Archive
Erik Bedard. Glad to meet you?
When I start watching, there’s a C.C. Sabathia Pepsi commercial on. Pepsi, I am never drinking you again. Okay. So I don’t drink Pepsi. Or soda. But you know what? I’m double not drinking you now.
Nervous. Haven’t seen the score. Just want to watch Erik Bedard pitch. It is 8:11 p.m. How much damage can be done in an hour? Right. Right.
I like that you are French, Erik. If you are sucking, I plan to yell at you in French. Oh, look. The same bad screen problems.
Oh, Masterson. I loved you so.
I cannot see the score because of the split checkerboard screen. We must be winning.
3-2. Oh. 3-2.
I am so conflicted. Justin Masterson, I want you to do well, but I want my team to hit your balls. Oh, was that a look of recognition? Did you recognize me through my computer screen just then? We were something special, you and I, Justin. Remember the happy nights we spent together? While you pitched okay plus and I fantasized about your potential? In a few years, we said… in a few years…
Alas. Our love story was not to be. Like “Love Story” with Ryan O’Neal (or is it O’Niel?). Except instead of cancer, you got Cleveland.
Kevin Youkilis. Awkward. Two of my loves fighting, pitcher and batter. I am going to imagine they are fighting for me.
Youkilis is out. I am agape. It’s okay, baby. It’s okay.
Justin! That’s not the way to win my heart. No sir (she says as she shakes her fist at a Theo Epstein graphic. For me, I said, Theo! For me! Why couldn’t you have kept Justin Masterson for me?!).
—-
Strike out number four for Bedard. Okay. I like strike outs. I like how Jerry Remy pronounces your name. Be-dod.
I’m not sure what happened with the three runs. So I am withholding judgment. I was late because I was giving my dog a hair cut. She looks awful. I may take a picture and put it on here. I don’t know. She doesn’t want me to because she’s embarrassed and partially bald on one side.
Oops.
Strike out 5. Okay.
So. Um. From what I see, you’re okay.
So why the three runs again? Was it Lackey? Did you tag him in? Because I meant to warn you about that.
Ellsbury catches. Ends. Niceness.
But 3-2 Indians? What’s with that?
—-
Once again, someone asked me why I am in love with Kevin Youkilis.
It’s really not an easy question to answer.
But I will try.
Well, he’s affectionate.
He’s a hugger, Youkie is.
Oh, and he is a kickass baseball player.
Oh, and he gives me a secret signal. You wouldn’t understand. Ours is a spiritual plane kind of love.
—
Justin just struck out Ortiz. I think I have a corner tear. Oh. It’s from dog hair, wafting through the apartment. Next time I give you a haircut, Ellie, you will be outside.
Justin Masterson, can you come home? I will give you Jed Lowrie. And John Lackey, Cleveland. And, okay. You can have Bobby Jenks too. But only if you can get Justin to us by the 7th inning stretch.
2 outs. I blame Theo.
—
Josh Reddick. Home run. 3-3.
Now, Sox-Rox (see comments), Cleveland is not cancer. That’s just mean.
They’re more like Roundworm. Oh! Or Rabies.
That’s less mean. Right? Isn’t that less mean than cancer?
I am drinking vodka and Gatorade tonight. And it is not good.
Home runs are good. Thanks, Josh.
—-
OHMYGODYOUGUYSSHUTUP! It is Jason Varitek. I haven’t seen Jason Varitek in so long! He will do great things for us today. He will… strike out.
OHMYGODJUSTINYOUSTRUCKOUTTHECAPTAIN. You deserve ice cream or something.
NO. No ice cream for the person who strikes out the Captain.
No.
Feelings are confusing!
—-
It is 8:31. And Josh Reddick just spit. CHILDREN ARE WATCHING YOU.
I can’t stand a spitter.
Hi, Bedard.
Qu’est-ce qui était cela?
Youkie. Merci.
Honestly, people. It’s so stressful watching a pitcher you do not know. Oh, and John Lackey.
Hey, you ended the pledge, buddy. I tried.
Hi, Erik.
I like you.
I do.
We’re going to be friends.
We will speak French to each other and say things with French accents. And you can braid my hair.
I think I love you. Enchanté.
Strike two. Full count. “Bedard has not walked anybody in the game tonight.”
He won’t start now. Not when I’ve just professed my optimism. He won’t…
Crawford running catches it. You knew he was going to do that, didn’t you Erik? Clever. Giving him a false sense of security like that. But see, Josh gives me a signal so I don’t have a heart attack. You should… you know what? You’ll learn. You’ll learn. De rien.
—
Hi, BH (see comments)! Glad to see you. Glad you didn’t miss the Reddick homer. Go away. And then come back. Maybe that is the key to our home runs tonight. Go! Hurry, so you can come back!
—-
Marco Scutaro. Oh, Bedard- à quoi bon? Seriously.
Out. Of course.
Oh, Heidi is talking about Jed Lowrie.
“I need to make sure that I’m healthy so I can help this team win.”
Hah. You. Healthy. Yeah. Okay.
Now he’s talking about in 2009 “playing through the pain.”
Really? When did you EVER play through the pain?
—-
Left Center…. can’t get it! Yess. Ellsbury gets to first. Sweet.
—–
Either of you guys interested in guest blogging? No?
—–
Ellsbury still at first. Pedroia sinks into an out. A stinky, stinky out.
I really hope I get to see at least ONE Stanks game this weekend…
Hi, Masterson. I mean Gonz! I mean Gonz!
So confuuuuuussseeed.
Justin. For old time’s sake. Could you…
No… I could never ask you to be what you’re not.
We live in two different worlds, Justin. It’s like in “The Last Unicorn.” You’re my Prince Lir. It’s very romantic in a mythical cartoony way.
A happy ending cannot come in the middle of the story.
Like the wind off the sea…
Justin Masterson. I just don’t know what to say.
Screw that.
My feelings can best be expressed by Idina Menzel.
Erik Bedard. You are kind of great. I say kind of, because, thanks to checkerboard MLB that I am paying $20 a month for, I can’t entirely tell.
But you seem swell.
My dog looks really horrible. I kind of feel bad. She’s being boarded for a few days starting tomorrow. All the other puppies might make fun of her.
High fly ballllllllll Jacoby at wall… Jacoby leaps… Jacoby flubs. Double. Whatever. WHATEVER.
Oh no. A home run. Oh no. It’s okay. It’s… It’s okay. A two run home run.
Carlos Santana. Pffft. Il ne casse pas trois pattes à un canard. Pfft. We’ve still got this, Erik.
5 to… um… 3.
Pffft. Revenons à nos moutons.
Two runs. Whatever. Two runs is nothing. We’re fine. We’ve got this, you and I, Bedard.
And, thanks, Pedroia. We finally have an out. That’s something. We’re fiiinneeee. Not even worried. Not. Even. Worried. No.
Okay. I just got the memo that wasn’t you, Erik. That was Morales. Because I just saw through the checkboards. And NOW I AM ANGRY. YOU KNOW BETTER, Morales. YOU KNOW BETTER. This is YOUR fault. YOUR FAULT.
FIX ITFIXITNOW.
——
Make. It. Stop.
MAKEITSTOPNOW.
—–
Gatorade is a TERRIBLE drink.
—-
Alfredo Aceves. Ohmygod, Alfredo. Did you see what Morales tried to do to us? Did you see what Morales DID to us? Did you see? Ohmygod, Alfredo.
I ate your pasta today.
Okay. I didn’t. But I wanted too. I went to Which Wich again.
Oh, Alfredo. Fix this. And then go give Erik a hug. I don’t want him to think we do this to pitchers. I mean, you know we do this to pitchers. But I want him fooled. I don’t want him to think our bullpen hates our rotation. Okay?
John Lackey! Stop talking to Erik! You might be contagious! Stop it!
It’s okay, Erik. I won’t let them hurt you. I hear you hurt easily. I’m going to protect you. With. My. Mind.
Alfredo?
Alfredo? Why?
Why would you… Why?
Double for Matt LaPorta.
“As he plays pepper with that left field wall.”
What does it mean to play pepper with something?
I don’t understand. I am confused.
Google search time!
That does not make sense, Jerry Remy.
We really only have one out?
Alfredo? You’re supposed to fix everything and then you were going to go tell John Lackey to stay off our Erik. You were going to do that intimidating snarl that you do. You know the one. No. Not that one. No. Not that one. Nope.
Oh good. Now the audio is checkerboarding. It’s like a Jerry Remy round. Seriously, MLB. I can’t believe I pay money for this.
GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. Full count. STRIKE. Stop saying that, Jerry! Stopppp it.
I don’t understand why you keep repeating and why I haven’t muted you. Oh. Mute. You sound better now.
And I can hear myself. I will sing.
You are so deprived. I wish you could hear me. I bet my neighbors can hear me.
They’re so lucky.
Did you know there are Youtube videos where you can sing opposite Idina Menzel?
Oh. Neither did I.
After a discussion from Jason Varitek… Yes. An out. You were struck out. With an out. Two outs.
There are supposed to be three outs, Alfredo.
—-
It’s okay, BH. I think I handled it. I explained to Alfredo that there are three outs and that innings are supposed to end. It’s okay now. You’re welcome.
—-
Just YOOUUUUUUUU AND I… DEFYYYYYING GRAVITY….
My neighbors are so lucky.
I can sing and type. Can I sing and type?
Um. Kinda.
Come on, Alfreeeeeddoooooo…..
Striiiikeeee threee… and the indians suckkkkk <- you can sing that to the tune of “Defying Gravity” if you want.
Out.
More Gatorade!
—-
Dear Justin Masterson,
I hope you’re happy now.
Now that you’re choosing this.
I hope it brings you bliss.
I really hope you get it. And don’t live to regret it…
Okay. I’ll stop.
Typing. I’ll never stop singing. Never.
“I met Pedroia at Red Sox Camp,” kid’s sign says. I am sooooooo jealous.
And you jerk. You just outed Youkilis. I mean you gave him an out. I mean you made him out. I mean… he was out. You know what I mean!!!!
Molina spit on an ump? really? Fascinating news tonight, Heidi.It is the bottom of the 6th. And David Ortiz is batting. And it is 9:12. And his helmet is REALLY shiny today.
Clap those hands, baby. Clap those hands! Work it!
See that Justin snarl, Alfredo? If you had snarled like that, you probably would have pitched better.
Just saying.
—-
I think I would like “So You Think You Can Dance.” But I don’t have a television. Is your computer doing weird boxy things that break up your image, BH?
Maybe MLB just hates North Carolina.
Ortiz is walking. Masterson’s first walk.
Thanks, Justin. Thanks.
Don’t think I don’t know that was for me.
—-
You can’t keep doing this, Justin. They’ll know. They’ll know about us. And there’s no telling what Cleveland will do.
Outside ball? They’re going to find out, Justin. And Cleveland will tell Youk. And then we’ll both be in trouble. More Gatorade? Okay!
—-
Electrolytes are good for you. Really. I looked it up.
And an error leaves us with no outs! Swell.
Swell!
But Justin, you’ve got to be more subtle. Belcher’s talking to him. Oh no! They’ve found us out! Quick! Alfredo! Cover Youk’s eyes!
—-
Oh, it must be dramatic. They’re playing previous clips like the Reddick homer. Oh no. I’m sorry I got us into this mess, Justin. Blame it on the ‘rade.
—-
Josh Reddick, aka Joshy-poo, is going to get a three run homer. He will. You’ll see. They’ll all see!
—-
In the air to left. Caught. Joshy-poo?
—
Two outs. But two on base.
Masterson is faced with a dilemma. Help the one that got away (that’s me) or save face with his buddies in Cleveland.
Ball two.
Jason Varitek.
Jassssooonnnnnn Varitek.
Foul. Two and Two.
Justin. Stand strong. Help a captain out. You knoooowwwww you want to.
Tek is like a FATHER to you. He’s like a FATHER to me. That makes us… um…
DAMNIT, Justin.
We’re over.
Again.
Stop calling me. Cleveland can have you.
—-
I didn’t mean it.
