And what color are YOUR gloves?

Ours are GOLD. At least in the case of Jacoby Ellsbury, Dustin Pedroia and (eh..) Adrian Gonzalez.

Ellsbury is significant- and not just because he is the ONLY RED SOX TO REMEMBER HOW TO PLAY BASEBALL IN SEPTEMBER (I’m okay. I’m getting over it. Really, I am. I’m okay)…

It’s because our outfielders are notoriously not golden. Ellsbury is the first Sox outfielder to Gold Glove it up since Ellis Burks in 1990. Ah… 1990. When I was six-years-old and addicted to popsicles. I could use a popsicle right now. Remember the chocolate ice cream bars with the cookie crumby crust? Those were the best. The six-year-old me may have been slightly chubby… but damnit… she was happy.

Back to the 27-year-old me… the me that NEVER gets ice cream…

Now. Look at this list with me and chuckle. Chuckle louder. I’d like for Brett Gardner to be able to hear you from New York:

AMERICAN LEAGUE:

P Mark Buehrle (White Sox)

C Matt Wieters (Orioles)

1B ADRIAN GONZALEZ (Red Sox)

2B DUSTIN PEDROIA (Red Sox)

3B Adrian Beltre (Rangers Former Red Sox I WISH YOU WERE KEVIN YOUKILIS)

SS Erick Aybar (Angels. NOT DEREK JETER!!!)

LF Alex Gordon (Royals)

CF JACOBY ELLSBURY (Red Sox)

RF Nick Markakis (Orioles)

Oh. Tampa. You didn’t get invited to the party either. Oh. Awwwwwkward.

Too bad Jacoby and co won’t get to enjoy it. Jup has it spot on in her blog today:

I’m proud of our boys, who are (I’m sure) at this very moment strapped to chairs Clockwork Orange style, being forced to watch every moment of failure through the entire season…. because only making them watch September wouldn’t be as effective and wouldn’t last as long. I have no doubts that Ben Cherington is doing this for us because he loves us and wants us to be happy.

Great minds think alike, see. Because, over the past few weeks, I too have been thinking about clever punishments for the Sox. In no particular order- some of what I have come up with (the G-rated).

Ben Cherington, feel free to use any of these suggestions. You don’t even have to give me credit:

1. Locking them in an I-Max Theater and making them watch extended commentaries on every game they lost this season. From everyone at ESPN. And then bring in Jerry Remy for a “discussion” and health seminar.

2. Locking them in the dugout sans six pack with Dr. Phil for some “group time.”

3. Forcing them to do a dangers-of-fried-foods psa with Jim Henson muppets and deliver it personally to urban elementary schools. With actual, live children.

4. Make them each write 1,500 word essays on what they did wrong, present power point presentations, and then send me a creative “I’m sorry” card made out of construction paper.

6. Make each one of them do suicide sprints in Fenway Park with a post-op John Lackey strapped to their backs.

7. They like chicken? Fine. Make them eat ten truck fulls of chicken in one sitting- Miss Trunchbull style.

8. Make them hang out with Bud Selig. SANS ALCOHOL.

9. Assign them each a confused Sox-era kid. Have them explain exactly what went wrong. TO CHILDREN. If the child cries, YOU HAVE TO START OVER.

10. Make them all watch the movie Secretariat. On repeat.

11. Hire Tim Gunn and Heidi Klum to force them to make outfits out of chicken boxes, wear them on a runway, and then submit themselves for public humiliation, Project Runway style.

12. Host  a Nicholas Cage movie marathon so that they can see what a LIFETIME of failure REALLY LOOKS LIKE.

13. Force everyone (except Jacoby Ellsbury) to play an entire high stakes baseball game ALL BY THEMSELVES so that they know how Jacoby felt.

14. Yell at them until they cry.

—

Have a better suggestion? Hit the comments. I’m sure Ben Cherington will appreciate it.

Congratulations to Jacoby, Dustin and A-Gonz. It’s nice to report GOOD NEWS, for a change.

And congratulations to the Yankees for…

Oh. Right. Awwwwkward.

~L

In other news, Ben Cherington has a girlfriend. And she kind of looks like a grown up Kelly Kapowski.

Oh, and Jonathan Papelbon could be on the Rangers’ radar…

And some people want David Ortiz sent to the YANKEES.

John Lackey has been Tommy Johned.

And Mike Quade is OUT of the Cubs organization. Just speculation… but could this mean Tito could expect a phone call? You know, Theo in a gruff voice saying, “Man, I’m trying to get the band back together again…”

And in neat news, check out the Ted Williams love letters being auctioned off…

—-

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!).

New York Yankees star Alex Rodriguez played in an underground, illegal poker game where cocaine was openly used, and even organized his own high-stakes game, which ended with thugs threatening players.

Check it out while you tailgate.

—-

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.

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

It is 9:37 and I just got home, if that is any indication of how bad my night has been…

But this 1-0 lead makes it a little better.

Wait. What is going on with THIS inning, Wakey? One out. Bottom of the 6th, man on second.  Wait. Okay. The MINUTE I start watching… tie game?

Really?

Well… I guess that’s kind of how my Friday night is going.

——–

Sometimes people are infuriating. Really. And sometimes you just get annoyed and have to leave the bar. It’s for your own sanity, really. And to protect people’s sensitive, sensitive eyes. So easy to tear out, you know. Sometimes you just have to call it a night.

Even if it is only 9 p.m. and it’s only your second Friday night off in an ever. Really. It was that bad. But… I picked up a bottle of pinot (the G) on the way home. So don’t you worry about me, Soxies. Spend your time worrying about Timmy and number 200.

—–

Okay, kids. You know what you were getting into tonight. You knew you’d have to slug ‘em out. You knew Wakey would need it. Let’s allllllll be honest.

And still, you refuse to hit the ball.

Just saying. I expected more from you. Especially you, Carl Crawford of the icky strikeout. I thought we were friends now. Compadres. Compatriots. High fivers.

I guess not. I guess NOT.

“That was real close to being trouble,” announcer says, patronizing what could have been a Salty homer. Jerks.

Two outs. Three outs. 7th inning stretch. Oh, I’ll stretch. I’ll stretch your face, Salty. Oh. Apparently you got our only run. Okay. That bought you amnesty. I should find someone else to take out my shitty night on. Any volunteers? Fast runners preferred.

