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Posts Tagged ‘Jacoby Ellsbury’

Nick Cafardo and I agree on something. Oh, and this could be as good as it gets, folks.

January 17, 2012 11 comments

Nick Cafardo and I agree on one thing today. And that is Tim Wakefield.

Who- as I’ve said before- we shouldn’t just write off- despite the imaginary walker.

Not sure it’s safe to assume that his tenure with Boston is over. Even if they don’t sign him right now, what prevents them from bringing him back in May or June or even after the All-Star break if they need a starter? He could always be one of those half-season veteran pitchers.

That’s what I see for Tim. Tim’s a utility guy and a hero. He’s not the guy you parade around the mound for a milestone. He can still serve a purpose.

And every time we write him out- he comes back as a weapon.

Well, you know. Except for that one time. Okay, that several times over the summer.

But that wasn’t his fault, see. It was the number.

Numbers are scary beasts.

So. Here’s the deal, folks. Benny C is playing it… safe? Is that even the word for this? He’s certainly playing it oppositeville. Maybe he was hanging out with Michael Hill… they were playing chess, see, when all of a sudden… the board, it got struck by lightning, right? And their hair frizzed up. Oh! And then, something magical happened like that one time on Gilligan’s Island. They switched brains!!!!!

Or, maybe Benny C doesn’t know we have money.

Maybe he doesn’t read all the disparaging comments people make about how we’re moneybaggers and buy our championships and have a bazillion dollars.

Or maybe he’s busy arguing salaries with our six unsigned arbitration-eligible players: RHP Alfredo Aceves, INF Mike Aviles, RHP Andrew Bailey, RHP Daniel Bard, OF Jacoby Ellsbury and DH David Ortiz.

Or maybe he’s still playing with the rolly chair in what used to be Theo Epstein’s office.

Are we REALLY too broke for Roy Oswalt?

I do not understand how moving around payroll works. I understand that it’s how we lost Alex Rodriguez (blessing in disguise). I understand that the internet understands it better than I do-

…in order to sign the pitcher at his current asking price a corresponding roster move would have to made in order to free up payroll.

Can we unLackey ourselves or something? I mean, it’s not like he can play…

I am so confuzzled by our pseudo-poverty.

So, in other words- this could be as good as it gets- at least for now.

Provided we have Aceves in our rotation- how do we stack up- right now- as of Jan. 17? Because I’m not feeling the rotation strength. The real people we’ll be counting on- Lester, Beckett, Buccholz- they couldn’t pull us out of a Soxplosion. And now they’re starring in our comeback tour? I’m not feeling the pep today, folks.

—-

In other news- it always hurts when someone moves on. You know the relationship is over. You say you’re fine. But it’s like that Gavin DeGraw song-

I think it’s pretty obvious who I’m talking about

~L

Of course Jacoby was robbed. And…?

November 21, 2011 18 comments

The internet seems SURPRISED that Jacoby Ellsbury didn’t win MVP.

Really internet? Really? Don’t you get that NOTHING IS WORKING FOR US RIGHT NOW? Nothing!

I mean, you could say I was SURPRISED at September Soxsplosion.

That was surprising, right?

Oh! And when Terry Francona left. That was surprising.

When Theo left… that was… um… startling.

Oh! And Curt Young left.

That was… um…

And the other people… they were…

And Jonathan Papel—

Nothing surprises me about Soxpocalypse, 2011.

NOTHING.

My surprise nerve? It’s dead.

Kind of like my optimistic-about-Ben-Cherington-nerve.

DEAD.

My thoughts on Valentine?

Indifference. You and I, Ben Cherington, we apparently have the same level of influence. I wanted Lovullo. You were like, whatever. You wanted Sveum. They were like whatever.

So. Whatever.

I’m looking for new jobs. See, this is important, Ben Cherington. Because it has to be the right job. Remember that time you took a job and then your bosses nixed your ideas in your first month? And it was kind of humiliating and made us all agree with Shaughnessy about something? I don’t want that to happen to me. New jobs in Raleigh-Durham-Chapel Hill. I am this specific in case you know something, internet friends. In case you know ANYTHING. ohnolauren@gmail.com.

You know what else is important? PAYING YOUR HOUSEKEEPERS, Manny Ramirez. Manny Ramirez news is always fun.

Yeah. So. Mondays suck.

~L

And what color are YOUR gloves?

November 2, 2011 4 comments

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

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

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

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

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

AMERICAN LEAGUE:

P Mark Buehrle (White Sox)

C Matt Wieters (Orioles)

1B ADRIAN GONZALEZ (Red Sox)

2B DUSTIN PEDROIA (Red Sox)

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

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

LF Alex Gordon (Royals)

CF JACOBY ELLSBURY (Red Sox)

RF Nick Markakis (Orioles)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

14. Yell at them until they cry.

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

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

And congratulations to the Yankees for…

Oh. Right. Awwwwkward.

~L

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

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

And some people want David Ortiz sent to the YANKEES.

John Lackey has been Tommy Johned.

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

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

—-

Just can’t win.

August 4, 2011 7 comments

Inspired by fellow blogger Jup.

