Manny Ramirez, aka: the She-Juicer, found a few suckers to watch him play baseball- the Blue Jays and the Orioles.
Buck Showalter, I expected this from you… But Danny Duquette?
AND JOHN FARRELL????
Canada, I thought you were a better country than that.
Duquette! I thought you had better taste.
AND JOHN FARRELL?????? I called you brilliant, like, a month ago, in a blog post. I did. Remember how I wanted YOU and not Bobby V?
Well, now that I have this keen perspective on life (thanks, JOHN), I like Bobby V even more…
I’d like to know how my bird friends feel about this.
“Manny’s an interesting guy,” Duquette said. “He’s interesting to the fans. And he can hit. Or he could hit. I don’t know if he still can.”
As the Red Sox’s general manager, Duquette signed Ramirez in 2000 and has always liked Ramirez as a hitter.
“He wants another opportunity,” Duquette said. ”He’s trying hard to get one.”
Why don’t you just fill the syringe for him, Danny?
INTERESTING? So is Roger Clemmons.
The part of this article I find INTERESTING? The fact that Manny is turning 40. Did you know that?
Duquette wouldn’t confirm anything to MASN-
“People have been trying to link us to Ramirez because I signed him in Boston, ” Duquette said, “and they’ve been doing that ever since he said that he wanted to play ball again.”
Well, better you guys than us.
Despite the talent he flashed as a youngster, the two failed drug tests — in 2009 with the Dodgers and 2011 with the Rays — have stained his legacy forever.
And the drug tests are just part of my anti-Mannyness.
After savoring success, he succumbed to laziness. He became a lackluster defender in the outfield. He couldn’t keep track of his “injured” knees and milked the attention. He strolled down to first base as opposed to hustling on ground balls.
Imagine if Ramirez had the work ethic to complement his talent. He could have been destined to reign atop the all-time home run list and would have shattered many more records than he currently holds.
As far as our boys in Boston? Apparently, we’re looking at outfielders.
And Bobby Valentine is keeping busy.
As for me…
Day three of crippledom.
Today my mother came to visit. She took me shopping.
We got a wheelchair at the mall and she wheeled me around for an hour.
It. Was. Weird.
But I got ice cream. So there’s that.
We get to leave Baltimore. Thanks be to Fisk. The whining, a shrill echo bouncing around in the migraines of our minds… might never fully go away. But for now, it’s a distant, distant memory. Onward toward the sound of a muuuucccccchhhhhh less whiny team: The Mariners.
Yeah. I just really like that song.
The big news? Apparently Ellsbury.
See, I don’t think this is big news. I have ALWAYS said he’s got the speed… and when he gets the power, it’s going to be insane. Guess who got his power yesterday?
Jacoby reminds me a lot of early not-horrible-Damon. Remember him? The speed? How fun he was to watch? Then he started to get the power. And clearly his brain couldn’t handle it. And it turned to clumpy muck that exploded all over our hopes and dreams like a dynamite tumor of arrogance. I’m okay-I’m okay. It’s just hard sometimes. I need a minute. I have Youk now. I’m fine. I’m fine!
But Jacoby can do great things. I want him in a Sox jersey for the long haul. Think that can happen?
Daniel Bard is also streaking. So fast some of us hadn’t even noticed until the Boston Globe pointed it out. With Buchholz still on the mend and Lester not up to speed quite yet… it’s a good time for a streak.
And Gonz has his groove back. And Pedroia’s got pop.
It’s quite a happy blog I’m putting together today. The kind of thing Showalter put together in April. Remember that, Showalter?
Okay. I’m done.
And now for your daily injection:
Lance Armstrong is going to court. Lance Armstrong, who is a legend in the North Carolina High Country for saying Boone is one of his favorite places to bike, is denying any steroid use… but the questions have still been asked.
8:35 p.m. I just got home. JUST.
I have had the worst day. Really. The worst.
And then I listened to testimony from a Holocaust survivor. Which was amazing in that masochistic-awesome-story-reporter kind of way… but horrifically depressing in a human kind of way. But kind of life altering in an amazing way.
And then I blew up at a copy editor. Which was amazing in NO WAY. And (despite “tantrum kitten” comments from my coworkers) it was not cute. It was dynamite in an entirely different sense of the word dynamite. The explosive, graphic, violent sense of the word dynamite. And then I had a town council meeting. Which was the crap icing on the crap cupcake.
SHITHAWKS, leave me alone!!!!
So I am NOT in the mood to be messed with, Baltimore. Do you hear me, Buck Showalter?
I will reach through this computer screen and install a new pitcher myself if you don’t fix this Weiland mess, Curtis Young. It will be bloody. It will be gritty. But I swear to Fisk I fill find a way to make it happen.