—–

I’m having all kinds of chicken and egg revelations. If… if… I didn’t watch the game tonight… would the score still be 1-0? It’s like “The Shining.” By Mr. King. A Red Sox fan:

“Well, you know, Doc, when something happens, you can leave a trace of itself behind. Say like, if someone burns toast. Well, maybe things that happen leave other kinds of traces behind. Not things that anyone can notice, but things that people who “shine” can see. Just like they can see things that haven’t happened yet. Well, sometimes they can see things that happened a long time ago. I think a lot of things happened right here in this particular hotel over the years. And not all of ‘em was good.”

My negative energy is like those scary twins in the hall of blood. Sticking around and seeking company.

See?

Bottom of the 7th. Two run homer. I blame myself.

—-

A less selfish person would stop watching.

Maybe, deep, deep in my soul… I secretly want us to lose. Just so everyone else is as bitter as I am tonight.

One of those “If I go, I’m taking you ALLLLLL with me” rants is coming, I’m sure.

Just wait for it.

1-3. It is now the top of the eighth. Well. Two outs. Of course. 10:02. Time flies when you’re pissed off. Did I say two outs? I meant three. Because five seconds just passed. And, apparently, that’s all it takes for dreams to die. I’m going to watch orca whale videos on youtube again. That ALWAYS makes it better.

——

Alfredo Aceves. You wouldn’t believe my evening. You wouldn’t make it worse, would you? You are really growing on me. I could love you, you know. I love how Catholic you are. And I’m not being the slightest bit sarcastic. I love it.

Reddick catches. That does not make up for your complete and utter lack of offense, Josh.

But thanks for trying.

Two outs? Did that happen while I was on the phone? People sure do call me a lot.

—

Due up: Pedroia. Did he extend his hit streak? Because hit streaks are meant to be extended. And not rot. Stagnant. Like a lovely girl on a Friday. Or a rotten thing. Like. Um. A tomato.

I am realllllyyyyyy getting tired of this town.

——-

Oh. Two outs away from losing to the fricking White Sox.

Oh.

Ortiz.

Strike. Mmhmmm.

Foul.

Mmmhmmm.

“Two outstanding pitches,” announcer said.

SHUT. YOUR. FACE.

Anger eyes. Yes. Do those anger eyes again, Papi.

And the count one and two.

Sox, I hate your stupid pinstripes. That make you look-

Check it? Check it? No. I don’t think so. I don’t.

Damnit.

Oh. Good call.

He didn’t.

Oh. Good call.

Good call?

Wow.

What does that mean for America?

Ground ball. To first. Out.

Two down.

Of course.

Youkie. It is up to you. Don’t stress, Youkilis. I will not blame you this time when you fall, fall, fall into the abysmal crap that is my evening. Like bird poo on a sweater.

Strike.

Mm-hmm. I kind of thought so.

A foul. Out of play. Mm-hmmm. Because if they had caught it would be over. And no. We want to drag this on, don’t we?

Of course we do.

Why end pain quickly?

And this isn’t pain, really. It’s duller. Like the numbness of sitting for a very long time.

This wine gets better the more you drink it. For $8? Swell.

Strike? Oh. A foul. Oh. Okay.

Baby, I admire you for trying. Never giving up. That’s why I love you. It’s sad, really. In this sweet, write-a-book-about-it kind of way… or a song. A sad song.

Ball. Two and two.

And caught.

Oh.

Okay.

~L

We lost, by the way. But… you caught that.

Yep.

LIVE bloggin’ some Lackey.

6:30 p.m.: T-minus one hour and counting… And I am definitely stopping by the liquor store on MY way home. Because tonight… horror of all horrors (crap. The PLEDGE) wonder of all wonders, we have the one, the only, the ugly

JOHN LACKEY!!!

Eeek! I mean:

JOHN LACKEY!!!!!!!!

My bad.

Tonight’s drink of choice is…

The John Lackey! A double shot of whatever cheap liquor is on sale.

See you in an hour. And please join me. I have pledged not to say anything bad about John Lackey. John Lackey is pitching. <– See the moral support I require?

—-

Food. Check.

Which Wich: I’m happy you opened a store in Boone. Really, I am. And my hummus sandwich with the crispy onions makes me quite happy. But your clientele? Questionable. Just saying.

——-

A trip to the ABC, and I’ll be good to go…

—–

“Lackey (8-8, 6.28 ERA) started the month of July with a putrid performance, allowing seven runs in 2 1/3 innings against the Blue Jays, but he’s steadily improved over his last three starts. Since July 9, he’s 3-0 with a 1.95 ERA, including an impressive seven-inning, one-run start against the Mariners in his last outing. Granted, the Mariners rank 30th in the majors in runs, batting average and on-base percentage, but the win brought Lackey’s record back to .500, a confidence boost for any pitcher.“

And. Okay. I did see THIS, when Lackey made a big deal about being willing to go in Monday night. That was cool. I GUESS.

In one way, the image of Lackey, who is on tap to take the mound Wednesday night, stretching in the dugout and then making his way out to the pen was not something the manager ever wanted to see. In another way, it was.

“That’s probably a side of guys that you guys don’t see, that we appreciate,” Francona added. “Probably why we defend guys, because that’s not at my urging. He’s running down there to help. We appreciate that.”

I can read between the lines. This is the internet telling us everything’s going to be okay.

You’re right, internet. We are going to be JUST fine. John Lackey is going to be JUST swell. Thanks, Internet.

Still need something to get pumped up for tonight’s game? Jeb fans like FDA should check out THIS LINK.  It’s why Jeb and Pirate nation didn’t get any sleep last night.

A still of that clip is Jeb’s facebook profile picture.

6:50. Ready to play.

————

7:19. Okay. Um. I have been very quiet. Very quiet for about five minutes now. So quiet. Just watching. You know. Sitting here. On my couch. Watching you, John Lackey. The game is FIVE minutes in. And it is THREE TO ZERO Royals. Top of the FIRST. One out.

I just want YOU to know that I know, Lackey. I KNOW.

—-

Base hit. Look at that. Third hit in the inning. Look at that. Are you looking at that, LACKEY? Just checking. Jussssst checking.

—-

Oh, look. Line to right. Heading down the corner. Double for Brayan Pena. Look at that. Hi, LACKEY. Keeping my cool. Just like we pledged. See? Just. Like. We. Pledged. I’m sure this is ALLLLLLL part of your plan. Whip them into a false sense of security, right? Right?

