Archive
Oswalt, no one cares about you. It’s my birthday.
Roy Oswalt and the Sox have no “traction.” That’s what’s being reported today. Again. I care about this… oh… as much as I did LAST week when a similar report surfaced. Oh. And the week before. And the week before. And… tell me, was this Oswalt crap going on THE WEEK BEFORE THAT?
You know what’s more interesting than ANYTHING you have to say, Roy Oswalt? This morning’s Bleacher Report on the five players under the most pressure.
Got me thinking. The five- the Beckster, A-Gonz, Carl Crawfail, Papi and Bardlebutt. And, since I’m a Sox fan, a cynic and in an irritated mood today, obviously, my thought is the following question:
WHICH ONE OF THE FIVE WILL CAVE FIRST? My guess is Daniel Bard.
What do you think?
And what do you think our most controversial offseason move has been thus far? I’m going to go with Marco Scutaro…
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In other news, the Patsies are still sobbing Giant tears. So, this morning, Shaughnessy tries to make us feel better by telling us the Red Sox failures are worse. Gee, thanks, Danny.
Speaking of the Patsies, I know I haven’t done an ASK TOO SOXY in awhile, but I got a super cute e-mail yesterday. Ahem:
Dear Lauren,
I can’t believe you John Denvered (Hah. I did that, didn’t I? Oh, the cleverness of me… I like that. I hope that catches on. John Denvered! Oh, classic) the Super Bowl. Do you know that most of your readers are Patriots fans? (I have readers?!) And you get really off topic. Reading your blog is ALREADY annoying (So is your face). Maybe you shouldn’t alienate the fan base you have left. If the Sox had lost to the Giants (um) you’d have a sappy, dramatic One Tree Hill song for us (you do read me! you do!), not John Denver. Maybe you owe your readers an apology.
Cash
Brian Cashman, are you an inner New England fan?! I never knew! See, the usual me would mock you for your mixed sports similes and ponder at why you, a good speller, has so much fricking free time. I’d thank you over and over again for your clearly obsessive fanship of my blog and probably send you a commemorative silver star in my mind. But you’re right. The new me should be more sensitive. Should humor you. After all. I am 28-years-old today. Much more mature than yesterday’s 27. So. No John Denver. Here you go. This is me humoring you. And your humiliating, humiliating, excruciating Brady (that’s my new word for LOSS. It’s a verb AND a noun) yesterday. I mean, I did expect you guys to Brady to the Giants. But maybe I should have been more sensitive when you Bradyed. So. It’s just one Brady, after all. I mean, it’s a pretty super Brady. And Madonna was watching. But really, she slept with A-Rod. Her credibility is shot. But I loved her outfit. Did you love her outfit? Life is a mystery… Sing it, blondie. Sing it. Right. Back to you. And your team’s humiliating, nationally televised Brady. Let’s all sway to Joseph Arthur. Who was NOT in an episode of One Tree Hill.
Here. Stare at this while that song is playing for the full effect, k?
So, Soxies, happy my birthday to you. I hope it’s filled with sunshine and wins. You know. And not Bradys.
~L
Jackson’s diss. Oh and Theo and Cash are besties now.
Today has been ridiculously icky. Not only did I have to work (gahk. At least I didn’t fall into a deer carcass this time. See Twitter.), I had to teach my last class at Appalachian State University. I think I scared the bejeezus (that’s a word they use in Boone) out of the little dreamers and hopers. I might have told the little newsy hopefuls that their destinies included $18 k jobs and a lack of health insurance. Oh, and that stress and 80-hour work weeks would cause them to die alone of a heart condition with only the distribution of their underfed cats and a missed deadline to remind people they existed in the first place. You know. Unless that get a snazzy new biz journal job and a the promise of a snazzy new paycheck. But that probably won’t happen to you, I said. You are all too idealistic.
I must make myself pretty for my date tonight (I have a date. Yep. Now that I’m moving. I’m dating. That’s apparently how it works)- but you deserve news briefs. So, here.
And repeat after me- We DON’T need Roy Oswalt.
I’m thinking Alfredo Aceves will astound us all. Um. Maybe. Here you go:
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Edwin Jackson dissed us officially. For – and this one will make you roll your eyes- THE NATIONALS. Whatever. $10 mill? Really? Whatever.
Some people say we should go after the Nationals reject now- John Lannan.
Lannan is a groundball pitcher who has never induced fewer than 50 percent grounders, and holds a career groundball-to-flyball ratio of 1.9. His FIP haven’t exactly been stellar despite this, as he’s been about 12 percent worse than the league in that regard over his career.
Um. I’d rather have Scut back.
—-
Curt Schilling WON’T STOP TALKING.
This time he’s not talking about video games. Or the Red Sox. Traitor boy is talking Cubs.
“I would feel very comfortable putting a very large chunk of money that [a World Series title] would happen in the next five to 10 years. This guy is a game-changer from a baseball knowledge perspective. He is as smart, as aware as anyone I have ever been around, and I’m talking about game smart. The kind of smarts that generally have been associated with people who have been on the field.
“He understands the human element to this. A lot of what I learned from and about Theo I’ve taken into my company and tried to help my company grow. Theo gets it, and it’s not lost on the people who played for him. He’s the only general manager I ever played around who fit into the clubhouse. That’s a very dangerous thing for general managers, especially if they don’t fit. He was always welcome. He’s a very smart guy.”
Whatever. Thank you for 2004. Now go home.
—-
So, Cubs. If Curt is right, you’ll get the WS. Whatever. We get your scout. Um. Well, we DO get your scout.
Hughes is 70-years-old. He scouted Tom Brady as a catcher. So. He’s old. And he recognizes good hair when he sees it.
—-
And in news that makes the reporter in me cringe in utter heebee jeebees, New York Times Company lost like $40 katrillion (eeek!) and had to sell some of its Sox stock to an “undisclosed” buyer.
Let me repeat that parenthetical: EEEEEEK.
So, not only does some rich kazillionaire out there (hey, it could be Snookie people, you don’t know) own us, my industry is melting faster than a wicked witch in a rain storm.
I think my feelings can best be expressed through the dramatic David Grey classic, “Nightblindness.”
You’re welcome.
–
I really enjoyed Bleacher Report today. Read under-the-radar-free-agents-that-paid-off.
They give Aceves (my personal fav) a shout out:
For a mere $635,000 Alfredo Aceves probably provided the highest overall return on investment.
Seriously. In a year that brought us Crawflop and A-walktofirst-Gonzalez, Aceves was a rock star.
It was such a nice season that Aceves may have a shot at a spot in the Red Sox starting rotation this coming season. Even if he doesn’t start, another season similar to last year’s will net Aceves a considerable raise the next time his contract comes up.
I’d really, really, really like to see Aceves start. Over Bard. Just saying.
Troy O’Leary is another nice example.
—
In irritating news, our very own East Bound and Downesque Vincente Padilla may be delayed by LEGAL TROUBLE. An arrest warrant in Nicaragua (I have to interview someone in Nicaragua at 5!) for child support something could delay him getting back to the states. So it’s not even a nifty arrest warrant. Like for assaulting a Stankee.
Whatthefrickever.
—-
And here’s something irritating. Theo’s now all roses that him and Cashman can be buddies. It’s all about the shirt.
“I was never able to totally relax because I felt like he was always lurking,” Epstein said. “He had a great sense of the marketplace.”
But now they can jog down the hillside and pick poppies together.
Brian Cashman and Theo Epstein said that after years of being on opposite sides of baseball’s most bitter rivalry, they are looking forward to being able to make deals with one another.
Whatever.
—
Oh- and Carl Crawford is now an accused swindler.
Somehow, I think Carl can afford the lawsuit.
—-
Have a lovely Friday! Off to get pretty(er).
~L
An ode to Timmy: Timmy Wakefield
Tim Wakefield, aka Father Time- as the media would have you believe, wants another year. See, Wake’s the definition of a utility player- the first to raise his hand and literally the last to leave the bullpen. He’s like our “Wonder Years” dad. You know. But happier and slightly less curmudgeonly. There with supportive words of wisdom and the occasional scowling wisecrack. Working quietly in the background. But highlighted in select episodes so that we’ll be guilted into telling our own fathers “thank you?” But, you know, not always integral to the front-and-center Fred Savage-Winnie plot today?
What a great show...
In other words, Tim Wakefield is a workhorse. Just one that may be working at spending his money next season, not getting ours…
“I just saw that (Jorge) Posada retired, you know it’s something that my wife and I need to talk about,” Wakefield said, according to FloridaToday.com. “I’d probably need to talk about it with my kids, too. Ultimately, I would like to obviously play for the Boston Red Sox for one more year and see where it goes.”
Anyone else imagine his voice all mopey when he says that?
Okay. Now imagine it in this voice!
With the Sox since 1995. I was eleven. MLB debut in 1992. I was six. 200 wins. 2,156 strikeouts. A bazillion smiles.
And it’s not that repetitive denial that has-beens repeat on their Facebook and Twitter feeds. Wake DOES have stones left.
It’s just- do those stones fit into our ball park and our ALREADY cramped pen?
“There have been a number of clubs who have called, who have an interest in signing me but I’m kind of just weighing my options right now,” he said, obviously waiting and hoping that Boston will make an offer. “I think I can be a valuable asset to them as an insurance policy, you know a fifth or sixth starter or if something doesn’t pan out for some of the guys they have already penciled in to the rotation. You know that’s kind of been my job these last two years; I don’t have a problem doing that.”
Getting past the condescension of the author’s “obviously waiting” remark (I hate condescending reporters, don’t you?)… He knows his value. As an insurance policy.
And that is assuming Daniel Bard fits in as No. 4 starter, which remains an assumption for now.