Jup, you see, doesn’t like Jacoby Ellsbury (who she calls Pretzels). And is unapologetic about it:

You’re not getting me on that bandwagon. It looks crowded, and I’m not that social. After giving it thirty seconds of thought, Pretzels has Kevin Cash syndrome. No matter what he does, no matter how well he plays, I won’t like him, and I don’t have a legitimate reason.

I get it.

No, I do.

I am a staunch Jacobist. Always will be (as long as he stays anti-juice) thanks to a well-timed home steal against Pettitte that one time.

But it got me thinking…

Who’s that player that you’re unapologetic about? Who’s that player that can’t do right by you, even if they work the win?

I have two, really. You know my anti-Lackeyness… (who I grimace at even on the few outings where he kicks) but unless you’ve been paying close attention- you may not know about my anti-Jed Lowrie-ness. I can’t explain it, really. I think it’s because he’s always injured. But Dice-K is always injured. And much more of a liability. And I find myself missing him, that little smirk he does when he sizzles. You know?

Jed Lowrie? I don’t even miss him when Scut anti-sizzles. You know. That thing he has been doing ALL THE TIME lately.

So who is it that cringes your last nerve? That you force yourself to watch? That you root for BECAUSE he’s on the home team?

And, on the other side of the spectrum… who do you unapologetically defend with every fiber in your fan being, often for no reason? Who will always be on your fantasy team? Even when he’s swinging strikes and falling face first into the baseball dirt on his way back to the dugout?

I don’t have a player like that. Nope.

KEVIN YOUKILIS DOES NOT COUNT. HE IS PERFECT.

~L

Non-Sox fans? Same question.

200 or BUST.

August 3, 2011 4 comments

4:23. At work. Explaining to someone the tradition that is Tim Wakefield.

So, betting time. I’ve got all my imaginary money on a win. That’s approximately 127,450 imaginary dollars. Imaginary dollars that I was saving for my imaginary boat and my imaginary high-interest mutual fund. It’s all I have left after purchasing my imaginary island last week with my imaginary savings. If I lose it, I’ll be marooned.

What do you think, Soxies? Is today the day that Father Time… um… Father Tim will deliver double hundreds?

See you in a few hours!

—-

6:15. Getting off work. Step closer to being able to watch entirety of actual game…

—-

HILARIOUS story about Alex Rodriguez on Deadspin (thanks, Jeb!).

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

Check it out while you tailgate.

—-

7:15. Okay. Carlos Carrasco. There’s something funky about the video on MLB.tv today… anyone else experiencing this? Checkerboards? No? Just me.

Jacoby chops to first. First out.

I wish they would stop spitting in public. It’s embarassing.

This is frustrating already. two outs. Sorry, Pedroia. I thought it was a homer too.

Gonz has an extremely dramatic single. Jacoby would have made that a triple. But whatever. The crowd goes silent as Youkie steps up to the plate. Okay. I may have assisted with the mute button on my computer…

Okay. They’re picking on Youkilis. The announcers say they’re picking on Youkilis. STOP PICKING ON YOUKILIS.

Thank you. With that complete and utter fail, Cleveland, you stopped. And helped my husband have one hell of a double. Okay, sound. You can come back again.

Papi at the plate. This MLB feed is really going to annoy me. I can tell. Base hit! Youkie! Gonz! 2-0 lead. 2-0. I like how this is going. Yes. Go team 200. That’s what I will call you all today. Team 200. Do it for Wake. Do it.

Carl Crawford, buddy, pal, friend, let’s widen the cushion, shall we? Let’s spread out that cushion like a picnic blanket. Like throat coating cough syrup. Like… like a home run.

Out. Okay. Um. First inning. Two runs. Okay.

Top of the second. 7:29. Travis Hafner. at the plate. Strike two.

Youkie in the shortstop spot (????) throws him out.

K.

Carlos Santana who has shifted from catcher to first base? What a weird game.

Okay, announcers. I don’t want to know how well the batters hit against Timmy. This is not helpful information for my pro-200 mindset. You will go on mute again. Mute, I say.

Steeeerike. First K of the night.

Knucklin’. Knucklin’ your way to 200. Knuckleballs look so silly. I wonder how they look coming at your face. Judging from the confuzzled expression on Konerko’s face, not pleasant.

Throws it in the dirt again.

Um. Let’s not do that.

Tim turned 45 yesterday? Why didn’t I know that? I would have thrown a party.

A-Gonz shoves in the out.

Sweetness.

7:35. I am so tired, guys.

Bottom of the second.

Not. A. Good. Sign for my awakeness…

Cleveland, I’m sorry your pitcher lost his last five starts. Really. And I’m sorry that tomorrow it will be six. Heidi Watney, I really don’t care about this. Thanks.

Reddick. Base hit. At the wall. Dramatic single. One out. But Joshy on first.

That ball almost hit Baltimore… wayyyyyy on the bottom of the wall list.

Marco Scutaro kind of looks like this guy I went out with this this one time. Not sure why I’ve never noticed that… my, what an awkward memory.

Good swing by Marco Scutaro? Um, Remy, a good swing is going to be when it’s out of the park and we’re two runs scarier.

Full count for Scut. See, I’m not worried- because Jacoby’s up next.

Fly to center… catch. Out.

Whatever, let’s see you, Jacoby.

