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:
Quick, cue the parade!
“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.”
“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…
Okay, rain. You done yet? We’ve got some Stankees to sweep.
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.
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.
11:08. Does C.C. remind anyone else of Baloo from the Jungle Book?
You know, but evil?
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.
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.
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.
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…
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.
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-
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.
Well, there’s always Wednesday.
Thoughts? Am I just paranoid? Or is Jenks the time bomb I think he is? We’ll find out…
“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.
“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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?”
“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.
“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.
“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.
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..
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.
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.
“He does sweat a lot, Lauren,” mom said.
“He does,” dad said.
“Maybe someone poured something on his head,” mom said.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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…
11:25 p.m. A girl with hair extensions is talking about an Angels calendar. So they can mark their shame with frowny faces?
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.
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…
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.
“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.
You let BOBBY ABREU kick your ass! You were out Bobbied and you ARE a Bobby! Damnit, Jenks.
Who ARE you and why are you trying to ruin my game?!
You deserve two chastisements! For shame!
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.”
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.
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.
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.
Sweet. Jon, I’m glad your last name is Lester and not Lackey.
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.
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.
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.
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…
I will never let friends inside my house again.
Okay, that’s not true. But I will only be available during commercials.
My phone is ringing. But I won’t answer it. Oh, no…
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.
Oh. Hi, Dan Wheeler. THIS is what happens when I’m not paying attention, HANNAH.
We… we won. We won?
We are the champions!
We are the champions…
of TWO games!
Back to the happy music…