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Sox sign teenager. Benny C will do ANYTHING to keep beer out of the clubhouse.
What a ridiculous news day.
In a move that has this song in my head all day-
-Ben Cherington adopted a child for us. His name is Daniel McGrath and he’s 17. And now the Red Sox are his daddy.
Daniel McGrath. Hmmm. It’s the 5th highest $$$ signing out of the 435 Aussies signed to play. Don’t worry. He’ll “complete year 12″ before Soxing it to spring training next year. And, hey, maybe the beer store will start carding. So, there’s that.
Maybe that’s Benny’s plan. Import people who CAN’T buy beer for the clubhouse.
It doesn’t say how he got his super powers… but I think we all know where that 150 km/hr fastball pitch REALLY came from.
Do you think he’ll introduce us to Gary Busey?
In other news, Trot Nixon is heading this Hall of Fame class… but the REAL news is that he went to New Hanover High School in Wilmington. Did YOU know that? I’ve been there like, a bazillion times. It’s the high school that every movie/tv show uses when they film in North Carolina- a high school I became acquainted with during my actor days. And, apparently, Trot Nixon could have been in the same town. You’d think that someone would have told me.
Oh! Oh! Oh! But there’s more news!
Giving us yet another reason to roll our eyes at New York, Mayor Bloomberg called Boston “Loserville.” Really. Mr. Bloomberg, do you know what comeuppins are? Because they’re comeuppining in April. Loserville? Really? Tim Thomas? Are you going to stand for that? I’ll be checking Facebok later for your statement.
I will remember this, Mr. Bloomberg, and I will rub your snotty little New York nose in it on behalf of all New England (just don’t cry again, Tom Brady) in April. Seriously, footballians, stop crying. How many rings does New England have? Honestly. You’d think you were Michelle Kwan. And a silver medal isn’t THAT bad.
And stop. STOP. Pulling baseball fans into your web of depression with whiny reminders like:
Sound familiar? Sure does. In fact, it sounds a lot like last September.
SHUT. UP. Seriously, New England. You WON the Sandwich Monday Contest. Who NEEDS the Super Bowl?
Arbitration has been scheduled for Papi. Here’s to hoping it’s quick and painless!
I’m not the only one, btw, who rolled my eyes at Dan Shaughnessy yesterday. Our friends at Fenway West also voiced their whatevers at ya, Dan.
Speaking of rolling our eyes, the Roy Oswalt drama continues. And my eyes? They’re still rolling. You’d think they’d get tired.
So, kiddies, what do you think? Teenagers. Papi. Roy Oswalt. I’d like to hear your thoughts of the whole mess that is the Red Sox offseason.
~L
Dear Roy Oswalt, We’re through. Sincerely, Lauren
It’s JUST like this:
If you don’t love us, LET US GO, Roy Oswalt.
Roy Oswalt is still mulling offers. And we “still have a shot” with him. What-thefrick-ever.
I no longer care. This guy must have a bigger ego than Prince Fielder.
I get mulling your options. I do. But I’m not a fan of people who drag others along for their ride to nowhere-ville. I have girlfriends whose men (and I use that term lightly) pull the same shit, Roy. You, Roy, are not the bees’ knees. You are not Pedro Martinez. You are not Mike Lowell. And you are NOT (let me repeat) NOT Kevin Youkilis. So slide off your high horse and get back on the track with the rest of us. You can’t do that, can you? You have to occupy OUR Google news alerts with your “will he, won’t he” bull shit.
So, Roy Oswalt, on behalf of Red Sox Nation, I rescind the offer. You are no longer welcome in Boston. Go home and don’t let the door hit you in the cup on your way out.
I don’t know if you KNOW this, Roy, dear, but we had this little morale issue last year. We had a couple attitude issues. Some chicken. Some beer. You know. And this season? Well, it’s time for an attitude adjustment. It’s time to up the ante and get our heads in the game. And if your head isn’t in Boston, WE DON’T WANT YOU.
Same to you, Edwin Jackson. Seriously. Instead of all these articles saying that you’re “unlikely” to sign with us, CUT THE CORD.
Stop building us up for rejection.
It’s like this:
HOW LONG DOES IT TAKE YOU TO MAKE A FRICKING DECISION? I spent less time mulling MY offers and I guarantee you that you’re BOTH ending up with more moolah.
WHATEVER.
See, we don’t need you. Because DICE-K WARMED UP IN A BULLPEN THIS WEEK!!!!
