Mulder says we should believe in you, Dice-K. But I have been hurt before.

Happy Jon Lester day, everybody! Sorry, just practicing. That’s right! The most Lesterish of all the lefties is primed to attack opening day.You’re watching, right? Because apparently Lester’s father won’t be.  And that’s a shame, because Lester’s  a special, special guy, and I’m sure he’s sorry about Soxplosion, 2011. I’m sure he’s sorry and that I’ll be getting my apology letter any day now.

I’m expecting one from you too, DOUBRONT. I hate to judge games I didn’t physically watch… but REALLY? REALLY, FELIX?

They were saying NICE things about you. Remember that? Remember THIS?

And you go Lackey on us against the fricking Twins?

And I didn’t forget about YOU, Melancon. I’m just… I can’t… I WILL GET TO YOU LATER. What really frightens me about you, Melancon? Is that Bobby V doesn’t seem to think you are horrible.

“Melancon outing? I thought he backed up the bases pretty well. He had that down,” said Valentine when asked about the reliever…

It absolutely fills me with a cold, hollow, trapped-in-a-well kind of fear when the managers think Lackey-esque performances back up bases “pretty well.” We saw it with Francona and Lackey. We saw it with Francona and Timlin. Need I remind anyone of a man named Lugo? Nearsightedness is a part of the aging process, Bobby V. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Just recognize it now and get some cool specs by April, k? They make prescription sunglasses and you could probably even get a fake nose and mustache for them.

Bobby V says he’s going to “sit down” and have a serious conversation about pitching. Um. Okay. Sure. I mean, I would have had that sit down, serious conversation about pitching while forming my rotation. You know. DURING THE OFFSEASON. But sure, with what,  TWO FRICKING WEEKS to go before Opening Day? Sure. Let’s all just SIT DOWN now. You sure you don’t want to wait two weeks? Maybe discuss it over CHICKEN?

I’m okay. I’m okay. Totally over September. TOTALLY OVER IT.

I have said it before. I shall say it again. Right. Now. Aceves for rotation. Do it, Bobby V. DO IT.  It’s not like we can…

Wait… what… wh… oh my God you guys… Could it… is it… DON’T TOY WITH ME, BOBBY. I have been hurt before. What’s that? Shining in the distance?

Oh hope, you calculating mistress… teasing us in the form of a…

This is exactly like that early 90s cult classic, “the X-Files,” available now on Netflix.

Allow me to explain.

See, for those of you who were like, seven when this came out with mean parents who didn’t let you watch the X-Files because of “graphic content” and nightmares and stuff (and you don’t have Netflix. Because, if you  have Netflix, I’m sure you’re already a “believer”), the X-files is about these two FBI agents. There’s a skeptic. Her name is Scully. She’s not relevant to my rambly metaphor. But I like her hair. And then there’s Mulder. See, Mulder, really WANTS TO BELIEVE in things like extraterrestrials and scifi stuff and an afterlife, right, because it gives his life’s mission purpose. It means there’s something out there that means something, see? Oh, and that his sister isn’t dead. But you can get a full explanation on that sideplot from wikipedia.

“I want to believe that the dead are not lost to us…”

Ahem.

Dice-K, I WANT TO BELIEVE in you, because that gives the 80 katrillion dollars and 17 gallons of tears I have shed for you a purpose. But I need evidence.

Much in the same way that, in season 2 of X-Files, Mulder needs EVIDENCE to continue his quest.

Can you tell what I was doing before I made Raleigh friends?

So see, Dice-K. You’re the aliens. We want to believe in you. But you’ve got to stop abducting people and just have a nationally televised conversation. And. You know. Pitch.

What do you think, Soxies? Do you believe in Dice-K? Or do you think we’re alone in the universe?

—

In other news, the media is really sorry about all that chicken sh#$ (see what I did there?) they spread in September and they’re trying to apologize by over compensating Lavarnway style. I appreciate the attempt to keep my cries of “VARITEK! WHYYYYY” at a minimum. But, seriously, Boston Globe. You don’t have to pander to me. All I need is time.

Some encouraging words about Jose… I mean, we didn’t win. But, apparently, he caught a cool ball. So that’s nice.

