There are no yellow lights in baseball. It’s allllllll green.

Seriously.

Just read an article telling us to keep our “yellow caution flag” out with regards to Erik Bedard’s start tomorrow.

Why?

Because, ladies and gents, he’s recovering from an INJURY. The “oft-injured” Bedard who joins our “oft-injured” rotation is, like everyone else who wears the Boston “B,” or so it seems, INJURED.

“We want to help get him to where he can pitch like he can pitch and it might take a little while to do that,” manager Terry Francona said before last night’s 3-2 win. “He’s got 12⁄3 starting innings under his belt, he’s got no rehab starts, so he might not be at peak efficiency yet. Fans and media might not be patient with him, but we will be.

Really? You are NOT making me feel better about the “oft-injured” description. Oh, I’m sure you’ll be patient. You’ve been patient for… let’s see… JOHN LACKEY. And… you were patient with MIKE TIMLIN… and… let’s see… JOHN LACKEY. Oh, remember Delcarmen? Oh, and Lugo? Remember LUGO? I remember Lugo. Your patience does not instill in me CONFIDENCE. JOHN LACKEY?

“With Erik, we understand with him we have to be a little bit slow here. He pitched a game probably for obvious reasons probably before he was ready to pitch. He should have probably been on a rehab. We all understand why and we’re glad he did.”

Slow here? This is the Red Sox. We’ve got to hit the ground running. Don’t make me nervous before Bedard even hits the mound, please.

And, sportsies the world over say, it’s not just about Bedard specific:

Boston has had little success through the years in picking up helpful starting pitching midway through a season.

But you know what? That’s tomorrow. Bedard is tomorrow. TONIGHT is Wake. NUMBER 200. 200, people. Let’s watch it together. Sayyyyyy my blog, 7:10ish? See you then.

~L

 

The Good. The Bad. The Ug– um… Gritty.

The GOOD.

It’s the BEST July ever. Really.

“We’ve been playing good ball. We just have to keep it rolling. We don’t have that big of a lead in the division, so we have to play good baseball,” Dustin Pedroia said Sunday after the Red Sox wrapped up one of the best months of July in team history by beating the Chicago White Sox 5-3.

The BAD.

Clay Buchholz has a stress fracture. As a gal who has had many… they super-suck. And sometimes take awhile to diagnose.

The right-hander was moved from the 15-day to the 60-day disabled list Sunday to make room for new acquisition Erik Bedard, and he will see a back specialist Monday in Los Angeles. If the move to the 60-day DL is dated from when he went on the DL June 19, he will have to miss at least a few more weeks.

The Gritty.

Nixing one hypochondriac trade for another.

The initial word that Harden was dealt to the Red Sox led to several predictable jokes about his health. The trade was nixed after medical information was given to the Sox, forcing them to turn to Bedard, a guy with a similar mix of talent and risk. It’s a lot to ask of Mike Reinold and the Sox medical staff, adding a known risk on top of the current situations they’re dealing with.

The Gritty… um… The Gritty-er.

We’ve still got lots of baseball left. Plenty of time for dreams to die…

Hi, Cleveland.

~L

Just breathe…

Trades. I’ve thought a lot about this.  And I have decided to just breathe deeply and trust the following quote from Clay Buchholz:

“We’re pretty solid at just about every position,” Buchholz said.

Everything happening now? Just tweaking.

Yeah. So there are some upgrades that could be made in right field. But as we are now- we’re a winning team. We’re solid. Peter is right. No need to stress. Now is the time for breathing. Deeply and calmly. For being very zen. For being so zen that Seattle freaks out and needs more coffee. You know what? I need more coffee to maintain my zenness. One sec.

“I think we could definitely win all the way to the end with this group of guys,” reliever Daniel Bard said. “I don’t think we need anyone. That doesn’t mean you couldn’t help by adding guys, but I don’t think we necessarily need anything.”

“I think it’s too early to get too cocky about it. But I can tell you that without the injuries and all the (stuff) that we’ve always got to go through, I’ll take my chances with this ballclub.” ~David Ortiz.

