Happy Jon Lester day, everybody! Sorry, just practicing. That’s right! The most Lesterish of all the lefties is primed to attack opening day.You’re watching, right? Because apparently Lester’s father won’t be. And that’s a shame, because Lester’s a special, special guy, and I’m sure he’s sorry about Soxplosion, 2011. I’m sure he’s sorry and that I’ll be getting my apology letter any day now.
I’m expecting one from you too, DOUBRONT. I hate to judge games I didn’t physically watch… but REALLY? REALLY, FELIX?
They were saying NICE things about you. Remember that? Remember THIS?
And you go Lackey on us against the fricking Twins?
And I didn’t forget about YOU, Melancon. I’m just… I can’t… I WILL GET TO YOU LATER. What really frightens me about you, Melancon? Is that Bobby V doesn’t seem to think you are horrible.
“Melancon outing? I thought he backed up the bases pretty well. He had that down,” said Valentine when asked about the reliever…
It absolutely fills me with a cold, hollow, trapped-in-a-well kind of fear when the managers think Lackey-esque performances back up bases “pretty well.” We saw it with Francona and Lackey. We saw it with Francona and Timlin. Need I remind anyone of a man named Lugo? Nearsightedness is a part of the aging process, Bobby V. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Just recognize it now and get some cool specs by April, k? They make prescription sunglasses and you could probably even get a fake nose and mustache for them.
Bobby V says he’s going to “sit down” and have a serious conversation about pitching. Um. Okay. Sure. I mean, I would have had that sit down, serious conversation about pitching while forming my rotation. You know. DURING THE OFFSEASON. But sure, with what, TWO FRICKING WEEKS to go before Opening Day? Sure. Let’s all just SIT DOWN now. You sure you don’t want to wait two weeks? Maybe discuss it over CHICKEN?
I’m okay. I’m okay. Totally over September. TOTALLY OVER IT.
I have said it before. I shall say it again. Right. Now. Aceves for rotation. Do it, Bobby V. DO IT. It’s not like we can…
Wait… what… wh… oh my God you guys… Could it… is it… DON’T TOY WITH ME, BOBBY. I have been hurt before. What’s that? Shining in the distance?
Oh hope, you calculating mistress… teasing us in the form of a…
This is exactly like that early 90s cult classic, “the X-Files,” available now on Netflix.
Allow me to explain.
See, for those of you who were like, seven when this came out with mean parents who didn’t let you watch the X-Files because of “graphic content” and nightmares and stuff (and you don’t have Netflix. Because, if you have Netflix, I’m sure you’re already a “believer”), the X-files is about these two FBI agents. There’s a skeptic. Her name is Scully. She’s not relevant to my rambly metaphor. But I like her hair. And then there’s Mulder. See, Mulder, really WANTS TO BELIEVE in things like extraterrestrials and scifi stuff and an afterlife, right, because it gives his life’s mission purpose. It means there’s something out there that means something, see? Oh, and that his sister isn’t dead. But you can get a full explanation on that sideplot from wikipedia.
“I want to believe that the dead are not lost to us…”
Dice-K, I WANT TO BELIEVE in you, because that gives the 80 katrillion dollars and 17 gallons of tears I have shed for you a purpose. But I need evidence.
Much in the same way that, in season 2 of X-Files, Mulder needs EVIDENCE to continue his quest.
Can you tell what I was doing before I made Raleigh friends?
So see, Dice-K. You’re the aliens. We want to believe in you. But you’ve got to stop abducting people and just have a nationally televised conversation. And. You know. Pitch.
What do you think, Soxies? Do you believe in Dice-K? Or do you think we’re alone in the universe?
In other news, the media is really sorry about all that chicken sh#$ (see what I did there?) they spread in September and they’re trying to apologize by over compensating Lavarnway style. I appreciate the attempt to keep my cries of “VARITEK! WHYYYYY” at a minimum. But, seriously, Boston Globe. You don’t have to pander to me. All I need is time.
Some encouraging words about Jose… I mean, we didn’t win. But, apparently, he caught a cool ball. So that’s nice.
Oh, and the media, so astute they are, have decided to tell us all that Bobby V is not Terry Francona. Thanks, Yahoo Sports. What would I do without you in my life? I get you mixed up too, media. Like, just the other day, I was like, Why, Hello, Anderson Cooper! What are YOU doing in the booth? And then I realized it was Jerry Remy. You make THAT much sense, Yahoo Sports.