I wasn’t sure I was going to watch, honestly. But I talked to my mom on the way home from work just now and she said, “If you’re having a bad day, don’t watch this game.” And, like all real Red Sox fans, there’s something wrong with me. More with the masochism. So I don’t even skip a beat to change out of my miniskirt. I flip on the game. I will, however, make the bloodiest mary that ever Ketel One did make during the next commercial break.
OHMYGOD I forgot about you, announcers. I forgot about you. But my brain didn’t. It hurts the instant you start talking.
Do you ever imagine what your office would be like if it were filled with quicksand? Like, all of a sudden. Like, imagine all the office furniture slowly sinking. That’s when it gets a hold of you. The lines on the linoleum blurring as your feet slowly sink. Do you struggle? I hear that makes it worse. Sometimes I feel like my office is already full of quicksand. Metaphorical quicksand. And I’m just sinking, sinking, sinking. I don’t even struggle anymore. I think I’ve made my peace with it.
This game is kind of like that.
No. No! This game will not be like that! Damn quicksand. You can take me. You can take my office. And my pretty desk. And my “world’s best boss” cross stitch. But damn it if you will take my Red Sox. We will not go gently into that great night! We will not! Do you hear me? Pedroia hears me. Nice catch, buddy. Adam Jones, I hate you. I don’t know why. I just do. You must have earned this hatred in another life by doing something terrible. Like ticketing cars or something.
AND I’m getting texts from work! Hold me back, Youkie! Hold me back.
Crap. For a second, I imagined you were really here.
Another out. And bottom of the fifth.
Gonzalez gets an out. I just sort of watch. No reaction right now. I’m still stewing. You know what would be neat? If my office just filled with water. And my desk could float. It would solve none of my problems, but it sure would be swell. I like water.
Youkilis out at first.
Or jello. I don’t like jello. I don’t eat jello. I really try not to eat things that jiggle. It freaks me out, jello, because I’m not entirely sure what it is. I just know what it isn’t. Food. But it would be neat if my office was filled with jello. I’d like to take a picture of that.
Oh, bluecheese olives. You call to me.
And people keep calling me.
“Come to the bar,” Hannah said. “I’ll even let you watch the Red Sox game.”
And I turn them down. And you know how much I like the bar.
No. Only my bluecheese olives understand. Is it blue cheese? Or bleu cheese?
And Jason Varitek. He would understand. He understands a great many things, Jason Varitek. He is the captain, after all.
Hi, Buck Showalter. I enjoyed watching you on youtube today.
“He just muscled that one.” Hell yeah, Reddick. I like you. You can be my official mistress. Youk won’t mind. It’s like King Henry tried to do with Ann Boleyn. Except I won’t divorce you, Youk. I just started watching The Tudors on netflx.
Crap. An out.
And we enter the 6th.
Jenks got an injection??? Oh. It’s just plasma. Calm down, Lauren. Google doesn’t always tell it like it is at the first glance.
I still don’t trust that guy.
Damnit. Bottom of the 6. Reynolds finds a hole. We just kind of look at it.
One on first.
I like Nolan Reimold’s name. But I do not like his team. Or his manager.
So much Sox love in that stadium tonight! Can you hear it?
I even see a Youkilis jersey. Worn by a girl. You want to fight, girl?
I’m in the mood for a fight.
Thanks, Ellsbury. I think you’re swell. I need a joke. Anybody have a joke? Because my office just texted me again.
Scut is on base. Hit number 8.
I hate Guthrie. He’s another whiner.
DAMNIT. Called out on Scut’s steal. Okay. It looked fair. Fair but CRAPPY. Damn it, Scut…
Bottom of the 7th. Aceves. I am glad to see you. They’re talking about bikes being the reason Aceves is on the Sox? I don’t understand. Stop talking, announcers.
Angle has a Jorge Posada quality. Don’t you think?
Okay. The announcers just made a joke about whether Youk brushes his teeth. Do NOT talk about my Youkilis, stupid announcers. DON’T DO IT.
Okay. Aceves. You are doing your part. Offense… you have GOT to step it up. Hear me, Pedroia? I’m talking to YOU. Because you are the only one who ever listens to me.
I bet if we worked together you would listen to me.
You could have the desk next to mine.
Oh, what great adventures we would have together.
I’m going to write a children’s book about it.
I might. You don’t know.
And Hardy is out. Huzzah.
Okay, offense. It’s time. It. Is. TIME.
Oh no! I am sleepy. I do NOT want to fall asleep during this 8th inning too. I won’t. I won’t…
WHAT IS ON YOUR TIES? Don’t they have people to pick those out for you, Baltimore announcers? Apparently not. APPARENTLY NOT.
Hear this shit? They’re talking about how it’s a true pitching duel, best of the best. Really? Weiland is our best?