29 pitches. 2 outs. and… oh, what’s that? TWO on base? Losing by what, THREE? Just checking.

—–

I don’t know, America. Does THREE runs in an inning violate our pledge?

Time for another John Lackey. JL, you are so much more tolerable in shot form. 7:26.

—-

Bruce Chen. Jacoby Ellsbury.

—

And… just as I’m about to say something snarky about John Lackey, Jacoby HITS ONE OUT OF THE PARK! Number 17 for Jacoby! 3-1! 3-1! And, thanks to Jacoby, the pledge is intact another minute.

Dustin Pedroia has to jump out of the way to avoid a crazy pitch from this Chen guy. Pedroia is riding a 23-game hitting streak. Kind of a big deal. Kind of something we need. When it’s the FIRST inning and you’re down by THREE. I didn’t say anything. Not a thing. But I am looking your way, Lackey.

—-

HOMERUNNNNNNNN! And Pedroia extends his hitting streak. Oh, yes he does! 14th homer of the season. 3-2. John Lackey must be wetting himself. He needs to buy them beers or something. Because about ten minutes ago I was full of hate. And now I’m full of sunshine. Sunnysunnysunnysunshine.

—-

Gonz is struck out. To a lot of booing, I might add.

Kevin Youkilis. Aka Youki-poo. Aka loveofmylife. Doing his bat dance. I am so glad to see you, Youkie. Alive. And uninjured. And alive.

Fire in their eyes tonight, see?

Ball four. First base for the Youkie-poo. With Ortiz snaking up to the plate.

Chen looks petrified. His eyes keep darting around, and he’s not just checking bases. He has these weird freckle things, see? 2-2, Papi’s giving the death glare. Full count. Death glare. Checking first. Death glare. Papi’s on fire with the glares. Let’s hope he can back it up with a punch. Not literally, David Ortiz. This isn’t an Oriole. He’s just a Royal.

A home run should suffice.

Strikes out? I’d like to see a replay of that, please. 2 outs. “He did not check a swing on that one but he was called out,” Jerry Remy says.

I’m watching you, Ump.

Saltysaltsalt up for some smacking. 5-game hitting streak. I’d be more impressed if HITTING WAS NOT YOUR JOB. Like, If it was me? Like, Lauren has a 5-game hitting streak- see, that’s impressive. Because I don’t have to hit anything. Ever. Ever at all. Except Pixie sticks (the candy. not the drug euphemism). It would be like saying Lauren is on a five-story streak. See, I am paid to write stories for the paper. Just like you are paid to hit balls for the Red Sox. I just … I just… not impressed with your five streak. I’m sorry.

That was rambly. Omen of rambles to come, no doubt. Hi, Salty. You adjust your gloves a lot. Yeah. It’s the gloves fault. Sure. Jacoby’s uniform is awfully clean in the dugout. Meanwhile, back in salty land, full count. Third consecutive three ball count for Bruce Chen, if you’re paying attention. I’m not. But Jerry Remy is. Strike out.

Wow. Two runs. We’d be 2-0. You know. If SOMEONE hadn’t allowed those three runs.

—-

Lackey.

“John Lackey had kind of a guard on his elbow and the umpire asked him to take it off,” announcer said.

Maybe it was the sleeve that allowed the three runs. Not the Lackey. Thanks for watching out for us, Ump.

Grounder, thrown out. First out.

Ew. Lackey just spit. Ew. America saw that, Johnny.

Fair ball. Look at that. Second base. Look at that. Second double of the night for this guy. Hmmm. Second. What was that, Lackey? Second?

Staying calm. Staying cool. Just the second. Just Johnny being…

Running Gordon back and forth… got him out. Other guy safe at second. Okay. So we’ve got a guy on second. How did that happen? Oh, that’s right. He got a hit, Lackey. That’s what happened.

Butler at the bat. Lackey’s on pitch 39.

This is not a criticism/mockery/judgment… but what is John Lackey doing with his beard? Really?

In the dirt. Okay. I’m sure you were just keeping Salty on his toes. He’s on his toes, see? So you can just pitch now. Thanks. Oh. Another base hit. Oh. So, someone at first and third. 6 hits into the game for the Royals. Oh. Look at that.

Lackey. I think you need to reread the terms of our Pledge RIGHT NOW.

Ellsbury makes the catch. Lackey, you owe him balloon animals or something. I didn’t call you a clown just now. I called you a finely tuned rubber artist. Who is. Um. Full of hot air.

—-

Bottom of the second. Scutaro leading off. Oh good.

Scut, I thought I told you I needed space. After Monday, I need time to rebuild the trust. You’re smothering me, already. How are we supposed to make this relationship work if you won’t listen to me?

Trust in what we have, Scut. Just trust in what we have and give me time.

Full count. Fulllllll count. A walk. Okay. A walk. Thanks, Scut. I appreciate the gesture.

—–

Darnell McDonald. Another ball. Pitching coach and Pena to the mound to dry Chen’s ‘ittle tears. poor tike. Okay, Chen. You do not blow a bubble with your gum when your boss is talking to you.

—-

Nice. Now we’ve got McD on first and Scut on Second. Nice.

LOVE it.  Navarro. A pop that looked like they could get to it. But it drops about two feet away. Lovely. And We load the bases with no outs. Lackey, you better be cuddling that lucky blanket.

3 balls for Jacoby. With the bases loaded, I’d like to add. BALL FOUR. Walkin’ in the game tying run. You can open your eyes now, Lackey. It’s okay.

Bases STILL loaded. 3-3.

And Dustin Pedroia pops it out. But McD scores for a 4-3 lead.

Okay guys. I don’t want to say what leads me to this conclusion: But that’s not enough! Up your game, guys! Up your game. We’ve got runners on first and third and Gonz at the plate. And Jacoby steals second. That’s steal 29 for those playing at home.

Out, but with room to score in a run. Thanks, Gonz. 5-3.

Still not enough guys! Pump them out.

Youkie at the plate. Caught pop. But that’s okay. Because it’s 5-3. I kind of wish Lackey hadn’t seen that. I kind of wish he thought we were still 3-0. Because now he’s all, “I’ve got a cushion.”

But chairs come with cushions.

That was deep. Think about it. You’ll see. That was so deep.

——

Catch. Catch. Two outs. Top of the third. Nice.