Oh, and the media, so astute they are, have decided to tell us all that Bobby V is not Terry Francona. Thanks, Yahoo Sports. What would I do without you in my life? I get you mixed up too, media. Like, just the other day, I was like, Why, Hello, Anderson Cooper! What are YOU doing in the booth? And then I realized it was Jerry Remy. You make THAT much sense, Yahoo Sports.

In conclusion, today was a sucky Red Sox day. Except for the bit about Lesterness.

So, comment, nation. Comment away. Doubront, or not to Doubront? Dice-K, or not to Dice-K? Aliens, or no aliens? Scully or Mulder?

~L

Ben Cherington wants to kill your grandpa- and other news to thrill your Thursday

“Tek will always be part of the Red Sox in some way,” Cherington said.

Is it just me- or does this sound like that thing you say when grandpa dies?

“He’ll always be a part of you, son. Always.”

Cherington, are you trying to KILL grandpa?

“We want to talk to Tek and not discuss it in a public forum, bring in Tek and Scott (Boras) and figure out what’s best for him and the Red Sox and we look forward to doing that.”

Figure out what’s best for him.

What’s best for him?

I’m sick of you always thinking you know what’s best for me, dawg.

Yeah. I went there.

On a semi-related topic- who else thinks Scott Boras is baseball’s Voldemort?

No?

And… the Sox haven’t bid on Yu Darvish… but someone sure did. They’re saying sky-high bids, people. Here’s hoping whoever it is Dice-Ks themselves in the face.

~L

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.

We are not the worst!!!

Worse than us:

• The Orioles. (8 and 11? I do declare…)
• Toronto (Hey, they’re under us thanks to alphabetical preference, so it counts.)
• The Yankees (because the team with the WORST record wiped the floor with them at Fenway Park…)
• Bobby Abreu
• Minnesota. (8 and 12)
• The White Sox. (8 and 13)
• Seattle. (8 and 13)
• The Mets. (eh…)
• Houston. (8 and 13)
• Arizona. (8 and 11)
• San Diego. (8 and 13)
• The movie “Secretariat” because it (and Diane Lane) was awful.

Tied for third and on a hot streak thanks to a stellar outing by one Dice-K. Here’s hoping the stressballer himself, Lackey, can pull out another miracle.

And then we escaped Paris. It was exactly like that.

Happy Easter!

Is it a sacrilege to say that the Red Sox have risen on this Easter morn?

~L

PS- I didn’t need to put the Angels on my list, right? It would be redundant?

This year, the bunny’s bringing a broom…

I smell a sweep…

Live blogging will commence at 9 o-freaking-5… and we have company. In honor of that terrifying bunny-esque holiday, I am at my parents’ house. Enjoying icecream, clean blankets and the occasional car insurance lecture. But I’m also enjoying super cable.

That’s right, ladies and gentlemen. Tonight’s game will be watched on an actual television screen. Not a laptop screen. A television screen. With my parents. (insert scary music here)

And… if you think -I- am an abrasive baseball watcher…

Well… it should be interesting.

The match-up: Dice-K. Hopefully, it’s the vintage Dice-K we caught a glimpse of last week. The 9-1 fury with that innocent expression that delivered the real-time smackdown.

Can’t wait.

But while we’re waiting, let’s talk trades.

I’m reading lots of internet conversation about Papelbon and Cameron possibilities. After Papelbon’s recent upswing, I’m hoping Theo’s got another thing coming…

I mean, I get it. Bobby Jenks. Bard.

But Theo, have you MET Bobby Jenks?

He. Does. Not. Jig.

What are your thoughts?

Clearly we need a catcher…

Who should we go after?

Who would you offer up? Hmmm…

——-

“I don’t think they’ll trade Papelbon,” Dad said. “Right now they need him.”

8:55. See how impatient we are in this household? The baseball convo has been going on for an hour. It’s interesting that they don’t seem to notice my laptop.

Ohmygod, Firedannyainge. The Easter bunny is the scariest mall model, hands down. Had to man a biz expo booth a few days ago and I could hear the screams from across the mall. It had red eyes. It kind of reminded me of Jorge Posada. But with bigger ears and less of a neck.