Ball one. Okay. We can walk there. That’s fine. My computer keeps freezing on ridiculous expressions in the audience. Like this guy in a pink plaid shirt with his mouth open. He is clearly a Cleveland fan.

No offense, Bheise. You would NEVER wear that shirt.

In the air to right. Makes the catch. Ends the second. Okay. That’s fine.

—–

0-2. Top of the third. Tim Wakefield is about to be a badass. You’ll see.

Any minute now.

Pop out. Jacoby’s all over it.

Any minute now.

He just smirked. Was that a badass smirk?

Yes. Yes it was. Second strike out for Tim Wakefield.

That’s KK, for those of you paying attention at home.

Two outs.

Ground ball. Easy out.

And then Scutaro kicks it.

Scutaro kicks it?

Scutaro kicks it.

SCUTARO!

Bunt. Out at first.

Okay. Scut… you better go shake Gonz’ hand.

—-

Up the middle, base hit for Pedroia… our 5th hit of the night, by the by… on a new 5 game hit streak… Okay.

25 game streak broken by the White Sox. That one hurt.

Gonz tries the bunt. Not so much with the success.

Pedroia tagged out. Pedroia!

“That’s a helpless feeling for a baserunner, when you take off too soon,” announcer said.

Caught stealing. Bah.

Gonz grounds into the shift. Obvious out- but he runs for THAT one, notice.

Shut up, Heidi! Youkilis is batting.

Ball and a strike. I just love the Youk chant. It’s like a moan, really. Ball and two strikes. Two outs. Come on, baby. I believe in you. Want me to clap? I’ll clap. I can do that. Hell, it worked in Peter Pan.

Damn.

Clearly, you are not Peter Pan. End of inning.

—-

39 pitches for you, Timmy. 40th… a strike. And a fast ball.

Home run.

DAMN.

Okay, Timmy.

Okay. Breathe. 200. 200. Just repeat that. You know. 200 times.

Hopefully this won’t take 200 tries.

Zeeeeerooooo outs.

Chop.

Ball bounces. Ridiculously.

Clearly witchcraft. 2-2. Tie game.

Yeah, Salty. I think you SHOULD talk to Tim Wakefield. Maybe you should talk to him longer. NO outs. 2-2. 8:05 p.m.

Wild crazy pitch puts the guy to third.

Okay. Wakey. Okay. Let’s just calm down.

This inning is gross. Let’s start over. Or. Um. End it. Or something. Wake?

52 pitches. Tonight a year ago collision at the plate with Santana? Yeah. Let’s not repeat that. I’d rather Wake just strike you the frick out.

Like he just did. Making it KKK.

55 pitches. Okay. Let’s give that lonely out some friends. Two, to be specific.

Pedroia catches.

2 outs.

ONE MORE.

Thank you. Sit down.

Papi walks.

And, in the announcer booth, we’re talking about Tito bobbleheads. I really, really want one. Is that wrong? Will you buy me one?

“Where’s his finger so I can dislocate it again?”

That’s a bit much, announcer. A bit much.

A bobblehead night?

Doesn’t make the catch- Ortiz stopped at third, double for Crawford. Lovely. Kismet.

Second. Third. ZERO outs. ZERO.

BASES LOADED! BASES LOADED!

One out.

But BASES LOADED!

And…

Crap.

Marco Scutaro.

Crap.

Strike 2.

Crap.

Come on, Marco.

Come on, Marco. Stephen King is watching.

3-2 lead.

Okay. Okay.

I mean, it’s not a grand slam… but… at least we avoided a double play.

2 outs. Carl at third. Marco at first. Jacoby at the plate. Scut steals.

And crap.

Anddddd we start the bottom of the 6th with an out.

And about fifteen yawns from me.

And two outs. Blast.

That was a dramatic fail… and we’re on first.

Of course, it may be moot, because Marco’s up.

Out. That was fast.

Top of the 5h. 8:30 p.m., but it feels like midnight. Wake… can you do this quickly? Thanks.

Thanks. 1 out.

Crap. And one on first.

2 outs. Okay. Okay. Guy on second. Whatever, guy on second. Wake promised this would be fast.

First and second. Okay. And Asdrubal is up to the plate.

Wakeeeee…

3 outs. Thanks be to Fisk. I’m so sleepy, guys. So sleepy…

——

Gonz and Pedroia are trying to wake me up. It’s sweet. Thanks, guys. But it’s not working. Youk is going to load up the bases. He will.

Crap.

Youk.

Crap.

2 outs.

Papi. Papi.

And the fifth crashes. Like I am about to…

—–

Hi, Timmy.

Tim Wakefield. Please?

Oh no. Alfredo Aceves is warming up.

Oh no. Wakey, you can do it. I believe in you…

200. 200. 200. 200. 200.

—-

Tim. 200. Tim.

He is stressing me out. Are you watching this? Is anyone watching this?

Tito looks stressed out. And Salty, I hope that’s stress, because you are causing some plate scariness with your not catching.

Okay, One on first. One on second. two outs.

Oh. AND IT IS TIED AT THREE-THREE now.

Tim is gone. And I have this sinking sleepy feeling that this is only the beginning of our journey to 200.

Top of the 7th. I am too tired to yell at you, Randy Williams.

It looked fair to me too, Jacoby. It is 9:20.