Beltran may be headed to the Giants? Whatever. We didn’t really want you. Your name doesn’t rhyme with anything.

And three. Three outs. Okay, Lackey. Okay.

—–

Ortiz. Strike One. Ortiz. Ball one. Chen, it’s going to be okay. It’s just one game.

Pop catch. David Ortiz looks frustrated. Give that one to Chen, Papi. We don’t want tears on the mound.

Salty pops up. And Another out. One, two three. Just like Lackey. Blah.

—-

Top of the fourth. 1, 2, 3. Yes. Out, out, out. Okay, Lackey. Okay.

—-

McDonald on 2nd. In a neat failed dive catch by the Royals. Neat.

3-6.

Us! Us! Us! And I’m distracted by people. I’m so popular, you know. So popular.

—

Okay. a REALLY weird out call on a Jacoby steal. We’re at 2 outs. And Youkie-poo is at the plate. Being all Youkilicious with the bat dance. Ground, leftside! Through the glove! Base hit! Bases are loaded.

Loooooaaaaaded.

And three people is an island you don’t want to strand. Right, Papi? Pooooooooor Chen. Bottom of the 4th and they are already warming someone up. Outside pitch. Three more of those is a walk on run, Chen, dear.

No pressure.

Ball THREE. One strike. Ball THREE. Anddddddddddd… In the air, right field… and….. GRANDFRICKINGSLAM.

Replay! Replay!

Oh, pretty. And Lackey grins. You better grin. You better buy David Ortiz an egg roll or something. Because he has saved you.

1,000th CAREER RBI for Papi! A grand slam. I think I just teared up. Remember two years ago when they (you know, they) were allll Papi’s finished? Remember that? And I said to you, Papi… I said, if you can break your crap streak, if you can break it, I will name my puppy after you. I was at Midtown Tavern in Charlotte. With Eric. And when I got home, Elliot’s name was Elliot May Precious Ortiz. Oh… Oh… oh…

I love him so. 10-3 SOX, baby. Salty’s out. But no one noticed. They are too busy grinning at our Papi.

—-

I’m walking Ortiz’ name puppy while I’m on a high. Don’t let Lackey ruin it while I’m gone.

–

Okay. I was gone six minutes. SIX minutes. And is 10 to 4. And one person is on second. I knew this would happen. Lackey makes a 7 point lead look iffy.

And he walks someone on first. Awesome.

90th pitch for Lackey. Is a ball. Of course it is. Curt Young, you watching this? Lackey, if you blow this lead, I swear to Fisk I will…

I haven’t broken the pledge yet. No. I haven’t. Damnit.

To left field. And a base hit.

AND the bases are loaded. ARE YOU WATCHING THIS, CURT YOUNG?

Okay, Lackey. Okay. You are trying my patience and my keyboard. You let ONE of those batters hit home and we are done. Do you hear me? DONE. The pledge will be null and void and I will mock you like you have never been mocked before. MOCKERY. Randy Williams is warming up. Of course. The one that cost us the fifty bazillion inning game the other day. Yes, that seems smart.

Chris Getz at the plate. If he gets a grand slam, our 10-3, I’m sorry, 10-FOUR lead will be 10-8. 10-8! Do. NOT. Let. That. Happen.

And it’s the fricking ROYALS, Lackey. Seriously. The ROYALS. They are from Kansas. KANSAS. And I know a lot about Kansas. I’ve watched Wizard of Oz. So I know there’s wheat there. And no color. Oh, and people that hate dogs. Does that sound like a team YOU want to lose to, Lackey?

And Salty makes the catch… saving your ASS, Lackey. We’re cool. Really we are. But I do NOT want to see you in the 5th inning. Hear that, Curt?

—

Jeb, dear. Which Wich is a smarmy new sandwich place where that healthy grocery store used to be near Boone Mall? Winkler’s Creek, maybe. But apparently Cano and Jeter eat there. That’s what the wall says.

Marco Scutaro. We’re on better terms now that I have another focus for my negative energy (LACKEY). Well, we were on better terms before you just got that out.

Darnell McDonald.

Okay. You know what? I thought I could do it. I did. I thought I could be mature about this and look at the score numbers and…

No.

I’m okay.

Oh, look. Heidi Watney. Talking to Jed Lowrie.

“I continue to push it every day. If I didn’t get that feeling I would think I didn’t get enough work in that day.”

Oh, Jed. You DL addict.

—-

That’s it. I can’t hold this inside of me anymore. I feel like the Hulk. I feel like James Dean in Rebel without a Cause.

YOU’RE TEARING ME APART.

It’s YOU. YOU, John Lackey. I take it back. I rip the pledge up. I am ripping… the pledge up… and now I have a paper cut. I have a PAPER CUT. THIS IS YOUR FAULT. YOUR Fault. YOUR FAULT you Napolen Dynamite-esque jaw of inappropriate proportions. You sullen-faced attitude crapping, base loading excuse for mediocrity. I can NOT believe I ever-

Out number one?

What? You’re. Um. Not sucking?

Wait a mite… maybe…. could it be… could my public ridicule be… no…

Pop out. Two outs.

Could it be helping you? Every time I call you a name, like a wormy-slackfaced excuse for a Bond villain… you do… well?

Base hit. Well, blows that theory.

You’re just slime.

—-

I would like to give Lackey to the Pirates. Here. Take him. He will be your booty. FDA, I’m going to need some help. His ego’s so huge.. I just… can’t… lift… him…

—-

Jup! It’s so good to see you, Jup. Did you see that? Did you see what that sloth almost did to our 7 point lead? Did you?

—–

Seriously. That fifth inning… by the grace of god and…

BASE HIT? Frick on a frick stick. One on first and third. I’m typing that out in case you can’t see that from your vantage point, Curt Young.

YESSSSSS Tito going to the mound. YESSSSSSS. Send that sloth to Pittsburgh! The dugout will do for now.

——

OhnoRandyWilliams. Ohno. Monday. No. We must not think of Monday. It’s a new day. A new day. With liquor. And cookies. Crap. I’m out of cookies. Have you ever had Paul Newman-Os? No? They’re Newmanneriffic. Randy Williams, I wish you were Daniel Bard.

Ends the inning. Pedroia does. Yes he does. Why do we call him the muddy chicken? I never figured that one out.

—-

Jacoby Ellsbury. Double off the fricking wall. 10 to fricking 4. To fricking four. With Jacoby on second. Which means Jacoby will soon be on third. Which means… we’ve got this, Soxies.