8:57. More icecream.

—-

Are you guys watching the Yankees game? It’s stupid.

—–

Now we’re having discussions about soccer. Parents are confusing. Is it 9:05 yet?

—-

Youkie-Bear is back!

Crap. Back to back homers in the Yankees game. This is crap. Trunkneck grosses me out.

—-

Now my father is explaining tome why HD is the bomb diggity.

He says he was watching HD the other day and a girl in the stands held up a sign with “will you marry me?” and a phone number. He said the camera kept shooting back to her with a “holy crap” expression on her face and lots of phone calls.

This, dad (aka mr. history) says is where when “the Red Sox were down by three runs, top of the ninth, american league division series… the angels were within one strike of winning the series. They had all the police officers lined up… everyone was about to jump over for the last strike and Henderson hits a homerun and the game is tied. And before you knew it, we won. And we won the series. That was 1986.”

Gosh, Dad, you’re old.

“and 1986 is when…”

Yeah, Dad, I know.

—-

9:09 “Any worries about his foot, that’s gone,” Dad said.

Smart base steal. Good description, announcer.

Yay, Pedroia. My mother just suggested I target him for marriage instead of Youkilis. “He’s married, mom.”

“Well, it doesn’t really matter, does it?”

“Mom?!”

—–

“Tell your boyfriend not to spit when he’s on the camera,” Mom said.

“He sweats more than anyone else on the team,” Dad said.

It’s okay, Youkie-Bear. You don’t have to listen to them.

There is controversy, great controversy in the TooSoxy Parental Household in regards to that “strike out.” 9:14.

“I wish they still had Beltre,” Dad said.

—-

Oh, TheCatcher, I hope you’re right about Bard… but I’m not seeing it as an asset that’s worth losing Paps… how will we boast our victories without the much-loved jig?

—-

Hi, Dice-K. Look at all that green behind Dice! Is there anyone at this game?! That Gordon Levitt kid would have been ashamed of ALL OF YOU,  Anaheim! Heaven can’t help you if you don’t believe!

Oh, I can’t watch this. Full count. Come on, vintage Dice… And… an easy catch by JD Drew.

“The key to the game is scoring better,” Dad said.

“That’s very insightful,” Mom said.

—-

Yankees are 13 now? What the frick, Buck Showalter?

—-

Yeah… this is the Dice-K pace. The efficiency of last week a distant memory… high pitch counts… Let’s just hope that the skill of last week continues. So far so good. The parents are still discussing the lack of fans in the bleachers. It is a little weak, heightened by the smarmy HD. The “A” kind of looks like it’s puncturing something. You know? Like, it’s not a halo, it’s a flesh wound. Would I have noticed that if this wasn’t HD? Anddddddd the Angels go down. Second coming up. Now we’re doing that super-not-annoying channel flip during the commercials thing. Flip. Flip. Flip. Nope. Not annoying at all, dad.

—-

Hey, Papi. You know, the A also kind of looks the Space Needle.

I never realized how dumb the A looked before.

“He’s my favorite,” mom said.

“Oh, the played him just right,” dad growls.

Out.

“We don’t care about y’all,” mom screams at the announcer banter.

Annnnnnddddddd ground rule double…. the Parentals rejoice.

SHUT UP CHUCK FINLEY!

Ew. These Angels close ups are grossing me out. Jered Weaver and his gum. Was it this gross in non-HD? I miss my small screen. Ew. Gagging. Ew.

—

“They’ve already shown him many times. Can’t we just watch the game?” Mom, re: Chuck Finley. There is much aggravation at JD Drew on the couch.

“You were three and o and you struck out,” dad yells.

I am the quiet one. Wow.

And the look my dad just gave Crawford.

“Crawford,” he huffed. It was more of a growl, really.

See, we don’t talk baseball on the phone, so I don’t really know how they feel about our 2011 team… but I’m starting to see that they are… um… passionate.

Off the glove and into the outfield! Yay, Crawford!

Lucky, they say.