—
I did!
—
I like how the commercials come in crysssstttalllll clear.
—-
Anyone know any good knock-knock jokes? I heard this one today about Florida. But it wasn’t a knock-knock joke. It was something like a Canes fan, a Gator’s fan and… um… A Noles fan? Yes. They’re all on this roof, see, trying to show how great their fanship is, right? And the Noles fan jumps to show his devotion and says “This is for …” I can’t remember. But he says something dramatic, right? And then the Canes fan pushes the Gator’s fan off of the roof and says, “This is for the Canes!”
I know. I know I’m not supposed to drink Gatorade. It is not the drink of my people. But it is lemonlime. And at the corner market near my house.
—-
Pestano is warming up. For the best, I suppose.
—-
Is Miller really pitching?
FDA, I have loved Youkilis since he started playing. We got married in April of 2005. I am nothing if not faithful. And marital status does not matter to me in my baseball marriages.
—–
Oh no. Asdrubbbbbbbbbbbbubbbbbbbuubbbbuaaallllaaabear is about to bat. That’s his real name, you know.
Miller. What are you doing? Is this on purpose? Because you are not Erik Bedard. You do not get a free pass from me.
—–
Strikeeeee out. See? Snippy comments work. Good, Miller. Gooooood.
—-
And FDA- I LOVE Youkilis. I LIKE Chinese food.
—-
On the other side of the planet. Um. Internet. Jeb just said the Pirates are losing.
—-
I don’t think Andrew Miller has seen “Wicked.” If he had, he would be inspired. Because everyone in all of Oz, all Wizards that there are or were are totally going to briiiiiingggggg himmmmm dowwwwnnnnnn…
Okay. I’m done. With the typing. Not the singing.
My dog just went upstairs.
Hmmm.
—-
No. No. No. NO.
Cabrera, aka Asdrublahavomitabeaaaarrrr, scored.
—-
I do not know what the score is. Because of the checkerboards. Okay. I do know what the score is. But I’m not typing it. That makes it real. And this? This isn’t real. This isn’t reality. There are too many walls. That’s deep. Deep. Like this Gatorade. They give you a lot for six dollars.
OUT. Fahfricking finally. 6-3. SIX TO THREE. There. I said it. Don’t hurt me, sky.
—-
Let’s write fanfiction about this game. Let’s. Okay.
The game that one day when we weren’t losing
by Lauren
One day there was this game.
It was at Fenway Park.
There were these Red Sox. And they hit lots of home runs. But not normal home runs. Magical home runs. That hit irritating people in the stands and made them fall off Fenway Park. No one died or anything. But this girl with the spikey hair who cut off Lauren on King Street today? She got hurt.
Oh, and Kevin Youkilis got four grand slams. And that was only part of the 87-1 score. Justin Masterson cried a lot. And said, “Whyyyyy? Whyyyyy?” And Theo Epstein (he was wearing this hat. It was a big hat) looked upon him and said, “Boy? Why are you crying?”
And Justin said, “Because no one loves me and I suck now in Cleveland. And my only friend is Drew Carey.”
And, since the thimble didn’t make him feel better, Theo decided to take him away to a magical land on the other side of the stadium.
“Come with us, Justin,” he said. “You will never be sad again. And we’ll let you grow your hair out so you don’t look so awkwardly bald.”
“But, Theo?! However will I escape?”
“I’ve got a plan.”
And, with Youkilis’ help, Theo threw John Lackey and Jed Lowrie (whose injury made him bouncy) and Marco Scutaro at Cleveland and they stuck like double sided tape. And we got this amazing new short stop. Named. Um. Greg. His name was Greg. And he had many home runs.
And The Red Sox Won.
The end.
—-
I am really talented.
I understand why no one wants to guest blog. But if none of you volunteer, I am going to call Jeb again.
—-
Bottom of the 7th. 9:42. Ohno. If the Yankees win (and they are winning) and we lose (and we are losing), we would be tied.
OHNO.
Dustin Pedroia, I hope you heard that. Swing and a miss makes quick work of Pedroia? Stop it! Stop making quick work of yourself!
—-
Clearly your laundry is cursed, BH. Hurry! Roll it around in grass or something!
—-
Adrian Gonzalez. You should do something. Like. Um. Score. Like hit a two-run homer and let the crowd cheer. “Adrian!” They’ll chant! “Adrian!” And then they’ll throw crepe paper and streamers and candy and everyone will be happy again and… Gonz chops it toward the shortstop. And Cabrera ends the inning. Didn’t you like my scenario better?
—-
BH, did I tell you that awhile back you were comment 1,000? You win a prize but I have not drawn it yet. It is something you can look forward to.
—-
If I do not have a guest blogger, my blog will be blogless for days! For days!
—-
I would like seven guest bloggers. SEVEN.
—
It may not be today. But some day, Cleveland. This day you will rue!
Rue is the name of the kid in the “Hunger Games” books. Not the big kid. The little kid. Great books. A lot like the Red Sox, really. You would like them, FDA. They are violent.
—
Heidi is telling everyone to donate canned food. I would love to. But see, I can’t. Because no one loves me enough to take me to the games.
—-
6-3. Still. Top of the 8th. Tony fricking Sipp is warming up. I HATE that guy. I think it’s because of the necessary “p” in his name. I’m not a fan of most verbs as names. I am not fooled by the extra letter.
Jacoby makes a running catch. And you are out.
Lalalalalalalalala.
Gatoraaaaaade.
—
Yeah? Well at least my team name’s not racist.
You heard me.
No. Cleveland isn’t so bad. Blogger friend Bheise is just swell and dandy.
But you, weird fan at Fenway, you are not swell or dandy. And I saw that finger. I saw it.
I met a guy today in a Red Sox hat who told me he was a Twins fan.
Yeah. That’s the expression I had too.
I am going to start an anti-spitting campaign.
“The spitting starts with you,” it will say. And it will show a little meek child with a quivering lip. And then it will say:
“Spitting means no Santa Clause.”
Yikes.
Hit by a pitch. Yikes.
Yeah. Let’s not do that again. Two on. Yeah. I’m not happy about that one…
—-
Strike out. Two down. But see, two on. And that’s what I’m not liking, Curt Young.
—
Yes. All of you should e-mail me your guest blogs- ohnolauren@gmail.com.
—
Pedroia flips to second. Out.
Still 6-3, Indians. But at least that half of the inning is OVER.
—
Okay. SOMEONE keeps using the following keyword phrase to find my site: “Is Jacoby Ellsbury on steroids?”
Seriously. I’ve gotten six searches in the last day.
Let me make it easy for you: NO.
—-
Youkilis hits it high in the air to left! And…. they make the catch. Is a period the opposite of an exclamation point?
—-
It is the bottom of the eighth. One out. Stupid. Sipp is slinking up. Stupid Sipp.
—-
Speaking of sipping- Gatorade!
—
If you have NOT answered my curiosity question, I encourage you to do so. Answers entertain me verily.
—-
Ortiz. Monster. DOOOOO IT.
Boston Globe guy catches it.
Whatev.
I would so catch it.
You know. If I was there. SIGH.
David Ortiz, your helmet is muccchhhhh shinier today. Did you wax it?
Ortiz to left… caught.
DAMNIT, GUYS.
Two down.
Stupid Tony Sipp.
Stupid.
9 appearances has not given up a hit to the Red Sox. This will be the day, SIPP. This will be the fricking DAY.
I could be watching “Into the Woods” with Bernadette Peters right now. Did you know that is on Netflix??? I know.
—
Tony Sipp falls. He falls! He collapses! He’s…. laughing? Laughing? The baseball dirt? It’s tickling, he said? And the ball rolls out of his hands and Carl hits it out of the park.
Oh, sorry. I was fantasizing again.
Come on, Carl!
And he ends the inning. Blah.
—-
Of course. It is great news when we lose. Because we are perfect, and all. Of course. ESPN must overreact, you see. They have to, FDA. Because this will NEVER HAPPEN AGAIN (Right guys? Right?).
—-
Dan Wheeler is in the pen. Chris Perez looks like Johnny Damon. Blah.
—-
It is the top of the 9th. We are still pretending we know how to throw. I say pretending, because you LOOK like a pitcher, Miller. You do. Except for the whole NOT PITCHING THING.
Are we really going to tie the fricking Stanks?
In a way, it’s a good thing. We’ll beat them in Fenway and there will be nothing the punk Stanks can say about it.
Strike out. Okay. Thanks, Miller.
Thanks for the thought. But it doesn’t mean anything, see, until we actually start HITTING THE BALL.
Lester against Colon tomorrow. Lackey and Sabathia (crinnnggggeeeee) Saturday.
—-
Asdrububuablahbloserjerkfacethrowupvomitbrerabel is up. Outside Ball Three. THREE. See this, Miller? Strike. Okay. Okay. Strike. Gatorade. Oh yeah, Asdrubabbeliwetthebedbel, adjusting your gloves. Because -that- was the glove’s fault, I’m sure.
In the dirt. And a WALK.
A WALK. You know who should walk, Miller? YOU. Back to the fricking bullpen.
—
It’s okay, BH. When we beat them with LACKEY, they will be humiliated.
—
Swing and a miss. Strike out. Okay. Um. Good, Miller. Good.
—
Adrublahbrattabel just stole a fricking base.
—-
Miller, your hair is doing this flippy thing. I wish you would fix it. If I could just cut that one little piece…
—-
2 outs. 9th. 2 outs. “A little nubber up in front of the plate.”
Silly announcers.
—
Okay, Ellie. I’m SORRY. I’ll never cut your hair again. Just come back. It’s like she knows I’m laughing at her. It’s like she’s a people again.
—-
Chad Durbin warming up. Yes…. I like that better than the Sippy Cup.
COMEON. First and third. Distress. Ball. Hit. Foul. Youkie hits the photogs. I’d rather you hit the ball.
—-
Theo, this really is your fault, you know.
—
Ball off the wall. Double. 7-3 now.
Theo, are you happy?
Yeah, go to the pen. GO.
—-
You know what other musical I like (and it so counts even though it is just internet)? Dr. Horrible’s Sing Along Blog. It is on Netflicks too. Check it out.
—
Dan Wheeler. He has a Lackeyesque quality to him today. I don’t know what it is…
Matt LaPorta. Please make Matt LaPorta sit down.
—-
Two outs. COMEON.
Seriously, Theo. If you had kept Justin Masterson, none of this would have ever happened. And, with the Butterfly Effect, who knows what other wonders might have ensued? I might have a pony AND a boat by now.
YOUR FAULT.
Gatorade.
—
I liked Tonya Harding. You know. Before she went crazy. I wasn’t really a Nancy Kerrigan fan. I LOVED Katerina Witt. Remember her? I wanted to be her when I grew up. But I decided to eat.
—-
Crawford catches it. The inning fah-fricking-finally ends. And Josh Reddick is up next. It’s just BOTTOM OF THE NINTH. No pressure.
—
Your pitcher looks like a classier Johnny Damon.
And catch. One out.
Seriously, Erik. Please do not think this is something we do all the time. Please do not think this is acceptable here. This game is not your fault, Erik. This game is Theo’s fault. This game is an opportunity for me to scream “I told you so,” after telling him so when he fricking ripped Masterson away.
Tek to right field. Caught.
Out.
Two outs.
That’s okay. There are three of them, the outs.
—-
OHNO.
It’s Marco Scutaro. The man who is SWELL at being the last out. SWELL.
—-
Who doesn’t like Dr. Horrible? Clearly Bad Horse has Scut on his side.
STOP ALIGNING YOURSELF WITH THE THOROUGHBRED OF SIN!
Justin Masterson, I do not know what to say to you. I just don’t.
Scutaro. I know exactly what to say to you. But I’ll say it French. That way, Erik and I can have a secret.
Plus. It is very vulgar.
Tu me fais chier! Faut péter dans l’eau pour faire des bulles. Brûle en enfer!
And you, Theo!
Le cerveau il etait en option chez toi. Tu es betes comme tes pieds! Comprend bien, tu parles à un con.
Vous avez le cervau d’un sandwich au fromage.