Of course, that means Lackey’s also “got this.”

I can see it now. Can’t you?

Smug chin. Shrugs it off. Saying, see how bad ass we were tonight? We. WE.

Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn. You still make my neck knot.

And base hit! base hit!

The Offense.The Offense. The Offense’s on fire. And we don’t need no water let the motherf…

Right. Blogging. Baseball. Tequilla. Shot thirty. Excuse me.

—–

David Ortiz! Stop spitting! America is watching.

Gonz! Base hit! Score! Score! Jacoby! Run, Jacoby! Score. You do! You do! 11-4. 11-4!!!!!!!!! Zero outs. First and second. Zero outs! And… from the mist… baseball dirt, rising like fog from a mountain… steps the mighty… the fearless… the furious… the sexy… KEVIN YOUKILIS! And the crowd moans Yoooooouuuuukkkkk and it sounds like booing. But it’s not booing. It’s Yoooouuuuukkkkkiiinnnngggg. And he shrugs it off, like a noble warrior. Like a noble viking warrior. Like um…  viking. Some of them were noble. They had Cool helmets sometimes.

Oh. Fail. Double play. Fail. Oh.

And. Like a noble warrior. He collapses. Gracefully. In the depths of the….

Damn it, Youk. Damn.

First base. You are on first base. And that is enough for me. You are enough for me. Hold me close and don’t let me go. Shot thirty again. Hi, Papi.

Inning ends. But that’s okay. Because we got to see another replay of your grand slam.

—-

Okay. Observations. This is the Royals. This is not the Yankees. This is not Cleveland. This is Kansas Fricking City. This is Chen. Easy trumped by power bats. What if this was the Yankees? What if this was some badass like Cliff Lee? And Lackey pulled this shit? What if, instead of catching that ball when Lackey loaded up the bases, Salty dropped it? An ordinary error? What if-what if-what if? And, see, soon, we won’t be playing piddly teams like the Brewers and the Royals and the god awful Orioles. Soon, we’ll be playing actual teams. We’ll be playing October teams. And I don’t want to see what Lackey will do.

—–

How many others must the paper cut?!

It’s like politics. And the economy. And the stock market. It’s all like that.

That’s called a stretched metaphor, for those of you playing at home.

—–

Dan Wheeler. Warming up. Good. See, I’d rather see you than Mr. Let’s-allow-the-doubles. That’s your name, Williams.

Top of the 7th. Monday on my mind. Wincing as he hurls the rocks. Strike one. But it’s three and one, see. Three and fricking one. Is it just me, or did they get louder?

Ball four. Moustakas. REALLY. Of course. Seeing this, Curt, baby? Watching this?

I get it. Put the annoyingly frustrating players out this game so you can save people like Bard and the Beckster for Soxtober. Nice strategy. Stressful, but nice strategy.

Brayan Pena. NOBODY OUT. Until now. When Pedroia catches you, Pena. But runners on first and second.

—-

McD makes the catch. Second out. Randy Williams, you need to get better. Just saying.

—-

Alcides Escobar. I want to date someone with your name so I can say it quickly. But I do not want to date you. Because your team is annoying me. But you do have a lot of money. So there’s that. Okay. I’d go out with you if you asked nicely, bought me things and didn’t tell Youkilis.

In the air to left field… McD catches … and you are out. Call me!

—–

Okay. I feel so much better. After another John Lackey, the drink…

Salty. Hi.

I miss Reddick. Who, according to THIS article, saved us much cash today.

BASE HIT, SALTY! Loverly. Just like the song form My Fair Lady.

All I want is a win today.

It’s not enough, just to play.

With your enormous name…

Oh thank you… Saltalamacchia…

It’s to the tune of “Loverly,” if you’re playing at home. I’m very talented.

Popped up. Whatev.

Oh, Heidi Watney.

“there was a controversial end to the Braves-Pirates game… he was clearly out….”

Oh, that’s you, Jeb!

Apparently, it’s sparking talk of instant replay… And she asks Ortiz.

“You know already post season because of tv and everything they’re already too long… so just make the effort and try to stay on top of the game… You don’t say that many plays like the play last night between the Braves and Pirates… he’s a human being,” Ortiz said of the ump.

See, Jeb? He’s a HUMAN BEING. Treat him with dignity! And hugs! After all, it’s only baseball Jeb. It’s just a game… and I’m sure he’s very sorry.

Terry Francona has an idea to have a fifth umpire in a booth up top.

“And you rotate them like you rotate guys in the field,” announcer said.

Navarro strikes out. But that’s okay. Because it’s still 11-4.

—-

Top of the 8th. And Randy Williams back on the mound. I see Curt’s point. Curt’s like, ‘why not?’ Let the pup have his day.

In the air… Ellsbury can’t make the catch. A long double. Third double of the night. They’ll call him the Doubler, they will. And our eyes will roll. Poor little kid at the wall. He really thought he had that. The kid, not Jacoby. I think Jacoby figured it out.

FDA is going to be at the game tomorrow. She promised to stalk Kevin Youkilis for me. I mean us. I hope that means acting as my go-between for the great love affair we will soon start.

Tito comes out. And Wheeler has a turn. Sit down, Williams.

———

Royal Reunion is a movie that MLB.TV has decided to preview. Hah. They also had a Royal Caribbean commercial. Noticing a pattern?

One out. 8th inning. Dan Wheeler.

I hope to see a lot of players I’ve never heard of at the bottom of the 8th. That always makes me feel better.

So, Soxies. How are you? You good? Thought I should check in. 11-4ness gives me some time to check in on YOUR needs.

—

Wheeler strikes out. B2B strike outs. It’s like he read the wikipedia article on how to pitch or something. Could you print that out and post it in the bullpen?

—-

Two outs. Two outs. Two outs. I can chant here too, guys.

Damnit. The throw gets away. Run is in. 11-5.

Damnit.

This is your fault too, Lackey.

—-

You know what? You don’t like it, e-mail me, ohnolauren@gmail.com.

—-

Felipe Paulino warming in the pen for KC. Jeff Francoeur. Whose name I love. But whose bat gives me hives…

Sexy catch. OUTTTTTT.

—-

Bottom of the 8.

—

Okay. You know what? We’re winning. Right? Right.

I should stop bashing Lackey. I should save it for the losses, right?