Wow. I find myself defending Crawford…

—

“He’s one to twenty three? Why are you even worried about the guy at first base? The pitcher shouldn’t even worry about the guy at first,” Dad said.

Stop giving the Angels tips, dad.

It’s okay, Tekkie. I think you can knock it out of the park. Right here.

“If those announcers don’t shut up…” mom growls.

Hmmm….

“Oh come on! He didn’t go around! That’s two,” Dad said. And other things. We are not pleased with the umpires. Oh no.

Flipping the stations again. Good. Good. How long does this game last again? Oh good, the subject shifted to my car insurance. Good.

—-

“It never gets old talking to Chuck Finley,” Announcer said.

Really?! Really?

9:37. Dice-K with the game face on.

—-

I like this HD thing. I wonder if I could fit this television into my car. I wonder if they’d notice. I wonder if I can steal cable. I don’t mean that, thought police.

—

“He always looks like he has a stomachache,” mom says of Vernon.

—-

Crap. Crap. Crap. Crap. I thought Dice-K was going to die. Right. At. His. Face.

Crawford catch makes two outs.

I’m glad you’re not dead, Dice-K. So is my mom. Dad wishes you would throw less balls.

Annnddddd STRIKE OUT. 9:46.

—-

Did you know there’s a Military Channel? Apparently that’s what we watch during commercials now.

Jacoby! Yay. Pedroia with his Destroia face on.

Andddddddddd a Jacoby steal. Love it.

Ohhhhhhhhh, Jacoby. You just gave me a mini spasm with the steal to third. A mini-freaking spasm.

Yessssss! Gonz, you are swell. And Boston, thanks to the base stealing dance by Jacoby… is two up. Here’s to taking opportunities!

Hi, Youkie-Bear. Did he just mouth “hi” to me? Did anyone else see that?

Okay. There’s some Youk hate going on in this room and that, Soxies, is unacceptable. He has a bruise, people!

Hi, Pappppppyyyyy. Nice. Left center field and we’re on first and third, baby. Lots of Sox cheers in the crowd. I’m trying to hear something… anything, a “go angels.” Can’t hear it through the “Let’s go, Red Sox” chanting.

Inning ends and we’re back to watching Sylvester Stallone on the Military Channel.

—-

Oh, yuck. Tom Brady’s in the crowd. I’m sorry, Pats fans, but that hair and my Miami heritage are two reasons I cannot endorse that..

Yuck.

—

What do you think of Tom Brady, mom? She purses her lips and narrows her eyes.

“I’m obviously not as impressed as our northern neighbors. But I do know where he lives,” Mom said. A little scary… um…

—-

Third strike out for Dice!

This guy has huge eyes. Like… huge eyes. Andddddd another strike out. Way to go, Dice KKKK.

And JD fricking Drew ends it.

—-

Top of the fourth. Drew taking a strike. I do not like the home plate umpire. Someone find me his name…

One, two, three. Crap.

—

Dice-Dice Baby…

Dad is vocally trying to help you, but I don’t think you need help today.

This pleases me.

Top of the fourth, two outssssssss…. and three outs.  Yay.

—-

My mother is critiquing the fanware. So that’s where I get it…

A great steal by Jacoby. Great. I will buy you two tacos for that steal, Jacoby.

You suck, 44!

But you know who sucks the most????? You, Home Plate Umpire!!!! I have counted four super bad calls. FOUR.
And THAT is why he’s my husband. Oh, Youkie-Bear. Thanks for doing that right over Bobby Abreu’s head, in particular. I hate Bobby Abreu.

Loveeeeeeeee.

 4-0, baby.

“He does sweat a lot, Lauren,” mom said.

“He does,” dad said.

“Maybe someone poured something on his head,” mom said.

Shut. up.

—–

Bottom of the 5th. Dice-KKKKKK. Did I say Dice-KKKKKK? I meant Dice-KKKKKKK. That was fast.

—-

5-0. Hi, Captain.

—-

Bottom of the 6th.

It’s gotten a lot more serious on the couch, I see. No time for fun in the 6th inning. Now we’re talking about how easy leads are to wreck.

Anddddd a stellar catch by Youk.