You know what? Me too.

Ah… coffee…

~L

————–

PS- More Johnny Damon press blabbing. He’s STILL talking about HOF uniforms. Like A) He’s getting in and B) he has an actual choice over what jersey he would wear and C) Boston actually wants him.

For such a humble guy (<-sarcasm), he sure does talk about this a lot…

PSS- Jon Lester has a blog. Am I the only person who didn’t know this? It is here.

I mean, we all know Curt Schilling has a blog. Who else has a blog? Seriously? Tell me Kevin Youkilis has a blog…

Jacoby, Bard and Gonz shrug off whiners, on to Mariners

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.

~L

Poo on you, Maxim Lapierre, and you have a STUPID name.

I cannot be consoled.

First of all, this was the COMPLETE OPPOSITE of my happy Wednesday. I’m in a corner of the bar with my laptop trying to finish edits for Sunday’s paper, watch the hockey game, watch the baseball game AND guzzle lunchboxes (it’s a drink, okay?) with the Frankster with absolutely NO FAN SUPPORT. It’s a lot of pressure. It’s so much pressure to be the ONLY person in a crowded bar watching hockey.

“What are you, Canadian?”

That’s what they say.

Are they WATCHING the game?

Do they SEE my Boston hat?

Oh, I see. You’re just generalizing. Because everyone who likes hockey is Canadian.

Okay. I get it. Because I think you’re a douche. You know. Because everyone who annoys me at this bar is a douche. Oh wait. That generalization is TRUE.

So yeah, bad company.

BAAAAAAAAAAAD game.

I hate you, Maxim Lapierre.

I hate you and I’ve always hated you and I just want you to know that every move you make, Santa is watching.

And now I have MORE stress in my life for a Monday.

Really. Are you guys even CONSIDERING my feelings when you refuse to score? And, as we all know, Lauren spends a lot of time in Canada… (because I really do love it and want to live in Vancouver someday. You know, when MAXIM LAPIERRE is extradited to hell) and has a lot of Canadian friends… who send LOTS of annoying Canadian text messages when the Bruins lose. I would like to point out that MOST of these friends are Montreal fans. So sending me text messages DOESN’T EVEN MAKE SENSE.

Oh, and fake Vancouver fan at the bar? You don’t make sense either.

“I’m from Oregon,” she said, batting her eyes.

THEN WHY THE FRICK DO YOU LIKE THE CANUCKS?

I have family in Oregon. And they HATE the Canucks.

Oregon, see, stupid batty eye girl, is not another country. It is another state. IN AMERICA. And, the guy that was talking to me just now? He was ridiculing me. RIDICULING THIS SPORT. You are not going to get any brownie points with Fratty McFratterson by pretending to be “into the rivalry.”

And I’m happy about this. Not because I want Fratty McFratterson to myself, mind you. Because you two would make some really stupid children. And the world has enough STUPID children growing up into STUPID adults. STUPID adults like you, MAXIM LAPIERRE.

But… and here’s something neat. I was soooooo stressed out by your ineptitude, hockey gods (that’s right. I’m blaming the gods for this one) that I quickly and succinctly finished ALLLLL my work for tomorrow. This is a big deal. You don’t understand. I make college all-nighters look lowkey. So. Now it’s 1:08 a.m. And I am about to watch Cheers on Netflix. You know. For the remainder of the night. In the morning, I will enjoy sunshine. I will go to the Farmer’s Market and imagine all that glorious sunshine melting that stupid Canadian ice. Then I will imagine you, Maxim Lapierre, sinking into a water hole in the ice and crying baby tears. And not just any baby tears, the tears of a baby whose friends make fun of him because at age three he wears headgear and smells like cheese. That kind of baby. You know, the kind that, at six-years-old, already knows he won’t have a date in ten years for prom. And his parents know it too. That’s why they make deals with other parents to get the baby invited to all the birthday parties. Stupid Maxim Lapierre.