—–

3-3. top. 8.

Bottom.

Nothing changes.

This game will clearly last forever.

Youkie. Fix it.

Ball four. Leadoff WALK.

Okay.

Tony Sipp. Whatever.

Mike Avilles pinching. This is the first time I’ll really see you in action, Mike. Can I call you Mike? Papi. Oh, Papi. Swing and a miss. ‘Course.

Zero outs, Aviles on first.

Aviles steals second. This Aviles, he’s alright.

Pop out. Papi.

Carl. Can I call you Carl?

Seriously. Ties cause me to lose sleep. Fix this, Carl. Be a buddy.

Out on strikes.

Okay. Um. Aviles is still in scoring position. One out left. So. Um. Salty?

Oh no. Justin Masterson tomorrow. Oh no. I am so conflicted. I loved him so.

Right. Back to the actual game.

13-1 Yankees? Really, White Sox? REALLY?

Bah.

Salty. Yes. Salty.

Strike three.

Damn.

—–

This game is stressful. I know what will make us ALL feel better:

You’re welcome.

—-

The 9th. An out.

Papelbon.

Second out.

Crowd on its feet. Wish we were there.

Strike out.

—-

Score. PLEASE.

Hi, Darnell McDonald.

FAIL, Darnell McDonald. Go. Sit. Down.

Oh, Marco.

Marco Scutaro.

DAMNIT, SCUT.

Crap.

One out left.

ONE OUT.

ONE OUT or extra innings. And I can’t stay awake, people.

Jacoby, if you CARE about me at all…

OHMYGOD. You… you love me… you… you really love me…

HOME RUN.

OHMYGOD.

I love you too, Jacoby. I love you too.

4-3.

~L

“Just want to try to drive the ball.”

You did, Jacoby. You did.

I love Paps’ victory face. I love it.

“We’re going to compete until the last out,” Jacoby said.

Because I can watch baseball and work at the same time.

July 28, 2011 6 comments

I wonder. 0-0.

Off the wall. Varitek gets to third. Double by Navarro.

I wonder.

With hits like this… pitching could get complacent.

That’s why we have Josh Beckett. Who is badass. Occasionally angry. Frequently belligerent. But NEVER complacent.

It is the bottom of the 3rd and I am watching the game. Working. And waiting on a phone call. I mean, if I knew there was the possibility of having a negative article about me in the Friday paper, I would call the reporter back. But, you know. That’s just me. Second and third. Thank you, Jacoby. Thank you!!!!!

That was nice. Did you see the way his tongue did that weird thing we he ran just now? 2-0. BOSTON. Jacoby on first. That’s the first game in awhile where we have an early lead. The one run that it is.

I hope Lackey is watching this. Jussssttttt an observation. In no way an indication of going against any pledges. One out. Okay.

—-

Gonz at the bat. And my phone is ringing. Which means we’re about to score fifteen runs I won’t get to see.

————-

One at first. One at third. Youk was robbed.

Okay. a fair strike out. Fair. I guess.

And Ortiz is at the plate. Ortiz, aka: the Slammer. I just thought of that. Does that work for you? The Slammer. I like it better than Papi. That was a power strike. And an out. But that’s okay, see, because we have Beckett. So the 10-run cushion isn’t necessary. Right, guys? Right, Youkie? You don’t need a 10-game cushion…

Why is it that these games against sucky teams have been so stressful? I’m sure there is a life metaphor here.

—-

Two phone calls later, I just saw THE coolest hat. Did you see that? It looked like a red sombrero with Socks instead of tassels. NICE.

2-0, top of the fourth. Zero outs. And an Alex Gordon on first. Blah.

Seriously. That was a neat hat. Let’s make one. We should have a hat contest. I would win.

Josh Beckett is doing his badass glare. That, mess with my mound and I’ll shove a cleat in something glare. Hah. And Gordon was tagged out. Gordon was not tagged out? Did I miss something? First and second have runners, Josh. Now, I don’t want to judge you. I’m a little afraid of your death stare today, but you know there are no outs, right? You know that? Just checking. Oh no. I hope you didn’t drink the Lackey juice. Eek. That sounded defamatory. I didn’t mean it, Johnny boy. I didn’t mean it.

1-1.

That guy at the plate sure adjusts himself a lot. Just saying. Necessary? Oh no. OHNO. Home run. With two on. That’s two thirds of the way to a Grand Slam, Beckett. IF THAT IS YOUR REAL NAME. Billy Butler. Oh no.

What. Is. Going. On???? Is this because I have split focus? Are you trying to pin this one on my attention span? Because I didn’t make the schedule, Tito. Bud Selig did. 3-2 Kansas. Josh. Beckett. What happened? It’s the time machine, isn’t it? You accidentally switched places with April Josh Beckett. The real Josh Beckett is drinking margaritas on a beach with 2007 Dice-K. Ohgod. ONE out. ONE out. I am so full of hate.

Yay! Jup is live blogging too! Glad to see you, Jup. My coworkers are doing this glarey thing because I held a mini-temper tantrum over the Beckett bust a few minutes ago.

“Font sizes,” I say. “Silly Apple computers.”

Damnit. Full. of. Hate.

