:12.

Yay! A Papi single! I like this laying in the sunshine only to come inside every time something good happens. It’s like the exact opposite of a John Lackey game. 3:27 p.m.

A Lowrie single! Jed, maybe I judged you too harshly. Maybe you’re not a nambi-pambi DL list junkie…

3:28. Maybe I should go outside again with my lemoniquila (it’s this new drink I’m inventing) before Drew messes this up. Crap. Someone at door. Company. Company and baseball games… dangerous combination. Maybe she knows what to do with lemons and tequilla… Hi, Hannah. Yeah, you can’t stay. I’m watching baseball.

A walk?! Loaded bases?! And… crap.

Salty walks up to the plate. Sunshine break. 3:31.

Crap. I can’t do it. I can’t just walk away when the bases are loaded. Crap. Salty. That reminds me. I need salt. Okay, Salty, let’s knock one out of the park.

Come on, Salty… if we can just make it to Jacoby…

YESSSSSS! A single. And a purpose for Salty. A purpose, people. 6-1, baby. With Jacoby fricking Ellsbury at the plate to start the next inning. This shot (which is much more effective and less gross then the lemonquilla) is for you, Salty.

Top of the 7th. Sunshine break. 3:38.

3:43. Daniel Bard makes me nervous. You know, because he’s not Jon Lester. or Josh Beckett. That double play was sexy. Hi, Dustin.

2 outs. Walked onto first. Runner at second. Please don’t mess up Lester’s work, Bardy-boy. One strike. Just one strike. Awesome. Loving you, DB. Well, liking you. I can forgive but I cannot forget…

Of course I care about the Braves, Daniel. Kind of. Um…

I care that YOU care.

You know what would be nice? To see Crawford hit something.

I hate to complain. Really, I do (when it’s 6-1), but we’re hitting. We’re hitting again, Tito! Except for that guy you spent a bazillion dollars on. What’s with that?

And you know what is really, really, really gross? When you blend lemon juice, ice, tequila and brown sugar.

3:56. Come on guys. Do it for America! Show Canada that they’re… um… north?

Oh, look… Carl the Crawdad is out. Crawdad. Crawful. Crapford. What say you, internet?

Hello, inning 8. See, old school Sox fans will remember this is where we screw it up. This is why we, as fans, tend to be slightly… what’s the word… paranoid? Cranky? Frazzled? Because the old school way to lose isn’t by playing a crapcombo (like the entire first week of baseball this year)… it’s by playing kickass baseball, then screwing it up for NO. REASON.

But see, I have new school pep and optimism. So I’m not even thinking about those days. Not even thinking about them.

You know, brown sugar should not be mixed with alcohol.

4:03 p.m.

Hello, Doubront. So we meet again.

Does anyone else think the ump has it out for this guy? Totally a strike.

Okay. Um. Well, that one was fair. Okay. At least two of those were strikes, damnit.

That’s okay. Just six more outs and we have a streak, Doubront. A streak. Do it for the troops.

Another walk?! Why do you hate our troops, Doubront? Why?

Crap. The announcer says “Bobby Jenks, they might use him to close this game.”

No. No. No. No. No. No.

That’s right! Out on third (thanks, Youkie-Bear). Who do you think you are, Jacoby Ellsbury?

4:11. 2 outs.

Nooooooooooooooooooo!

Bobby Jenks. Oh. My. God. No one reads my blog posts! Okay, several of you do, but CLEARLY not Curt Young.

I’m not being a very good hostess. But it’s okay. Because the girlfriend I am currently hanging out with isn’t actually watching the game. In fact, she hasn’t stopped talking for two innings.

So I think it’s okay if I ignore her completely for these last two innings, right?

Bobby Jenks will be fine. I’m so, so, so confident.

Right?  Right?

Oh no. The world stopped for like five seconds. My husband was just hit by a pitch. How DARE you, Shawn Camp. How DARE you?! 4:23 p.m.

Ack! Ack! What happened? Gonz scores?  Youk scores? And… I… miss… it… crapola.

Was saying goodbye to my friend… and…

Crap.

I will never let friends inside my house again.

Okay, that’s not true. But I will only be available during commercials.

8-1.

My phone is ringing. But I won’t answer it. Oh, no…

4:32.

Okay, guys. Streak of two. Two streak. Hot streak. Winning streak. Let’s go.

What’s a good pun for a two streak? A double streak? Crap.

It’s okay. We’ve got this. We may not have puns, but we do have a 2-streak. Almost.

Dear Bobby Jenks,

Can I call you Jenks? Okay. So, it’s the 9th inning. Which means three outs and we have our FOURTH win. Not one win. Or two wins. Or three wins. But FOUR wins.

Four. Just a few wins away from people at my office leaving me alone.

I know that doesn’t mean much to you, your office is a dugout, but really, after your fantastic failure the other day (one might even call it epic, epic failure), you’ve got to be experiencing some ragging yourself.

So you know what? Don’t do it for me. Don’t throw those 9 strikes just for me. Do it for yourself. Do it for America.

Jenks, do it for me.

Thanks,

Love,

Lauren

Oh. Hi, Dan Wheeler. THIS is what happens when I’m not paying attention, HANNAH.

We… we won. We won?

We won!

We are the champions!

We are the champions…

of TWO games!

Back to the happy music

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