Red Sox, thank you for your patriotism.

Bruins, I can’t even look at you right now. You stress me out.

Maxim Lapierre, I hate you.

~L

They want to coat our nation in syrup and feed us to a moose herd. Really. I heard it from Michael J. Fox.

Tonight, the United States, whether we are baseball fans or hockey fans, stand together.

Tonight, we fight Canada!

Cue the Pledge of Allegiance!

Seriously. Why isn’t your hand over your heart? Do you hate America?

Because JoJo Reyes does!

Do it for the troops, Boston!

Those wiley syrup makers are trying to take over, eh! They’ll bring their moose (the size of pickup trucks, I tell you!) and their hats and their bacon and their gravy fries. They’ll put wigs on our lawyers and Nickelback on our radios! Do you like Nickelback? Well, do you, punk?

Tonight… WE FIGHT!

(The author would like to point out that this is in no way representative of how she feels about Canada, a place she’s spent lots of time in, or, more specifically, Vancouver, her dream city, a place where, while she hopes their hockey team loses -and loses violently-, she hopes to retire in someday so she can watch the killer whales from her yacht -she will have a yacht- . She can prove it. She does speak French, after all, and has spent time utilizing this skill in Quebec. She just really, really, really hates your sports teams, Canada. Like, a lot. And she doesn’t actually like Ann Coulter. She is actually terrified of Ann Coulter and thinks she is the praying mantis of America.)

PS- Did you read this? Looks like our Bruins are getting the no-no from management about their apparel…

Gotta disagree with management on this one.

One down… a… sweeping victory?

Not yet. One game… victory. And a sweet Papi-esque stomp at that. Exactly what I was in the mood for.

But this game?

Blah. Who does this Verlander guy think he is? Verlander kind of sounds like Highlander. There can be only one.

It will be Beckett. Right, guys? Now, I’m just tuning in, (officially 100 percent moved! huzzah! but my back and brain hurt) so I’m not altogether clear on the drama…

But 4 hits to our 2? 2 runs to our… none? What’s going on, guys?

And Detroit… you’re starting to play. Did the rain give you super powers? Was it like, radioactive rain? Like the kind of rain that turns geeks like Peter Parker into spiderman?

Oh. That was a spider bite. It says so here on wikipedia.

But I’m sure there was a super hero in comic book world that got that way from acid rain.

Thanks, Google. But that is not what I meant….

Maybe it was Captain Planet.

Ohmygod I loved that show.

Josh Beckett could so be Captain Planet. You know. If Josh Beckett was green and relied on magical electricity from jewelry.

Josh Beckett. He’s our hero. He’s going to take Detroit down to zero…

This beer feels great. Like, really great.

Like, Lauren’s body was melting away like… like… acid rain? And this beer put her together again.

So, I lifted this gigantic dresser up my stairs today. I need to take a picture of these stairs and show you. Even someone with amazing shoulder muscles like Kevin Youkilis would have trouble He-manning these stairs.

I had help. An editor at my paper and I broke my wall (kind of), our faces (almost) and our dignity to get this thing up a narrow, narrow staircase, through a loft and into a bedroom.

It was dramatic.

See, Beckett, if I could do that, you could win this game for us.

The dresser>Detroit.

Like, really.

When I have the strength to push a button on a camera, I will totally show you.

Speaking of strength, this beer is strong.

It’s  mocha stout from Highland Brewing Company! <- A North Carolina brewer.

This Verlander guy is smarmy. Can’t you tell? He has a swagger. Swaggers are stupid. He should drink a highlander. It would help with his swagger. Then he would be Verlander. With a Highlander. Working on his swagger.

Hah.

I am going to walk my puppy. Drink another beer. And splash cold water on my face like eight times.

I. Will. Be. Back. It is 9:46. Please do not let them do anything dumb.

—-

10:19. Painful… Where is our offense? Maybe they moved dressers today too. I hear it takes a lot out of you…

10:48. Damn.