He’s not asking to take the lead. He’s not asking for $$$. He’s not asking for fame. He’s just asking to keep playing baseball, with a humility that SOME people (ahem, Lackey. Papelbon. Probably Jacoby next year) could learn from…
And even at 45-he can still be a benefit. My thoughts? We hold onto him. Not make him part of our regular rotation. Not make him part of our bullpen. But keep him for a clutch moment when everyone’s arm is shot. Going to happen. Late this summer when the rotation is tired and we need a miracle. A hero. Someone with a good attitude. Because when Tim does rise from the ashes of everyone else’s failure- that’s when he pulls it out. That’s when he shines. And that’s when debates start about his robotness. Save him for when we need him. And let him retire in a Sox jersey. He’s earned it.
And seriously, Benny C. Call. Him. Back.
You NEVER forget to call your father. Bad things happen, Ben Cherington. Bad things. He’ll just show up at your doorstep. He’ll just show up. And demand to see your packing progress. And when you don’t have packing progress, he’ll compensate by packing your coffee. And you won’t be able to find it. And you’ll have to go to a gas station Monday morning. A GAS STATION. That’s $1.99 you’ll NEVER get back, Ben.
—-
PS- and this is random- but I miss Mike Lowell. I miss Mike Lowell so much that it hurts sometimes.
Mike Lowell would NEVER have let Soxsplosion happen. No, sir. Not Mike Lowell…
I’m okay… I’m okay…
—-
In less somber news (because that was somber, man), Curt Schilling is expressing his opinions again. This time about something waaay more relevant than his usual cup of bitters. He’s defending something video gamey that I’ve never heard of. Whatever, Curt. Did you know he owned a video game studio? Did you care?
—
HuffPost released an interesting list today- the 10 worst contracts in baseball. Carl Crawford is #10. John Lackey is #6. Alex Rodriguez is #3.
Jason Werth is #1? Really?
—-
Manny Ramirez, Juice King, may be back in the MLB fold, as the A’s are rumored to crave juice… Be a part of the collective eye roll in 3, 2, 1… NOW.
—-
MLB is reeealllyyyy struggling for news. So they popped up a craptastic piece about how we don’t always know who wins or loses pre-season. Wow with the ace reporting, skip. We allllll know which team this article aims to scrutinize passive aggressively.
—
Roy Oswalt, enjoying the attention, clearly, is going to milk it just a little bit longer before taking a deal with (probably) the Cardinals.
—
And here’s a theory about putting Jose Iglesias in the shortstop dance.
—-
So. How’s your Monday?
I’d quit again, if I could.
Is a dramatic exit redundant when you’ve already put in your two weeks? I think it might be time to stage “I quit: The Musical.” I’m good on vocals, but I’m going to need a five string…
~L
Put Crawford in a box, please. A see thru one. With an X-ray machine.
An injury-free box. An unbreakable box. Like a bubble. But angular. And unnnnnnpoppable.
Okay. So. I’m a little behind on my ESPN (I’m in Delaware, people!)- and just got the Crawford-is-too-hurt-for-opening-day-memo. And let me tell you. I’d rather get an anthrax envelope. Um. Sort of.
Seriously. When the world is starting to believe in you again, Crawford. When optimism is seeping in to replace all those ugly, ugly glares we gave you allllll summer. When the words “this is going to be Crawford’s year” are said aloud on ESPN. You waited for them to say that, didn’t you?
WHY?
And why now? Benny C offers a timeline explanation here- but it’s not good enough for me. I’ve been spouting about how he’s broken for months. MONTHS.
And you people have access to X-RAYS.
“I think whenever something like this happens we always go back and think about whether we could have found this out earlier, found something earlier. Having surgery in the first week of January is a lot better than the last week of March, but probably not as good as the first week in October,” the Red Sox GM said.
An astute observation.
“I don’t think there’s anything we could have done, practically speaking, sooner. The facts are that he ended the season and was essentially symptomatic and expressed he felt fine and felt normal, as normal as he would going into any offseason. When you have a case like that the last thing we would do is be proactive in exploring a surgical solution for a player when there’s no direct evidence that that’s needed. In this particular case I don’t think anything could have been done differently and I think the medical staff handled it as well as they possibly could, and Carl handled it as well as he possibly could.“
BAH.
“We have to trust the player,” he said. “They’re the one out there playing. If they feel like their body is good enough to play, and they’re OK to play, the last thing we would want to do is introduce a concern to them unnecessarily because then you start getting into issues of confidence and things of that nature that are clearly things we want to avoid. In this particular case there just wasn’t any indication at the end of the season this was something that should have been pursued. It happened, and better in early January then late March.”
I can’t even talk to you sometimes, Benny. I just… I can’t.
X-RAYS, people. X-RAYS.
Bah.
I’m going off to grumble about this in private.
~L
Back to the bargain bin we go!
Benny C’s digging through the bargain bin again- this time for Vincent Padilla.
Padilla, who hasn’t pitched in MLB since 2010, is well known for something called a SOAP BUBBLE PITCH.
I’m just going to let that one go.
Meantime, back on the ranch, Bobby V is talking vets.
Why can’t Tek be the new Curt Young? Seriously.
By now you’ve probably read the chuckle-worthy comments Bobby V made about recent Stankee acquisitions.
His comments have Yankees fans snarking. Kind of makes me tip my hat to Bobby.
Bobby is also working on BFF status with Carl Crawford.
Slow, snowy weekend in the High Country of North Carolina.
Have I mentioned how much I hate snow?
I really hate snow.
~L
200 or BUST.
4:23. At work. Explaining to someone the tradition that is Tim Wakefield.
So, betting time. I’ve got all my imaginary money on a win. That’s approximately 127,450 imaginary dollars. Imaginary dollars that I was saving for my imaginary boat and my imaginary high-interest mutual fund. It’s all I have left after purchasing my imaginary island last week with my imaginary savings. If I lose it, I’ll be marooned.
What do you think, Soxies? Is today the day that Father Time… um… Father Tim will deliver double hundreds?
See you in a few hours!
—-
6:15. Getting off work. Step closer to being able to watch entirety of actual game…
—-
HILARIOUS story about Alex Rodriguez on Deadspin (thanks, Jeb!).
Check it out while you tailgate.
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7:15. Okay. Carlos Carrasco. There’s something funky about the video on MLB.tv today… anyone else experiencing this? Checkerboards? No? Just me.
Jacoby chops to first. First out.
I wish they would stop spitting in public. It’s embarassing.
This is frustrating already. two outs. Sorry, Pedroia. I thought it was a homer too.
Gonz has an extremely dramatic single. Jacoby would have made that a triple. But whatever. The crowd goes silent as Youkie steps up to the plate. Okay. I may have assisted with the mute button on my computer…
Okay. They’re picking on Youkilis. The announcers say they’re picking on Youkilis. STOP PICKING ON YOUKILIS.
Thank you. With that complete and utter fail, Cleveland, you stopped. And helped my husband have one hell of a double. Okay, sound. You can come back again.
Papi at the plate. This MLB feed is really going to annoy me. I can tell. Base hit! Youkie! Gonz! 2-0 lead. 2-0. I like how this is going. Yes. Go team 200. That’s what I will call you all today. Team 200. Do it for Wake. Do it.
Carl Crawford, buddy, pal, friend, let’s widen the cushion, shall we? Let’s spread out that cushion like a picnic blanket. Like throat coating cough syrup. Like… like a home run.
Out. Okay. Um. First inning. Two runs. Okay.
—
Top of the second. 7:29. Travis Hafner. at the plate. Strike two.
Youkie in the shortstop spot (????) throws him out.
K.
Carlos Santana who has shifted from catcher to first base? What a weird game.
Okay, announcers. I don’t want to know how well the batters hit against Timmy. This is not helpful information for my pro-200 mindset. You will go on mute again. Mute, I say.
Steeeerike. First K of the night.
Knucklin’. Knucklin’ your way to 200. Knuckleballs look so silly. I wonder how they look coming at your face. Judging from the confuzzled expression on Konerko’s face, not pleasant.
Throws it in the dirt again.
Um. Let’s not do that.
Tim turned 45 yesterday? Why didn’t I know that? I would have thrown a party.
A-Gonz shoves in the out.
Sweetness.
—
7:35. I am so tired, guys.
Bottom of the second.
Not. A. Good. Sign for my awakeness…
Cleveland, I’m sorry your pitcher lost his last five starts. Really. And I’m sorry that tomorrow it will be six. Heidi Watney, I really don’t care about this. Thanks.
Reddick. Base hit. At the wall. Dramatic single. One out. But Joshy on first.
That ball almost hit Baltimore… wayyyyyy on the bottom of the wall list.
Marco Scutaro kind of looks like this guy I went out with this this one time. Not sure why I’ve never noticed that… my, what an awkward memory.
Good swing by Marco Scutaro? Um, Remy, a good swing is going to be when it’s out of the park and we’re two runs scarier.
Full count for Scut. See, I’m not worried- because Jacoby’s up next.
Fly to center… catch. Out.
Whatever, let’s see you, Jacoby.
Ball one. Okay. We can walk there. That’s fine. My computer keeps freezing on ridiculous expressions in the audience. Like this guy in a pink plaid shirt with his mouth open. He is clearly a Cleveland fan.
No offense, Bheise. You would NEVER wear that shirt.
In the air to right. Makes the catch. Ends the second. Okay. That’s fine.
—–
0-2. Top of the third. Tim Wakefield is about to be a badass. You’ll see.
Any minute now.
Pop out. Jacoby’s all over it.
Any minute now.
He just smirked. Was that a badass smirk?
Yes. Yes it was. Second strike out for Tim Wakefield.
That’s KK, for those of you paying attention at home.
Two outs.
Ground ball. Easy out.
And then Scutaro kicks it.
Scutaro kicks it?
Scutaro kicks it.
SCUTARO!
Bunt. Out at first.