Blah.
Please lose, Yankees.
~L
I have seen the Potter musical. Of course I am a Harry Potter fan. I am an American.
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…
—–
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.
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
An until-I-go-to-sleep Live Blogging experiment. Is it really Monday?
Just got off work. Turn on browser just in time to see Scutaro kamakazi catch that. Sweetness. Like the ice cream I am going to indulge in. A treat after a long day. Is it really almost 10 p.m.? 9:58? I need a weekend already. Is it really only Monday?
So. The big news of the day. Of the week. Of the month. Of our LIFETIME. He’s BACK.
That’s right. The Lesternator. And this time, he’s going for blood. Now in High Definition. Prepare to be:
LESTERNATED.
Okay. So. Jon Lester. 0-0. Top of the second. Wait. Why do they have two on base? Why do they have two on base, Jon? 2 outs.
Okay. I get it. You were waiting for me. You didn’t want to start being a badass until I got here. Okay. Well, I’m here now, Jonny. You can stop scaring the good people of Boston. Thanks.
And an out.
Now that my new internet is working, I certainly am blogging a lot. You know what? Today brought my 900th comment. That was kind of neat. For comment 1,000 I should do something. I will. Um. Draw you a picture.
—
A walk to first by Ortiz and more annoying prattle by Jerry Remy. I am not going to be able to handle this whole game, am I?
—-
I really like Crawford. I really do. I like base stealers. He’s fun to watch. He breaks up the monotony of long games. And Reddick… a double as Crawford scores! 1-0. Nice.
Yes, Crawford. We will be friends. I will make you a friendship bracelet.
—-
May 19, 2008. Lester’s no hitter against the Royals. I remember that. That was the day I bought my car, Sweet Caroline. We watched the game at a Ham’s Restaurant near the car dealership. The food was terrible and the potatoes were cold. But Jonny, you were red hot.
—-
Now they’re talking about whether you can wear Royals gear at Fenway and not get mauled. I read a blog the other day saying that Sox fans throw nachos at people wearing other jerseys. Anyone ever experience this?
I bet if someone threw nachos at you, you did something to deserve it. Unless you were wearing a Joba jersey. That in itself is deserving of a major cheesing. You don’t have to do anything.
And now they are showing clips of Jonathan Papelbon throwing tomatoes.
Really, guys?
I don’t know. What are you thinking about Lester? I know they’re scoreless (so far) and he’s striking three of them out- but he just doesn’t seem to have his usual Lester snap. Am I just being paranoid? Evidently, because, as a speak, a cutter strikes out another Royal. And another strike out. Well, I feel better.
—-
Bottom of the third. 0-1. Jeb, the Pirate Princess, sent me a fantastic link that you should check out right now:
The Boston Red Sox have shaken off a woeful start to the season to take pole position in the American League and a near lock on a playoff spot. Unlike other recent great Red Sox teams, this year’s Boston club is doing it almost entirely with hitting.
~The Wall Street Journal
I think the current rate paid per win is approximately $4 million, so to have four different position players giving you over $16 million each of production at this point is pretty damn good.
~Jeb
For those of you who do not know Jeb, he is a kindred spirit. Just misled. He, like me, is stranded in North Carolina. Unlike me, he is Pirates fan. But in Boone, NC, you take what you can get.
And Pedroia extends his hit-streak to 22!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Can someone explain this Muddy Chicken thing to me?
—-
Another message from Jeb:
“You’ll love/hate this. John Lackey’s total WAR is currently -1.1. I think replacement-level is an average AAA player. So if you had started the season with an average AAA pitcher in Lackey’s place, you’d be 63-36 instead of 62-37. Poor John Lackey 
“
I will not love this. Not. Not. Not. Blah.
John Lackey.
We can’t think of John Lackey today, Jeb. Jon Lester is back. And he must consume all of our brain cells. All of them, I say!
—
I do not like how we’re loading the bases up. First. Second. I do not like this one bit. One out. Okay. I’d like to see a Sox offensive pop here in a sec. I have a feeling we’re going to need it.
Salty makes a catch. Salty is looking kind of hot today. Does his hair always look like that?
Two outs.
Jonny, you’re freaking me out with the first and second. Let’s not do this again, okay? Brayan Pena. And Youk throws it to first and ends the inning. Okay. It’s 5 hits to our 2. Let’s put some snap in our step.
—-
Bottom of the fourth inning, Youkie at the plate. Do you think he gets his beard professionally trimmed each day? Because his cheeks have been looking smooth lately.
First out. Oh, the pivot turn. He looks dejected. It’s okay, baby. I’m still here. I’ll always be here.
David Ortiz. Over the shift and into right field for a base hit. 4-game hitting streak.
Carl Crawford. My new best friend. He looks like he’d be a great best friend. Oh, the happy times we could have together. Like at the zoo. And the park and stuff. I could swing. And you could push the swing. Because, if you can wield a bat like that, you can totally push a swing. We could tell secrets and swap stories and roast marshmallows and have great adventures.
I am going to make a children’s book about us.
I am going to call it “Carl Crawford and me.”
Ohhhhhhh. David Ortiz out on a steal. Papi!
—-
Alcides Escobar. What a great name. I want to date someone with your name. But not you. Because you are a Royal. And just took a walk. No me for you.
Poooooooor Mariners. Swamped by the Stanks. I was really rooting for them. And not just because it’s the Yankees. Because I know how it feels when you just can’t get a break.
This is for you.
1-0, Boston. One on first. One out. Bottom of the 5th. Picked off… Gonz fires to second! Out! Out! Out! A fun moment in the midst of kind of a boring game…Or maybe I’m just tired from my fourteen hour work day…
And… strike out to end the inning.
—-
Salty’s on base. Salty has been on FIRE. Remember when those crazy bloggers (um, um…) kept saying he should go? Remember that? I am simply shocked and… um… appalled…
Okay. So I’m eating my words.
At least I know what to flavor them with.
Scutttttt. I always liked you better than Lowrie.
Full count. You can walk there. I don’t care how you get there. Just get there if you can. That’s a song.
See?
NICE. That’s exactly how I wanted to get you there. Single. Nice.
Salty takes third. Jacoby is out. But Salty took third.
First and third with two outs. Let’s see some offense dazzle. Or fine. Just strand yourselves and end the inning. Sure. Okay. WHATEVER, RED SOX.
—-
I am concerned about post-DL Lester going 77 pitches. I am concerned. Full count.
Curt Young. Are you watching this?
80 pitches.
Through the left side. Base hit. Single.
Jon Lester. You know I love you. But 81 pitches might be enough. We need you, see. In October.
Billy Butler. 82 pitches. Billy Butler looks like a guy from our pressroom. Into the corner. And you let them score. It’s not your fault, Jon Lester. I blame YOU Curt Young. Look at you. Not making eye contact. Looking into your clipboard. I called this like a hundred words ago.
Tie game. CURT YOUNG.
—-
“I wouldn’t be surprised to see this is the last hitter for Lester,” Remy says.
I would. Curt Young NEVER listens to me.
—-
88 pitches. BALL FOUR. DID YOU SEE THAT?
Tito is heading to the mound.
Poor Lester. He looks frustrated. It’s not your fault, Lester. I love you anyway.
Curt, I will deal with you later.
—-
Do you know what I like about Lester? He’s in the dugout with death eyes right now. Mad. You can see the anger. See, John Lackey how he gives a shit? Remember all those times when you sucked it up- a LOT worse than Lester, I might add- and do that shrug walk-off thing that irritates me to no end?
—-
Albers strikes ‘em out. Nice.
—
Lester, I wish I could give you a hug. It’s going to be okay. I promise.
Ground ball up the middle. Pedroia tags. Out.
Bottom of the 6th. And I am fading fast…
Another night asleep at the keyboard. At least this time it’s baseball and not city council… ah… the life of a reporter.
—
Hi, Gonz. Could you slam one out of the park? I bet that would make Lester smile. Or just strike out. Sure. Okay. <- Sarcasm.
Hi, Youkie.
He got something in his eye. Poor dear. Okay. Now we’re ready to rumble, he says.
Yikes. That one was straight for him. He’s getting good at ducking those.
Ground. Up the middle. Out. Close. I’d like to see a replay, please. Youk made it back to that dugout in about two seconds. Yikes. Did you see that lunge? It looked painful. Youkie, stop hurting yourself! And Ortiz thrown out.
Well. That sucked.
—
1-1 game in the 7th. And I’m droopy. I may not make into the 8th. God forbid this go extra innings.
Seats are emptying out. That’s what happens when it’s this late on a Monday.
—
Pena out. Thanks to a snazzy throw by Pedroia.
This game is hurting my brain.
Full count. Close up of Tito sweat. Thanks, cameras.
Crawford makes the catch. Because he’s my best friend.
And there are two outs.
STRIKE THREE. Out. Despite a dramatic jump-away by a faker. Good job, Albers.
See, Lester? I told you there was nothing to worry about. It’s alllll going to be okay.
Oh. Right. It’s still tied…
—-
Tim Collins. Pitching at my BEST FRIEND. Hi, Carl. What is with Collins’ hair? It’s like a back mullet. It’s a new invention, clearly.
First out. It’s okay, Crawford. Let’s meet up for hopscotch later.
Hi, Josh Reddick. You are not having a good hair day either. Just saying. If I can’t tell you tehse things, Josh, who can?
In the air… Caught. Out.
This inning blows.
I could be watching “The Tudors” or “Wings” on Netflix. Or. Um. Sleeping.
Salty’s up. Bottom of the 7th. Two outs. Keep hope alive, Salty. Keep hope alive.
Speaking of hope, Daniel Bard is warming up in the pen.
Who is umping? Do you know? Because he’s obnoxious.
Grounder to third…. and out.
That inning was worse than Tim Collins’ hair.
—
Pedroia fires to first for the out. And they replayed Youk’s bag slam. I knew he was hurt! I knew it! If he’s really hurt, I’m driving to Kansas. I will!
Scut dives on his face.
Single.
Jeb’s still awake. He’s watching the Pirates, as indicated by our recent Facebook convo:
WHATEVER, JEB
Ahhhh…. Facebook.
Two outs. Billy Butler sits down.
They called a balk on Bard. A bullshit balk. I don’t understand. The announcer doesn’t seem to understand. No one seems to understand. Except the pricky umpire.
2 outs. 1-1. One on second. Just so you feel my pain. Because this is painful.
Strike two.
Come. On.
Throw to first. OUT.
Bottom of the 8th. Paaaaaiiiiinnnnnnfullllll.
—-
Marco Scutaro. Up against Aaron Crow.
And the crazy Fenway yelling commences.
Pena makes a foul catch. Blah.
Out one.
I love looking at fans’ faces when the ball flies.
Jacoby. 0 for 3 tonight. So this is his moment. Right? Right?
Papelbon is warming up in the pen.
Ellsbury! Base hit! Single! 7 game hitting streak for Jacoby.
Ohmygod there is a bug on my computer screen. Ohmygod.
Eeek. Now it is on my bed. And the lights are out and…
—-
It’s okay. I’m okay.
A double play. Which is horrible, because it pushes us into the 9th. But the real horrible thing is, there is a bug in my room. And it is dark. And I’m sure it’s on me. And I can do nothing.
It’s probably like some rare African bug that will burrow into my shoulder while I’m sleeping. Ohgod.
—-
And… Johnny Paps…
—–
—-
Catch. Out one. Out 2.
—-
I am so upset. “After hobbling around, Youkilis leaving the game.”
I am so upset.
He better be okay.
—
Strike out.
Bottom of the 9th.
Okay guys. Get serious. I am only half awake. I can’t do a 10th. So score for me, okay? And for Youkilis. Who had better not be broken.
—
Alright, Gonz. You have done NOTHING today. It is time.
We need to get the spark back. There is NO SPARK.
The K-Guys are holding the A-Gonz sign. That’s for YOU, A-Gonz. YOU.
And Gonzalez strikes out. An 0 for 4 night. Really.