Josh Beckett… seriously. What’s going on? You can tell me. Is it the rocket scientist? Because we can send her away, Josh. Is it the trials of immediate fatherhood? Because we can hire people to do that. Just tell us what you need, Josh. Just tell us what you need…

—–

I do not understand this world.

—-

ONE out? ONE out????? STILL? It has been like ten minutes. Or an hour. Or something. And you are not applying yourself. Damnitdamnitdamnit. Base hit. And score. And… Anddddd…

Clearly, I am not mature enough to do this and work. I just threw a notebook. Okay, Lauren. Shrug it off. Calmly… calmly walk across the room… pick up the notebook… nothing to see here, guys. Nothing to see. It was… um… a source. A source was frustrating… and… and… DAMNIT, JOSH!!!!???? Who are you and what did you do with JOSH BECKETT???????? 4-2. In this cosmic joke of a game. Yeah. Foul. Hah. EAT THAT FOUL. YOU EAT THAT FOUL AND YOU DIE.

I’m okay, guys. Sorry. I just. Um. Broke a nail. That’s it.

—-

WHY? 4-2. ANOTHER one on the base. And ONE OUT. Someone is lying to someone. I want a DNA test. Can I do it? I really want to be the one to prick your finger, Josh Beckett.

Hi, Peter. Thanks for entering the conversation. Maybe you can keep me from hurling my rolly chair across the newsroom. Because that would be wrong. Yes it would. Second and third runners. I care. You care. We all care. Josh doesn’t seem to care. Nooooooooo. 2 outs. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? YOU ARE WARMING UP RANDY WILLIAMS? RANDY FRICKING WILLIAMS? WE TRIED THAT ALREADY!!!!!! WHY? Seriously?! Are you watching this, Curt Young? Do you take notes? I take notes. YOU CAN BORROW MY FRICKING NOTES.

—-

This is like a group project gone horribly awry. You remember. In college. It’s a group grade. And there’s that guy who just doesn’t show up. But he gets your grade anyway. Even though you’re the one who had to stay up all night in the drafting studio. YOU ARE THAT GUY, CURT YOUNG.

Out. Fah-fricking FINALLY. I need a break. I need a… cigarette. I don’t smoke anymore. I need a… I need a cigarette. WHO ARE YOU AND WHERE DID YOU GET THE JOSH BECKETT SKIN?

—-

Jup is right. Maybe Beckett is just a reality television super fan. Because I feel like I’m on reality television. Given an impossible variable and being forced to maintain composure. Act normal. Like my shirt isn’t filled with snakes or something. And only the audience and I know the hilarious reality. And I must keep the peace for the million dollar grand prize.

Wow. That would be a great show. DAMNIT. Salty, salty tears of frustration. It’s okay, guys. I just stubbed my toe. That’s it. No. Don’t worry about me. I have phone calls to make. Josh Reddick. Hopefully the skin stealer didn’t go after all our Joshes. I would cry rivers of yelling. RIVERS.

I need a stapler to throw. Oh. Not that one. This one. The one I broke last time I watched a Sox game at work. yessssssssss.

—–

Hi, Heidi. I do not know what you are saying. Because my computer is on mute. But I know I would say it better. Faster. With more pizazz. Oh. JD Drew. I am imagining what he’s saying.

“I, too, was the victim of the skin stealing monster. And now, with Beckster’s public meltdown, perhaps others will finally believe my testimony,” he says. Maybe. He could be saying that.

Maybe JD Drew is a spy.

Drew Sutton. Oh. I had a teacher named Sutton. She hated my poems.

And Sutton is out. And that’s not poetic at all. See how there are two outs in like five minutes, guys? That’s what you’re SUPPOSED to do. Jason Varitek!

Oh, Captain. They’re trying to tear us down, Cap. They’re trying to break us apart. Me and Josh. The world’s against us, Tek. I’m getting my hair done Saturday. Should I go blonde again, Tek? I hear you like blondes.

Tekkkkkk… save us. Save us all.

That was a dumb fastball. It was intellectually inferior to other fastballs. That’s right.

DAMNIT. Why, Tek? Is it because we’re not believing hard enough? Is it because I’m not watching closely enough? WHY MUST YOU FORSAKE ME?! I thought you were my captain. MY captain. Robin Williams would NEVER have done this to his class in Dead Poets Society.  You, sir, are no Robin Williams.

Useless. All of you. USELESS.

—-

Yeah. I can’t do this. I have to minimize this for a few minutes. I… I… I… I am so full of hate. And at a job where hate starts trickling in when your foot hits the parking lot…

I… I… I…

I need the river.

I’m going to the river after work.BLAH. Deep breaths. Somebody give me a happy thought. STAT.

—-

THANK YOU. Outs. THANK YOU.

Clearly, you care about the functionality of staplers in my office. THANK YOU.

—-

Yeah. Um. Jackass copy editor just sent me an obnoxious e-mail signed, “cheers!”

He deserves to die.

Not really. I didn’t mean that.

Damn. One out. Still 4-2. 72 pitches. Bottom of the 5th.

In other news, we just saw the trailer for Battleship, the movie. It’s… um… it’s not good.

No. It’s not.

Liam Neeson is in it. It just created a “What the ffffff” wave over the entire office.