Okay. Scut… you better go shake Gonz’ hand.
—-
Up the middle, base hit for Pedroia… our 5th hit of the night, by the by… on a new 5 game hit streak… Okay.
25 game streak broken by the White Sox. That one hurt.
Gonz tries the bunt. Not so much with the success.
Pedroia tagged out. Pedroia!
“That’s a helpless feeling for a baserunner, when you take off too soon,” announcer said.
Caught stealing. Bah.
Gonz grounds into the shift. Obvious out- but he runs for THAT one, notice.
Shut up, Heidi! Youkilis is batting.
Ball and a strike. I just love the Youk chant. It’s like a moan, really. Ball and two strikes. Two outs. Come on, baby. I believe in you. Want me to clap? I’ll clap. I can do that. Hell, it worked in Peter Pan.
Damn.
Clearly, you are not Peter Pan. End of inning.
—-
39 pitches for you, Timmy. 40th… a strike. And a fast ball.
Home run.
DAMN.
Okay, Timmy.
Okay. Breathe. 200. 200. Just repeat that. You know. 200 times.
Hopefully this won’t take 200 tries.
Zeeeeerooooo outs.
Chop.
Ball bounces. Ridiculously.
Clearly witchcraft. 2-2. Tie game.
Yeah, Salty. I think you SHOULD talk to Tim Wakefield. Maybe you should talk to him longer. NO outs. 2-2. 8:05 p.m.
Wild crazy pitch puts the guy to third.
Okay. Wakey. Okay. Let’s just calm down.
This inning is gross. Let’s start over. Or. Um. End it. Or something. Wake?
52 pitches. Tonight a year ago collision at the plate with Santana? Yeah. Let’s not repeat that. I’d rather Wake just strike you the frick out.
Like he just did. Making it KKK.
55 pitches. Okay. Let’s give that lonely out some friends. Two, to be specific.
Pedroia catches.
2 outs.
ONE MORE.
Thank you. Sit down.
—
Papi walks.
And, in the announcer booth, we’re talking about Tito bobbleheads. I really, really want one. Is that wrong? Will you buy me one?
“Where’s his finger so I can dislocate it again?”
That’s a bit much, announcer. A bit much.
A bobblehead night?
Doesn’t make the catch- Ortiz stopped at third, double for Crawford. Lovely. Kismet.
Second. Third. ZERO outs. ZERO.
BASES LOADED! BASES LOADED!
One out.
But BASES LOADED!
And…
Crap.
Marco Scutaro.
Crap.
Strike 2.
Crap.
Come on, Marco.
Come on, Marco. Stephen King is watching.
3-2 lead.
Okay. Okay.
I mean, it’s not a grand slam… but… at least we avoided a double play.
2 outs. Carl at third. Marco at first. Jacoby at the plate. Scut steals.
And crap.
—
Anddddd we start the bottom of the 6th with an out.
And about fifteen yawns from me.
And two outs. Blast.
That was a dramatic fail… and we’re on first.
Of course, it may be moot, because Marco’s up.
Out. That was fast.
—
Top of the 5h. 8:30 p.m., but it feels like midnight. Wake… can you do this quickly? Thanks.
Thanks. 1 out.
Crap. And one on first.
2 outs. Okay. Okay. Guy on second. Whatever, guy on second. Wake promised this would be fast.
First and second. Okay. And Asdrubal is up to the plate.
Wakeeeee…
3 outs. Thanks be to Fisk. I’m so sleepy, guys. So sleepy…
——
Gonz and Pedroia are trying to wake me up. It’s sweet. Thanks, guys. But it’s not working. Youk is going to load up the bases. He will.
Crap.
Youk.
Crap.
2 outs.
Papi. Papi.
And the fifth crashes. Like I am about to…
—–
Hi, Timmy.
Tim Wakefield. Please?
Oh no. Alfredo Aceves is warming up.
Oh no. Wakey, you can do it. I believe in you…
200. 200. 200. 200. 200.
—-
Tim. 200. Tim.
He is stressing me out. Are you watching this? Is anyone watching this?
Tito looks stressed out. And Salty, I hope that’s stress, because you are causing some plate scariness with your not catching.
Okay, One on first. One on second. two outs.
Oh. AND IT IS TIED AT THREE-THREE now.
Tim is gone. And I have this sinking sleepy feeling that this is only the beginning of our journey to 200.
Top of the 7th. I am too tired to yell at you, Randy Williams.
—
It looked fair to me too, Jacoby. It is 9:20.
—–
3-3. top. 8.
Bottom.
Nothing changes.
This game will clearly last forever.
Youkie. Fix it.
Ball four. Leadoff WALK.
Okay.
Tony Sipp. Whatever.
Mike Avilles pinching. This is the first time I’ll really see you in action, Mike. Can I call you Mike? Papi. Oh, Papi. Swing and a miss. ‘Course.
Zero outs, Aviles on first.
Aviles steals second. This Aviles, he’s alright.
Pop out. Papi.
Carl. Can I call you Carl?
Seriously. Ties cause me to lose sleep. Fix this, Carl. Be a buddy.
Out on strikes.
Okay. Um. Aviles is still in scoring position. One out left. So. Um. Salty?
Oh no. Justin Masterson tomorrow. Oh no. I am so conflicted. I loved him so.
Right. Back to the actual game.
13-1 Yankees? Really, White Sox? REALLY?
Bah.
Salty. Yes. Salty.
Strike three.
Damn.
—–
This game is stressful. I know what will make us ALL feel better:
You’re welcome.
—-
The 9th. An out.
Papelbon.
Second out.
Crowd on its feet. Wish we were there.
Strike out.
—-
Score. PLEASE.
Hi, Darnell McDonald.
FAIL, Darnell McDonald. Go. Sit. Down.
Oh, Marco.
Marco Scutaro.
DAMNIT, SCUT.
Crap.
One out left.
ONE OUT.
ONE OUT or extra innings. And I can’t stay awake, people.
Jacoby, if you CARE about me at all…
OHMYGOD. You… you love me… you… you really love me…
HOME RUN.
OHMYGOD.
I love you too, Jacoby. I love you too.
4-3.
~L
“Just want to try to drive the ball.”
You did, Jacoby. You did.
I love Paps’ victory face. I love it.
“We’re going to compete until the last out,” Jacoby said.
14 innings of crap with crap call icing.
My feelings this A-M can best be expressed by THIS CARTOON by The Soxaholix.
REALLY?!
I have had some time to reflect. Yes I have. So let me amend that.
REEEEEEALLLLLLYYYYY???!!!
“It’s my fault; I just missed the sign,” Scutaro said afterward. “Tito’s trying to get something going. It’s late. We haven’t scored. We’ve been kind of struggling tonight bringing guys in from third base … It just feels bad, man. It feels like all your teammates, the manager, fans just want to kill you.”
REALLY????!!!!!!
It’s just one game. Just one game. We’re still at the top. Because, it being one game, it’s not exactly the point of a knife.
It’s just one game. To. One. Of. The. WORST TEAMS.
REALLY????
After 12 innings. TWELVE. No. I’m sorry. FOURTEEN
We? WE missed the sign? No WE didn’t. YOU DID, Marco. YOU DID.
FAILS: Marco Scutaro
FAILS: Garry Cederstrom. And BAD CALLS.
FAILS: The fact that it took TWELVE INNINGS TO LOSE.
MVP: Crawford. Who kept his cool in the midst of some of the dumbest calls ever made.
Runner up: Reddick. YOU WERE PAYING ATTENTION!
MVP: Scutaro. Oh wait. I think I meant. Mauled Victory Perpetrator. Because you mauled my victory, Scut.
REALLY?
I can’t talk about this.
~L
~Jon Lester.
Jon. I am glad you are not broken. But if Youkie is broken… oh, Scut, you will get a letter from me.
An until-I-go-to-sleep Live Blogging experiment. Is it really Monday?
Just got off work. Turn on browser just in time to see Scutaro kamakazi catch that. Sweetness. Like the ice cream I am going to indulge in. A treat after a long day. Is it really almost 10 p.m.? 9:58? I need a weekend already. Is it really only Monday?
So. The big news of the day. Of the week. Of the month. Of our LIFETIME. He’s BACK.
That’s right. The Lesternator. And this time, he’s going for blood. Now in High Definition. Prepare to be:
LESTERNATED.
Okay. So. Jon Lester. 0-0. Top of the second. Wait. Why do they have two on base? Why do they have two on base, Jon? 2 outs.
Okay. I get it. You were waiting for me. You didn’t want to start being a badass until I got here. Okay. Well, I’m here now, Jonny. You can stop scaring the good people of Boston. Thanks.
And an out.
Now that my new internet is working, I certainly am blogging a lot. You know what? Today brought my 900th comment. That was kind of neat. For comment 1,000 I should do something. I will. Um. Draw you a picture.
—
A walk to first by Ortiz and more annoying prattle by Jerry Remy. I am not going to be able to handle this whole game, am I?
—-
I really like Crawford. I really do. I like base stealers. He’s fun to watch. He breaks up the monotony of long games. And Reddick… a double as Crawford scores! 1-0. Nice.
Yes, Crawford. We will be friends. I will make you a friendship bracelet.
—-
May 19, 2008. Lester’s no hitter against the Royals. I remember that. That was the day I bought my car, Sweet Caroline. We watched the game at a Ham’s Restaurant near the car dealership. The food was terrible and the potatoes were cold. But Jonny, you were red hot.
—-
Now they’re talking about whether you can wear Royals gear at Fenway and not get mauled. I read a blog the other day saying that Sox fans throw nachos at people wearing other jerseys. Anyone ever experience this?
I bet if someone threw nachos at you, you did something to deserve it. Unless you were wearing a Joba jersey. That in itself is deserving of a major cheesing. You don’t have to do anything.