—
Yamaico Navarro taking one for the Youk. With a base hit! Youkie is welling up with pride and-
OHMYGOD THE BUG. I will get you this time, bug. I see you and… OHMYGOD IT FLIES.
It’s like an ant. But with wings. It’s an ant thing. It’s like the Pegasus of ants!
OHMYGOD. It’s alive.
—
Speaking of holy terrors, David Ortiz staring down Crow.
And I could watch that if I didn’t suddenly feel ants all over me.
Paranoia. Delusion. It was just one ant thing.
Just one, after all. You’re fine.
It was like a dragon ant.
Ortiz hits it on the ground- it gets through! Navarro on third! Ortiz first! Somehow that ball got through. Looked routine. Went through second baseman. Went through shortstop. Gave us sweet, sweet hope.
Hi, best friend Carl Crawford.
—–
This is so stressful. Please. Please. Please, Crawford. Please.
That strike was crap. The announcer agrees with me. He did not swing.
Out.
On crap.
Reddick.
2 outs. High fly ball… Catch. DAMNIT.
Damnit, damnit, damnit.
Extra innings. Damnit.
That check swing call was crap. I blame the ump.
Morales. And I am asleep. Please don’t let him screw it up… Going to sleep.
—
Damnit. We all know I’m lying. Come on, Morales. Get this DONE.
Josh Reddick. I love you. There have been some great dive catches tonight, no?
That was hot. No wonder my mother wants me to marry you, Josh.
Out one. And a pop out to Pedroia means out TWO. Okay. Alex Gordon. You are going to be out three. Right, Morales?
Pedroia. First. Out.
Hah.
One to one.
Damn.
Come on, offense. Now is your chance to help me sleep. DO THIS. This is painful.
—-
This is the song in my head right now. I do not know why.
Better than Jar of Hearts, at least… And I think it expresses my feelings about this game quite eloquently. I saw Joan Osborne sing this at MerleFest a few months ago.
OHCOMEONSCORENOW.
—-
Damnit, Salty! I specifically told you to score.
One out.
—
Fly ball. Caught. Scutaro, you are a jerk. Two outs.
—
Jacoby. You have grounded out, struck out, flown out and singled and OHMYGODTHEFLYINGANTISBACK.
It’s okay. I’m okay. I’m okay…
OHNOIT’SBACKAGAIN.
—
What if there’s more than one?!?!
—–
Ground chop to first.
Are we even trying???
11th.
—
Navarro!!!! Youk would have caught that. Cabrera singled. Damnit. And there’s a dragon ant trying to eat me. But other than that, I’m fiiiiiiiine. Crawford catches. First out. Two more. And please let that be it.
Eric Hosmer. You look familiar.
Throw to first! What?! That was out. That was completely OUT.
“That really was borderline,” Remy said.
That really was out. These calls are crap tonight.
Crap.
I do not know who is umping, but I would not be surprised if it was Angel Hernandez.
Crawford makes another catch. Two outs. Because he is my best friend.
Terry comes out. Dan Wheeler to come out.
—
Hi, Dan.
Please do not mess up. Thanks.
One on first. Two outs.
And his first pitch… a ball. Of course.
I get that you guys love baseball. That’s great. But please do not love 12 innings worth of baseball. Hear me, Sox offense?
Strike. Nice. Do that.
Do that again. Foul. Okay. Whatever.
YES. Cabrera does something stupid, runs and is tagged the frick out at the base.
Thank you.
Now it is up to you, Offense. Up to you. Do it. Do it NOW.
Adrian. The shouts make me think I’m watching Rocky.
Gonz to left field… OFF THE WALL.
Thank you. Thank you for doing something, Gonz.
A single. One out. And Gonz on first. Okay. Gonz. You have to score. I’m not kidding. You have to. HAVE to.
Okay, Navarro. Don’t be a hero. Just get on a base. ANY BASE.
NO.
Strikes out. Two down.
DAMNIT.
Youk would have had that. I’m just saying. It is one in the morning. SOME of us have to work.
David Ortiz. Okay. Papi. Okay. Let’s do this. And by “let’s,” I mean you, Papi.
Closeup on Jacoby and Beckett in the dugout. Jacoby is drinking a red drink. Suddenly I am thirsty.
—-
Come on, David Ortiz.
Bounce. Kicks. Gonz scampers to second! Yes! Yes! Do that.
Now Gonz is on second.
And they’re going to walk Papi.
There are boos in Fenway, but I am okay with this.
He is on a base. That is all that matters. He is not out.
First. Second.
Crawford up. My best friend.
Come on Crawford. Buddy.
ANOTHER bad strike call.
“Crawford’s about had it… that pitch being called a strike.”
When Remy knows the umpire sucks, the umpire SUCKS.
Stressssssful.
Strike. Two and two. Okay. He looks apprehensive. Don’t be apprehensive, Crawford. Please? Breathe, baby. Breathe. Ball three.
Full fricking count.
Come on.
Please.
Come on.
afdsjkkkkkkkkklnokdnjdfkdfjkldfsjkl
That was my head hitting the keyboard. Let me demonstrate again.
afdljklkjfadjkdfaaereiorf;j
Strike.
Out.
DAMNIT.
12. DAMNIT.
I can’t do this guys. I have to sleep. Have to.
fadslkjljkdfsfljkfdljkdfjklsfdsjkls
Damnit.
I am sad. Randy Williams warming in then pen.
I am so tired. So tired. Soooooooo
—
Walk. Guy on first. Thanks, Wheeler.
I blame the umpire, actually. The umpire that HATES my new best friend, Carl Crawford.
Sacrifice. And the runner is on second. One out. Damnitdamnitdamnit.
Brayan Pena.
Damnit.
Only one out.
Damnit.
I can’t type unless something monumental happens.
—-
strike out. good. 2 outs. throw to first. out. bottom of 12. please score please.
—-
Okay. Let’s do this. And by do this. I mean score. Hi, Josh Reddick. Just get on a base. If four of you get on a base, that is all it will take.
Do it for your fallen comrade. Speaking of fallen comrades, I would like an update on my husband, please.
The announcers want this to end too.
“Put it right where you want it, Josh,” Remy said.
I would like it over the green monster. Thanks.
Reddick… base hit!!!!
“Thatta baby,” Remy keeps saying.
Single.
Three more and we’ve got a ballgame.
Salty.
one for four. single. Okay. let’s. please.
Youkie is watching. I know he is. He should be asleep. But he’s not.
I should be asleep. But I’m not.
Salty. Scutaro is after you. But let’s not need him. Let’s just use you, Salty. And your bat. In the air. Left field. Catch. FAIL.
Marco. Hi. Can you hit something? A triple would be nice.
YEESSSSSS. Ball gets away and Reddick stops at THIRD!
One out and we are at THIRD. Yes. Yessssss. Yes. Okay. Scut. Do not mess this up. Do not.
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Reddick is out. He was trapped. Squeeze play. Damn it. Scutaro missed the sign. Scut missed the sign, Remy said. Damnit, Scut. DAMNIT.
If this goes to 13, so help me…
Homerun or you are NOT going back to the dugout.
Base hit. And Scutaro is OUT AT SECOND BASE.
Scutaro. Scutaro. Scutaro. SCUTARO
—
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Lauren13 inning games are the reason I am cranky at work.
19 minutes ago · Privacy: · Like ·
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Holly likes this.
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Jeb: Excuses excuses.5 minutes ago · Like -
Lauren: did you see that? angels just wept. in the sky. and that, jeb mcrary, is how rain happens.about a minute ago · Like
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Jeb: Is this on TV? I’m following online. So I see that Boston’s odds just went down. http://www.fangraphs.com/livewins.aspx?date=2011-07-25&team=Red+Sox&dh=0&season=2011
Red Sox win probability for Monday, July 25, 2011a few seconds ago · Like · -
Lauren: it is on mlb.tv. and scutaro… i can’t say it. i don’t want to talk about this. this game is dead to me. dead.2 seconds ago · Like
——————————
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Seriously. I am making no sense. I need to go to sleep. Tell me who won?
-
Happy Sweep Day, Soxies! Live Bloggin’ in the rain
I say Happy Sweep Day and not Happy Wake day, because Wake Day happens in a few days. See, as of right now (not a few hours from now), Wake is TWO games away from 200 wins. So see, Soxies, today isn’t about us. It’s bigger than us. It’s bigger than you. It’s bigger than me. It’s bigger than KEVIN YOUKILIS.
“It doesn’t take much to see that the problems of three little people don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world.”
That is from Casablanca.
And me. Because I just said it.
See, Tim Wakefield is like Victor Laszlo, right? And Paris is like the year 2007. Which we’ll always have, see, and today isn’t about that. It isn’t about sweeping some Mariner dust (well, kind of). It’s about Wake’s milestone.
And that, you see, is a mixed metaphor.
It’s this failed literary device that some bloggers who are really tired and cranky because the rain took away day two of riverness use to distract from the fact that they have nothing clever to say. Really. Look that up.
1:35 can’t come soon enough.
I’m distracting myself with this game because one of my closest friends is moving to Ohio. And 3ish, 4ish, we’re all getting together for pizza bribes and moving. And I could really use the tardiness, see, so I can make the pizza and avoid the boxes. I’m too pretty, see, for heavy lifting.
—-
Here. Tailgate to some Seattle dance moves. Alerted to this by one of my favorite newly discovered blogs, Red State Blue State.
—
Ramein noodles: Check. Beer. Check. It’s a party. 35 minute countdown! I will watch Cheers on Netflix. Yes.
—-
Thunder. Lots of thunder. If my power goes out, I will cry.
—-
I am really digging this internet MLB.tv thing. It comes with intro music. It’s quite dramatic.
1:30. “It is Maine Day here at Fenway Park.”
Really? Why? Those are huge lobsters. Lobsters are kind of scary, right? I mean, they look at you. I mean, I know they are dead and not reeeaallllyyy looking at you, but food isn’t supposed to have eyes. It’s also not supposed to be so difficult. I prefer to eat things that don’t require bibs and cracking tools.
—-
Daniel Bard talking about his streak.
“I’m just out there trying to do the same thing every day.”
And Seattle is trying to avoid a club record of 15 losses in a row.
I kind of like Seattle. Their park is amazing. And Seattle is beautiful. And where I would like to live some day. I hope they don’t lose their next game, because they’re totally losing today’s game for Wake. That’s just how it is. It’s bigger than you and me, Seattle. Like in Casablanca. Take comfort in the truth that your loss serves a greater purpose.
—-
It is interesting to me that this game is brought to us by a hot sauce. 1:35.
—
John Whattery? Swattery? Slattery? What? Who are you?
—
There goes the bullpen. Watch then prance across the field. I am really loving this MLB.tv. And the not working thing. I never get to see this part. It’s very dramatic, isn’t it? Like the beginning of some epic war movie. You know. Except in color.
Janice Bigos throwing out the first pitch. Puh-lease. I do not know who you are, but I am so much better at girly throwing than you are. I’ve had practice. I’ve juggled.
—-
Tim Wakefield. Looking for career 199.
“Not particularly good numbers against the Mariners.” 4 and 10.
—
Ball one happened just as a thunderclap smacked into my house. Coincidence?
—
3 and 0? Okay. Tim, just breathe. 199 is really nothing, Timmy. Nothing. Thattaboy. Steeeerikeeee. <- I can’t really pull that off, can I? Foul makes it a full count. Wake grabs it. Throws to first. And batter, who I will dub “Musketeer,” is out.
It is really scary. See, my new house has this vaulted ceiling lined by windows. Neat for star gazing, terrifying in storms. I’m looking for Ms. Gulch, but I think the storm’s too much for her broom.
My dog is hiding in the bathroom again. It’s quite dramatic.
—-
Seattle batter is kind of hot. I mean, except for the uniform. I wish he would turn around so he could be identified. Ackley. Hmmm. Hi, Ackley. Are you good in right field?
—-
Just breathe, Wakey. Try not to be distracted by Ackley’s hotness. Oh no. Oh no. YES. Ellsbury makes a miracle pitch.
“We’ve talked so much about Jacoby Ellsbury’s defense but look at his offense,” announcer said.