Jim Johnson is on. Perfect chance for a rally. Guthrie, you should watch this.
Crap. “Ellsbury is retired.” Just say he’s out, orange-tied jackass.
WHY are we ALL aiming for first???? Stop it! Gonz, seriously. I can just see the post-game interviews.
On the plus side, if the O’s can win, they can say, “hey, Gregg, see how we win without your whiny ass on the mound?”
On the negative? It’s the fricking Orioles. COME ON.
ANOTHER GROUND OUT????????? WHAT THE FRICK?????
Where are our fricking bats?
Bottom of the 8th. There is no more time. Fix this. Fix it now, damnit. FIX IT. I could be watching The Tudors right now!!!
So, I’ve been thinking a lot about this. Do you think Showalter has had laser hair removal on his face? Guys, tell me, is it possible to get THAT smooth a shave? EVERY DAY? Seriously. Thoughts?
12 and 2 in the month of July. Do you guys reeeeeeealllyyy want to screw that up?
That was lovely. A lovely out. Courtesy of Pedroia. THE ONLY ONE WHO LISTENS TO ME.
Yessss. Close up on Kevin Youkilis again. Yessssss.
No. He walks one. NO. He did that on purpose. Aceves!!!!!
Derrek Lee, who I remember because he misspells his first name, is on.
STOP SAYING THAT. “It’s a pitchers’ duel tonight.”
Um. No. A pitchers’ duel is like two extreme badasses. Like Cliff Lee versus Beckett. Like Holliday versus Lester.
ACEVES. WE WILL HAVE A FIGHT. Homerun. 5-2. Sonofabitch. Derrek Lee. Oh, Derrek Lee.
Seriously, Aceves? I’m going to give you a big REALLY? REALLY?????
What part of I AM HAVING A BAD EFFING DAY inspired you to hand him a homerun? What, no giftwrapping?
I should just watch the Tudors.
DAMNIT. ANOTHER HOMERUN? Mark fricking Reynolds?????
Curt Young, I BETTER see you at the fricking mound.
WHAT THE FRICK????????????
6-2. Nolan is on. There are STILL TWO OUTS. So any fricking minute now.
Seriously, Aceves. Are you a double agent? Do you work for my newspaper? Were you there for my copydesk blowup? Because you know the buttons to push.
I am NEVER eating fettuccine alfredo again. EVER.
DAMNITESLLBURYYOUBETTERCATCHTHAT. Ellbury caught it, but he did not absolve you, ALFREDO ACEVES. IF THAT IS YOUR REAL NAME.
Well, good news, I’m awake.
I am sososososososososososososososo angry.
Not even about the game.
About the inevitable pompous and ridiculous post-game comments. I hate you, Buck Showalter, for the comments you will make that will annoy future me. Poor future me.
I am so mad.
Two outs. I don’t even want to watch this crap.
See, just a loss doesn’t do this to me. A loss to a team that is going to run its mouth to every media outlet and inflate its own ego unnecessarily? Does this to me.
Again with the anger.
And that’s the game.
Just a loss.
Just an ANNOYING loss.
Aceves, I hope you’re happy.
And you, Dustin Pedroia!!!! You should have gotten six home runs. SIX.
I am going to watch the Tudors. If this was the Tudors, the King would have your head, Aceves. You better be glad this isn’t the Tudors.
PS- The Tudors is on Netflix and it is neat.
9:59. Jeb and I just had a facebook comment fight. I totally won.
“You’re just mad because Ortiz can’t land a right hook,” he said.
“But I can, and I will remember that statement,” I said.
Yeah. So I turn my computer on to see the triple. Yeah. Awesome.
Fine. Just adding more vodka.
Hi, Reddick. I’m glad you’re still here. I like you better than Sutton.
These announcers suck. 0-2, top of the second. Carl Crawford. Okay. But which Carl Crawford are you? Are you the badass batter or strike boy? Hmmm…
Oh. Apparently ground-out boy.
Oh good. Yes. Let’s KEEEEEEP talking about Ortiz and Gregg. I’d much rather do that than PAY ATTENTION TO WHAT IS GOING ON ON THE FIELD. Seriously, announcers?
“It’s kind of ill advised what Michael did. It didn’t serve any purpose. It didn’t even hit them.”
I know, prick announcer guy. As soon as I figure out your real name, prick announcer guy, I will google you.
So, got a new mix for Bloody Marys. It is supposed to be “extra spicy.” It tastes like a tomato died in sugar and splatted in a microwave. Good thing I have my own horse radish and… wait for it… blue cheese stuffed olives!