And now they are showing clips of Jonathan Papelbon throwing tomatoes.
Really, guys?
I don’t know. What are you thinking about Lester? I know they’re scoreless (so far) and he’s striking three of them out- but he just doesn’t seem to have his usual Lester snap. Am I just being paranoid? Evidently, because, as a speak, a cutter strikes out another Royal. And another strike out. Well, I feel better.
—-
Bottom of the third. 0-1. Jeb, the Pirate Princess, sent me a fantastic link that you should check out right now:
The Boston Red Sox have shaken off a woeful start to the season to take pole position in the American League and a near lock on a playoff spot. Unlike other recent great Red Sox teams, this year’s Boston club is doing it almost entirely with hitting.
~The Wall Street Journal
I think the current rate paid per win is approximately $4 million, so to have four different position players giving you over $16 million each of production at this point is pretty damn good.
~Jeb
For those of you who do not know Jeb, he is a kindred spirit. Just misled. He, like me, is stranded in North Carolina. Unlike me, he is Pirates fan. But in Boone, NC, you take what you can get.
And Pedroia extends his hit-streak to 22!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Can someone explain this Muddy Chicken thing to me?
—-
Another message from Jeb:
“You’ll love/hate this. John Lackey’s total WAR is currently -1.1. I think replacement-level is an average AAA player. So if you had started the season with an average AAA pitcher in Lackey’s place, you’d be 63-36 instead of 62-37. Poor John Lackey 
“
I will not love this. Not. Not. Not. Blah.
John Lackey.
We can’t think of John Lackey today, Jeb. Jon Lester is back. And he must consume all of our brain cells. All of them, I say!
—
I do not like how we’re loading the bases up. First. Second. I do not like this one bit. One out. Okay. I’d like to see a Sox offensive pop here in a sec. I have a feeling we’re going to need it.
Salty makes a catch. Salty is looking kind of hot today. Does his hair always look like that?
Two outs.
Jonny, you’re freaking me out with the first and second. Let’s not do this again, okay? Brayan Pena. And Youk throws it to first and ends the inning. Okay. It’s 5 hits to our 2. Let’s put some snap in our step.
—-
Bottom of the fourth inning, Youkie at the plate. Do you think he gets his beard professionally trimmed each day? Because his cheeks have been looking smooth lately.
First out. Oh, the pivot turn. He looks dejected. It’s okay, baby. I’m still here. I’ll always be here.
David Ortiz. Over the shift and into right field for a base hit. 4-game hitting streak.
Carl Crawford. My new best friend. He looks like he’d be a great best friend. Oh, the happy times we could have together. Like at the zoo. And the park and stuff. I could swing. And you could push the swing. Because, if you can wield a bat like that, you can totally push a swing. We could tell secrets and swap stories and roast marshmallows and have great adventures.
I am going to make a children’s book about us.
I am going to call it “Carl Crawford and me.”
Ohhhhhhh. David Ortiz out on a steal. Papi!
—-
Alcides Escobar. What a great name. I want to date someone with your name. But not you. Because you are a Royal. And just took a walk. No me for you.
Poooooooor Mariners. Swamped by the Stanks. I was really rooting for them. And not just because it’s the Yankees. Because I know how it feels when you just can’t get a break.
This is for you.
1-0, Boston. One on first. One out. Bottom of the 5th. Picked off… Gonz fires to second! Out! Out! Out! A fun moment in the midst of kind of a boring game…Or maybe I’m just tired from my fourteen hour work day…
And… strike out to end the inning.
—-
Salty’s on base. Salty has been on FIRE. Remember when those crazy bloggers (um, um…) kept saying he should go? Remember that? I am simply shocked and… um… appalled…
Okay. So I’m eating my words.
At least I know what to flavor them with.
Scutttttt. I always liked you better than Lowrie.
Full count. You can walk there. I don’t care how you get there. Just get there if you can. That’s a song.
See?
NICE. That’s exactly how I wanted to get you there. Single. Nice.
Salty takes third. Jacoby is out. But Salty took third.
First and third with two outs. Let’s see some offense dazzle. Or fine. Just strand yourselves and end the inning. Sure. Okay. WHATEVER, RED SOX.
—-
I am concerned about post-DL Lester going 77 pitches. I am concerned. Full count.
Curt Young. Are you watching this?
80 pitches.
Through the left side. Base hit. Single.
Jon Lester. You know I love you. But 81 pitches might be enough. We need you, see. In October.
Billy Butler. 82 pitches. Billy Butler looks like a guy from our pressroom. Into the corner. And you let them score. It’s not your fault, Jon Lester. I blame YOU Curt Young. Look at you. Not making eye contact. Looking into your clipboard. I called this like a hundred words ago.
Tie game. CURT YOUNG.
—-
“I wouldn’t be surprised to see this is the last hitter for Lester,” Remy says.
I would. Curt Young NEVER listens to me.
—-
88 pitches. BALL FOUR. DID YOU SEE THAT?
Tito is heading to the mound.
Poor Lester. He looks frustrated. It’s not your fault, Lester. I love you anyway.
Curt, I will deal with you later.
—-
Do you know what I like about Lester? He’s in the dugout with death eyes right now. Mad. You can see the anger. See, John Lackey how he gives a shit? Remember all those times when you sucked it up- a LOT worse than Lester, I might add- and do that shrug walk-off thing that irritates me to no end?
—-
Albers strikes ‘em out. Nice.
—
Lester, I wish I could give you a hug. It’s going to be okay. I promise.
Ground ball up the middle. Pedroia tags. Out.
Bottom of the 6th. And I am fading fast…
Another night asleep at the keyboard. At least this time it’s baseball and not city council… ah… the life of a reporter.
—
Hi, Gonz. Could you slam one out of the park? I bet that would make Lester smile. Or just strike out. Sure. Okay. <- Sarcasm.
Hi, Youkie.
He got something in his eye. Poor dear. Okay. Now we’re ready to rumble, he says.
Yikes. That one was straight for him. He’s getting good at ducking those.
Ground. Up the middle. Out. Close. I’d like to see a replay, please. Youk made it back to that dugout in about two seconds. Yikes. Did you see that lunge? It looked painful. Youkie, stop hurting yourself! And Ortiz thrown out.
Well. That sucked.
—
1-1 game in the 7th. And I’m droopy. I may not make into the 8th. God forbid this go extra innings.
Seats are emptying out. That’s what happens when it’s this late on a Monday.
—
Pena out. Thanks to a snazzy throw by Pedroia.
This game is hurting my brain.
Full count. Close up of Tito sweat. Thanks, cameras.
Crawford makes the catch. Because he’s my best friend.
And there are two outs.
STRIKE THREE. Out. Despite a dramatic jump-away by a faker. Good job, Albers.
See, Lester? I told you there was nothing to worry about. It’s alllll going to be okay.
Oh. Right. It’s still tied…
—-
Tim Collins. Pitching at my BEST FRIEND. Hi, Carl. What is with Collins’ hair? It’s like a back mullet. It’s a new invention, clearly.
First out. It’s okay, Crawford. Let’s meet up for hopscotch later.
Hi, Josh Reddick. You are not having a good hair day either. Just saying. If I can’t tell you tehse things, Josh, who can?
In the air… Caught. Out.
This inning blows.
I could be watching “The Tudors” or “Wings” on Netflix. Or. Um. Sleeping.
Salty’s up. Bottom of the 7th. Two outs. Keep hope alive, Salty. Keep hope alive.
Speaking of hope, Daniel Bard is warming up in the pen.
Who is umping? Do you know? Because he’s obnoxious.
Grounder to third…. and out.
That inning was worse than Tim Collins’ hair.
—
Pedroia fires to first for the out. And they replayed Youk’s bag slam. I knew he was hurt! I knew it! If he’s really hurt, I’m driving to Kansas. I will!
Scut dives on his face.
Single.
Jeb’s still awake. He’s watching the Pirates, as indicated by our recent Facebook convo:
WHATEVER, JEB
Ahhhh…. Facebook.
Two outs. Billy Butler sits down.
They called a balk on Bard. A bullshit balk. I don’t understand. The announcer doesn’t seem to understand. No one seems to understand. Except the pricky umpire.
2 outs. 1-1. One on second. Just so you feel my pain. Because this is painful.
Strike two.
Come. On.
Throw to first. OUT.
Bottom of the 8th. Paaaaaiiiiinnnnnnfullllll.
—-
Marco Scutaro. Up against Aaron Crow.
And the crazy Fenway yelling commences.
Pena makes a foul catch. Blah.
Out one.
I love looking at fans’ faces when the ball flies.
Jacoby. 0 for 3 tonight. So this is his moment. Right? Right?
Papelbon is warming up in the pen.
Ellsbury! Base hit! Single! 7 game hitting streak for Jacoby.
Ohmygod there is a bug on my computer screen. Ohmygod.
Eeek. Now it is on my bed. And the lights are out and…
—-
It’s okay. I’m okay.
A double play. Which is horrible, because it pushes us into the 9th. But the real horrible thing is, there is a bug in my room. And it is dark. And I’m sure it’s on me. And I can do nothing.
It’s probably like some rare African bug that will burrow into my shoulder while I’m sleeping. Ohgod.
—-
And… Johnny Paps…
—–
—-
Catch. Out one. Out 2.
—-
I am so upset. “After hobbling around, Youkilis leaving the game.”
I am so upset.
He better be okay.
—
Strike out.
Bottom of the 9th.
Okay guys. Get serious. I am only half awake. I can’t do a 10th. So score for me, okay? And for Youkilis. Who had better not be broken.
—
Alright, Gonz. You have done NOTHING today. It is time.
We need to get the spark back. There is NO SPARK.
The K-Guys are holding the A-Gonz sign. That’s for YOU, A-Gonz. YOU.
And Gonzalez strikes out. An 0 for 4 night. Really.