Yes. Look at it.
Miguel Olivo. I like your last name. But I do not like your goatee. Have you met Bobby Jenks? You two would be great friends.
Yuck. Two run homerun.
I hate your name. It is stupid.
This rain is so scary. It sounds like my house is going to fall down.
—-
Timmy. Darling. I get that you’re nervous about 199. I do. It’s adorable. Really, it is. And I get a kick out of your humility. But this is NOT THE TIME.
Curt, I hope you are watching. Because 199 or 199, if this continues, it’s time to switch it up. Off the wall. Almost another homerun. Are you WATCHING THIS, Curt?
—-
Mike Carp. Aka: The Fish.
That was a dramatic out. Gunned down at the plate.
Dustin Pedroia batting second coming up, trying to extend his hitting streak. Rain like this makes one think it’s raining all over the world. I’m glad it’s not raining in Fenway. I don’t want this for you guys. If I drown, could somebody tell Youk I love him? But not FDA. I fear her Youk-prejudices would make horrible news even worse. You do it, Peter. Just tell Youk that I will always love him and to remember me every time he dances at the plate. Oh, and make sure he cries a lot. Thanks.
—-
Michael Pineda. Pitches amidst a crazy, cracking, scary-as-hell thundercrack.
I love you, Jacoby. A double.
“Once again turns around an inside fastball…”
I’ve always loved you. Since you gave America tacos. I mean, I don’t eat Taco Bell, but I appreciated the gesture. Remember that time you stole home against Pettitte? Ahhhhhh.
Hi, Pedroia. Thanks for bouncing that wild pitch, Pineda, so Jacoby could steal third. Speaking of Pettitte… wouldn’t that be great? A home steal? Hi, Dustin Pedroia. He just laughed at that inside pitch. Did you see? Do it again. Oh, a Pedroia fan is holding a bright green posterboard Perdoia jersey. It is weird.
Pop out. But Jacoby is still at third. So I am okay.
Michael from Newburgh, ME, I could do sooooo much of a better job than you.
—-
Gonz. Grounder to center. Jacoby scores. Adrian driving in his 81st run of the year! And taking first! I always did like the Muppet Babies. Not the Muppets. The cartoon ones. The puppet ones frightened me.
And now, my lovely husband. KEVIN YOUKILIS. Doing his sexy bat dance.
—
In the air. Deep left field. HOMERUN. By my husband. 3-2. See why he’s a 10? I remember the first day I saw you like it was yesterday. I was at Geno’s sports bar and my heart fluttered. I could tell you felt it too, Youkie-poo. And then it was only you, baby. After Nomah, I didn’t think I would love again. And then there was Johnny Damon. But I see now that was only a fling. You were the real thing, Youkie. The real thing.
David Ortiz. Comes to make Pineda cry. I kind of feel sorry for Pineda. Maybe it’s my Seattle sensitivities. But he looks so scared up there. I would be too. Especially with those sunglasses Ortiz is spouting. And Ortiz gets a single. It’s the sunglasses. Those are so badass.
—
They’re talking to Pineda now. Seriously, Seattle. Don’t be too mad at him. We’re just very good.
Carl Crawford. In the air to left. Gets some wall. We are killing that wall today. Double. Ortiz on third. Crawford on second. Poor wall. Poor Pineda.
Alas, there are greater forces at work than you, Pineda. You should really just go with it so we can all get out of here at a reasonable hour.
Josh Reddick. You get that everyone has done something but you? I am counting Pedroia, because of that wild pitch that launched a Jacoby steal. Every little bit helps. Like in recycling.
I really hate Pineda’s chin fuzz. I bet your mother tells you to shave it all the time. All. The. Time. You should listen to her, Pineda. She seems like a smart lady. Reddick strikes out.
That’s okay. See, that was for you, Pineda. Because you were feeling down. A pick-me-up so you don’t cry or something.
—-
Saltalamacchia. Base hit. Two runs in! 5-2. What a nice inning. And he’s on first. Nice.
“And Saltalamacchia cleans it out.”
The announcers are not annoying me as much today.
Hi, Marco Scutaro.
And they’re talking about Tito’s 1,000th.
“You’re only as good as your horses and he’s had some very good horses in Boston,” announcer said.
715 wins in Boston. Joe Cronin had 1,071. We’ll get there.
“The sun is shining brightly today at Fenway Park.”
Really? Because I am in the middle of a rain-nado.
Inning over. But 5-2. Swell.
—-
Kennedy. I remember you from the Angels. We are not friends.
Your black lipsticked cheeks cannot hide your evil Angel-ness. Strike out. Yes. Strike out.
Jack Cust. Out. See, this is a nice inning. THIS is what we want you to do, Wake. Now that we’re clear… Franklin Gutierrez. Ellsbury catches you. Top over. Yes. Do that again in the 3rd, Wake.
—-
Jacoby Ellsbury.
Announcer said it looked ominous but the weather has cleared. That’s because I summoned it here to protect you all. I am so sweet.
Hi, Jacoby. 2-2. That last one was really outside. Pineda’s sweating. Poor lil guy. I hope there’s an icecream sandwich with his name on it back in the pen.
He deserves it. He’s had a tough day.
Ellsbury strikes out.
Whatev.
On a slider.
It’s okay, because the Destroia is here to extend his hit streak. 416 average, leading the majoris in July, announcer says. Chop left side. Out. Blah. 2 down.
That was close.
Gonzo at the plate. Strike. Stop it, Gonz. Stop it. Homerun or bust.
Up the middle. A bust. An out.
Still 5-2. Third inning coming up.
—-
Heidi Watney. Says Tito won his first 14 years ago.
Yeah. I think I should go blonde again. It may be the only way I can get your job, Heidi.
2 outs. But we weren’t paying attention. Because of Heidi. I promise you, America, when I am Heidi, I will never distract you from your game!!!
I will distract you during breaks! And I will never make you watch me eat strange things at ballparks. This I promise you, America. If elected, not only will I be an amazing blog, but I will have a scandalous affair with Kevin Youkilis that will entertain you all through tabloids, rumors and thinly veiled truth.
—-
If you get tired of my rambling, my friend Peter is also blogging today. Click HERE to check it out.
—-
Apparently the moose is the state animal of Maine. Moose are scary. Did you know they can be the size of pickup trucks? True story. I am terrified of Moose. Almost as terrified as I am of possums and slugs.
—-
My Youkilis was “retired.” I don’t like that phrase. It makes me fear the time when you are no longer with me, Youkie.
David Ortiz. Hi, Papi. I named my puppy, Elliot-May-Precious-Ortiz after you. Don’t let me down. That’s a song, right? Don’t let me down…
Who is this Slattery guy? I know who Mike O’Malley is. He used to host GUTS. And GET THE PICTURE. You know. On Nickelodeon. And yeah, he’s on Glee and stuff. But remember GUTS? I so wanted to scale that rock. I remember being athletic. Kinda.
I had this weird dream that was kind of like Guts. Except it was in Charlotte. And I got some new job in television. And it was a 9 to 5. And I was crying I was so happy in my dream. Because that meant I could go out every night and actually meet people. Which was my problem when I worked the AM shift in tv in Charlotte. Yes, Heidi. I like your hair. It will be mine. Thoughts? Should I stay with red? Because Red Sox nation only seems to embrace blonde Heidi Watneys. And, like all Heidi Watneys, I just want to serve the nation.
Carl Crawford. Swings. Base hit to left field. First.
Nice. I am digging you Crawdad. No? Crafjord. No? Craw… You need a better nickname! Carlita?
He’s going to steal. I feel it in my bones.
Hi, Reddick. I wonder if you and Drew are friends in the dugout. I hope so. You look like you’d be a good friend. And Drew needs friends.
And Crawford steals. Teehee. Haha. The ball bounces out. From an out call to a safe call in half a second. I do love Carl Crawford. I really think I do. I think the trust is finally there. It took awhile, Crawford. Now tat you are in my Sox family, please do not make me regret giving you full citizenship.
Strike out. And Mike O’Malley (GUTS!) and this John Slathery? Slattery? Slappery? will be here after the break. To answer to all important question: WHO THE FRICK IS JOHN SLATTERY?
—
Oh. THIS is who John SLATTERY is. I have never seen Mad Men.
Mike O’Malley at least recognizes that no one cares what actors have to say. That’s nice.
Mike says he used to sneak into games. Oh, I like you, Guts man.
Reddick makes the grab. 2 outs.
John Slattery, with the exception of the hat, looks like he’s dressed for a golf game.
Picnic in the Park. I wish I could go to that. But it is not in North Carolina. Which is kind of prejudiced, if you ask me. But no one did. They never do.
And Kennedy is out. and it’s the second half. That is how you play baseball, my friends. And John Slattery.
—
Um. Peter. Um. Can you really get electrocuted with a computer mixed with a thunderstorm? Um.
—
“I’m very superstitious when it comes to the Red Sox,” O’Malley said.
Redsoxfoundation.org and you can bid on fun things. I was sold until they said stuff was going for 50k last year. That’s more than my seven dollars.
O’Malley has a kid named Declan? I dated a guy when worked at the Playhouse in Derry, Ireland named Declan. Ah, nostalgia.
Maco Scutaro. I am sorry I have been neglecting you. But that is no excuse for that strike.
Yeah, O’Malley and Slattery. Time to go. Go. Bye.
I do not want to see Slattery. I want to see Ted Danson. Or. Um. Someone else.
Poor Pineda. 70 pitches deep and digging, digging, digging.
Scut is thrown out.
Jacoby Ellsbury
Pineda is wearing this weird rope thing around his neck. I keep trying to get a good look at it. Can you tell what it is? Is it hemp? Or metal? I really can’t tell.
Ellsbury fouls it off. 2 and 2.
Stop talking about PICNIC IN THE PARK! I get it. It’s amazing. And I can’t go.
Blah.
Out. Ends the inning. “And our conversation for now,” announcer says. Good. The convo ending. No tthe inning ending. Good.
—-
2-5. 2:52. If you haven’t checked out Peter’s live blog, do it. Do it now.
“I can’t go on Glee because I can’t sing,” announcer said.
Great. Why don’t you go practice and leave us with game noises?
“Swing and a miss.”
Yes. You are supposed to say things like THAT. Not things about Glee.
Hi, Wake. I would feel more comfortable with another offensive push.
“They actually should replace you. For Charlie Sheen in ‘two and a half men.’”
NO ONE CARES.
“I’m going to boycott it. … I can’t watch the show without Charlie.”
Oh, good. I’ve been staying up at night to see how you feel about CBS, announcer.
I want to be an announcer. If you elect me your announcer, America, I promise never to talk about Charlie Sheen or John Slattery ever, ever, ever again.
J-Lester is back tomorrow! Yay.
One out. One on. Time to move it, T-Wake.
Crap. Grounds through to the right side. And Youk catches but not in time to keep that guy from third. It’s okay, Youkie. That wasn’t your fault. You can’t be expected to do everything.
This is the 5th inning. Pay attention, Curt Young. Pay attention.
Brendan Ryan’s facial hair looks ridiculous.
Just saying.
—-
What a lovely tag. 2 outs. Brendan Ryan sends one to the wall. Scores that stupid third baseman. Two run ballgame.
See, Curt Young? See?
Crawford ends inning.
I’d like to see some hits, people. HITS. And you, Dustin Pedroia- time to extend the HIT STREAK. Which you can do by HITTING.
—-
Jeff, Cheers really is my favorite show. That and Meet the Press. Oh, oh, oh! And that show. About that guy. With the cake shop in New Jersey. In Hoboken? With the cakes?
—
Some day I am going to own a television.
—
PEDROIA!!!! He is 0 for 3. This makes me sad.
Fix it. Fix it now.
Why are we we watching more Maine clips? Ice fishing looks horrible. I would rather eat lobster. Scary eyes and all. No. That’s not true. Maybe.
—-
Yes. Off the glove! Gonzo. See, Dustin Pedroia? Like that.
—-
Kevin Youkilis. Doing his bat dance. I do think with ink pens sometimes before interviews. You know. Just to feel.