I love you, Pedroia. I love you, I love you, I love you. That’s right, number 18. Eat it, sucka. Gregg, I hope you saw that from home. Or the showers. Or wherever they keep you in your shame. Pedroia and his anti-base-stealing-badassishness (am I supposed to call him a muddy chicken now? why?) save the day.
HOMERUN FOR SALTY! 2-1. And it was a pretty one, too.
Top of the THIRD. JD Drew is up. I would LOVE to see a homer out of JD. LOVE. LOVE. We all know I’m a Drew apologist. I’d really like a power bat to back up my loyalty.
The “Let’s go Red Sox” guy is a lot louder than the Baltimoreans.
YESSSSSNOOOOOOOOOOOO. I really thought Drew’s ball was out of there. Caught. Crapnuggets.
A single for Scuttttttt!
Announcers, please stop coddling the child pitcher. Bergesen is in the big leagues now. Let’s treat him like a big boy.
They are BOOING Jacoby. How can you BOO Jacoby? And he lets errrr rip. A single. Nice! Maybe if you hadn’t booed so hard Karma wouldn’t have hit you in centerfield, Os.
Oh, nice. They are replaying Pedroia’s 1:54 a.m. hit. Which is thrilling. Because at 1:54 I was in and out of a sleep coma.
Wow. Check out the bat chick. How do you get that job? I would be a greeeeaatttt bat chick. You know, because CLEARLY you don’t have to actually CATCH the ball. And I look damn hot in a ponytail.
I thought blue cheese olives would be fitting since the Orioles are so whiny. And they sure are. And only $3.59 at Ingles. I love you, Dustin Pedroia. YESSSSSSSSSS Base hit. LOVE it. Game is tied. That was one of those stand up on the couch, scare the crap out of your dog moments. Replay! Replay!
Oh. Of course. You’ll replay Ortiz-Gregg crap all day long. But we mustn’t show a kick ass hit again. Ohno. Hi, Gonz.
YESSSSSS. 3-2. 78th rbi for the GONZ.
Uhoh. I think I hear whining…
Bottom of the third. 3-2. It’s like losing, but the opposite. I’m sure we’ll hear alllllll about that later from Bucky Boy. Think Gregg is watching? Of course he’s watching. Think the tears are rolling down his cheeks, or just welling in the ducts?
YESSSS. Double play. Thanks to the Youkie-poo.
And… it’s phone shot time. I kind of have the best family in the world.
And I least I can PROVE my phone shots. Seriously, kids, without photographic evidence, how am I supposed to think you just downed it?
See how not lying I am?
Did anyone ever figure out what John Lackey did Saturday? Because I am curious.
Does anyone read this? Because I get loads of comments on live-blog posts. But they’re always when I’m not live.
Hi, Carl Crawford, “the only member of the Red Sox to NOT HIT IN THE THIRD INNING.”
Hey, the announcer said it. I didn’t.
It’s so nice not to be working.
Oh, Maddon “let Crawford go,” announcer said, because of the Trop and its effects on Crawford’s legs. Yeah, I’m sure that’s why you didn’t get him. Had nothing to do with the moneys.
Yay! Base hit! Adequacy! You tell ‘em, Crawford.
Alright Salty. Let’s teach the O’s to spell your name!
Lester “is ready to go Monday.” Sweet.
Comeon, announcers. Let’s talk some salt. That’s Saltalamacchia.
“It may be last man standing… or, it could be Tampa Bay coming in around the corner…”
What corner, announcer? Seriously. Because the only corner they’re coming around is a coffin. Or time out. That’s less dramatic.
YESSSSSSSSS Sweet. I love it when they dive for it and smack into the turf. Two players. No catch. Thanks for making us look swell. But, got to warn you, PIE, get ready to hear some whining in the dugout. Bucky’s not going to let you get away with an error without a trip to the corner. The time out corner. Not the coffin corner. Hi, Drew.
“That tells you how he’s seeing the ball.”
Shove it, announcer.
It’s okay. Scut’s taking point.
I don’t think they’ve decided how to pronounce Bergesen’s name. I’m hearing Berg-a-son. And Burgggg<-soft g-esson. Decide, please.
YESSSSSS Crawford, comes around to score… what was that? Was it out? Was it safe? Replay it, damnit. It looks safe. It looks fricking SAFE. Is it? You suck, announcers.
“That’s the first one, error-wise, the Orioles have committed in seven games.”
Well, announcer, they are too busy whining to commit errors. Oh, and to win.
SAFFFEEEE. You’ve got guts, Scut.
Loverly. Like in the song from “My Fair Lady.” The musical based on another play called Pygmalion.
5-2 Sox. Sorry, Gregg. You should bottle your tears. You know. To water plants. We’ve all got to do our part to save water. I wrote this article about it today. Want me to send it to you? Should I just address it c/o Time Out?
Okay. Two people have invited me to be on Google plus. What. Is. It.????