—
Yamaico Navarro taking one for the Youk. With a base hit! Youkie is welling up with pride and-
OHMYGOD THE BUG. I will get you this time, bug. I see you and… OHMYGOD IT FLIES.
It’s like an ant. But with wings. It’s an ant thing. It’s like the Pegasus of ants!
OHMYGOD. It’s alive.
—
Speaking of holy terrors, David Ortiz staring down Crow.
And I could watch that if I didn’t suddenly feel ants all over me.
Paranoia. Delusion. It was just one ant thing.
Just one, after all. You’re fine.
It was like a dragon ant.
Ortiz hits it on the ground- it gets through! Navarro on third! Ortiz first! Somehow that ball got through. Looked routine. Went through second baseman. Went through shortstop. Gave us sweet, sweet hope.
Hi, best friend Carl Crawford.
—–
This is so stressful. Please. Please. Please, Crawford. Please.
That strike was crap. The announcer agrees with me. He did not swing.
Out.
On crap.
Reddick.
2 outs. High fly ball… Catch. DAMNIT.
Damnit, damnit, damnit.
Extra innings. Damnit.
That check swing call was crap. I blame the ump.
Morales. And I am asleep. Please don’t let him screw it up… Going to sleep.
—
Damnit. We all know I’m lying. Come on, Morales. Get this DONE.
Josh Reddick. I love you. There have been some great dive catches tonight, no?
That was hot. No wonder my mother wants me to marry you, Josh.
Out one. And a pop out to Pedroia means out TWO. Okay. Alex Gordon. You are going to be out three. Right, Morales?
Pedroia. First. Out.
Hah.
One to one.
Damn.
Come on, offense. Now is your chance to help me sleep. DO THIS. This is painful.
—-
This is the song in my head right now. I do not know why.
Better than Jar of Hearts, at least… And I think it expresses my feelings about this game quite eloquently. I saw Joan Osborne sing this at MerleFest a few months ago.
OHCOMEONSCORENOW.
—-
Damnit, Salty! I specifically told you to score.
One out.
—
Fly ball. Caught. Scutaro, you are a jerk. Two outs.
—
Jacoby. You have grounded out, struck out, flown out and singled and OHMYGODTHEFLYINGANTISBACK.
It’s okay. I’m okay. I’m okay…
OHNOIT’SBACKAGAIN.
—
What if there’s more than one?!?!
—–
Ground chop to first.
Are we even trying???
11th.
—
Navarro!!!! Youk would have caught that. Cabrera singled. Damnit. And there’s a dragon ant trying to eat me. But other than that, I’m fiiiiiiiine. Crawford catches. First out. Two more. And please let that be it.
Eric Hosmer. You look familiar.
Throw to first! What?! That was out. That was completely OUT.
“That really was borderline,” Remy said.
That really was out. These calls are crap tonight.
Crap.
I do not know who is umping, but I would not be surprised if it was Angel Hernandez.
Crawford makes another catch. Two outs. Because he is my best friend.
Terry comes out. Dan Wheeler to come out.
—
Hi, Dan.
Please do not mess up. Thanks.
One on first. Two outs.
And his first pitch… a ball. Of course.
I get that you guys love baseball. That’s great. But please do not love 12 innings worth of baseball. Hear me, Sox offense?
Strike. Nice. Do that.
Do that again. Foul. Okay. Whatever.
YES. Cabrera does something stupid, runs and is tagged the frick out at the base.
Thank you.
Now it is up to you, Offense. Up to you. Do it. Do it NOW.
Adrian. The shouts make me think I’m watching Rocky.
Gonz to left field… OFF THE WALL.
Thank you. Thank you for doing something, Gonz.
A single. One out. And Gonz on first. Okay. Gonz. You have to score. I’m not kidding. You have to. HAVE to.
Okay, Navarro. Don’t be a hero. Just get on a base. ANY BASE.
NO.
Strikes out. Two down.
DAMNIT.
Youk would have had that. I’m just saying. It is one in the morning. SOME of us have to work.
David Ortiz. Okay. Papi. Okay. Let’s do this. And by “let’s,” I mean you, Papi.
Closeup on Jacoby and Beckett in the dugout. Jacoby is drinking a red drink. Suddenly I am thirsty.
—-
Come on, David Ortiz.
Bounce. Kicks. Gonz scampers to second! Yes! Yes! Do that.
Now Gonz is on second.
And they’re going to walk Papi.
There are boos in Fenway, but I am okay with this.
He is on a base. That is all that matters. He is not out.
First. Second.
Crawford up. My best friend.
Come on Crawford. Buddy.
ANOTHER bad strike call.
“Crawford’s about had it… that pitch being called a strike.”
When Remy knows the umpire sucks, the umpire SUCKS.
Stressssssful.
Strike. Two and two. Okay. He looks apprehensive. Don’t be apprehensive, Crawford. Please? Breathe, baby. Breathe. Ball three.
Full fricking count.
Come on.
Please.
Come on.
afdsjkkkkkkkkklnokdnjdfkdfjkldfsjkl
That was my head hitting the keyboard. Let me demonstrate again.
afdljklkjfadjkdfaaereiorf;j
Strike.
Out.
DAMNIT.
12. DAMNIT.
I can’t do this guys. I have to sleep. Have to.
fadslkjljkdfsfljkfdljkdfjklsfdsjkls
Damnit.
I am sad. Randy Williams warming in then pen.
I am so tired. So tired. Soooooooo
—
Walk. Guy on first. Thanks, Wheeler.
I blame the umpire, actually. The umpire that HATES my new best friend, Carl Crawford.
Sacrifice. And the runner is on second. One out. Damnitdamnitdamnit.
Brayan Pena.
Damnit.
Only one out.
Damnit.
I can’t type unless something monumental happens.
—-
strike out. good. 2 outs. throw to first. out. bottom of 12. please score please.
—-
Okay. Let’s do this. And by do this. I mean score. Hi, Josh Reddick. Just get on a base. If four of you get on a base, that is all it will take.
Do it for your fallen comrade. Speaking of fallen comrades, I would like an update on my husband, please.
The announcers want this to end too.
“Put it right where you want it, Josh,” Remy said.
I would like it over the green monster. Thanks.
Reddick… base hit!!!!
“Thatta baby,” Remy keeps saying.
Single.
Three more and we’ve got a ballgame.
Salty.
one for four. single. Okay. let’s. please.
Youkie is watching. I know he is. He should be asleep. But he’s not.
I should be asleep. But I’m not.
Salty. Scutaro is after you. But let’s not need him. Let’s just use you, Salty. And your bat. In the air. Left field. Catch. FAIL.
Marco. Hi. Can you hit something? A triple would be nice.
YEESSSSSS. Ball gets away and Reddick stops at THIRD!
One out and we are at THIRD. Yes. Yessssss. Yes. Okay. Scut. Do not mess this up. Do not.
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Reddick is out. He was trapped. Squeeze play. Damn it. Scutaro missed the sign. Scut missed the sign, Remy said. Damnit, Scut. DAMNIT.
If this goes to 13, so help me…
Homerun or you are NOT going back to the dugout.
Base hit. And Scutaro is OUT AT SECOND BASE.
Scutaro. Scutaro. Scutaro. SCUTARO
—
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Lauren13 inning games are the reason I am cranky at work.
19 minutes ago · Privacy: · Like ·
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Holly likes this.
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Jeb: Excuses excuses.5 minutes ago · Like -
Lauren: did you see that? angels just wept. in the sky. and that, jeb mcrary, is how rain happens.about a minute ago · Like
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Jeb: Is this on TV? I’m following online. So I see that Boston’s odds just went down. http://www.fangraphs.com/livewins.aspx?date=2011-07-25&team=Red+Sox&dh=0&season=2011
Red Sox win probability for Monday, July 25, 2011a few seconds ago · Like · -
Lauren: it is on mlb.tv. and scutaro… i can’t say it. i don’t want to talk about this. this game is dead to me. dead.2 seconds ago · Like
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Seriously. I am making no sense. I need to go to sleep. Tell me who won?
-
Happy Sweep Day, Soxies! Live Bloggin’ in the rain
I say Happy Sweep Day and not Happy Wake day, because Wake Day happens in a few days. See, as of right now (not a few hours from now), Wake is TWO games away from 200 wins. So see, Soxies, today isn’t about us. It’s bigger than us. It’s bigger than you. It’s bigger than me. It’s bigger than KEVIN YOUKILIS.
“It doesn’t take much to see that the problems of three little people don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world.”
That is from Casablanca.
And me. Because I just said it.
See, Tim Wakefield is like Victor Laszlo, right? And Paris is like the year 2007. Which we’ll always have, see, and today isn’t about that. It isn’t about sweeping some Mariner dust (well, kind of). It’s about Wake’s milestone.
And that, you see, is a mixed metaphor.
It’s this failed literary device that some bloggers who are really tired and cranky because the rain took away day two of riverness use to distract from the fact that they have nothing clever to say. Really. Look that up.
1:35 can’t come soon enough.
I’m distracting myself with this game because one of my closest friends is moving to Ohio. And 3ish, 4ish, we’re all getting together for pizza bribes and moving. And I could really use the tardiness, see, so I can make the pizza and avoid the boxes. I’m too pretty, see, for heavy lifting.
—-
Here. Tailgate to some Seattle dance moves. Alerted to this by one of my favorite newly discovered blogs, Red State Blue State.
—
Ramein noodles: Check. Beer. Check. It’s a party. 35 minute countdown! I will watch Cheers on Netflix. Yes.
—-
Thunder. Lots of thunder. If my power goes out, I will cry.
—-
I am really digging this internet MLB.tv thing. It comes with intro music. It’s quite dramatic.
1:30. “It is Maine Day here at Fenway Park.”