Aaron Lafferty is warming up in the bullpen.
Whatever.
Crazy pitchin’.
Gonz, you could have ran.
Show some initiative.
Hi, Youkie-bear. Did you see that? He winked through the computer at me. Tell me you saw that! He knows. He feels something in his heart of hearts. Or beard or something.
And another crazy pitch.
Poor Pineda.
STOP TALKING ABOUT ICE FISHING, ANNOUNCERS. YOU ARE MAKING ME COLD. AND IRRITATED.
You are NOT JACK LONDON.
Hi, Youk. Don’t let them distract you with their ice talk.
Now they’re showing clips of a guy fly fishing.
Stop. It.
There is no fishing in Baseball (sorry, Carp).
Walks on. The God of Walks. And my heart.
No thanks to YOU, ANNOUNCERS.
Grr.
Which member of the Red Sox had his first career home run against the Mariners? I have no idea.
I’m surprised you stopped ice fish talking to even ask that trivia question.
—-
I like Wings, too. Jeff, how do you feel about Wings?
—-
It is still raining. I could drown. I hope my doors and windows don’t blow away.
—-
Teehee. Loaded bases. Third base vacant. We skip there. I would be irate if I were a Seattle fan. David Ortiz is my hero. And my puppy-daddy. And so much fun.
—-
Carl Crawford. Crawford to left! From third base comes Crawford. Youkie- comes in… 7-3! 7-3!
Thanks. See what happens when you people listen to me?
“Now we’re starting to see the real Crawford.”
About fricking time.
I love you, Kevin Youkilis. Mike Lowell who?
I want to be at Fenway sooooooo bad. Someone buy me a ticket and put me up at your house.
—-
Reddick hits it off the wall. Nice. Ortiz scores. 8-3. Reddick, you make my heart smile.
So, Pedroia. Darling. You’re the only one not in the club. And you’re the one on streak. So you’ve got to get on this. Okay? Okay.
Jarrod Saltalamacchia steps up to inspire Pedroia. How nice.
That rain is loud. If it were louder (hint-hint), I wouldn’t be able to hear these announcers.
I’ve been in radio. It’s where I got my broadcast start. I know the merits and necessities of idle chatter. I get it. But to talk about ice fishing when you could be talking about how amazing Kevin Youkilis is? For shame. Aceves is making noise in the bullpen. And Salty base hits. Around comes … everyone. 10-3. Nice. Nice. Nice.
This pleases me, offense. Yesssssssss.
—
Now I am planning my clever moving outfit. What does one wear to fake help a friend move? I’m thinking cute handkerchief thing for hair, jeans, and “old” t-shirt that’s not really old, but kind of old. But looks old. And has the illusion of not being planned. I think my Pedroia All Star T-shirt with the paint stains will do the trick and still make me look adorable. This is important, my friends.
2 outs. Bottom of the 5th.
Now they are talking about being tv extras. AGAIN. SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP, announcers.
“He’s talking to himself. I have a tendency to do that.”
Clearly.
Oh good. Now they are talking about ice fishing again.
“It’s pretty sad that I do not have a hobby. I do not have a single hobby.”
Really? Because you’re good at the small talk, Jerry Remy. I figured irritating the masses was your hobby.
NO ONE CARES ABOUT YOUR FISHING.
Stop showing us fishing shots!!!!
“Sometimes it’s windy out there and you hate wind.”
I don’t care.
Is anyone else sending them psychic eyedaggers?
—
Wings (the food) freak me out, see. They’re too primal… the bone eating thing? Icky. It’s like lobster. It’s too much work and too messy and if it requires moisty naps I won’t eat it. I won’t.
And the inning is over. But the tv show… Antonio is my favorite. No. That’s not true. Lowell is my favorite. No. That’s not true. Fay. Yes. Fay is my favorite.
—-
10-3. Wake on the mound. 3:24. Miguel Olivo. I don’t like you, Miguel Olivo. You are trying to keep MY Timmy from getting 200. It is your personal mission. Hateful. So my personal mission is to find something that rhymes or puns with your name.
Weird twist to that strike. Dare I say… Oliver Twist? No. That wasn’t punny enough.
I think I saw one Seattle fan in the crowd. Poor Seattle fan. You and Pinedo should really go for lobster when this is all over.
I think Pinedo will be free.
Ew. The batter just spit. Ew. America saw that, Olivo.
There is a wicked mustache. It’s a fan in a green shirt and you can see him from one of the camera angles. Look. It will be like our own blog version of “Where’s Waldo?”
Fly ball. Reddick “puts it away.”
Reddick pointed up. Probably to me. Hi, Reddick. I see you too.
Strike one to Justin Smoak.
—
Anyone who can help Jerry get a hobby tweet Heidi? When I am elected your Heidi Watney, America, I will NEVER make you do this.
Out. Two down.
Close up on lobster again.
They look sad. I mean, they’re dead. So they’re not happy.
Well, maybe. Perhaps they are in a better place.
That big ocean in the sky.
Stop talking about Jerry Remy’s hobbies, damnit!!!!
I’d rather see fishing clips.
Strikeeeeee. Nice.
2,000th in a Red Sox Uniform.
—
Oh, and Jeff? I’m like this sober. Really. It’s scary.
—-
2,000 strikeouts. That’s amazing. Roger Clemens ahead of him. But Roger had… ahem… help, I hear.
Dustin Pedroia. Now would be a good time to continue your hitting streak, champ.
In the air. And off the scoreboard! Two second base! And he extends his hit streak to 21. Thanks, Dustin. Thanks.
—-
Gonz. Hi. Through the right side! 11-3 as he pushes Dusty to a run.
NICE.
23 multiple rbi games for the season…
“And the offensive beat goes on for the Red Sox this afternoon…”
Yes. Talk about that and not FISHING.
Hi, Youkilis. Shut up, announcers. I need to concentrate.
My concentration is vital now.
Remember when you caught a ball barehanded and scared me, Youkie?
He threw that DIRECTLY AT YOUK. Did you see that? Jerk.
I’ve got your number, Wright.
Hi, David Ortiz.
Outside ball.
One and one.
I love your sunglasses.
Ball caught. Bat breaks. Whatever. David Ortiz give the bat to an old lady. I would fight you, old lady.
I mean. That’s nice of him.
Hi, Crawfish. Let’s see this power we’re starting to like. Starting to love. Starting to jump up and down about.
Crawford takes a ball outside. Two and two. “A very good return of the DL.” understatement.
Swing and a miss. Strike out. Ending the inning. Maintaining his humility. I get it.
—-
One out. And now we’re talking about Dunkin’ Donuts. But this makes sense. They pay for it. The sport of fishing does not.
Josh Lueke warming up in the pen.
A hit. A single. But that’s okay. Because it is the top of the 7th. And it is 11-3. 91 pitches from Timmy. 91. 3 runs against him. But see, when the offense actually comes out to PLAY, it is all good. All of it. Most of it. ALl of it. Yes.
2 and 0. Outside. Okay, Curt Young. Pay attention, now.
To centerfield. Base hit. Okay, Curt Young. Let’s have a mound convo. Okay? Let’s do that.
B-12. Hah. Yeah. I’m sure it came in Flintstones form, Jeff.
Aceves in the bullpen. Warming up. This comforts me mightily. Mightily.
Hi, Tito. You are very clean shaven today. Ew. Tito spits. America watches. Ew.
This is not 1867. Civilized people don’t spit.
Base hit. Bases loaded on three straight hits. Okay. Ahem. Curt Young? Ahem…
Kevin Youkilis, Could you yell at Curt Young for me? Because I think he’s watching the cartoons in his head again.
99 pitches. Really. That’s admirable. But I’m ready for some Alfredo. NO.
Grand slam. GRAND SLAM. 11-7. SEE WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU DON’T LISTEN TO ME?????
I can’t do this for you, Curt Young. I wish I could. Really. I wish I could take over your brain with my mind. But. Clearly. I. Can’t.
And Tito makes his way to the mound.
And Timmy is done for the day. See, if you had done that when I ASKED YOU TO, he could prance off and not do that downward head tilt thing.
—-
I am angry. Not at you, Timmy. This is not YOUR fault. You pitched 7 innings. You are tired. And we know what happens when you are tired. WE KNOW. But apparently Curt Young needs to rewatch old tapes.
I am angry at Curt Young. He did this to you.
It’s okay, Timmy. It’s okay.
—
Jacoby makes the catch.
Do you mean what you said in the comments just now, FDA? Or are you just plotting against the great love I have for Youkilis? Because after what you said yesterday about Mike Lowell, I don’t know if I can trust you again. It will take time to rebuild.
—-
11-7. Red Sox on top. Mid 7th. Commercial break.
—
I’m thinking ponytail. That looks very I’m-not-planning-my-moving-outfit.
It is still raining. Which really interferes with both my style and my enjoyment of baseball on my computer. Because I keep thinking about what Peter said about electrocution. He’s still blogging hard, by the way. Check it out here.
This is a long commercial break.
—-
So. No more grand slams for Seattle. Okay? Okay. That does not mean, however, that you can’t work toward that, Soxies. Josh Reddick. With cool sunglasses. I wonder if Reddick and Ortiz went sunglasses shopping together.
One and two. Come on, Reddick. If you get a single. And then two more batters get a single. And then a batter gets a homerun, that would be a grand slam. And a grand slam is not just a breakfast combination at Denny’s, after all.
My mom wants me to marry Josh Reddick. She tells me in text messages all the time.
A base hit. A single.
Excellent. This is in my plan.
Oh good. Heidi has hobby suggestions.
“Jerry already has a hobby. It’s playing air guitar.”
The top suggestion is knitting.
Yes. Knit. It’s hard to knit and talk, you know.
Seriously, if you elect me Heidi Watney, I wouldn’t do this to you.
Salty a base hit. See how they’re listening to me? Another single.
And then a grand slam. This is how it shall be. 4:01.
—
I mean, if you want to go out of sequence and just get the home run now, I’d be okay with that.
WHY ARE WE WATCHING CLIPS OF A GUY READING BY THE BEACH? Seriously.
YES! Drops in short left. From third comes Reddick. 12-7. Yes.
I mean, it’s not a grand slam. But I will forgive you. This once.
Hi, Dustin Pedroia. If you get a single. You will load the bases, see. And THEN, oh then, Gonz can make a grand slam dream of mine come true.
So please? Thanks.
One out. Bottom of 7. And he hits it. For a double play. Oh. Not a double play. Good. Dustin!?
It’s because I implied that Gonz should take the grand slam, isn’t it? It’s not that you COULDN’T, Pedroia. It’s the way the lineup works out. It’s nothing personal. See what happens when you take what I say personally?
Gonz. At the plate. Ground to first base. Inning over.
blah.
—-
It is still raining. Make it stop. Thanks.
Top of the 8th. Crawford. Who seems to like hitting today.
I may just give him an MVP for today. And Youkilis. Because Youkilis was amazing.
Justin Smoak. We meet again.
Swing and a miss. And a pretty swing and a miss. Alfredo, when I like you, I like you a lot.
0 and 2. Come on, Alfredo. I’ll eat your pasta again if you do this for me.
Ground. Pedroia. First. Out. Nice.
Do it again! Do it again! Mike Carp. Wake’s 2,000th strike out in a Sox uniform. Your turn, Alfredo. Strike one. Nice job, Fish.
Now the announcers are talking about Yoga. Because that’s relevant. <- Sarcasm.
Now he’s talking about yoga in the heat and trying it. No one wants to see you in the downward dog position, Jerry. I speak for America.
A single for Carp. Great. Fish on first.
Aceves?!
We were going to be perfect. Remember? Could you aim your next wild pitch at the announcers? Thanks.
Crawford has cool sunglasses too. See? They must have gone on a shopping trip. Without me. And I LOVE shopping. Not. Fair.
—
strike out. good.
catch. good.
—
My last update sounds so very caveman. But I’m trying on moving outfits, you see. I’m ever so busy. Can I pull off overalls?
—
Um. No.
—-
Brandon League. the Closer?
Hmm.