HOMERUNREDDICK. Yay. 6-2. Are you watching this, Bucky?
Are you seeing these announcers and their ties? Seriously. Is that a Valentine’s Day tie?
Felix Pie. Peee-aaayyyy. Sure. Okay. PIE.
“So long as the knuckle ball is working he can pitch from now to 75,” announcer GARY says.
Seriously? You let Pie get on first? That’s ridiculous. Did you see that? Wild pitch, he hail Marys it to first… now they’re saying it’s on Salty?
There’s a sign that says Hankook or something…? But just now, Andino is blocking part of it, and it just says Kook. Hah.
“It’s the invisible baseball. It sort of just darts away.”
Hardy gets a homer. 6-4.
“The problem with a knuckler is when it doesn’t knuckle, it rolls,” ~Announcer.
Okay, Wake. Baby. Let’s focus. Okay? Focus. Tito, you watch him, k?
I am about thirty seconds from muting these damn announcers. 6-4. Bottom of the 5th.
I want to be a baseball announcer. Seriously. I would rock at your life, announcer guy.
DAMNIT. Okay. 6-5. Homerun.
Alright. I love you, Wake. Really. I do. But it’s time for a rest, k? Tito, don’t you think it’s time for a rest?
“You can just watch Wakefield put his head down.”
But seriously, Tito. I think it’s time for a powwow. Come on, Curt Young. I can’t do this for you guys. Believe me, I want to.
STOP SAYING ONE RUN BALLGAME, ANNOUNCER JACKASS. We get it.
“Keep in mind, the Red Sox had that 16 inning ball game last night.”
Wake looks sad.
Okay. Now I look sad.
This game is making me SOOOOO glad I have blue cheese olives. You don’t even know.
Yeah. Hi, Curt Young. Let’s do this. Wheeler’s warm. Let’s. Do. This.
Oh. Okay. Or we could just leave Wake in. Sure. Okay.
This is me trusting you, CURT YOUNG.
Please. That so did not almost hit you.
BASES LOADED????? Seriously????
What. The. Frick.
SOMEBODY? Can anybody fricking hear me??????
Kristin, why is this happening to us?
DAMNNNNNIIITTTTT! 7-6. This is YOUR FAULT, Curt Young. YOUR FAULT.
Okay. I am using this commercial break to breathe. And calm my puppy down. Who ran upstairs and is probably in the bathtub.
Seriously. Why? I need an answer. With words. In paragraph form. Stat. Go.
FDA, is this because of that time I called John Lackey a water bug larva? Are we being punished? I know I look 12. I’m told that on occasion. It makes being a reporter super fun, let me tell you.
Oh God. Maybe the whining works.
I would rather lose to the Stankees.
Come on, Wheeler. Come ON. 7-6 O’s, bottom of the fifth. TWO outs. Runners on second and third. This would be a gooooood time for an out. Thank you. Thank you, Dan Wheeler. I am naming my tomato plant Dan Wheeler in your honor, good sir. The beefeaters. Not the heirlooms.
So, I was really excited to find the new Morningstar “spicy” breakfast sausage on special… but it is not spicy. It is full of lies.
“Both bothered by a lack of defense behind them.”
Anddddd… MUTE. 8:47.
“Lackey’s the big question mark.”
SHUT UP. Yeah. So I lied about the mute. I was going to. I swear. I just. Um. Didn’t.
Jacoby Ellsbury is pretty.
Don’t tell K-Youk.
I see wayyyy more Sox fans than Orioles fans. Oh. And some pinstripes. Why are you in Baltimore?
Come on, Scut. Please hit the ball. In a scoring way. Not in a pop out way.
Swinging would help.
What did I say about popping out?????
I can’t watch this.
Yes I can.
Hi, Dan Wheeler. Did you always have that much facial hair?
Okay. Moved computer to bedroom. Maybe I’ll sleep through the rest.
We’re fine. One run. And we’re on base. Thanks to kickass Jacoby. And Pedroia’s up. And there are no outs. All-in-all, it’s a good place to be. You know. If you’re the Sox.
I really hate these announcers. Top of the seventh.
Three balls. One strike. And one kickass Pedroia. Crap. Crap. Oh, thank you screen. Thought we were going to have a caught foul ball and a cranky me. And he walks.
Two on. And Gonz AND Youk coming up. We’re just fine. Just fine…
Gonz. He’s one for three.
Tampa Bay is leading the Yankees! Sweet.
Even though, honestly, I kind of wanted the Stanks to win so Joe Maddon could cry in his car.
It is amazing how many teams have been pissing me off that aren’t the Yankees.
Two balls. Two strikes. Gonzzzzz.
Okay. That was no strike. That’s a super questionable out.
