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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

An until-I-go-to-sleep Live Blogging experiment. Is it really Monday?

July 25, 2011 3 comments

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

facebook is evil. This game is evil. And Jeb, you are evil.
And Scutaro… I’ll deal with you tomorrow. I can’t even look at you.
TWO ON BASE????
Damnit. I have flying ants to deal with. I can’t do this on a Monday. Um. Tuesday. Um.
No sense. No sense do I make. Ground. Out.
Bottom of 13th. I cannnnnnnnnn’t do this. This is the longest rambliestnosensishmaking post in all the land and it is your fault, marco scutaro yourfault that i do not make sense because i am so tireddd…
and you, jeb. you. you facebook distracter. with your facebook and your distracting.
and you, bed. for not being comfortable enough.
and you, crazy flying demon gremlin ants. for making me afraid to sleep.
and you, scutaro.
you.
i hate you.
like hate.
John Lackey might pitch? John Lackey might pitch? We are destroyed.
Strike one Jacoby.
“Come on Jake, get on the base any way you can, kid,” Remy said.
I said that. I did.
like paragraphs ago.
it is 1:33. we are unhappy all we are.
Tito. Fix it. Fix it marvelously. two and two. that’s the balls and the strikes. That we don’t hit. But we will hit them soon. Foul. hurts ellsbury. hurts. hit him in shin. ouch it was. ouch. shutup remy and let us concentrate with the winning.
it is starting to rain in fenway. rainnnnnnnn.
maybe there will be another rain delay and i can sleep and then i could wake up and watch the rest while i get ready for work.
lackey is making his way to the pen. ohnos.
rain. ellsbury ball four. lead runner on. maybe three more will walk. and then we will win. for america. dustin pedroia. he is one for five tonight. sleep. dustin pedroia. do this. strike one. no. that is not this. a hit is this. Now Aceves is banging on things in the dugout. grounds foul into royals dugout. do that into the green monster, dustin, please. right field. caught. out. damn. gonzalez. please do. hit. it. to right field and it went off glove!!!! ellsbury to third!!!!!!!!!!! agonz is the hero! second hit. winning run at third? please. only one out. gonz at first. ells at third. jacoby is fast, he is. yes. pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease with the home. and the score. Navarro. You could win it all. You can buy our love. But you will never start at third. That is for Youkilis. chanting. let’s go red sox. chanting. ohnostress. come on. please. please. please. please. navarro. please. so long. 1:40. pops up. foul ground caught. damn. out. two outs. navarro. go sit with scut. go. ortiz. ortiz up. will they pitch? they should pitch. yes. they should. i don’t care. as long as we get to a base and not out. i do not care. papi. ortiz to second. out? out? out? no. no. out.
14. why?sleep. must gotosleep. nomore. no. more.
ohno. ohno. 14 is upon us. and randy williams is here. for 14. john lackey is in the pen. not warming up. But certainly looking at things. i am looking at things too and just as useful. eric hosmer. bah. i do not know you but we will never be friends. damn. fair ball. he gets to second. whyareyoudoingthistous? ohno. if you were going to lose, couldn’t you lose in a timely fashion? that is what the polite team would do, tito.  francoer.  another base hit. stop runner at third. stop him. yes. damn. first and third. nobody out. randy i will remember this. ohno. this will not be the end. no. switchemup. find a new pitcher. and check on youkilis. do we hae any more pitchers? make one. because this guy is a saboteur. afsjklaadfjkldfjklsadjkldfsajlkdfajlskdjafljkdfasljkdfsljkadfljkdflajkdfadfjklafjkls no.
no.
score. they lead us. they lead us alllll
ladfjkljdkfljadkdajkf
nooooooooo
whyareyoudoingthisrandy?isthisonpurpose?
afjlfadjkaljkflkjgjjlgk
ajkl
kf
k
blah. it is just a game. a game it is. no. another base hit. another base hit. because we can’t catch. scut, i know that was you. first and third. and failure for scut. and it is two to one, kansas. and we are angry, yes we are. but not angry enough, apparently. curt is talking to randy. and doing a jog. but not pulling him. pull him. no one cares about his feelings. i don’t care about his feelings. take him out. i am a hater of this.
1:50. that is in the am. and randy is still thinking he can pitchbuthecannot. alas. for the fails. ohno. yes boo them. boo them all. this is a terribleterriblenogoodickysmelly game. catch it, ellsbury. he does. no. 3-1. because of the fails. we’ve got a cruel case of the fails. we caught it from scutaro. no. out ends inning. but it is failed. three to one. and it is 14 and two in the morningandmakingnosense and with the publicness of the making the no of sense. it is scutaro’s fail to blame. scutaro. i am to sleep now.
Strike one to Crawford. Of course. Because he does not want to be my friend. My great love is not to be reciprocated. Strikes out. Of course he does. Of course. We were going to share secrets and stuff. But whatever. Scutaro. Josh Reddick. Hi. Could you score a homerun? Thank you.
How about just getting on a base. And staying there this time. No matter what Scut does. I liked Scut better than Lowrie. Remember that?
It’s a lot like Hamlet, this game.
Double for Reddick.
But they all die at the end of Hamlet anyway. Even when they score.
Tired. onefiftyseven is the time. Jarrod Saltalamacchiariffic is at the plate. Could you get a homerun? Thanks. I don’t care anymore. Yes I do. No I don’t. Failure. foul. bouncy foul.
the red sox are taking a bazillion hours of my life and adding a bazillion wrinkles to my eyes. strike out.
of course.
scutaro. damn it. i don’t want to see you.
i will close my eyes like this. you can’t see me but my eyes are closed. because i don’t want to see you, marco scutaro. one and one. redemption is a homerunandthatisit. two outs. scutaro. and a homerun might not be redemption because that would mean inning 15. strike three call. you strike out. and we lose in 14. and i am angry with you forever. willnotforgetthisday. hate.afdljkadfjksjlkdfajkadfs
sleep.
donotjudgemeforthisrant
thefails they hurt mybrain
scutarokajfffffffj

Happy Sweep Day, Soxies! Live Bloggin’ in the rain

July 24, 2011 13 comments

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!

July 22, 2011 10 comments

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.

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