It’s on now, suckas.
Our ship is coming in. Oh, yes.
So grab a life vest.
~L
PS- Speaking of irritation, our own big Papi may be sending us to an arbitration hearing. Blah. Whatever, I say. I’m just glad he’s on our boat.
Your daily injection! Braun’s still not talking about his syph-um… private medical issue. Oh. And Minka gets another gift basket.
Ryan Braun, stalked by TMZ AGAIN today… once AGAIN offers no explanation for his PED test…

See, as I reported last week, I could totally buy the “private medical issue” excuse- provided you give us a little more of an explanation.
I mean, if someone accuses me of something horrible and immoral… like… um… puppy murder. Or homeless sleeping bag stealing. Or, you know, steroids… I fess up my alibi. Even if my alibi is something less than Lauren-y. Like. Um. A Gossip Girl marathon over ice cream and regret. I mean, embarrassing is better than puppy murder or steroids, right?
Ryan Braun… is it syphilis? You can tell us. Christopher Columbus had that, you know. It’s Hep C, isn’t it? Leprosy?
We all know my opinion on the ‘roid issue. For new readers- I say exactly what David Ortiz has said-
“Ban ‘em for the whole year.”
Except I add a “forever.”
Give us SOMETHING, Ryan Braun. Apparently, there are people that look up to you. An excuse. Any excuse, really, would be better than the flaky attitude you’ve been flicking at us. There might be an explanation.
When Ortiz was accused (Jay, take note) he had ALREADY fessed up to an energy shake that he was unsure of. Pre-emptively in 2007:
“I tell you, I don’t know too much about steroids, but I started listening about steroids when they started to bring that shit up, and I started realizing and getting to know a little bit about it. You’ve got to be careful. I used to buy a protein shake in my country. I don’t do that any more because they don’t have the approval for that here, so I know that, so I’m off of buying things at the GNC back in the Dominican (Republic). But it can happen anytime, it can happen. I don’t know. I don’t know if I drank something in my youth, not knowing it.”
You could say SOMETHING, Ryan Braun. Celebrities don’t get privacy, see. But you do get millions of dollars, hence the me-not-feeling-sorry-for-you.
Oh, Braun… that’s not a shadow following you around…
That’s an asterisk.
—-
In other ridiculous roidy news- Alex Rodriguez is OFF THE MARKET.
Thank GOD, the market says. Until the market examines the catch. That catch is Torrie Wilson who, judging from the pictures, may share A-Roid’s juicing hobby. I don’t see this working out. I mean, what if they BOTH see a reflective surface? Staring at that window pane could waste a whole day, guys. Alex, it is such a newsy week for you.
Does anyone else think that A-Roid’s hookups will be a reality show some day?
—-
And, to round out today’s irrelevant gossip, the gift baskets must have gotten expensive… because Derek Jeter is back with Minka Kelly. Let’s all take a deep breath and pretend to care.
There. Now, don’t we all feel dumber?
You’re welcome, America.
~L
PS- Speaking of steroids- interesting position on Jeff Bagwell- read it HERE.
The best way to get over Paps is to get under Papi.
A bitter person wouldn’t have sat through regurgitated presser clips last night at the bar. No. A bitter person would have done a lot more muttering than I did after work last night. She probably would have thrown a salt shaker.
I’m not bitter. To be bitter, you have to care. A pitcher of Yuengling said I didn’t give a frick.
Nope.
No, I don’t. I don’t care enough about you to throw salt, Jonathan Papelbon, or look up from my pitcher when your deer-eyed shapeless face is on the television screen.
There are big problems in this world. BIG problems. Like my friend Meg, for example. Thanks to Viking incompetence, she LOST her fantasy football game yesterday. Now that’s a problem.
Johnny Paps? I don’t even remember who you are anymore, Papel-prick.
Papel-who?
Oh. Right. That guy.
So, Ben Cherington, aka: Keebler, we turn our bitter eyes to you. The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. And who better to get under than David Ortiz?
Yes, you’ve expressed interest…
But that’s not enough, Cherryo. It’s time to make a deal. The people, YOUR people, need good news. We need some good fricking news. It’s time to get over your anti-all-free-agents-lauren-likes attitude and get behind the beast. The Ortiz beast.
You make me nervous, Benny. NERVOUS.
Toronto is out there. TORONTO. Tampa expressed this week its need for a DH. TAMPA. And never, ever, count on the Stankees’ spite, despite what Brian Cashman says…
It’s time to stroke the ego of a man who gave the nation hope when we didn’t deserve it.