YESSSSS. Youkie. Hits. Jacoby. Scores.
Delightful boos rise up in Baltimore. Like Showalter, like fans…
7-7. In the 7th. ONE OUT
Oh, now they call. Friends call at 9:16 trying to get me to go to the bar. Maybe you should have called two hours ago.
An out. And Crawford comes. Up. 13 for 86 against lefties. Got to hit them sometime, though, right?
Pedroia and Reddick on base.
Would be an excellent time for a slam.
Ohno. I have not been paying close enough attention. Michael Gonzalez is pitching? Really???? Out. Whatever. “Crawford didn’t like the call.” I didn’t either, dear.
Seriously, that call was crap. Blue shirt announcer is totally trying to hide his lame Valentine’s Day tie with his microphone.
Oh. It does. It has hearts on it. No. Just… no.
Michael Gonzalez really shouldn’t be in this game.
Just saying. Guess his appeal wasn’t worked through today.
Still 7-7. It is 9:21. And I really might pass out. That’s sad.
Five relievers used yesterday. FIVE. That is insane.
“Breath Lauren and play the drinking game. Every time anyone speaks Take a drink.” FDA gives the best advice.
Don’t mind if I do.
Being a Red Sox fan can be a lot like being a Charter customer. You can’t help it and it hurts.
Oh, Reynolds. That almost-homerun-actual-foul just made me terrify the dog again.
Okay. I’m not going to argue. Really. But there’s something fishy going on in ump world tonight… 9:32. Still a tie.
Ohno. Please don’t let this game have 16 innings. Please?
8th. 8th innings are great times for rallies. You can rally a tie. You can.
Michael Gonzalez is treating the mound like a slip ‘n slide. And I am having a lot of trouble keeping my eyes open. Seriously. If I pass out, you have to finish my play-by-play, FDA.
DO SOMETHING, MCDONALD. ANYTHING. Thank you. And he walks.
I’m glad you helped an old lady, FDA. Because I accidentally shut the door on one. It was an accident….
Just add more vodka!
That does the opposite of wake me up.
Seriously. Michael Gonzalez should be in Gregg’s circle of pout right now. They should be weaving friendship bracelets and swapping handkerchiefs. Is Showalter crying? Do his eyes look puffy to you? Another walk would be nice. Still top of the fricking eighth. Scuttttttt.
Yay. Hit. Yay. First and Second. Yes. Tired. But first and second. One out. We will score. Because of FDA’s old lady. And because of God. Anddd stuff. Tired. Jacoby is up. He is o for four against M-Gonz. But that was before the whiny week. Surely he has been inspired by the whining. oh, the incessant whining. So tired. Faddding. Fading fast… oh the typos I have to fix before I click “update.”
11 to 7. Yay. Youkilis.
Yeah. We won. And I fell asleep and missed it…
What a sniveling piece of work is Baltimore.
Check this out.
And grit your teeth. Because it looks like another BYOC. That’s right. Bring-your-own-cheese because it’s about to get whiny up in here. <-Did that sound as rapper as I intended?
I’m thinking Swiss. Or Muenster.
“In my position, you got to be the voice of reason,” he said diplomatically. “Emotions run high — mine, too. But there’s a time and a place for everything. I got one very biased opinion on everything, and it’s the Orioles angle.
I like blue cheese. Do you like blue cheese? It’s more than just a salad dressing, you know…
I had this white horseradish cheddar one time from Tillamook in Oregon. Dynamite.
I’m really picky about my pepper jack though, you know? I don’t like a lot of things in my cheese.
“I’m more the believer in old-school baseball,” Gregg said. “So every hitter, if they don’t like what’s going on, they have the right to come out there. I don’t condone it. I don’t want people to do it. But it’s what we do. If (hitters) don’t like what’s going on, come out. We’re all grown men, we can defend ourselves.”
I think I’ll have macaroni with mine tonight. How ’bout you?
God willing, there will be some live blogging in an hour… God willing.
Hi, Buck Showalter. You have lots of time to read this now that you’ve been banned. Get your Kleenex ready.
“I definitely think they need to go back and do their homework,” said Orioles left-hander Michael Gonzalez, who was suspended three games and fined $1,500 for throwing behind Ortiz on Sunday. “We’re already appealing it. I think (MLB needs) to go back and go through the whole series as opposed to just going through one game and seeing how everything fell into place.”
See, apparently, if you whine enough, you get to play. Gregg and Gonzalez get to play until their appeals are heard. Their whining, you see, has already been heard. A lot. Like a firetruck siren. Ohmyfrickinggod. Oh good. He’s not done.