The losses we will inevitably have if we don’t figure out the Lackey situation…

Am I too harsh? I’m too harsh.

Okay. I’ll see what I can do about that pledge. but I really ripped it up. Maybe some scotch tape? And another shot. That will fixxxxx everrrrrryyyythinggg….

—

Yesss! Error throw gets Jacoby (our MVP candidate, I say) on first.

11th straight Sox game, btw, with at least 10 hits. Neato.

Hi, Pedroia. On the ground right side, throws out Pedroia. One out. Ellsbury takes third. A-Gonz who, shockingly, seems to be hitting the LEAST right now, takes the plate.

He’s 2 for 4 tonight with singles. Crazy close foul right now. If only this were horseshoes.

I like having Jacoby on third. Reminds of that Pettitte game. Ahhhhh memories. That’s a song from Cats. Memories….

In the air to left… back… OFF THE TOP OF THE WALL! Ellsbury scores. Gonz is out at second? Really? 12-5.

“This had to miss being a homerun by inches,” Remy said.

If only this were horseshoes, I say again. The game, not the crabs.

12-5… 10″08 p.m. Line drive down the right field line… foul.

Swing and a miss for Reddick. Strikes out.

Headin’ to the 9th. Feelin’ groovy.

—-

Just read your comment. Don’t you worry about it Jeb. Lackey’s free. We don’t need anything from you. He’s going to be part of a surprise fruit basket, tucked between the cantaloupes. And we’re going to be out of there so quickly you won’t even be able to find the WSJ article. Your mouth will be full of grapes and then you’ll see Lackey, and you’ll be like, “oh shit,” but you won’t be able to say anything, it will come out like, “ohmfffft” because your mouth will be full of grapes. They’ll be really good grapes, though.

——-

Two outs. Back to back in the 9th. This game’s MVP is going to be a toss up between Jacoby and David Ortiz. Oh, and Lackey. Wait. That was a joke.

—-

I love this part. Where people stand and rally the win.

Well, not this part, where the ball goes into the dirt.

Come on, Wheeler. Can you hear my stomping from Boston? I bet my new neighbors can hear my stomping.

Base hit. Yeah. That’s not what the stomping was for. Let’s try that again. Strike one. Outside. One and one.

The last batter always takes the longest.

Come on, Wheeler! Come on!!!!!!!!!

On the ground. Thrown out to first! What? Safe? What? Fricktastic. Frick-frick-frick-frick-fricking-frick. Crap. Okay. That looked fair to me. Fair. Whatever. First and second runners.

This is wayyyyy too complicated for a 7 run lead.

Just go quietly.

It’s like the last scene in a movie where the villain (that’s us) tells the victim (always a girl) that it’s over. No one can hear your scream, little girl. So why fight it? I’ll make your death quick.

Of course, we’re not villains. So we’re not actually going to kill you by tying you to some train tracks. We shall show mercy and beat you at baseball.

Swing and a miss…. two and two. Gordon. The baseball player. Not the fisherman. Fenway rises to its feet. Love. It. North Carolina’s Fenway (in my townhouse) is doing the same thing. Except for the puppy. She isn’t sure what to do. She looks very confused.

Popped up. Foul ground… Navarro …. overruns the fricking ball.

For frick’s sake, people.

10:19.

—–

STRIKE OUT. 10:20.

And the Red Sox win.

That was way too complicated.

John Lackey, You did NOT do this.

Did you see how close Heidi Watney just got to David Ortiz? Why can’t I have her job? Can you make that happen? I used to be on television, after all. And being a news anchor is just like being Heidi Watney. Except I would get to stand more often. I would totally come out of television retirement for her job. I am going to sleep.

Thoughts? Have we been too hasty writing off Lackey? Do you think he did a good job? Do you think he will do a good job? Do you feel sorry for the Pirates, or are you just bemused? Oh, and are Newman-Os better than Oreos? These questions and more can be answered in the comments section. I look forward to reading what you have to say.

~L

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

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

I am having the worst day. PLEASE DO NOT LOSE.

8:35 p.m. I just got home. JUST.

I have had the worst day. Really. The worst.

And then I listened to testimony from a Holocaust survivor. Which was amazing in that masochistic-awesome-story-reporter kind of way… but horrifically depressing in a human kind of way. But kind of life altering in an amazing way.

And then I blew up at a copy editor. Which was amazing in NO WAY. And (despite “tantrum kitten” comments from my coworkers) it was not cute. It was dynamite in an entirely different sense of the word dynamite. The explosive, graphic, violent sense of the word dynamite. And then I had a town council meeting. Which was the crap icing on the crap cupcake.

SHITHAWKS, leave me alone!!!!

So I am NOT in the mood to be messed with, Baltimore. Do you hear me, Buck Showalter?

3-2????????

I will reach through this computer screen and install a new pitcher myself if you don’t fix this Weiland mess, Curtis Young. It will be bloody. It will be gritty. But I swear to Fisk I fill find a way to make it happen.

I wasn’t sure I was going to watch, honestly. But I talked to my mom on the way home from work just now and she said, “If you’re having a bad day, don’t watch this game.” And, like all real Red Sox fans, there’s something wrong with me. More with the masochism. So I don’t even skip a beat to change out of my miniskirt. I flip on the game. I will, however, make the bloodiest mary that ever Ketel One did make during the next commercial break.

—-

OHMYGOD I forgot about you, announcers. I forgot about you. But my brain didn’t. It hurts the instant you start talking.

—-

Do you ever imagine what your office would be like if it were filled with quicksand? Like, all of a sudden. Like, imagine all the office furniture slowly sinking. That’s when it gets a hold of you. The lines on the linoleum blurring as your feet slowly sink. Do you struggle? I hear that makes it worse. Sometimes I feel like my office is already full of quicksand. Metaphorical quicksand. And I’m just sinking, sinking, sinking. I don’t even struggle anymore. I think I’ve made my peace with it.

This game is kind of like that.

No. No! This game will not be like that! Damn quicksand. You can take me. You can take my office. And my pretty desk. And my “world’s best boss” cross stitch. But damn it if you will take my Red Sox. We will not go gently into that great night! We will not! Do you hear me? Pedroia hears me. Nice catch, buddy. Adam Jones, I hate you. I don’t know why. I just do. You must have earned this hatred in another life by doing something terrible. Like ticketing cars or something.

AND I’m getting texts from work! Hold me back, Youkie! Hold me back.