“That’s one of the worst looking things I’ve…” ~Film critic.

Now I’m pretending I’m being disgusted by the trailer. It’s my cover, see.

AND I THINK THE BLUE OF YOUR UNIFORMS IS OBNOXIOUS.

——-

TWO OUTS. It’s welling. From the pit of my stomach up my spine. At first it was kind of warm. A tingly feeling. Growing hotter. Painfully hotter. Like fire. THIS IS RAGE. Pedroia got to first. I think it was a walk. I don’t know. I don’t care. I DON’T CARE.

It’s just a game. Just a game.

I think, perhaps, the addition of a bad baseball game to an already toxic environment makes me meaner. Because I just called the copy editor short. He is short. It’s not like I made it up. His shortness is not MY fault.

—-

STOP SMILING. STOP IT.

Gonz. Hi. You wouldn’t believe my day, Gonz. AND people won’t return my phone calls.

That was a power strike. Hopefully the precedent to a power hit? Wait. Was that a power strike out? Jesus. That was almost an outsteal, Pedroia. You are very, very lucky that the Royals can’t catch. I think we are all very, very lucky that the Royals aren’t that good. Because Beckett, if the Royals were good, this would be a 32-2 game. And This rage that is building would make me explode. Pieces of my appendix would fly to Boston, I’m sure. I am like a confetti bomb of rage just waiting to blow up all over your televised image, Josh.

We should quarantine Lackey.

I didn’t mean that (I DID).

WERE YOU EVEN TRYING, GONZ? YOU COULD HAVE BEEN FASTER. He fake jogged that. Like a 19-year-old in makeup running in the short shirts.

—-

Aw. The kid that caught the ball just cried. I would cry too. I feel like crying. Let’s all have a group cry. That actually wouldn’t look suspicious. People cry in my job allllll the time. True story.

Hi, Eric Hosmer. Your eyebrows make you look mean.

Josh Beckett. There are zero outs. It is the top of the 6th. And we are trailing by two. I just want you to know that.

Anddddd, aided with that information, one out.

See what happens when we work together? When we listen? It’s like Israel.

Jeff Francoeur. No. No. No. No. OHTHANKGOD. Jacoby caught it. It’s okay. Two outs.

Okay. Okay. Okay. It’s going to be… damnitdamnitdamnit.

So, I’m writing about this pig. It’s a pot-bellied pig. And it’s 20 lbs. And illegal. And it escaped. So the town knows it’s there. And there’s this fine situation. It’s kind of hilarious. And kind of keeping me sane through this game.

Everyone is crowded over at my friend Frank’s desk. Watching youtube videos. How unprofessional.

TWO OUTS. We want THREE outs. I can help you count, Josh. I can do that for you. I just can’t throw the damn ball. Really. I wish I could. I have the drive. If I had talent, there would be no stopping me.

Josh. Beckett. Baby. I know you’re in there somewhere. You’ve got to be in there somewhere. Fight it, Josh! Fight it! Come back to us, baby. We’re right here! We’re right here! Move your head or something so I know it’s you in there.

Pedro could do it.

Just saying.

Out.

Thank. You. God. I say thank you, God and not thank you, Beckett. Because I don’t know who you are today, Josh. We are going to have a conversation about this. WITH a therapist. So clear your schedule.

—-

Phone call. Please don’t lose while I work. Please.

——

That was my fault. It’s because I wasn’t watching. I’m sorry, Youk. I’m so sorry.

—-

Up walks the Slammer. And back walks the Slammer. Because he is out. Whatever. WHATEVER. My foot is falling asleep. Damnit. My foot is falling asleep and I’m at work and I hate work and I hate you and I hate your sunglasses and you are disappointing my hopes and dreams.

Josh Reddick. Another member of the Josh Club fails.

And, in the fastest inning against a crappy team in history…

—–

No. I’m actually not DRUNK, e-mailer. I’m actually angry. That’s worse than being drunk. And if I was angry AND drunk, you’d know. Oh, you’d know. I’m actually at work, see…

—-

Jeff of Bickleyhouse fame just sent me THIS link. It is the only thing that has been able to remotely cheer me up in the last hour.

AND, after what just happened with VARITEK, I am glad I had one small laugh in my life.

He landed hard on the catch fail too. He better not be hurt. YOU BETTER NOT BREAK YOURSELF ON AN ERROR, TEK.

—-

One out. Fah-fricking-finally. Runner on third. Eminent doom everywhere.

It’s rising like nuclear ash. Or does nuclear ash fall? It’s doing whatever nuclear ash does, this eminent doom. It’s like in Rainbow Brite. You know. The gray people? That suck happiness and personality out of all the colored magical people? It’s like someone has sucked the color out of Josh Beckett and he’s this gray creepy cartoon with an anxiety disorder and dream breaking tendencies.

This is NOT the Josh Beckett I know and lust over. Ohno.

But I will find out who you are. Even if I have to do a google search and make something up.

Maybe the hemp necklace… maybe it’s been replaced with a cursed necklace. There’s a book about that.

Something mystical is afoot. It’s really the only logical explanation. Sometimes hoof noises are zebras, after all. Because zebras exist in the world. They do. It’s true. I’ve seen them in zoos. And on cartoons. Can you ride zebras? I’d like to ride a zebra.