Rain… okay, we get it. You’re wet.

Thanks to the wet stuff, we’ve got a double header with Buchholz and Beckett at the mound, respectively.

But hey, we also got a rest day. Kind of.

A wet, icky rest day. A much well deserved wet, icky rest day.

And the Stankees? They got another loss to Seattle, Lauren’s new most favorite non-Red Sox, non-Marlins team.

So Red Sox, today I’m going to ask you to play your socks off. Don’t do it for me. Do it for Seattle. And the stankcrushing they have done for you.

Ahhhhhhh… ALE. It’s lonely at the top… but someone’s got to be up here. Nice view, though. I think I can see Cleveland…

We meet this Verlander guy we keep hearing so much about today… I hear he’s okay.

And… oh no… oh no… Jenks could be… back soon…

But let’s not worry about that today. Let’s not… damn it. Let’s distract ourselves with THIS neat article on players on the cheap. Like Salty… and THIS article on how awesome we are…

L

PS- Super important decision to make. How exactly should I vandalize Jeff-the-Tigers-fan’s cubicle Monday? I was thinking real brooms, but I don’t know if that’s dramatic enough. I might paper his desk in pictures of brooms. I don’t know. But I feel like my conscience is telling me it should involve brooms…

Oh! And Bard has an excuse for sucking lately! (kinda) Wait, when was that sucky game? So, spread the word if you’re in the DC area.

And, by the way, as of 10 a.m., our 4-streak is tied with Arizona as the number one streak in baseball…

RAIN! YOU ARE RUINING MY WEEK!

Thunder. Lightening. Allllllllll night.

New apartment: one wall of my bedroom is just a window. Vaulted ceiling with high windows on the other side. Beautiful. Mountain views. I can see poetic things like ponds and Canadian geese.

And in a thunderstorm, I get to see a mini-apocalypse of surging water, branches and lightening.

It’s cool to say that you like things like walks in the rain. That you like the flash of lightning. That you find it thrilling.

See… I hate lightning. I hate thunder. And I HATE being cold. Rainy walks=cold. And I’m not a fan of shuddering puppies who feel they must sleep ON you. All. Night.

Did I mention I got NO SLEEP? I hate being tired.

You know what else I hate?

RAIN DELAYS.

Let’s get this party started, people. I have a phone interview with local rescue workers who’ve been dispatched to Missouri at 8 p.m. Give me something to be cheery about!

So, rainy day thoughts anyone? Who else hates walks in the rain?

Gooooooo Red Sox!

I’ll blog part of this thing. You know. If it happens.

—

8:51. 1-0. Sorry, Masterson. But, you know, not really to the sorry.

—

Clay, I would appreciate it if you didn’t walk people. Especially not in the third inning. Totally should have explained that.

—

In other news, I’m sure you’ve heard about Dice-K by now…

A definite possibility that he might not play again this season. Which is bum-worthy. Because I can just picture that sad Dice-K face in my head. You know the one. Here’s to hoping he’s okay…

2 outs! That’s right, Clay. Do it for Dice-K.

—-

End of the third! K-Youk is up! Love.

—

Oh, Masterson! You look so little up there. All by yourself. Our little boy is all grown up…

—-

Jup (check out her blog. It’s swell) has this nickname for you, Masterson: Fetus. I think it works admirably.

—

I regret to interrupt this broadcast with a DIRE WARNING. Jenks could return. And soon. The walls themselves, they tremble.

Okay. Back to your regularly scheduled Indian-beat-down.

—

It’s okay, K-Youk. I love you. And Ortiz, swell single, baby.

—

3 outs. Crap.

Masterson! *fist shake*

Is anyone else kind of… um… proud?

—-

Damnit, Clay.

Cabrera homers. 1-1.

—

Shin-Soo Choo. I remember making fun of your name… now I’m going to make fun of your lame ground out. And your name. Who am I kidding? I love your name. It rhymes. I love rhyming.

—-

End of the fourth. 3-2 hits… still 1-1.