Crap. For a second, I imagined you were really here.

Another out. And bottom of the fifth.

—-

Gonzalez gets an out. I just sort of watch. No reaction right now. I’m still stewing. You know what would be neat? If my office just filled with water. And my desk could float. It would solve none of my problems, but it sure would be swell. I like water.

—-

Youkilis out at first.

Or jello. I don’t like jello. I don’t eat jello. I really try not to eat things that jiggle. It freaks me out, jello, because I’m not entirely sure what it is. I just know what it isn’t. Food. But it would be neat if my office was filled with jello. I’d like to take a picture of that.

Oh, bluecheese olives. You call to me.

—

And people keep calling me.

“Come to the bar,” Hannah said. “I’ll even let you watch the Red Sox game.”

And I turn them down. And you know how much I like the bar.

No. Only my bluecheese olives understand. Is it blue cheese? Or bleu cheese?

And Jason Varitek. He would understand. He understands a great many things, Jason Varitek. He is the captain, after all.

Hi, Buck Showalter. I enjoyed watching you on youtube today.

—-

“He just muscled that one.” Hell yeah, Reddick. I like you. You can be my official mistress. Youk won’t mind. It’s like King Henry tried to do with Ann Boleyn. Except I won’t divorce you, Youk. I just started watching The Tudors on netflx.

Crap. An out.

And we enter the 6th.

—

Jenks got an injection??? Oh. It’s just plasma. Calm down, Lauren. Google doesn’t always tell it like it is at the first glance.

I still don’t trust that guy.

—-

Damnit. Bottom of the 6. Reynolds finds a hole. We just kind of look at it.

Damnit.

One on first.

—-

I like Nolan Reimold’s name. But I do not like his team. Or his manager.

So much Sox love in that stadium tonight! Can you hear it?

I even see a Youkilis jersey. Worn by a girl. You want to fight, girl?

I’m in the mood for a fight.

—-

Thanks, Ellsbury. I think you’re swell. I need a joke. Anybody have a joke? Because my office just texted me again.

—-

Scut is on base. Hit number 8.

I hate Guthrie. He’s another whiner.

She whined.

—

DAMNIT. Called out on Scut’s steal. Okay. It looked fair. Fair but CRAPPY. Damn it, Scut…

Bottom of the 7th. Aceves. I am glad to see you. They’re talking about bikes being the reason Aceves is on the Sox? I don’t understand. Stop talking, announcers.

Angle has a Jorge Posada quality. Don’t you think?

—

Okay. The announcers just made a joke about whether Youk brushes his teeth. Do NOT talk about my Youkilis, stupid announcers. DON’T DO IT.

—

Okay. Aceves. You are doing your part. Offense… you have GOT to step it up. Hear me, Pedroia? I’m talking to YOU. Because you are the only one who ever listens to me.

I bet if we worked together you would listen to me.

You could have the desk next to mine.

Oh, what great adventures we would have together.

I’m going to write a children’s book about it.

Maybe.

I might. You don’t know.

And Hardy is out. Huzzah.

Okay, offense. It’s time. It. Is. TIME.

—

Oh no! I am sleepy. I do NOT want to fall asleep during this 8th inning too. I won’t. I won’t…

—-

WHAT IS ON YOUR TIES? Don’t they have people to pick those out for you, Baltimore announcers? Apparently not. APPARENTLY NOT.

Hear this shit? They’re talking about how it’s a true pitching duel, best of the best. Really? Weiland is our best?

—

Jim Johnson is on. Perfect chance for a rally. Guthrie, you should watch this.

—-

Crap. “Ellsbury is retired.” Just say he’s out, orange-tied jackass.

—-

WHY are we ALL aiming for first???? Stop it! Gonz, seriously. I can just see the post-game interviews.

On the plus side, if the O’s can win, they can say, “hey, Gregg, see how we win without your whiny ass on the mound?”

On the negative? It’s the fricking Orioles. COME ON.

—

ANOTHER GROUND OUT????????? WHAT THE FRICK?????

Where are our fricking bats?

Bottom of the 8th. There is no more time. Fix this. Fix it now, damnit. FIX IT. I could be watching The Tudors right now!!!

—

So, I’ve been thinking a lot about this. Do you think Showalter has had laser hair removal on his face? Guys, tell me, is it possible to get THAT smooth a shave? EVERY DAY? Seriously. Thoughts?

—-

12 and 2 in the month of July. Do you guys reeeeeeealllyyy want to screw that up?

That was lovely. A lovely out. Courtesy of Pedroia. THE ONLY ONE WHO LISTENS TO ME.

Yessss. Close up on Kevin Youkilis again. Yessssss.

—-

No. He walks one. NO.  He did that on purpose. Aceves!!!!!

Derrek Lee, who I remember because he misspells his first name, is on.

STOP SAYING THAT. “It’s a pitchers’ duel tonight.”

Um. No. A pitchers’ duel is like two extreme badasses. Like Cliff Lee versus Beckett. Like Holliday versus Lester.

—-

ACEVES. WE WILL HAVE A FIGHT. Homerun. 5-2. Sonofabitch. Derrek Lee. Oh, Derrek Lee.

Seriously, Aceves? I’m going to give you a big REALLY? REALLY?????

What part of I AM HAVING A BAD EFFING DAY inspired you to hand him a homerun? What, no giftwrapping?

JESUS CHRIST.

I should just watch the Tudors.

DAMNIT. ANOTHER HOMERUN? Mark fricking Reynolds?????
Curt Young, I BETTER see you at the fricking mound.

Tito?

Somebody?

Anybody?

WHAT THE FRICK????????????

—

6-2. Nolan is on. There are STILL TWO OUTS. So any fricking minute now.

Seriously, Aceves. Are you a double agent? Do you work for my newspaper? Were you there for my copydesk blowup? Because you know the buttons to push.

I am NEVER eating fettuccine alfredo again. EVER.

DAMNITESLLBURYYOUBETTERCATCHTHAT. Ellbury caught it, but he did not absolve you, ALFREDO ACEVES. IF THAT IS YOUR REAL NAME.

Well, good news, I’m awake.

Bad news?

I am sososososososososososososososo angry.

Not even about the game.

About the inevitable pompous and ridiculous post-game comments. I hate you, Buck Showalter, for the comments you will make that will annoy future me. Poor future me.

—-

I am so mad.