I hate Bobby Abreu. Dice, I NEVER condone hitting people with pitches. NEVER. But… um… if you were going to…

I didn’t mean that. Really, Dad, and you don’t mean it either.

Remember this? Almost two years to the date.

Two outs. I still hate you, Abreu.

Time to get serious, Dice, baby. Otherwise they’ll do something stupid like send us Jenks.

Yeah. Eat it, Abreu. Eat it and choke.

—-

Guys, guys, guys! I just checked the standings anddddddd… we’re not last anymore! Well… okay, we’re last… but so is Buck Showalter! BOTH of us have 8-11 records… which means… which means… if we win… we REALLY won’t be last! Huzzah!

Hey! I saw that! Did you see that? Santana’s trying to KILL my husband.

“Kevin has a knack for getting hit by pitches, 71 times,” announcer said.

Papi just gave him a death stare.

That’s right.

Crap. Youk is shaking his head. I’m with you, baby. I’m with you.

—-

“When the batter moves back thinking it’s going to hit him and it’s a strike, that’s a good pitch,” Dad said.

Dice, this is the first time I haven’t questioned you being in the 7th inning in… a long time.

So could you not screw it up? Thanks bunches.

Two outs. nobody on. Bottom of the 7th… exhausted. This house feels like it’s in a different time zone.

Annndddddd Dice-K’s 100th pitch is…. a…. a foul. Okay.

But it’s a one, two, three inning. Nice.

—-

“We need another insurance run,” Dad says. I like the way you think.

“I’d just like to see some homeruns to up their stats a little bit,” mom said.

Um…. yep.

Lowrie. Oh, Lowrie.

“He’s on fire,” dad said.

Apparently my Lowrie issues aren’t genetic.

AWESOME. Great job, Bobby Abreu.

Do it again!

And Crawford breaks the streak and causes a few expletives on the couch.

Hi, Tek.

Earn that C! Earn it! Look at those Boston fans in the background! They LOVE you. What a pretty day in Anaheim.

And the Captain nods. Come on, baby. Top of the 8th. The time moments are made. Crap.

Still 5 nothing. And still Dice? Um… okay.

—-

Just practicing “sweep” images.

You know. Just in case.

One out. Bottom of the 8th. A good strike call by the home plate ump against Kendrick. I’m amazed.

Oh… the announcer reminds us John Lackey’s at the mound tomorrow…

Two outs!

11:25 p.m. A girl with hair extensions is talking about an Angels calendar. So they can mark their shame with frowny faces?

Three outs!

—

Top o’the 9th.

Can you rally when you’re already spanking them?

Come on, Jacoby! Two runs scored, two stolen bases… and I want more!

You know, it’s interesting. Since we’ve been winning, my blog visitors have gone down. I thought this was curious until I saw the exorbitant amount of Yankees and Angels fans that have subscribed to this blog.

Seriously, more of you who read this hate the Sox than love them. It’s curious. It’s like… you guys like seeing me rant in frustration… but hate cheery pep.

Well, no more, people. The Sox are BACK. So it’s all positive from now on. So adapt.

Okay, Jacoby. I will forgive you this one time. Your hair looks terrible.

Hi, Pedroia. It’s time to play baseball.

Damnit, Pedroia!

Anddd… damnit. Three outs.

—-

Bottom of the 9th. I’m feeling a shut out… shut out? Yes, shut out.

And Bard? Well… okay… 99 mph fastball… well… okay…

Safe? BARD!

Okay, my dad (who is a tv photog) is now critiquing the base camera’s color correction.

Okay. Bobby Abreu. This is important, Bard. Okay. You don’t know this, but there’s history. Sordid, sordid history.

Defensive indifference? That’s crap.

“See? Look at how the sox look orange from that other camera behind the plate? The settings on that are wrong,” dad said.

But Bobby Abreu’s out? Oh so right.

Goes down swinging.

Last out. Come on, baby. Do it for Dice-K.

Do it for me. Do it for my father, who is quite invested in this game.

Do it for… YES! Pedroia! Pedroia will back you up during your weak moments, Bard. A diving play and a shut out.

Hi, Bobby Abreu. How did that feel?