—

2-1! BEAUTIFUL left field homer by Crawford. Earnin’ his keep.

—-

End of the 5th. 9:38. Gonz up. Which is good news for everyone. You know. Except FETUS.

—

And Gonz walks. I am not arguing… really, I’m not… but two of those looked like strikes to me…

—

I’m going to ignore that double play. I am not even going to comment on it. Nope.

—

Asdrubal. I love your name.

Really, Cleveland. You have some great names.

—

End of 6. Still 2-1 us…

Do you think Drew Carey is watching this?

—

Start of the 8. Salty up. I am reading a magazine. It’s that type of game. At least I am not working.

—-

Pedroia on first. A walk. Two outs. And Gonz at the plate. Exactly what we want…

And he’s walking too!

Pitching change? But why? We love Masterson…

And Gonz was almost at first…

—-

And Gonz singles. Which is… um… kind of the same thing, when you think about it. Man on first and second. Come on, Youkie-poo. Don’t leave them stranded… Poor baby. Was hit by a pitch earlier. AGAIN.

—

I looked away. Is Cleveland changing pitchers again? Really? What’s wrong, Drew Carey? Problems in your bull pen?

—

And I was complimenting Cleveland names. Shin-Soo. Abrudabababael. (well, it was kind of like that). Joe Smith? Really?!

Grounded INTO DP? Oh.

Yikes.

—

So much waiting in this game. Anyone have any good knock knock jokes?

—

Daniel Bard. Remember the other day when Matt Albers pitched? It was supposed to be you. Don’t let us down.

—

DAMN IT, BARD. 2-2.

—

CABRERA? Stupid, stupid Bard.

3-2. THEM.

Damn it.

–

Rich Hill. Do you see what Bard is doing to us? Fix it. Fix it good. Annnnnnnnnnnnnnd I’m getting Albers flashbacks. You better fix this, Richie.

—

Cabrera, you are pissing me off.

—

9th inninggggggggggg

Two on base. This is the part where I start to hope before being terribly, terribly crushed.

Damn it. See?

Blame it on the rain.

Rain, I blame THIS on you too. Pedroia better be okay.

But the Bruins won. So that’s happy.

Club DL gets a new member

Daisuke joins Lackey on the DL.

Is anyone surprised?

And… in exchange… we get…

Michael Bowden!

Why this is good for me: I can say, hi, Michael Bowden, and somewhere out there, he might actually know who I am. Of course, he doesn’t know me as Lauren, the dazzlingly beautiful blogger with a sparkling personality and genius wit, you know, like you guys know me.

He knows me as “that girl with the sign(s).”

See, when I lived in Charlotte… still no Red Sox. So I compensated with Knights (White Sox affil). See, for most of the year, I faked White Soxism. I even saw Peavy pitch. I wore the hat. I drank the beer. I meshed. I had to, see. I needed baseball.

But… once a year… when the PawSox were in town… to Knight horror, I ditched all my bandwagon gear for my Red Sox hat and got loud. Oh. And I got signs.

Remember that time Aaron Bates got a homer with the Red Sox? I did. So, when I saw his name in the PawSox lineup, I got a little delirious and that’s how it started. When you’re Fenway deprived as long I’ve been, you take what you can get, and you RUN with it.

Well, according to Bates, I’m the first person to make a sign. Well, multiple signs. You know, with things like, “Bates is great.” Really witty stuff like that.

He remembered me when they came back the next year.

And I, feeling it was my duty as a good little Knights turncoat, would make multiple signs. Tons of signs. And I would pass them out to people with Red Sox hats on.

Bowden, you got a sign. Remember that time you pointed and laughed at me? I do. It was one of those good-natured laughs. A good counter to the glare from all my Knights-faithful friends.

Did you know that NO ONE makes signs in Fort Mill? NO ONE?

They needed me. It’s sad, really. I wonder how they’re dealing with my absence…

A rainout and now it’s back to the grind. Clay, darling, don’t suck.

~L