Yeah. So he had a bit of a ‘tude this year. Yeah, so he stepped on some Tito-toes.
But Tito (sniff!) isn’t here anymore. Theo? He isn’t here any more. We are all we’ve got. And we need our mascot. We need him now more than ever.
Remember the slump year? The really bad one?
I do. I was living in Charlotte. And my new friend Eric (who I met at a dog park because he was wearing a Red Sox hat) called, and was like, let’s go watch a game.
And we met at Midtown Sundries on W.T. Harris Blvd (location is important) and David Ortiz hadn’t hit anything in like sixteen baseball decades. And the bar was full of people who are like, “he’s out. He’s old. Move on.” Damn Yankee hats.
And Eric and I were really quiet. And Ortiz stepped up to the plate. He stepped up and he did that palm clap that he does (you know the one) and that eyebrow scowl. And I said, “Eric, I swear to God, if he hits something, I will name my first born child after that man.”
And that’s how my puppy earned the name Elliot-May-Precious-Ortiz.
Because he knocked it out of the freaking park. He earned me seven dollars, a beer and a puppy name that night. And my life had been so ridiculous. Terrible job (in television. It was truly terrible. 4 a.m. shifts. Weekends. Try to have a social life in a new city with that schedule). Terrible boyfriend situation (NASTY, nasty break-up. Like, take what you’re thinking and add in this skanky girl from Baltimore). All alone in a city, really. Seriously, baseball. Pathetically, you were all I had. And in that moment, David Ortiz, I wasn’t some pathetic girl alone in Charlotte, North Carolina. I was part of a screaming, cheering, excited nation. I wasn’t the girl with the insane schedule who slept through dates. I was just a girl at a bar watching a great moment in a baseball game.
That’s how I made friends in Charlotte, see. We found each other, Red Sox hat by Red Sox hat. We found each other because of you, David Ortiz.
Yeah, World Series.
Yeah, ALCS.
But David Ortiz, what I remember you the most for is that time everyone (announcers included) 100 percent counted you out, and you came busting through the wall of doubt with a firecracker of a home run, and how I felt that day.
That’s what you mean to me. And that’s why I will be absolutely, freaking, pathetically inconsolable if they do not re-sign you.
Some players are more than players. And you’re one of them. And I’d like you to retire in that damn jersey.
Thanks.
It’s scary, really, the personal connections we have to a sport about a stick and a ball…
But the internet tells me I’m not alone in this. There are other crazy people with crazy infatuations. Don’t believe me? You’re the one reading this rant.
So Ben Cherington, PLEASE. For me. Re-sign David Ortiz. And do it now.
Because he’s more than a DH. He’s our mascot.
What’s your Papi moment? Everyone has one.
~L
PS- WHY haven’t you twittered me yet? Is it me?
Benny? Cherry? BC? Oh. And Ortiz watch, 2011. Happy Monday!
Ben Cherington needs a nickname. Seriously. I can’t keep typing Ben Cherington. What about Cherry? Or BC? You know. Like the fix-it powder? Except (Lackey excluded), he’s really not fixing anything, is he?
It’s the first Monday without a Papelbon and I’m still Papel-grieving because he’s Papel-gone. And everyone on the internet has something to Papel-say about it. It’s at a point in my Papel-brain that I kind of want to stop hearing analytics. I don’t want anyone else to Papel-tell me that we’re Papel-screwed. I don’t want anyone else to Papel-tell me we’ll be Papel-okay. I kind of want you to just Papel-listen while I Papel-stand here in front of my Papel-mirror, Papel-sobbing and Papel-singing “Unbreak My Heart.”
Can you just Papel-do that for me?
Thanks.
What will you miss the most? Surviving Grady articulated my thoughts perfectly.
And Dale Sveum is going in for another interview. Whatever. Because THIS is the greatest idea I have ever heard:
Let’s do it.
I really should have your job, Ben Cherington (see how cumbersome that is without a nickname, Jup?). We’d have Paps (because he’d love us again). And a Tek-manager. And… and…
So. In other news, ORTIZ WATCH 2011.
This is that part where Ben Cherington (eh) teases us about Ortiz before finally signing him. Then he’s going to send me a personal apology post-it for stressing me out. Right? Right?
Soxies, what do you think about Ortiz?
So much to do and so little time.
Have you Twittered me yet?
Why not?
Am I not Tweetable enough for you?
~L