Really? Why? Those are huge lobsters. Lobsters are kind of scary, right? I mean, they look at you. I mean, I know they are dead and not reeeaallllyyy looking at you, but food isn’t supposed to have eyes. It’s also not supposed to be so difficult. I prefer to eat things that don’t require bibs and cracking tools.
—-
Daniel Bard talking about his streak.
“I’m just out there trying to do the same thing every day.”
And Seattle is trying to avoid a club record of 15 losses in a row.
I kind of like Seattle. Their park is amazing. And Seattle is beautiful. And where I would like to live some day. I hope they don’t lose their next game, because they’re totally losing today’s game for Wake. That’s just how it is. It’s bigger than you and me, Seattle. Like in Casablanca. Take comfort in the truth that your loss serves a greater purpose.
—-
It is interesting to me that this game is brought to us by a hot sauce. 1:35.
—
John Whattery? Swattery? Slattery? What? Who are you?
—
There goes the bullpen. Watch then prance across the field. I am really loving this MLB.tv. And the not working thing. I never get to see this part. It’s very dramatic, isn’t it? Like the beginning of some epic war movie. You know. Except in color.
Janice Bigos throwing out the first pitch. Puh-lease. I do not know who you are, but I am so much better at girly throwing than you are. I’ve had practice. I’ve juggled.
—-
Tim Wakefield. Looking for career 199.
“Not particularly good numbers against the Mariners.” 4 and 10.
—
Ball one happened just as a thunderclap smacked into my house. Coincidence?
—
3 and 0? Okay. Tim, just breathe. 199 is really nothing, Timmy. Nothing. Thattaboy. Steeeerikeeee. <- I can’t really pull that off, can I? Foul makes it a full count. Wake grabs it. Throws to first. And batter, who I will dub “Musketeer,” is out.
It is really scary. See, my new house has this vaulted ceiling lined by windows. Neat for star gazing, terrifying in storms. I’m looking for Ms. Gulch, but I think the storm’s too much for her broom.
My dog is hiding in the bathroom again. It’s quite dramatic.
—-
Seattle batter is kind of hot. I mean, except for the uniform. I wish he would turn around so he could be identified. Ackley. Hmmm. Hi, Ackley. Are you good in right field?
—-
Just breathe, Wakey. Try not to be distracted by Ackley’s hotness. Oh no. Oh no. YES. Ellsbury makes a miracle pitch.
“We’ve talked so much about Jacoby Ellsbury’s defense but look at his offense,” announcer said.
Yes. Look at it.
Miguel Olivo. I like your last name. But I do not like your goatee. Have you met Bobby Jenks? You two would be great friends.
Yuck. Two run homerun.
I hate your name. It is stupid.
This rain is so scary. It sounds like my house is going to fall down.
—-
Timmy. Darling. I get that you’re nervous about 199. I do. It’s adorable. Really, it is. And I get a kick out of your humility. But this is NOT THE TIME.
Curt, I hope you are watching. Because 199 or 199, if this continues, it’s time to switch it up. Off the wall. Almost another homerun. Are you WATCHING THIS, Curt?
—-
Mike Carp. Aka: The Fish.
That was a dramatic out. Gunned down at the plate.
Dustin Pedroia batting second coming up, trying to extend his hitting streak. Rain like this makes one think it’s raining all over the world. I’m glad it’s not raining in Fenway. I don’t want this for you guys. If I drown, could somebody tell Youk I love him? But not FDA. I fear her Youk-prejudices would make horrible news even worse. You do it, Peter. Just tell Youk that I will always love him and to remember me every time he dances at the plate. Oh, and make sure he cries a lot. Thanks.
—-
Michael Pineda. Pitches amidst a crazy, cracking, scary-as-hell thundercrack.
I love you, Jacoby. A double.
“Once again turns around an inside fastball…”
I’ve always loved you. Since you gave America tacos. I mean, I don’t eat Taco Bell, but I appreciated the gesture. Remember that time you stole home against Pettitte? Ahhhhhh.
Hi, Pedroia. Thanks for bouncing that wild pitch, Pineda, so Jacoby could steal third. Speaking of Pettitte… wouldn’t that be great? A home steal? Hi, Dustin Pedroia. He just laughed at that inside pitch. Did you see? Do it again. Oh, a Pedroia fan is holding a bright green posterboard Perdoia jersey. It is weird.
Pop out. But Jacoby is still at third. So I am okay.
Michael from Newburgh, ME, I could do sooooo much of a better job than you.
—-
Gonz. Grounder to center. Jacoby scores. Adrian driving in his 81st run of the year! And taking first! I always did like the Muppet Babies. Not the Muppets. The cartoon ones. The puppet ones frightened me.
And now, my lovely husband. KEVIN YOUKILIS. Doing his sexy bat dance.
—
In the air. Deep left field. HOMERUN. By my husband. 3-2. See why he’s a 10? I remember the first day I saw you like it was yesterday. I was at Geno’s sports bar and my heart fluttered. I could tell you felt it too, Youkie-poo. And then it was only you, baby. After Nomah, I didn’t think I would love again. And then there was Johnny Damon. But I see now that was only a fling. You were the real thing, Youkie. The real thing.
David Ortiz. Comes to make Pineda cry. I kind of feel sorry for Pineda. Maybe it’s my Seattle sensitivities. But he looks so scared up there. I would be too. Especially with those sunglasses Ortiz is spouting. And Ortiz gets a single. It’s the sunglasses. Those are so badass.
—
They’re talking to Pineda now. Seriously, Seattle. Don’t be too mad at him. We’re just very good.
Carl Crawford. In the air to left. Gets some wall. We are killing that wall today. Double. Ortiz on third. Crawford on second. Poor wall. Poor Pineda.
Alas, there are greater forces at work than you, Pineda. You should really just go with it so we can all get out of here at a reasonable hour.
Josh Reddick. You get that everyone has done something but you? I am counting Pedroia, because of that wild pitch that launched a Jacoby steal. Every little bit helps. Like in recycling.
I really hate Pineda’s chin fuzz. I bet your mother tells you to shave it all the time. All. The. Time. You should listen to her, Pineda. She seems like a smart lady. Reddick strikes out.
That’s okay. See, that was for you, Pineda. Because you were feeling down. A pick-me-up so you don’t cry or something.
—-
Saltalamacchia. Base hit. Two runs in! 5-2. What a nice inning. And he’s on first. Nice.
“And Saltalamacchia cleans it out.”
The announcers are not annoying me as much today.
Hi, Marco Scutaro.
And they’re talking about Tito’s 1,000th.
“You’re only as good as your horses and he’s had some very good horses in Boston,” announcer said.
715 wins in Boston. Joe Cronin had 1,071. We’ll get there.
“The sun is shining brightly today at Fenway Park.”
Really? Because I am in the middle of a rain-nado.
Inning over. But 5-2. Swell.
—-
Kennedy. I remember you from the Angels. We are not friends.
Your black lipsticked cheeks cannot hide your evil Angel-ness. Strike out. Yes. Strike out.
Jack Cust. Out. See, this is a nice inning. THIS is what we want you to do, Wake. Now that we’re clear… Franklin Gutierrez. Ellsbury catches you. Top over. Yes. Do that again in the 3rd, Wake.
—-
Jacoby Ellsbury.
Announcer said it looked ominous but the weather has cleared. That’s because I summoned it here to protect you all. I am so sweet.
Hi, Jacoby. 2-2. That last one was really outside. Pineda’s sweating. Poor lil guy. I hope there’s an icecream sandwich with his name on it back in the pen.
He deserves it. He’s had a tough day.
Ellsbury strikes out.
Whatev.
On a slider.
It’s okay, because the Destroia is here to extend his hit streak. 416 average, leading the majoris in July, announcer says. Chop left side. Out. Blah. 2 down.
That was close.
Gonzo at the plate. Strike. Stop it, Gonz. Stop it. Homerun or bust.
Up the middle. A bust. An out.
Still 5-2. Third inning coming up.
—-
Heidi Watney. Says Tito won his first 14 years ago.
Yeah. I think I should go blonde again. It may be the only way I can get your job, Heidi.
2 outs. But we weren’t paying attention. Because of Heidi. I promise you, America, when I am Heidi, I will never distract you from your game!!!
I will distract you during breaks! And I will never make you watch me eat strange things at ballparks. This I promise you, America. If elected, not only will I be an amazing blog, but I will have a scandalous affair with Kevin Youkilis that will entertain you all through tabloids, rumors and thinly veiled truth.
—-
If you get tired of my rambling, my friend Peter is also blogging today. Click HERE to check it out.
—-
Apparently the moose is the state animal of Maine. Moose are scary. Did you know they can be the size of pickup trucks? True story. I am terrified of Moose. Almost as terrified as I am of possums and slugs.
—-
My Youkilis was “retired.” I don’t like that phrase. It makes me fear the time when you are no longer with me, Youkie.
David Ortiz. Hi, Papi. I named my puppy, Elliot-May-Precious-Ortiz after you. Don’t let me down. That’s a song, right? Don’t let me down…
Who is this Slattery guy? I know who Mike O’Malley is. He used to host GUTS. And GET THE PICTURE. You know. On Nickelodeon. And yeah, he’s on Glee and stuff. But remember GUTS? I so wanted to scale that rock. I remember being athletic. Kinda.
I had this weird dream that was kind of like Guts. Except it was in Charlotte. And I got some new job in television. And it was a 9 to 5. And I was crying I was so happy in my dream. Because that meant I could go out every night and actually meet people. Which was my problem when I worked the AM shift in tv in Charlotte. Yes, Heidi. I like your hair. It will be mine. Thoughts? Should I stay with red? Because Red Sox nation only seems to embrace blonde Heidi Watneys. And, like all Heidi Watneys, I just want to serve the nation.
Carl Crawford. Swings. Base hit to left field. First.