And Crawford? Out of a slump? Um… okay.

But we won! Yay.

MLB! Update your fricking standings online! I want to bask!

Because, soxies, we are NOT in last place! We’re not the worst!  Huzzah!

OHMYGOD you guys! It’s better than we could have ever hoped. We are in THIRD PLACE. THIRD PLACE!!!!!!!

I mean, so is Toronto, but THIRD PLACE! And a FOUR streak! A FOUR streak!!!!!!!!

Click here and see for yourself. Kiss your computer screens and let the world feel the love.

Dice and Beck’s excellent adventure.

So, as I was explaining to my blogger bro earlier- I’ve figured out what happened today. It’s just so obvious! I don’t know why we didn’t think of it before. So… ahem…

(Imagine that’s Dice-K and Josh Beckett and not Bill and Ted)

2011 Dice-K discovered the time machine Josh Beckett built (explains a lot about the rocket scientist wife, doesn’t it?).

Josh Beckett’s like, “You can’t prove anything.”

And Dice-K (“haltingly, through a translator”) is like, “Can too. And I’m going to tell everyone you’re really 2009 Josh Beckett!”

(evil laugh)

And Josh Beckett is like, “No one will believe you!”

And Dice-K is like, “Of course they will! I have a baseball card with your ERA!”

And Josh Beckett (the 2009 Josh Beckett) starts to freak out.

And Dice-K is like, “Don’t freak out, 2009 Josh Beckett. I’m sure we can come up with a solution that will work for everybody.”

And 2009 Josh Beckett is defeated, and he’s like, “What do you want from me?” <- but in a dramatic voice.

And Dice-K is like

(evil laugh)

“A trade… bring back pre-World Baseball Classic me and send 2011 me to somewhere nice.”

“Somewhere nice?”

“Yes, somewhere nice. Like the south Pacific.”

And 2009 Josh Beckett is like, “How about Hawaii? That’s where I sent 2011 me.”

And Dice is like, “Sure. Why not?”

But 2009 Josh Beckett didn’t send Dice-K to Hawaii.

Now (um… then), 2011 Dice-K and Josh Beckett have fantastic adventures back in time. With dinosaurs and ape people and the Marshall family. Always trying to get back home.

And that’s what happened.

Someone, quick! Destroy the time machine so they can’t come back!

—–

I have an alternate theory. Maybe Farrell is a double agent…

On a semi-related note, another reason I’m in love with Kevin Youkilis- he’s got your back. Even if you’re scarily unreliable Dice-K. (Eating those words as I’m typing them) Nobody puts Dice-K in the corner. (anymore)

—–

You know who shouldn’t talk to reporters? Curt Young. He’ll say something like this:

“he’s a guy that has such great command. I don’t think there should be any issues.”

Who’s he talking about? Beckett? Nope. Lester? Nope. Dice? Nope. Buchholz? Nope.

JOHN FRICKING LACKEY.

I know, I know. I’m already eating words where it comes to Dice- but there’s a difference. I’ve always liked Dice-K. I thought he was broken.

John fricking Lackey isn’t broken.

He just sucks.

See the difference?

So offense, you’re going to have to pick up the slack. No amount of fairy dust and clapping is going to help this one. Youkie-Bear, I’m leaving you in charge. We have an official win streak. Do. Not. Screw. It. Up.

It’s interesting. I questioned how switching Dice-K one day would make a difference. Tito, I will never question you again. At least for the rest of this blog post.

~L

Dare to dream?

Can it be that the clapping and chanting of “I believe in Dice-K,” “I believe in Dice-K…”

Can it be that they worked?

That dreams really do come true?

Because… um… we’re approaching the top of the 6th and… he’s… um… kicking ass? Dice-K. Dice-K is kicking ass. Like… um… really…

I don’t… I don’t know how…

I mean, I live in a world of constants. It’s how I, we, humans achieve balance. The sky is up. The grass is on the ground. The sky is blue. Dice-K is broken.

But… if Dice-K isn’t broken…

What… how… why…

What other constants are skewed? Where is the sky today? Does this mean Nicholas Cage CAN act? Oh. My. God.