Two outs. I don’t even want to watch this crap.

Crawford.

See, just a loss doesn’t do this to me. A loss to a team that is going to run its mouth to every media outlet and inflate its own ego unnecessarily? Does this to me.

Again with the anger.

Damnit.

And that’s the game.

Just a loss.

Just an ANNOYING loss.

Aceves, I hope you’re happy.

And you, Dustin Pedroia!!!! You should have gotten six home runs. SIX.

I am going to watch the Tudors. If this was the Tudors, the King would have your head, Aceves. You better be glad this isn’t the Tudors.

~L

PS- The Tudors is on Netflix and it is neat.

9:59. Jeb and I just had a facebook comment fight. I totally won.

“You’re just mad because Ortiz can’t land a right hook,” he said.

“But I can, and I will remember that statement,” I said.

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…

And the nation is relieved

While we wait on this dang-blasted rain (that’s what they say in North Carolina. I prefer downpour of torrential irritation), let’s reflect on the best news of the day:

Pedroia is A-Okay!

Quick, cue the parade!

And all is right with the world.

“I fully expect he’ll be hitting second tomorrow,” Francona said.

Pedroia took the train back (with Jenks, also on the DL! I have a much different reaction to that tidbit) and got all checked out. And he’s fine. Thanks be to Fisk. Because news earlier today said he could be out for a month. Pedroia says its his leg that has caused his hitting slump. What do you do to fix a bone bruise, anyway? Oh. Ouch.

“Bruised bones are extremely painful and, unfortunately, the pain lasts and lasts.”

Ouch.

“Scientists investigate the possibility that bone bruises are predecessors of future problems.”

Okay. Research is depressing.

So. Let’s cease.

Did you know Pedroia is afraid of flying? Me too. That means we’re soul-friends. (Soul-mate is still K-Youk. Ah… K-Youk…)

Another fun fact- did you know Joba’s out?

And, if you enjoy the Stankee rivalry, you’ll enjoy this article about what happens when a “Yankee cast-off” hits New York. Nice review of last night’s pounding if you missed it: “On Wednesday night, the Yankees got a taste of what they let go. “

“It doesn’t matter which team we play,” Aceves said on Thursday, in Spanish, when asked about facing his former team in the Bronx with the crowd yelling for the Yankees to rally.

“We just want to win against every team. There isn’t a particular enemy.”

Oh, Alfredo. You are fricking adorable.

Now if only Salty would get better…

Papi, I love you.

Okay, rain. You done yet? We’ve got some Stankees to sweep.

LOL Sox puts out its most hilarious image yet!

L

PS- New York, thanks for your hospitality. In honor of you, I am including a YouTube video of NYC from Annie. In my imagination, it’s being performed by Derek Jeter and Nick Swisher. But you’re not in my imagination. I still think you’ll see the resemblance.

PSS- If you’re looking for a good live blog- I found one that’s just as annoyed by the rain as I am. That blog will be fun to read if we complete the sweep…

—-

10:48. Okay. It is too late. The governor is coming tomorrow. I have to tour a new ASU facility. I have to finalize Sunday centerpiece. I have things to do.

I am not going to watch this whole game.

I am not.

But damnit, Josh Beckett! Did you not hear the GREAT THINGS I said about you? Don’t, don’t, don’t let me down.

Do you want to SHARE the top with the Stanks, Josh? Because it gets awfully crowded up there.

FIX IT.

—

11:05. Did you know the guitar strings on today’s version of Google make noise? Seriously. Go to google.com right now. FDA showed me this and now I can’t stop. I can play Silent Night. And part of the Beauty and the Beast theme song. Angela Lansbury would be so pleased.

Right. The game.

I’m watching. I’m watching. Geez.

—-

11 p.m. So, found a live pro-Yank blog. Would be more fun to read if, you know, we were winning. Pro-Yank blog hopes A-Gonz gets hit with a pitch.

I hope Derek Jeter swings so hard his arm falls off.

Strike.

—-

11:08. Does C.C. remind anyone else of Baloo from the Jungle Book?

You know, but evil?

And stoned?

No?

—-

11:13. Fading fast.

I have reeeeaaalllly got to go to sleep. Think you kids can handle this? You know, without the Carolina cheerleader? Because I have to get up so early…

FDA, I’m leaving you in charge. Don’t let them lose. I mean it, FDA.

—-

11:15. Someone seems to have a litttttle problem defining the STRIKE ZONE.

Damnit, FDA. Part of being in charge is yelling at the Umpire. Loudly. Do it.

—-

11:17. You know. Life is a lot like a Disney movie.

—

11:18. I am really glad I found my airport bottle stash. That will keep me awake. For at least a hot minute.

—-

11:19. “I know Varitek has never really been a threat…”

The things people blog about!

Go Posada yourself.

—-

11:22. This is going to be a looooooooooong game. Google string thingy is so much more fun than this game.

—-

11:23. Yeah. Sleep. Now.

Win. Please?

Do it for the Bruins. They need your inspiration.

—

11:25. Cervelli, your name sounds like a bacterium.

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11:27. Okay. NOW I’m asleep.

11:28. Well, clearly not NOW. One can’t be asleep when one is saying that one is asleep.

11:29. You get my point, right? I can sleep now?

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11:30. I canNOT sleep when Curtis Grandersnot is at the plate. Blah.

J-Beck. Please do not let Grandersnot on a base. Please?

Or walk him. Sure. Yeah. Okay.

Time to get mad, Beckster. Time to get mad. Let’s see anger-face. No. Not that. That is NOT anger.

—-

11:35. Okay. I want to hit Alex Rodriguez with a pitch as much as you do, Beckett, but loading the bases… that’s a bit much, don’t you think? Is this one of your show-off moments were you load them up then slam them down?

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11:37. Oh, thank you. You really had me going, Beckett. I never doubted you. Never. You know. Except that one time in the first inning when you handed Curtis Grandersnot a homerun on a silver fricking platter. You know, that time.

—

11:41. The. God. Of. Walks.

You know. And awesomeness.

11:44. You hit Papi with a pitch and it is on. Remember this, Stanks. You have been warned.

—

Bottom of the fourth. Really sleeping. So. Um. When I wake up. This will be fixed. Better. Yes.

Oh, Google…

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8:05 a.m. And THAT, ladies and gents, is how I like to start my day.

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PS- That live Yankees blog is a dead link this morning… shame…