“They’ve hit (52) guys on the year; we’ve hit (19). We hit one guy with a changeup, and they hit the (four) guys that they hit. So, I don’t know, I don’t agree with it,” Gregg said. “The way the process went down with the umpires, you know, it’s their job to handle the games, keep them under control. That’s their job. I will appeal my suspension and see what happens. There’s not a lot to say about it.”
Right. Because insulting the umpires is a sure-fire way to win an appeal…
“It was definitely frustrating. They obviously lead the league in batters hit. Obviously, a few of those seemed intentional,” Gonzalez said. “They’re hitting our star guys, and you’re going to get frustrated as a pitcher. Those are your guys. It’s kind of a family thing, and they were getting hit. Yeah, anyone’s going to be pretty mad about it.”
Mad about it? Like how Ortiz reacted? Remember how aghast you were at that? I do. I blogged about it.
Ohmygod just pop an anxiety pill already, okay? Stop ruffling your tail feathers. You are an insult to birds.
I am so tired of writing about whining and bitchiness. I feel like I’m writing a gossip column for the barbie pepsquad at a middle school. Jesus, Bucky. I knew you were irritating, but I had no idea your salty tears would flood the world.
Speaking of salty, salty tears… David Price is pitching tomorrow. You may recognize him from my hate list. My, how hate lists change. Don’t worry, David Price, you’re still on it.
On to business. Real business. Damn, it will feel good to play fricking baseball.
“It was an incredible first half, but the most important part is the second half. That’s the one that determines if we’re going to the playoffs or not. Hopefully, we come back on the same page and hopefully the guys on the DL will come back healthy.”- David Ortiz
PS- Oh no! Cleveland just beat the Orioles! Ohio, prepare for a monsoon! Of salty, salty tears.
NUMBER ONE! Still. But boy has it been bloody. It’s been kicking and screaming and scraping your fingernails through the coffin door, digging your way out of mossy hell- that kind of battle.
We’re talking a battle of epic proportions.
The kind we’ve waited all our lives to fight. The kind where one alone stays standing. I think it’s obvious what comes to mind.
Oh, come on. You were ALLLLLL thinking it. July 15, baby.
See, Harry Potter is OBVIOUSLY, in this case, David Ortiz. And Malfoy? OBVIOUSLY Jeremy Guthrie.
“If they really had issues with people being hit, they could have warned the benches the second time one of our players were hit versus the third hit batsman of the game on a changeup on a situation where I clearly wasn’t intending to hit a gentleman.”
You’re right. AT LEAST MALFOY MADE SENSE.
You know what else is a great quote?
That’s BUCK SHOWALTER in March.
Jeremy Guthrie, by the way, has been clipped into my LEAST FAVORITE players list. Poor Youk.
At this rate, Joba and Grandersnot will be the only Stanks left.
Michael Gonzalez earned his place on the list fair and square.
Asked if Gonzalez intentionally threw at his designated hitter, Francona replied, “It makes you think. It was 3 feet behind him. That’s where somebody gets hurt. That’s the point where somebody can really get hurt when you do something like that.’’
The real story, however, isn’t beating the whiny little birds (who, by the way, have been vocally whiny ALL WEEKEND, even if you take Gregg’s temper tantrum out of the equation). Other than being whiny, they’re not exactly relevant.
The REAL story is where we are now and where we were then. Now? At the top. One game lead over the stanks. Then? The bottom. Now? Top. Then? Bottom. See where I’m going with this?
Adversity. Great adversity.
It’s our year, people.
PS- Reasons why the Stanks aren’t as annoying (LATELY) as the Orioles? At least they have the bats to back up their arrogance. Well, you know, unless they play the Sox.
Seriously- I knew the Orioles were a joke numbers-wise, but I had no idea how bratty Showalter’s toddlers really were. I babysit for four-year-olds with more integrity.
At least we won’t have to see THEM in the play-offs.
PSS- How about Gregg-head? Like egg head? Like, you’ve got a little Gregg on your face, Bucky? Or Greggative. Like negative. Because he’s… you know… negative…
Kevin Gregg, ladies and gents! Currently my third least favorite player. Interestingly enough, he bumped Joba the Gut (<- trying that) to fourth. That means my top three (currently) are pinstripe free.
This picture is brilliant. Doesn’t he look like that guy, you know the one? With dried saliva spittle who tells you (after high fiving his buddies) that he doesn’t come here often? Oh, and that being the stock boy at Ingles isn’t his “real” job, because see, he has ambition. And saw one of those 1-800 numbers for would-be-truck-drivers. And, swear to God, he’s going to get his license again any day now. In the meantime, have you seen his vespa? It’s “the shit” and seats two.
The only person who seemed to be missing from the bench-clearing brawl that erupted in the eighth inning of the Red Sox’ 10-3 victory over the Orioles last night at Fenway Park was the fight announcer, with microphone in hand, bellowing his trademark, “Are you ready to rumble?’