Up is down… down is up…

I’m… HAPPY?

with… um… Dice-K?

Does this… does this mean John Lackey doesn’t suck?

Am I over-analyzing because I’m sleep deprived, at work, and can only catch game day updates?

Oh, universe, you confuzzle me. Thanks.

I don’t know about you, but I’m willing to ride the insanity…

~L

PS- Dice-K… I am… considering… opening my heart to you. My heart has been broken before….

PSS- Seriously. I’m not actually drunk. I am at work. So, “Drunken Live Blogging” is kind of a lie.

PSSS- A lot can happen in three innings. I’m terrified it’s all going to be ripped away, like how god ripped away this guy’s cheeseburger over the weekend.

1 p.m. – Who else is fricking stunned that THEY had a pitcher change before we did?

I’m walking on sunshine. Literally. I can’t figure out which way is up. How am I supposed to concentrate on work now?

I want to watch this. I really do. But I’ve been hurt before. I don’t know if I’m strong enough. Fortunately, I have a meeting in fifteen minutes. World, universe? Will you still be here when I get back?

The walls themselves do tremble…

Until my meeting lets out…

Dmitri, since I know you’re watching, can you make sure they don’t screw this up? Thanks. Thanks…

—-

1:55 p.m. 9-1. 9-1. I… I… I don’t know what to say. And… Crawford… he… god help us, he… hit something? The diary… it… worked… (have you seen it yet? you should)

I get back from my meeting to… good news?

And the pitcher that messed up the shut out was… not Dice-K? It was Wakefield?

I’m going to need time. Serious time to process this. These are powerful, unpredictable forces…

1:57 p.m. We… won? We… won. We won!

It’s a Patriots Day miracle!

The elephant on the mound

The bigger they are, the harder they fall. Two games high with a fire-breathing obstacle in our midst:

Dice-K.

And, while it may just seem like two games to YOU, to a battered and bruised Sox nation, it’s an eternity. And it’s a long way down.

Dice-K is all that stands between the nation and what COULD be its first series take in 2011.

The United States versus Canada.

The south versus the North.

Good versus Evil.

Too harsh?

What used to be our secret Japanese weapon, however, has become the elephant-in-the-bullpen. The big, pouty, crazy pitchin’ elephant.

(Did that scene terrify anyone else as a child?)

And, while elephants make great Disney movies, they don’t make great pitchers.

So what to do… what to do… pack it up? Retreat to our dugouts like Tampa did in that World Series that one time? Whine, cry and sneer like Johnny Damon did that one… um… ALL the time?

No.

We do what all good Americans do. We compensate.

Only, instead of increasing our tire size or buying gas guzzling SUVs and relaxing our lower jaws in a Vin Diesel sneer, we’re going to bat like hell. Bat. Like. Hell.

You hear me, K-Youk? This isn’t a time to back down from that bee dance you do at the plate. And you, Jacoby! Steal like you’ve never stolen before. And Dustin, baby, you knock them out of the park!

Gonz! Drew! Step the frick up. Lowrie! Don’t get injured!

And Crawford… um… intimidate them with your …. um … Look for the walks!

If we all work together, maybe no one will notice that we’ve draped an elephant over the mound.

Now back to that elephant…

Dice, baby. You’re 6-1 against the Blue Jays. SIX to ONE. But with a Fenway era since your last win of 9.36… you’re broken.

How can we fix you?

Do you need a hug? How about a cookie? A Hallmark-esque greeting of encouragement? Or maybe, just maybe, we should clap our hands together as a nation. You know? Like how Peter Pan saved Tinker Bell?

I do believe in Dice-K. I do believe in Dice-K…

Did… did it work?

Dice-K?

Quick! Someone find more fairy dust.

Maybe if you say it too… maybe if we all say it together…

“We do believe in Dice-K. We do believe in Dice-K.”

Humor me, okay? Say it out loud

Oh, don’t give me that. We’ve all told lies before. Don’t think you’re special.

Say it again. I think it worked. It felt like it worked.

I guess we won’t know until tomorrow…

Say it a few more times before you go to work, k? Just in case.

~L