In conclusion, today was a sucky Red Sox day. Except for the bit about Lesterness.
So, comment, nation. Comment away. Doubront, or not to Doubront? Dice-K, or not to Dice-K? Aliens, or no aliens? Scully or Mulder?
Kevin Youkilis’ ultimate betrayal. Oh. And someone thinks Mike Aviles is interesting. WHY, Youk?! WHY?
It is 5:23. Apparently, I’m not good at floor sleeping. Everything is packed. Everything is in a box. Or stacked. Or piled. Or something. And the movers will be here in three hours. I’m supposed to go to work (last day! last day!) in 3.5 hours. 12 hours from that, I’m supposed to go to the bar. 12 hours from that, I drive to Raleigh to sign a lease. Monday- stuff arrives. Tuesday- Work starts. I think it’s only appropriate that I leave this place as stressed out as when I got here just over two years ago…
I’d love to sleep for an hour. And nothing puts me to sleep like the 11-12 offseason! I mean, Roy Oswalt: The Indecision! It’s like narcolepsy inducer. So, here are some news briefs. They’re more for me than you.
Yay! Jon Lester news! Jon Lester is in Fort Myers being a badass. I’m glad the media can finally get past Soxsplosion and actually report on something positive for a… oh.
Though he was named as one of the fried chicken-and-beer trio, Lester was among the first players to address the situation back in October. And now he is in camp, working hard, looking lean, and excited about the coming season.
OF COURSE. Can’t compliment you without a KFC throwback…
Apparently, he’s “setting an example” and already working with… wait for it… DICE-K!!!!
Rich Hill is coming back from Tommy John surgery. Remember when he broke?
This isn’t working. I’m not tired yet. Are you tired?
So, the Red Sox have their own plane. John Henry, you are rich. Why hasn’t this already happened?
Oh, look! An article on Mike Aviles. That’s new.
Red Sox fans likely will never forget their team’s epic collapse in 2011.
It was bad enough that Boston blew a nine-game lead on the Rays for the wild card in September, missing the playoffs. But there also were reports of pitchers Jon Lester, John Lackey and Josh Beckett drinking beer and eating fried chicken in the clubhouse during games. Terry Francona, the ultimate players’ manager, supposedly lost the team, and then his job. Wonder boy general manager Theo Epstein would leave town, too, off to the Cubs.
Seriously??? THAT is how you open a Mike Aviles article? Thanks for the reminder, champ. Thanks.
However, during the debacle, there was also a rebirth. For the first time in a long time, Red Sox infielder Mike Aviles, a 1999 Middletown graduate, felt wanted.
He’s not going to cry, is he?
“I think Boston did wonders for me in only a short period of time,” said Aviles, who will report next week to Boston’s spring training facility in Fort Myers, Fla. “I was grateful for the opportunity Kansas City gave me. I had to scratch and claw for every at-bat in Kansas City, and I had to in Boston, too. But in Boston, it just seemed like they wanted me to play when I did. That makes a person feel wanted.
“It got to a point in Kansas City that I did everything I could, but it wasn’t good enough. Coming to Boston was a blessing in disguise.”
Hey! It’s working!
I think I’ll actually be able to…. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
The happy couple, who spent Super Bowl week together with the Brady clan in Indy, got engaged “recently” after dating for at least a year, we’re told from a few F.O.Ys.
My feelings can best be expressed through the following clip:
I will NEVER go to sleep now. DAMNIT, Youkie.
Don’t put me through this AGAIN.
Maybe… Maybe it’s not serious. I mean, she lives in California, right?
In fact, the future Mrs. Youk, a schoolteacher, and her daughter, Jordan, 5, will move to Florida from California when the third baseman reports to spring training later this month.
Seriously, Youk. What’s with you and Tom Brady’s sisters? First reports of NANCY. Now reports of JULIE? If my brother cried and botched games, would you love me? Because it can be arranged, sir. IT CAN BE ARRANGED.
Maybe this is a sleep-deprived nightmare.
Maybe I can forget about this.
I’m going to go take a shower since I’m never sleeping again.
I hate change.
I will never love again.
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-
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…
DLB. Drunken Live Blog. Duh.
So, I’m starting this in the 6th inning. The last time I started a game in the 6th inning was horrible. That was yesterday. Yesterday was horrible.