—-
What is on the back of your neck, kid? Did you guys see that? Look at the back of his neck and please tell me what that is. Navarro at bat.
Kyle Weilland in the pen.
–
An All-Star, they say.
Okay.
I think it stopped raining.
—-
I hate to do this in the bottom of the 8. But I have to walk my dog while there is a break in the clouds. Peter is in charge. Behave yourselves and check his blog over the next ten for updates. 12-7. Sox. Bottom of 8th. One out.
—
top of the 9th. Still 12-7. Didn’t miss much…
Pedroia gets the ground. Fires to first. First out.
Nice.
Two outs left, guys.
—-
Scut shoots it to first.
Second out.
One more, kiddies.
—-
“It can be the most beautiful ocean in the world and I will not go in. I will go in the pool.”~Jerry Remy.
There is something wrong with you, Jerry Remy.
Alfredo Aceves stares ‘em down. Another strike. 2 and 2.
One more, baby.
And….. and….
And….
Thisistakingforever…
And…
Ball three? Stop it.
Foul.
Come on, Ackley.
Oh, it’s Ackley.
The hot one.
I’ll be your consolation prize.
I didn’t mean it, Youk.
Not really.
Left field… off the score boar???? Gut scores? 12-8? Really?
“You’ve got to like what you see from Ackley.”
Yeah, baby.
No. No, Lauren. Stop it. He is your enemy.
We could be like Romeo and Juliet with a happy ending, Dustin Ackley.
No. Stop it.
You are taken. Kevin Youkilis is right there.
Hi, Miguel Olivo. Could you end this inning for me? Thanks.
—
2 strikes. Let’s wrap it up. Foul.
Come on!
—-
In the air. Left. Crawforddddd makes the catch! Red Sox wins.
Sweep.
15 consec losses to Seattle.
Sorry.
I’ll root for you. You know. Tomorrow.
“A tremendous offensive day.”
As you can see, Elliot-May-Precious-Ortiz is not as impressed as I am with today’s Sox game.
Loving it.
Thanks for playing, kids!
~L
Behave, guys. MIKE LOWELL IS WATCHING!
8:15 p.m. So, I was not going to live blog this one… see… I have a date with stardom… ahem… my karaoke girls at 10. So I’ll have to jet… and it irks me so when I can’t watch the end of a game.
But did you see that up the wall catch just now by Ellsbury?
I think I will sing about it tonight.
See, I was going to go low key with some Nancy Sinatra… maybe a little Queen… but a catch like that? I think it’s time to Elton John it.
—–
Ohmygod! Mike Lowell. I just cried a little.
“I’m trying to milk this as long as possible,” he said to announcers.
Us too. Us too.
Oh, Mike. Look at you in your green collared shirt.
How’s retired life?
“It’s been good, it’s been good.”
Post surgery?
“My only fear is that you’ll go back to playing because you’ll feel so good,” his doctor said.
“So what are you saying?” announcer said.
“No, I’m not coming back,” Lowell said.
And the nation cried.
What’s that song- you don’t know what you’ve got ’till it’s gone…
“The challenge of every day is what I missed,” Lowell said.
We miss your face. And your bat. And your smile. And your… whatever. I don’t care about the game anymore. I just want to hear you talk, Mike.
“I haven’t been shy about the fact of how much I enjoy playing here in Boston,” he said.
See, that jackass catch on Salty’s pop would normally piss me off. But not with you here, Mike. Not with you here.
—-
Top of the 5th and Mike Lowell is back!
He says he hasn’t watched 9 full innings of a game.
Reddick just interrupted my Lowell drooling for a kickass slide catch.
Whatever.
Go back to Mike Lowell.
Oh, now they’re talking about JD Drew vs Reddick.
“It’s kind of the nature of the beast, you know. When you’re playing you know there’s guys in teh minor leagues looking at you, and in a nutshell, they’re looking at your job,” Lowell said.
Stop showing Lackey’s face. Go. Back. To. Lowell.
Last year’s post DL homerun. Oh, I loved you then, Mike.
Let’s talk about that.
Oh, they’re showing a clip. August 3, 2010. Oh, it was sexy.
I’m okay. I still have Youkilis.
You know, Mike Lowell is a Miami guy. And I’m a Miami gal.
Just saying.
2-1, Boston, top of the 5th.
He says post-game, winding down includes watching replays and listening to what announcers say. Noooo. Don’t go! Come back, Mike! Come back! No!
Stupid announcers and their stupid goodbyes.
Stupid game interrupting my Mike Lowell interview.
Curses.
Would it be cheesy to express my feelings tonight through this song?
—–
Scut got to first on a role and it was sloppy and cringy but did the trick. Thanks, Mike Lowell. I’m sure inspired that. You would have gotten a home run. And we would have stood and cheered and… I’m okay-I’m okay. I need a minute.
Jacoby Ellsbury. To left. And a catch. It’s okay, baby. You’re not Mike Lowell.
Dustin Pedroia has extended his hitting streak to 19 games. Come on, baby. Mike is watching. Up the middle! Into centerfield! 3 for 3, baby.
Seattle sure looks sad.
—–
Gonz is up. 0 for 2. He looks perplexed, don’t you think? Something about his eyebrow today. Not both of his eyebrows. Just his right eyebrow. The one to our left. Two on base. One out. Would be a great time for a homerun. Or a single. Or, you know, a walk. Or… um… not an out.
Maybe I will sing some Pat Benitar. I mean, “Hit me with your best shot” is kind of appropriate for this moment.
What is that booing about? Did you hear that?
Full count. Another foul. What is with your eyebrow today? Seriously.
“Johnny Damon makes his HOF decision. All that tonight on NESN.”
Shut UP announcers. Okay, now Johnny Damon’s media whorage is affecting my game concentration. I have to leave in thirty. I should. Um. Put on makeup or something? I can do that.
And Gonz walks. Load ‘em boys. Nice.
And Youkie comes in for a landing. A grand slam would be swell. Right here. He looks amazing toda. Amazing. See, Youk? I’d never leave you for Mike Lowell. Ever. I’m quite happy with you, really. Really. Where do you think Mike Lowell went? Think he’s sitting where I can see him? Because I don’t. See him. I’m looking. I’m… I mean, I’m watching you, Youkie. It’s only you.
Strike two. Hmm. Looked like something Mike would… I mean, I’m sure you tried your best.
A double play. Oh. Hmmm. Look at that.
It’s okay, Youkie. I’m sure… um…
I hope Mike didn’t see that.
—-
Lackey. Hi. I forgot it was you.
Carl Crawford makes a catch.
And now it’s Heidi Watney. Eating something else. Grrreat. Seriously?
Why is your job not mine? I can totalllllly eat.
And I used to be just as blonde.
I could do it again.
Damnit! Something crazy is going on down on the field- but can I see it? No. Because of Heidi freaking Watney. We missed a base steal and a ball hit because we were learning about eating oysters at Fenway Park. If I were Heidi Watney, that would NEVER happen. I wouldn’t do that to you, America.
—-
Still top of the 6. ONE out. John Lackey is starting to do his thing. I can feel it. Curt Young, you best e paying attention. You best be. That’s a southern thing. I can’t pull that off, can I?
Crawford makes another catch. So, basically, he’s the soul out machine of this inning.
Mike Carp, are you aware your last night is a fish?
Just checking. There’s something… fishy about this batter. I see why you read me. I truly am hilarious.
And Salty catches. Ending it. Nice.
Okay, John Lackey. Our trust is starting to build. I want to trust you. I do. I really do. I mean, remember when Chunk trusted you and you found all that pirate gold together? And battled kidnappers? I want us to be like that. Oh. That wasn’t you? Coulda sworn…
—-
David Ortiz, I’m glad to see you.
—-
Ew. Hernandez just scratched his nose with the ball. Ew.
—
Another double play. Didn’t the Mariners lose like 12 games? It’s supposed to be a blow out. Why isn’t it-
Oh. No. I remember now. That curse! That thing we do, where we only lose to crappy teams! Oh now! It’s- wait a minute. We won against the Orioles. And they’re crappy. Okay. I think we’re okay, guys.
—
First out of 7th. KKK for Lackey.
I’m trying to trust you. I am. But it is hard.
Oh, look! An article by someone else who watched Lowell talk! I’m going to read it and pretend you’re still with us, Lowell.
—-
Clay continues to struggle. Read about it here.
—-
John Lackey, John Lackey, John Lackey. I have to leave in 20 minutes so I can sing my brains out. You are going to influence what I sing, see. Don’t make me sing angry. The last time I did that I lost my sunglasses.
—–
Okay. Mike Lowell is no longer with you, so you serve me no purpose, announcers.
—–
Lackey throws pitch number 100. And it’s outside. Of course.
This guy’s mustache is very Fievel Goes West.
—–
Youk fires it to first! Out. “Lackey’s out of a jam.”
Yeah.
—-
27 isn’t too old for glitter, right?
—-
Miniskirt-check. Glitter- triple check. I am so ready to sing.
So can you people handle things while I go and live my life? I am so fricking excited. This is my first Friday night off ever. See, we have a 9 a.m. Sunday deadline. So even when I have the day off, I have to wake up at like 4 sometimes for late adds. But today… oh, today… huzzah. You don’t even know how great it is to have Thursday night amnesia and stay up and do Friday work.
I mean, it sucks Thursday, but…
I’m going to stay out past 10 like a real adult!
—
I’m worried about Youk. They keep replaying him catch that ball barehanded, shaking his hand. That Mike thing earlier was nothing, Youk. You don’t have to show off.
—
Jacoby’s solo home run in the third is the “difference in the game.” And he’s going to do it again. Watch.
Base hit! We’re on first and third.
—
Alrighty. I’m mascara-ed. I’m glitter-ed. I have to go. I trust you’ll be able to keep this lead going? Awesome. Thanks.
~L
Seriously? I looked away for a second. A second. Bottom of the 7th. And I missed what must have been amazing. Okay. Really leaving now…
6-1!!!!!!!!! You are making it so hard to leave my computer, game! I love Kevin Youkilis. I never doubted you, baby. You’re my one and only.
If Mike comes back on, could someone call me?
—-
I love coming home to a win at 3 a.m.
I just saw a guy in a Stankees hat singing “Sweet Caroline.” Really.
Showalter’s toddlers cry. Because that’s what toddlers do.
NUMBER ONE! Still. But boy has it been bloody. It’s been kicking and screaming and scraping your fingernails through the coffin door, digging your way out of mossy hell- that kind of battle.
We’re talking a battle of epic proportions.
The kind we’ve waited all our lives to fight. The kind where one alone stays standing. I think it’s obvious what comes to mind.
Oh, come on. You were ALLLLLL thinking it. July 15, baby.
See, Harry Potter is OBVIOUSLY, in this case, David Ortiz. And Malfoy? OBVIOUSLY Jeremy Guthrie.
You’re right. AT LEAST MALFOY MADE SENSE.
You know what else is a great quote?
That’s BUCK SHOWALTER in March.
Jeremy Guthrie, by the way, has been clipped into my LEAST FAVORITE players list. Poor Youk.
At this rate, Joba and Grandersnot will be the only Stanks left.
Michael Gonzalez earned his place on the list fair and square.
The real story, however, isn’t beating the whiny little birds (who, by the way, have been vocally whiny ALL WEEKEND, even if you take Gregg’s temper tantrum out of the equation). Other than being whiny, they’re not exactly relevant.
The REAL story is where we are now and where we were then. Now? At the top. One game lead over the stanks. Then? The bottom. Now? Top. Then? Bottom. See where I’m going with this?
Adversity. Great adversity.
It’s our year, people.
~L
PS- Reasons why the Stanks aren’t as annoying (LATELY) as the Orioles? At least they have the bats to back up their arrogance. Well, you know, unless they play the Sox.
Seriously- I knew the Orioles were a joke numbers-wise, but I had no idea how bratty Showalter’s toddlers really were. I babysit for four-year-olds with more integrity.
At least we won’t have to see THEM in the play-offs.