Nice. I am digging you Crawdad. No? Crafjord. No? Craw… You need a better nickname! Carlita?
He’s going to steal. I feel it in my bones.
Hi, Reddick. I wonder if you and Drew are friends in the dugout. I hope so. You look like you’d be a good friend. And Drew needs friends.
And Crawford steals. Teehee. Haha. The ball bounces out. From an out call to a safe call in half a second. I do love Carl Crawford. I really think I do. I think the trust is finally there. It took awhile, Crawford. Now tat you are in my Sox family, please do not make me regret giving you full citizenship.
Strike out. And Mike O’Malley (GUTS!) and this John Slathery? Slattery? Slappery? will be here after the break. To answer to all important question: WHO THE FRICK IS JOHN SLATTERY?
—
Oh. THIS is who John SLATTERY is. I have never seen Mad Men.
Mike O’Malley at least recognizes that no one cares what actors have to say. That’s nice.
Mike says he used to sneak into games. Oh, I like you, Guts man.
Reddick makes the grab. 2 outs.
John Slattery, with the exception of the hat, looks like he’s dressed for a golf game.
Picnic in the Park. I wish I could go to that. But it is not in North Carolina. Which is kind of prejudiced, if you ask me. But no one did. They never do.
And Kennedy is out. and it’s the second half. That is how you play baseball, my friends. And John Slattery.
—
Um. Peter. Um. Can you really get electrocuted with a computer mixed with a thunderstorm? Um.
—
“I’m very superstitious when it comes to the Red Sox,” O’Malley said.
Redsoxfoundation.org and you can bid on fun things. I was sold until they said stuff was going for 50k last year. That’s more than my seven dollars.
O’Malley has a kid named Declan? I dated a guy when worked at the Playhouse in Derry, Ireland named Declan. Ah, nostalgia.
Maco Scutaro. I am sorry I have been neglecting you. But that is no excuse for that strike.
Yeah, O’Malley and Slattery. Time to go. Go. Bye.
I do not want to see Slattery. I want to see Ted Danson. Or. Um. Someone else.
Poor Pineda. 70 pitches deep and digging, digging, digging.
Scut is thrown out.
Jacoby Ellsbury
Pineda is wearing this weird rope thing around his neck. I keep trying to get a good look at it. Can you tell what it is? Is it hemp? Or metal? I really can’t tell.
Ellsbury fouls it off. 2 and 2.
Stop talking about PICNIC IN THE PARK! I get it. It’s amazing. And I can’t go.
Blah.
Out. Ends the inning. “And our conversation for now,” announcer says. Good. The convo ending. No tthe inning ending. Good.
—-
2-5. 2:52. If you haven’t checked out Peter’s live blog, do it. Do it now.
“I can’t go on Glee because I can’t sing,” announcer said.
Great. Why don’t you go practice and leave us with game noises?
“Swing and a miss.”
Yes. You are supposed to say things like THAT. Not things about Glee.
Hi, Wake. I would feel more comfortable with another offensive push.
“They actually should replace you. For Charlie Sheen in ‘two and a half men.’”
NO ONE CARES.
“I’m going to boycott it. … I can’t watch the show without Charlie.”
Oh, good. I’ve been staying up at night to see how you feel about CBS, announcer.
I want to be an announcer. If you elect me your announcer, America, I promise never to talk about Charlie Sheen or John Slattery ever, ever, ever again.
J-Lester is back tomorrow! Yay.
One out. One on. Time to move it, T-Wake.
Crap. Grounds through to the right side. And Youk catches but not in time to keep that guy from third. It’s okay, Youkie. That wasn’t your fault. You can’t be expected to do everything.
This is the 5th inning. Pay attention, Curt Young. Pay attention.
Brendan Ryan’s facial hair looks ridiculous.
Just saying.
—-
What a lovely tag. 2 outs. Brendan Ryan sends one to the wall. Scores that stupid third baseman. Two run ballgame.
See, Curt Young? See?
Crawford ends inning.
I’d like to see some hits, people. HITS. And you, Dustin Pedroia- time to extend the HIT STREAK. Which you can do by HITTING.
—-
Jeff, Cheers really is my favorite show. That and Meet the Press. Oh, oh, oh! And that show. About that guy. With the cake shop in New Jersey. In Hoboken? With the cakes?
—
Some day I am going to own a television.
—
PEDROIA!!!! He is 0 for 3. This makes me sad.
Fix it. Fix it now.
Why are we we watching more Maine clips? Ice fishing looks horrible. I would rather eat lobster. Scary eyes and all. No. That’s not true. Maybe.
—-
Yes. Off the glove! Gonzo. See, Dustin Pedroia? Like that.
—-
Kevin Youkilis. Doing his bat dance. I do think with ink pens sometimes before interviews. You know. Just to feel.
Aaron Lafferty is warming up in the bullpen.
Whatever.
Crazy pitchin’.
Gonz, you could have ran.
Show some initiative.
Hi, Youkie-bear. Did you see that? He winked through the computer at me. Tell me you saw that! He knows. He feels something in his heart of hearts. Or beard or something.
And another crazy pitch.
Poor Pineda.
STOP TALKING ABOUT ICE FISHING, ANNOUNCERS. YOU ARE MAKING ME COLD. AND IRRITATED.
You are NOT JACK LONDON.
Hi, Youk. Don’t let them distract you with their ice talk.
Now they’re showing clips of a guy fly fishing.
Stop. It.
There is no fishing in Baseball (sorry, Carp).
Walks on. The God of Walks. And my heart.
No thanks to YOU, ANNOUNCERS.
Grr.
Which member of the Red Sox had his first career home run against the Mariners? I have no idea.
I’m surprised you stopped ice fish talking to even ask that trivia question.
—-
I like Wings, too. Jeff, how do you feel about Wings?
—-
It is still raining. I could drown. I hope my doors and windows don’t blow away.
—-
Teehee. Loaded bases. Third base vacant. We skip there. I would be irate if I were a Seattle fan. David Ortiz is my hero. And my puppy-daddy. And so much fun.
—-
Carl Crawford. Crawford to left! From third base comes Crawford. Youkie- comes in… 7-3! 7-3!
Thanks. See what happens when you people listen to me?
“Now we’re starting to see the real Crawford.”
About fricking time.
I love you, Kevin Youkilis. Mike Lowell who?
I want to be at Fenway sooooooo bad. Someone buy me a ticket and put me up at your house.
—-
Reddick hits it off the wall. Nice. Ortiz scores. 8-3. Reddick, you make my heart smile.
So, Pedroia. Darling. You’re the only one not in the club. And you’re the one on streak. So you’ve got to get on this. Okay? Okay.
Jarrod Saltalamacchia steps up to inspire Pedroia. How nice.
That rain is loud. If it were louder (hint-hint), I wouldn’t be able to hear these announcers.
I’ve been in radio. It’s where I got my broadcast start. I know the merits and necessities of idle chatter. I get it. But to talk about ice fishing when you could be talking about how amazing Kevin Youkilis is? For shame. Aceves is making noise in the bullpen. And Salty base hits. Around comes … everyone. 10-3. Nice. Nice. Nice.
This pleases me, offense. Yesssssssss.
—
Now I am planning my clever moving outfit. What does one wear to fake help a friend move? I’m thinking cute handkerchief thing for hair, jeans, and “old” t-shirt that’s not really old, but kind of old. But looks old. And has the illusion of not being planned. I think my Pedroia All Star T-shirt with the paint stains will do the trick and still make me look adorable. This is important, my friends.
2 outs. Bottom of the 5th.
Now they are talking about being tv extras. AGAIN. SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP, announcers.
“He’s talking to himself. I have a tendency to do that.”
Clearly.
Oh good. Now they are talking about ice fishing again.
“It’s pretty sad that I do not have a hobby. I do not have a single hobby.”
Really? Because you’re good at the small talk, Jerry Remy. I figured irritating the masses was your hobby.
NO ONE CARES ABOUT YOUR FISHING.
Stop showing us fishing shots!!!!
“Sometimes it’s windy out there and you hate wind.”
I don’t care.
Is anyone else sending them psychic eyedaggers?
—
Wings (the food) freak me out, see. They’re too primal… the bone eating thing? Icky. It’s like lobster. It’s too much work and too messy and if it requires moisty naps I won’t eat it. I won’t.
And the inning is over. But the tv show… Antonio is my favorite. No. That’s not true. Lowell is my favorite. No. That’s not true. Fay. Yes. Fay is my favorite.
—-
10-3. Wake on the mound. 3:24. Miguel Olivo. I don’t like you, Miguel Olivo. You are trying to keep MY Timmy from getting 200. It is your personal mission. Hateful. So my personal mission is to find something that rhymes or puns with your name.
Weird twist to that strike. Dare I say… Oliver Twist? No. That wasn’t punny enough.
I think I saw one Seattle fan in the crowd. Poor Seattle fan. You and Pinedo should really go for lobster when this is all over.
I think Pinedo will be free.
Ew. The batter just spit. Ew. America saw that, Olivo.
There is a wicked mustache. It’s a fan in a green shirt and you can see him from one of the camera angles. Look. It will be like our own blog version of “Where’s Waldo?”
Fly ball. Reddick “puts it away.”
Reddick pointed up. Probably to me. Hi, Reddick. I see you too.
Strike one to Justin Smoak.
—
Anyone who can help Jerry get a hobby tweet Heidi? When I am elected your Heidi Watney, America, I will NEVER make you do this.
Out. Two down.
Close up on lobster again.
They look sad. I mean, they’re dead. So they’re not happy.
Well, maybe. Perhaps they are in a better place.
That big ocean in the sky.
Stop talking about Jerry Remy’s hobbies, damnit!!!!
I’d rather see fishing clips.
Strikeeeeee. Nice.
2,000th in a Red Sox Uniform.