And, in the great jackass tradition, Kevin GROSS vomits soundbites to the media. Kevin GROSS. Kevin Greatless? Kevin Grunt. Kevin… damn it.
“I think we showed them we’re not backing down, we’re not scared of them, them and their $180 million payroll, we don’t care,’’ Gregg said. “We’re here to play the game, we have just as much right to play the game here, and we’re going to do everything we can to win.’’
Seriously? Someone has his panties (and they’re silky) in a bunch because Buck Showalter (like everyone’s mommy did when they were ten) said, back in April, that he was special. I sure hope those panties aren’t silk, because that’s a bitch to iron!
“We don’t care” about the payroll. Clearly, you’re in it for the love of the game. So, when rip that $10 million check into itty bitty pieces, be sure to take a photo of it for your Facebook page.
“We’re here to play the game.” Well, thank God. I thought you were here to maul Papi. I mean, with a 1-7 record of late, you’re definitely not here to WIN the game.
“We’re going to do everything we can to win.” I see that. I like how you at least admit it was on purpose.
“Ortiz, the place to get him out is in; you’ve got to pitch him in,’’ Gregg said. “The first pitch wasn’t too far off the corner, and he jumped away like it was at his head. The next pitch was a little bit further in, he didn’t like it, he stared at me. I’m still going to go in there and try to pitch in there.’’
Oh. After you just said you did it on purpose? I am going to make you a t-shirt. You might not be able to wear it around children.
The place to get him out is in? How would you know? You’re not the most experienced Papi-pitcher. I wiki-pedia-ed you, you jackass!
“Jumped away like it was at his head.” When a bazillion mph ball comes at YOU on the plate, Gregg, let’s see you stare solidly ahead.
“You go to the well three times, something’s looking pretty bad,’’ Beckett said. “I don’t know why they were trying to do that, but it was pretty obvious to me that it wasn’t just ‘I was just trying to pitch you in.’ ’’
Gregg. Wow. Well, at least he shut up. Because, you know, if this were high school or a baited facebook status attack, he’d… oh, wait…
“They’re going to whine and complain about it because they think they’re better than everybody else, but now, we have just as much right to pitch inside as they do,” Gregg said.
“I think there’s some ethics to this game, guidelines you got to stay within,’’ Gregg said.
And you know Gregg. He’s got morality.
Of a ten-year-old. On a birthday-cake-fueled sugar rush. When mommy tells him to put the transformers in the toy box.
“I feel like [Gregg] should’ve been thrown out before any of that [stuff] even happened,’’ Beckett said.
“The rule is that happens and you leave the mound, you’re automatically ejected. But it wasn’t handled that way and now we got other guys probably looking at fines.’’
“We’re a good hitting team and you can’t just be hitting our [expletive] guys just because we score a lot of runs. That’s how the game should be played.”
If every team takes on this philosophy, we’re screwed. You know. Because we’re going to keep scoring a lot of runs.
Gregg, as soon as I figure out some hilarious pun for your name, I will use it. You are ridiculous.
Tied for… first? But… didn’t you say that couldn’t happen, April commentators? Didn’t you say that would be… wait… let me make sure I get this right… Orioles? The Baltimore Orioles? Were you… wrong?!
Was that title long enough?
Because I meant to say “were you really-really-really-really-really wrong? And when we said ‘it’s early, sports commentators,‘ and you were like, I’m going to make fun of your hopes and dreams for a few hours on every blog and radio show I can find and inspire your coworkers to leave brooms on your desk, it was, in fact, too early to make broad generalizations?”
So, imagine that’s tacked onto the headline for this piece. And yes, if you’re feeling nostalgic, click on some of those links.
I think the following commercial fits recent Sox activities to a tee. Ahem:
See, Detroit? You’re the kid. And that VW symbol? It’s really a B. And Cleveland, you’re the adult guy at the end. And Jorge Posada, I’m sorry but every blog post is NOT ABOUT YOU!
So yes, ladies and gentlemen, the Tigers were, no doubt, losers. But the real losers this week? Not Detroit. No, not even Cleveland. The REAL losers were sports commentators and bloggers who were making fun of us in April.
And Buck Showalter.
Oh-oh-oh- and Jorge Posada.
And Johnny Damon!
And Dominique Strauss-Kahn!
Wait… what were we talking about again?
Right. The Red Sox.
Go us! The Yankees play at 10:10. Stupid west coast games. Say they manage to lose…
First alone, baby.
So, kiddies, stay up late for me and cheer on our Washington brethren, okay? Because I have to get up at 5 a.m. to shoot a Memorial Day ceremony.
Oh, and could someone ask the rain to stop? Because I want to wear a sundress. Thanks.
PS- April sports commentators, you might find this helpful!