PSS- How about Gregg-head? Like egg head? Like, you’ve got a little Gregg on your face, Bucky? Or Greggative. Like negative. Because he’s… you know… negative…
Red Sox Nation: Meet your new enemy. Meet and laugh at him. Because he is hilarious.
Kevin Gregg, ladies and gents! Currently my third least favorite player. Interestingly enough, he bumped Joba the Gut (<- trying that) to fourth. That means my top three (currently) are pinstripe free.
This picture is brilliant. Doesn’t he look like that guy, you know the one? With dried saliva spittle who tells you (after high fiving his buddies) that he doesn’t come here often? Oh, and that being the stock boy at Ingles isn’t his “real” job, because see, he has ambition. And saw one of those 1-800 numbers for would-be-truck-drivers. And, swear to God, he’s going to get his license again any day now. In the meantime, have you seen his vespa? It’s “the shit” and seats two.
And, in the great jackass tradition, Kevin GROSS vomits soundbites to the media. Kevin GROSS. Kevin Greatless? Kevin Grunt. Kevin… damn it.
“I think we showed them we’re not backing down, we’re not scared of them, them and their $180 million payroll, we don’t care,’’ Gregg said. “We’re here to play the game, we have just as much right to play the game here, and we’re going to do everything we can to win.’’
Seriously? Someone has his panties (and they’re silky) in a bunch because Buck Showalter (like everyone’s mommy did when they were ten) said, back in April, that he was special. I sure hope those panties aren’t silk, because that’s a bitch to iron!
“We don’t care” about the payroll. Clearly, you’re in it for the love of the game. So, when rip that $10 million check into itty bitty pieces, be sure to take a photo of it for your Facebook page.
“We’re here to play the game.” Well, thank God. I thought you were here to maul Papi. I mean, with a 1-7 record of late, you’re definitely not here to WIN the game.
“We’re going to do everything we can to win.” I see that. I like how you at least admit it was on purpose.
“Ortiz, the place to get him out is in; you’ve got to pitch him in,’’ Gregg said. “The first pitch wasn’t too far off the corner, and he jumped away like it was at his head. The next pitch was a little bit further in, he didn’t like it, he stared at me. I’m still going to go in there and try to pitch in there.’’
Oh. After you just said you did it on purpose? I am going to make you a t-shirt. You might not be able to wear it around children.
The place to get him out is in? How would you know? You’re not the most experienced Papi-pitcher. I wiki-pedia-ed you, you jackass!
“Jumped away like it was at his head.” When a bazillion mph ball comes at YOU on the plate, Gregg, let’s see you stare solidly ahead.
“You go to the well three times, something’s looking pretty bad,’’ Beckett said. “I don’t know why they were trying to do that, but it was pretty obvious to me that it wasn’t just ‘I was just trying to pitch you in.’ ’’
Gregg. Wow. Well, at least he shut up. Because, you know, if this were high school or a baited facebook status attack, he’d… oh, wait…
“They’re going to whine and complain about it because they think they’re better than everybody else, but now, we have just as much right to pitch inside as they do,” Gregg said.
“I think there’s some ethics to this game, guidelines you got to stay within,’’ Gregg said.
And you know Gregg. He’s got morality.
Of a ten-year-old. On a birthday-cake-fueled sugar rush. When mommy tells him to put the transformers in the toy box.
“I feel like [Gregg] should’ve been thrown out before any of that [stuff] even happened,’’ Beckett said.
“The rule is that happens and you leave the mound, you’re automatically ejected. But it wasn’t handled that way and now we got other guys probably looking at fines.’’
“We’re a good hitting team and you can’t just be hitting our [expletive] guys just because we score a lot of runs. That’s how the game should be played.”
If every team takes on this philosophy, we’re screwed. You know. Because we’re going to keep scoring a lot of runs.
Gregg, as soon as I figure out some hilarious pun for your name, I will use it. You are ridiculous.
~L
‘I’ve decided you should marry Reddick.’
It is 11:15 p.m. and I am condemning this whole damn operation! Gahk. I can summarize this whole long, craptastic post in one sentence. “OH MY FRICKING GOD.” <- that is the sentence. It expresses extreme displeasure at this horrible, horrible, crapfest of a game. I think this video clip is an appropriate use of your time. But it does contain the word “shit,” which, lately, has replaced the “f” word as my go-to for toe stubbing. Airport bottles are a great invention. They have alcohol AND they are adorable. So, if you don’t want to read the lengthy, lengthy live blogging crap that is my crazy blog rant of the day, know this and know it well: Wheeler, I will have my revenge. In this life or the next. That is from Braveheart. Kind of Or Gladiator. Or some other movie with an Australian playing a scottish or greek person… How much vavoom do you think Mel Gibson used in Braveheart? Mel Gibson was the Kirk Douglas of our time. You know. Until the anti-Semitic crazy. Mel Gibson. Not Kirk Douglas. Kirk Douglas isn’t anti anything except you know, Stalin and stuff.
—–
So, I’m at work in a horrible-no-good-much-worse-than-that-children’s-book bad day, (ohmygod is it 9:47? Is that PM?!) I don’t even know the score (that’s how horrible it is. Because you know I check that obsessively), and my mother just sent me a text message.
“I’ve decided you should marry Reddick instead of Youkilis.”
I’m sorry. It says: “Ive decided u should marry riddick stead of youk.”
So, there.
Apparently, Reddick’s kicking ass?
—-
9:50 You know what just made my day better? Seeing that it’s 4-4 (better than nothing. Thanks… Reddick?) and getting comments about how other people almost drowned on their beverages after seeing JohnnyDamonville online. Thanks guys. Really. Oh, and FDA‘s silly misinterpretation of the awesomeness of Youkilis. Isn’t it scary how I don’t actually know any of you and yet you have the ability to collectively make me smile? Because real people today only have the collective ability to make me throw shoes. Speaking of which, before I drive home, I really need to find my shoes.
—-
10:26. At home. Finally. Talked to my mother on the way home.
“I could really see Reddick as a son-in-law,” she said. “He hit a double and a triple. I bet he has nice manners.”
Trying to talk to my mom about genuine crap at work. She keeps intercepting with strike calls. So, she’s watching the game and not listening. I think this is what they call role reversal. It is 5-4. That’s nice. In NOT NICE WORLD. This is what happens when I leave my mother in charge.
—-
I’m glad I had the good sense to hit the liquor store during a work break today.
—-
Mike Adams, you have a boring name.
—
Adrian!!!!!!! Stop striking out in front of company!
—-
It is 10:34. End of the 8th. Jesus Guzman? There are a lot of baseball players named Jesus.
—
Johnny Paps! I’m so happy to see you. Side note: Beckett was sick too, hmm? Think it’s the same plague that zapped Salty and Youk? Damn, dirty viruses…
—
So, sidelined by a link, this guy says Reddick could become a regular. He also says with Lowrie injured (why is everyone so surprised?!) we may be looking at Jose Reyes… This guy says lots of things. Including a fun snippet about Youkilis when asked why Youk rubs dirt on his uniform:
“He’s a Dirt Dog, plain and simple.
In all seriousness, I have never even noticed that…
If there is one guy that doesn’t need to worry about finishing the game without some dirt on his uniform, it is Youkilis. So if he does what you are accusing him of doing, you know he’s not just doing it for show. Youkilis is a pretty ritualistic guy in terms of his preparation. There could be some superstition behind it.
I’ll see if I can catch him in the act and get back to you.”
I haven’t noticed that. Have you?
—
10:43. Or, as we like to call it on the couch, shot-thirty. Everyone’s favorite Kevin Youkilis due up. Bottom of the 9th. LAST CHANCE FOR A RALLY.
Please, guys? I need this. Like, really-really.
—
Heath Bell. Does that sound like a real name to you? Are you sure you don’t write romance novels or have an evil twin in a soap opera?
A single for Youkie-pie! That’s right, baby. Rally. Rally like you’ve never rallied before. Um. Or like you did yesterday in the 7th. That would be good too.
—
10:50. Ortiz. Okay. Did Ortiz really steal a base earlier? That’s smashtastic.
Two strikes. Okay. I see what you’re doing. You’re being coy, aren’t you, big boy? Coy and boy rhyme.
I wish I was at Fenway. I bet the seat thumping has commenced.
DAMNIT, PAPI!
A double play.
It’s okay, Youkie. YOU tried.
—
ohno! Slumpy McSlumperson, aka: JD Drew. To the rescue? RESCUE WOULD BE NICE.
The adventures of Slumpy. What a children’s book you would make.
Crap. We just lost to the fricking Padres.
It’s the shithawks again. I’m telling you. They haven’t left me alone all day…
WARNING: Video Clip contains foul and hilarious language.
—
I’m not the only one who had supervisor meetings today. Lester and Tito had a heart-to-heart. Wants to keep him “fresh” for September. Does this mean pulling him (and not Wake?!)?
Oh yes, let’s follow a Yankee director. Next thing you know we’ll be shaving heads and going after your ice cream.
But yeah… okay… whatever you say, Tito.
Kevin and I have another thing in common. A bad ankle. I twisted mine. AGAIN. Today. I wish I could give you a dramatic story about saving a puppy or at least stepping in a hole. But I was walking across a tile floor (and not a real tile floor, a work tile floor) and fell. On my face.
—
Another interesting read today is this little ditty about all that realignment jazz. The blog poses the question- could a realignment impact the BoSox-Stanks rivalry?
My easy answer? Not while Johnny Damon is alive.
I still have no opinion. Or, in the words of a town council stereotype: “I am holding off on forming an opinion until I review the facts presented to me and have an opportunity to have my questions answered.” What are your questions? “I still need to review the facts to get the questions.” Facts on what specifically? “Facts on the opinions that I have.”
—-
Need a pick-me-up post Padres? I enjoyed statistics on inter-league play gathered by… *gasp* a Stankee in this blog.
“Not only does Boston kill the National League, they also play stellar baseball in National League ballparks — something the Yankees haven’t always been able to say.”
I can’t wait for another Josh Beckett at-bat.
You know, for the first time I’ll really miss Dice-K. How fun is it to watch him bat? Really! Remember that little innocent smirk before he knocks it out of the park? Love him. Miss him. Wish him well.
—-
Thanks again for your comments. They lifted my spirits today more than you know. And more than those USELESS Red Sox.
Okay, you’re not useless. But you are vertebrate clenching!!!!
I still love you, Kevin Youkilis. No matter what my mother says.
~L
PS- Since I didn’t watch the bulk of the game, I am reserving judgment as to whose fault this was. But I’m hearing some BAAAAAAAD things about you, Aceves.
Wait. Wait a minute…
Some BAAAAAAD things. YOU WALKED HOW MANY PEOPLE?
DAMN IT, ACEVES! I am never eating fettuccine alfredo again.
The WORST? Think about that bar, Aceves. Bobby Jenks. John Lackey. DENNYS REYES. And a blogger, a PROFESSIONAL blogger singled your inning out. How does that feel?
WHEELER YOU DID WHAT?!!!!
I can’t even look at your name in print. I can’t even do it.
You just wait until I’m calm enough to blog about you, Wheeler. YOU. JUST. WAIT. You’re lucky it’s shot-thirty again!
Hi, Cubs! Crushing you gives us less pleasure.
I know I’m not alone in finding a kindred spirit in Cubs fans…
You’ll have your year, Cubbies… but it won’t be this one… and it’s not starting tonight…
The internet says you haven’t been to Fenway in over 90 years.
“This was the time when the Bambino, Babe Ruth, was still a pitcher, not a slugger redefining the way the game is played. A total of 235 home runs were hit in 1918, an average of 0.231 per game, whereas today’s average is 1.743 per game. The league ERA was 2.77, a number that would earn an individual All-Star status even in today’s era of newfound pitching prominence. The best hitter in the game that year was the Tigers’ Ty Cobb, who hit .382. The best pitcher was Walter Johnson of the Washington Senators, who went 23-13 with a 1.27 ERA.”
Good. To. Know.
So, Cubbies, if my vote counts, we’ll go easy on you today.
Saaaaayyyyyyy 8-4? 8-4 sound good?
Memories…