This runner on third is of great concern to me. No one else seems concerned. Nope. No one else. Something Wicked This Way Comes. That’s a book. And how I feel. Right now. With the two outs. And the two on two. Something bad is coming. Like in Harry Potter.

Oh. Good. An out. That makes three.

Oh. Good.

You know that offensive explosion we apparently have? It. Is. Time. It. Is. Time. The time has come to pop these suckers out. The time has come to show America …. um …  A marine (is she a marine) is singing. I think. I don’t know. It is muted. I do not know what is going on. Maybe she is summoning the help of mystical forces. That would be, you know, useful.

—-

Okay. So. I have had like five minutes to think about this. And I think it’s obvious. Beckett has been bodysnatched. It’s like an alien film. But real. That’s the only explanation I can think of. It’s alllllll starting to come together. There will be a book about this, and we’ll be major players, you and I. We’re the people who figured it all out, see. So, probably, only one of us will be able to live (it is a movie, after all). I’m betting I’ll survive. I’m wiley.

Bottom of the 7th, Franklin Morales and Daniel Bard are in the pen. I vote Bard, Young. And we have one on first. And Gonz on the plate. Zero outs.

Two outs. Jacoby. Damn. Three outs. This is not the way I hoped this inning would go.

—-

Morales. Okay. Further proof that my psychic messages go unnoticed. You heard that, didn’t you? I mean, my brain was screaming Bard. I really thought it was more of a screech than a scream. But whatever.

—-

One out.

Seriously. Blonde? You think? Because I can pull off Heidi so much better than Heidi. Jussssst saying.

—–

2 outs.

WHY WON’T PEOPLE CALL ME BACK?

Someone just said I sounded young on the phone. Yeah? Well, you sound old.

—-

Francoeur is giving me a Jeter vibe. You feeling that? And he walks. Oh, he walks. Of course he does. See, if we had Bard on the mounddddd…

—–

OHNO. WHAT? That was like an ansta-out. And you … You… You dropped it. What was that? What… It’s okay. We’re okay. We’re okay. 4-2. We’re not okay. We’re not okay.

Out. Yes. Out. Inning over.

Okay, guys. THIS IS IT. This is the inning of absolution. Of vengeance. Of … of…

So, I get to do a hawk release tomorrow. That is exciting. I covered a set of owl releases last year. Yay. And they’re giving me a photographer. Which is swell. Because my photographer will even drive me there. And I hate driving. That’s a small victory. I get them sometimes.

—–

My boss is wearing a collared shirt. It is powder blue. Like… 70s prom without the ruffles. AND a darker (but still powdery) blue tie. Just an observation to distract myself from this fricktastic game.

Bottom. Of. The. 8th. No joke, Pedroia. You’ve GOT to do this.

—-

Thank you. Homerun. Thank you.

SOME people listen (glare at Beckett. Glare at Beckett). 4-3.

A beacon of hope. A lighthouse amidst a stormy sea. A sugary sprinkle on the crapcupcake of our lives.

—–

“You are full of hate today.” ~My office mate.

“So is your face.” ~Me.

“Wow, Lauren. Wow.”

—-

Youkie-poo. 4-3.  2 outs. It’s okay, Youkie-poo. You were the inspiration for Dustin Pedroia’s homerun, I’m sure.

No. You know what? Not even YOU get a free pass today, Youkie. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, but I’m not sorry. You, too, are dead to me for the next ten minutes. THE NEXT TEN. Okay. The next eight.  Okay. The next seven. BUT THAT IS IT.

—-

Out. Out. Out. End of the eighth. We are 4-3. There is hope. There is hope in this sea of adversity. I am going to close my eyes and think of orca whales now.

—-

Put the lime in the coconut and drink it allllll up… that song always makes me feel better. Because it’s about alcohol. And coconuts. I will play it now.

—-

2 outs. And a mileage check! Huzzah. And a base hit. As soon as I sit back down. OFFRICKINGCOURSE.

Peter, what is going on? Why are they doing this to us?

Can you fix it? You’re closer.

—-

Orca whales. Penguins. Kittens. These things make me happy.

—-

So, I’m thinking of doing a question and answer blog. Do you have any questions? Because I’m thinking about answering them. ohnolauren@gmail.com.

—-

I wish our pitcher would stop spitting. He is embarasing himself. Why must they spit? Seriously. There are women and children present! Doesn’t he know the wild west code?

Two strikes. If you could make that three strikes, we could rally. Because we need to rally. We NEED to. See, it’s the 9th inning. And we trail. Oh, we trail.

WHAT? A steal. We catch. Plenty of time. We drop. He’s safe. Of course. Are you shaking your fist, Peter? I’m shaking my fist for us all.

Oh, Um. It was a mosquito. That’s it. A mosquito…

Damn you and the horse you rode in on. First. Second. Runners. It’s like we’re doing it on purpose. It’s like it’s charity game day. It’s not charity game day. There is no charity in baseball. They donate money when we get homeruns. That’s charity enough. We dont’ need to be giving games away too.

And a catch. And the inning ends. And we need to breathe. We need to breathe a lot. Because the bottom of the 9th… all the oxygen is about to leave the room.

RALLY.