—
Oh, and Jeff? I’m like this sober. Really. It’s scary.
—-
2,000 strikeouts. That’s amazing. Roger Clemens ahead of him. But Roger had… ahem… help, I hear.
Dustin Pedroia. Now would be a good time to continue your hitting streak, champ.
In the air. And off the scoreboard! Two second base! And he extends his hit streak to 21. Thanks, Dustin. Thanks.
—-
Gonz. Hi. Through the right side! 11-3 as he pushes Dusty to a run.
NICE.
23 multiple rbi games for the season…
“And the offensive beat goes on for the Red Sox this afternoon…”
Yes. Talk about that and not FISHING.
Hi, Youkilis. Shut up, announcers. I need to concentrate.
My concentration is vital now.
Remember when you caught a ball barehanded and scared me, Youkie?
He threw that DIRECTLY AT YOUK. Did you see that? Jerk.
I’ve got your number, Wright.
Hi, David Ortiz.
Outside ball.
One and one.
I love your sunglasses.
Ball caught. Bat breaks. Whatever. David Ortiz give the bat to an old lady. I would fight you, old lady.
I mean. That’s nice of him.
Hi, Crawfish. Let’s see this power we’re starting to like. Starting to love. Starting to jump up and down about.
Crawford takes a ball outside. Two and two. “A very good return of the DL.” understatement.
Swing and a miss. Strike out. Ending the inning. Maintaining his humility. I get it.
—-
One out. And now we’re talking about Dunkin’ Donuts. But this makes sense. They pay for it. The sport of fishing does not.
Josh Lueke warming up in the pen.
A hit. A single. But that’s okay. Because it is the top of the 7th. And it is 11-3. 91 pitches from Timmy. 91. 3 runs against him. But see, when the offense actually comes out to PLAY, it is all good. All of it. Most of it. ALl of it. Yes.
2 and 0. Outside. Okay, Curt Young. Pay attention, now.
To centerfield. Base hit. Okay, Curt Young. Let’s have a mound convo. Okay? Let’s do that.
B-12. Hah. Yeah. I’m sure it came in Flintstones form, Jeff.
Aceves in the bullpen. Warming up. This comforts me mightily. Mightily.
Hi, Tito. You are very clean shaven today. Ew. Tito spits. America watches. Ew.
This is not 1867. Civilized people don’t spit.
Base hit. Bases loaded on three straight hits. Okay. Ahem. Curt Young? Ahem…
Kevin Youkilis, Could you yell at Curt Young for me? Because I think he’s watching the cartoons in his head again.
99 pitches. Really. That’s admirable. But I’m ready for some Alfredo. NO.
Grand slam. GRAND SLAM. 11-7. SEE WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU DON’T LISTEN TO ME?????
I can’t do this for you, Curt Young. I wish I could. Really. I wish I could take over your brain with my mind. But. Clearly. I. Can’t.
And Tito makes his way to the mound.
And Timmy is done for the day. See, if you had done that when I ASKED YOU TO, he could prance off and not do that downward head tilt thing.
—-
I am angry. Not at you, Timmy. This is not YOUR fault. You pitched 7 innings. You are tired. And we know what happens when you are tired. WE KNOW. But apparently Curt Young needs to rewatch old tapes.
I am angry at Curt Young. He did this to you.
It’s okay, Timmy. It’s okay.
—
Jacoby makes the catch.
Do you mean what you said in the comments just now, FDA? Or are you just plotting against the great love I have for Youkilis? Because after what you said yesterday about Mike Lowell, I don’t know if I can trust you again. It will take time to rebuild.
—-
11-7. Red Sox on top. Mid 7th. Commercial break.
—
I’m thinking ponytail. That looks very I’m-not-planning-my-moving-outfit.
It is still raining. Which really interferes with both my style and my enjoyment of baseball on my computer. Because I keep thinking about what Peter said about electrocution. He’s still blogging hard, by the way. Check it out here.
This is a long commercial break.
—-
So. No more grand slams for Seattle. Okay? Okay. That does not mean, however, that you can’t work toward that, Soxies. Josh Reddick. With cool sunglasses. I wonder if Reddick and Ortiz went sunglasses shopping together.
One and two. Come on, Reddick. If you get a single. And then two more batters get a single. And then a batter gets a homerun, that would be a grand slam. And a grand slam is not just a breakfast combination at Denny’s, after all.
My mom wants me to marry Josh Reddick. She tells me in text messages all the time.
A base hit. A single.
Excellent. This is in my plan.
Oh good. Heidi has hobby suggestions.
“Jerry already has a hobby. It’s playing air guitar.”
The top suggestion is knitting.
Yes. Knit. It’s hard to knit and talk, you know.
Seriously, if you elect me Heidi Watney, I wouldn’t do this to you.
Salty a base hit. See how they’re listening to me? Another single.
And then a grand slam. This is how it shall be. 4:01.
—
I mean, if you want to go out of sequence and just get the home run now, I’d be okay with that.
WHY ARE WE WATCHING CLIPS OF A GUY READING BY THE BEACH? Seriously.
YES! Drops in short left. From third comes Reddick. 12-7. Yes.
I mean, it’s not a grand slam. But I will forgive you. This once.
Hi, Dustin Pedroia. If you get a single. You will load the bases, see. And THEN, oh then, Gonz can make a grand slam dream of mine come true.
So please? Thanks.
One out. Bottom of 7. And he hits it. For a double play. Oh. Not a double play. Good. Dustin!?
It’s because I implied that Gonz should take the grand slam, isn’t it? It’s not that you COULDN’T, Pedroia. It’s the way the lineup works out. It’s nothing personal. See what happens when you take what I say personally?
Gonz. At the plate. Ground to first base. Inning over.
blah.
—-
It is still raining. Make it stop. Thanks.
Top of the 8th. Crawford. Who seems to like hitting today.
I may just give him an MVP for today. And Youkilis. Because Youkilis was amazing.
Justin Smoak. We meet again.
Swing and a miss. And a pretty swing and a miss. Alfredo, when I like you, I like you a lot.
0 and 2. Come on, Alfredo. I’ll eat your pasta again if you do this for me.
Ground. Pedroia. First. Out. Nice.
Do it again! Do it again! Mike Carp. Wake’s 2,000th strike out in a Sox uniform. Your turn, Alfredo. Strike one. Nice job, Fish.
Now the announcers are talking about Yoga. Because that’s relevant. <- Sarcasm.
Now he’s talking about yoga in the heat and trying it. No one wants to see you in the downward dog position, Jerry. I speak for America.
A single for Carp. Great. Fish on first.
Aceves?!
We were going to be perfect. Remember? Could you aim your next wild pitch at the announcers? Thanks.
Crawford has cool sunglasses too. See? They must have gone on a shopping trip. Without me. And I LOVE shopping. Not. Fair.
—
strike out. good.
catch. good.
—
My last update sounds so very caveman. But I’m trying on moving outfits, you see. I’m ever so busy. Can I pull off overalls?
—
Um. No.
—-
Brandon League. the Closer?
Hmm.
—-
What is on the back of your neck, kid? Did you guys see that? Look at the back of his neck and please tell me what that is. Navarro at bat.
Kyle Weilland in the pen.
–
An All-Star, they say.
Okay.
I think it stopped raining.
—-
I hate to do this in the bottom of the 8. But I have to walk my dog while there is a break in the clouds. Peter is in charge. Behave yourselves and check his blog over the next ten for updates. 12-7. Sox. Bottom of 8th. One out.
—
top of the 9th. Still 12-7. Didn’t miss much…
Pedroia gets the ground. Fires to first. First out.
Nice.
Two outs left, guys.
—-
Scut shoots it to first.
Second out.
One more, kiddies.
—-
“It can be the most beautiful ocean in the world and I will not go in. I will go in the pool.”~Jerry Remy.
There is something wrong with you, Jerry Remy.
Alfredo Aceves stares ‘em down. Another strike. 2 and 2.
One more, baby.
And….. and….
And….
Thisistakingforever…
And…
Ball three? Stop it.
Foul.
Come on, Ackley.
Oh, it’s Ackley.
The hot one.
I’ll be your consolation prize.
I didn’t mean it, Youk.
Not really.
Left field… off the score boar???? Gut scores? 12-8? Really?
“You’ve got to like what you see from Ackley.”
Yeah, baby.
No. No, Lauren. Stop it. He is your enemy.
We could be like Romeo and Juliet with a happy ending, Dustin Ackley.
No. Stop it.
You are taken. Kevin Youkilis is right there.
Hi, Miguel Olivo. Could you end this inning for me? Thanks.
—
2 strikes. Let’s wrap it up. Foul.
Come on!
—-
In the air. Left. Crawforddddd makes the catch! Red Sox wins.
Sweep.
15 consec losses to Seattle.
Sorry.
I’ll root for you. You know. Tomorrow.
“A tremendous offensive day.”
As you can see, Elliot-May-Precious-Ortiz is not as impressed as I am with today’s Sox game.
Loving it.
Thanks for playing, kids!
~L
Those damn birds. Bloody Marys and veggie sausage: Bloggin’ Live
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…
More vodka!
—-
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?
Wow. That is the worst picture of me in the entire history of the internet.
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.
Hi, Carl.
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.
Safe.
4-2.
“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.
Guts.
Loverly. Like in the song from “My Fair Lady.” The musical based on another play called Pygmalion.
—-
Out. Whatever.
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.”
SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP
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.
6-5.
“Keep in mind, the Red Sox had that 16 inning ball game last night.”
Wake looks sad.
Okay. Now I look sad.
DREW????
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.
??????
Wake?
Tito?
Curt?
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.
Damn. It.
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.”
SHUTUPANNOUNCERSIHATEYOU.
—-
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.
Whatever.
—-
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.
And…. Wheeler.
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…