—-

Okay. Seriously. I am working. I am doing about fifteen things at once. I cannot be expected to do this all by myself. Joakim Soria. OhIhatethisguy. Remember him from the game that wouldn’t end Monday? Fricktastic. Got to keep it in check, guys. Come one Josh-I-am-still-speaking-to. 1-1. Breathe, Josh. Breathe. Okay. That was not… um… ideal. One out.

Okay. We’re fine. We’ve got this. My imaginary hat is on backwards and I’m ready to rally. Okay. I’ve been using this stapler like a stress squeeze ball. I think I have jammed it permanently.

You were meant for greater things than paper stacks, stapler.

What is with the grounders? Wow. I can’t believe we made that. That’s god. Right there. Because that should have been an out. But it was a single. A single. Because … because… oh… someone wants us to have hope. It’s probably because he knows losing with a string of hope is much more painful.

Crawford. Ohno. He’s excited. I can tell. An excited Crawford could be a sloppy Crawford. And the only thigns that are sloppy and good are dog kisses and sandwiches.

And I’m not a real fan of the sandwiches. Because I like white t-shirts.

But that’s neither here nor there nor relevant.

Carl Crawford has 3 walk off hits this season. Three. Okay. I know it’s hot. I know you’re sweaty. But you can drink water in a minute, Carl. It’s rally time. Ohohohohohohohohohohohohohohohno. No.

Caught. Out. I thought…

It doesn’t matter what I thought.

Okay. We’ve got an out left. Okay. Oh.

That one hurt. Stupid Francoeur.

Oh.

It’s fine. Yamaico Navarro. Ohno. Okay, Yamaico. You just have to get on a base. That’s all you have to do. Just get on a base. I don’t care which one. Your team needs you. Your city needs you. My stress levels NEED you.

Strike. Watch it, Navarro. You do. Not. Have. To. Swing.

Maybe you shouldn’t swing. Maybe you… oh no. 1-2. Oh no.

I feel it… I feel…

Oh.

Damn.

Oh.

Shit.

Oh.

Damn.

And a close up on Youk. Don’t do a Youk close up. Close up on Josh Beckett. IF THAT IS HIS REAL NAME.

What’s worse than losing to a crappy team?

Losing to a crappy team with your favorite pitcher.

~L

LIVE bloggin’ some Lackey.

July 27, 2011 9 comments

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

JOHN LACKEY!!!

Eeek! I mean:

JOHN LACKEY!!!!!!!!

My bad.

Tonight’s drink of choice is…

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

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

—-

Food. Check.

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

——-

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

—–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

6:50. Ready to play.

————

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

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

—-

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

—-

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

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

—–

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

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

—-

Bruce Chen. Jacoby Ellsbury.

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

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

—-

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

—-

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

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

Fire in their eyes tonight, see?

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

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

A home run should suffice.

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

I’m watching you, Ump.

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

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

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

—-

Lackey.

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

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

Grounder, thrown out. First out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—-

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

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

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

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

—–

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

—-

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

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

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

Bases STILL loaded. 3-3.

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

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

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

Still not enough guys! Pump them out.

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

But chairs come with cushions.

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

——

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

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

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

—–

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

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

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

—-

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

—-

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

3-6.

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

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

Loooooaaaaaded.

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

No pressure.

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

Replay! Replay!

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

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

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

—-

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

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

And he walks someone on first. Awesome.

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

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

To left field. And a base hit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Darnell McDonald.

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

No.

I’m okay.

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

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

Oh, Jed. You DL addict.

—-

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

YOU’RE TEARING ME APART.

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

Out number one?

What? You’re. Um. Not sucking?

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

Pop out. Two outs.

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

Base hit. Well, blows that theory.

You’re just slime.

—-

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

—-

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

—–

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

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

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

——

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

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

—-

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

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

I can see it now. Can’t you?

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

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

And base hit! base hit!

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

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

—–

David Ortiz! Stop spitting! America is watching.

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

Oh. Fail. Double play. Fail. Oh.

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

Damn it, Youk. Damn.

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

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

—-

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

—–

How many others must the paper cut?!

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

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

—–

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

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

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

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

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

—-

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

—-

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

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

—–

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

Salty. Hi.

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

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

All I want is a win today.

It’s not enough, just to play.

With your enormous name…

Oh thank you… Saltalamacchia…

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

Popped up. Whatev.

Oh, Heidi Watney.

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

Oh, that’s you, Jeb!

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

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

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

:)

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

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

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

—-

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

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

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

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

———

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

One out. 8th inning. Dan Wheeler.

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

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

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

—-

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

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

Damnit.

This is your fault too, Lackey.

—-

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

—-

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

Sexy catch. OUTTTTTT.

—-

Bottom of the 8.

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

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

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

Am I too harsh? I’m too harsh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Swing and a miss for Reddick. Strikes out.

Headin’ to the 9th. Feelin’ groovy.

—-

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

——-

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

—-

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

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

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

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

The last batter always takes the longest.

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

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

This is wayyyyy too complicated for a 7 run lead.

Just go quietly.

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

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

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

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

For frick’s sake, people.

10:19.

—–

STRIKE OUT. 10:20.

And the Red Sox win.

That was way too complicated.

John Lackey, You did NOT do this.

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

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

~L

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