Jon Lester. Jon Lester is today. TODAY.
And, if the 4-0 score is any indication, today is a GOOD day. One out.
GOOD DAY. THREE OUTS. GOOD FRICKING DAY.
4-0. Pedroia doing his I-know-how-to-play-baseball (he forgot yesterday) trek to first. AND Second. Man on first. Man on second. Triple sexy. Welcome back, Gonz. Thanks for running to first base this time. See how much better things progress when we run?
Weird. They keep doing these crowd closeups. And no one looks invested. Are you seeing this? Everybody’s just like, eh… it’s a game. There’s no anger. No fire. Really, no Chicago hats. Oh. There’s one. Weirdness. It’s like body snatchers or something. They’re soulless out there.
Youkie strikes out.
As we’ve been pitching (let’s say hurling) lately, a four run lead seems scant.
Scant, I say.
Papi at the plate.
By the way, did you see THIS? Jeb sent me the latest proof that the Onion hates us.
Facing the cruel prospect of winning 200 grueling games in his interminable 19-season career, 44-year-old Red Sox pitcher Tim Wakefield tried to get a line drive to hit him in the head Friday to finally put an end to it all. “I didn’t throw [White Sox hitters] any knuckleballs because I wanted to make sure the ball had enough speed coming off the bat to shatter my skull,” said Wakefield, who lunged face-first at everything batted toward him.
Andddddddd…. strike out. Whatev.
That was a sexy Youk catch. Catch. Throw. Kazaam. Out. Bottom of the 7th. One out.
Really?! Really? Homerun. That’s not what I’m reallying. I’m reallying at the dramatic fireworks. Well. Okay.
Top of the 8th. Carl Crawford. Is out.
It is so hard to keep my attention on this game.
Top of the 8th. Two outs.
We’re on a base. That’s nice. Hi, Josh.
Well, that got my attention. 5-1. Two outs, one on base.
So, I met a strange person that gave me a very strange idea today. I met a girl who… Okay, Whatever. Scut looked safe in THAT replay. Whatever. Okay. Story. Right. So, I met this very strange person…. ohmygodithoughtthatwasahomerunbutitwasapopout. Right. Three outs. Okay. Very strange person. She watches tv. A lot of tv. And is, apparently, quite dissatisfied with just an hour-long episode. She writes fan fiction. See, I knew that people did this with Star Wars (I dated a guy… there was a Wookie incident… don’t worry about it) but I was unaware people did this with, say “Friends.”
But it gave me this idea. What would happen if we wrote baseball fan fiction? I mean, besides scoring 50,000 runs, I keep thinking about things I would insert into games. Drama. Plots. Side characters. Clearly, there would be some elicit scandal.
Orioles cry off the field after 47-0 shutout. What a great title for my fan fiction. I’ll work on it.
It is the bottom of the 8th. One out.
Kevin Youkilis would be the star of my fan fiction.
Oh, and that homerun… the one that just made the score 5-2? That wouldn’t have happened. I might, however, keep the lame fireworks.
And the eighth inning ends. And the 9th inning begins. And I’m distracted thinking about my fictional game where Yamaico runs on the field for a goodbye anthem.
It’s really great.
Oh, we just got on a base. Just one base. Because I’m not writing this game. 9th.
You know what? I like watching games on mute.
And Adrian Gonzalez gets a homerun. Oh, that one was real. And the score is 7-2. Top of the 9th. Zero outs. That means no outs.
Okay. If you are not watching this, you’re going to think this is fan fiction too: Kevin Youkilis just got his 15th season homerun.
See, you know I didn’t make that up, because if I made it up, it would be like 211th home run. 8-2, top of the 9th with Papi at the plate.
Oh. One out, by the way. Sorry, Papi.
One on base. Jarrod Saltalamacchia about to show off. Right? Right.
Brilliant. 9-2. Brilliant. Hi, Salty. Your doubles make my heart smile.
Did I say 9-2? I must have meant 10-2. Because that is the score now. With one on first. And 2 outs.
Rich Harden? What? I’m glad FDA is paying attention in the comments section. Because I’m paying attention to the game. Oh, and my brain.
Okay, who is Rich Harden? We’ll know soon enough, apparently- talk of a trade- Lars Anderson may be leaving on the Yamaico jetplane:
The 29-year-old has a 4.30 ERA this season, the ninth of a career that has been slowed by injuries. He has had sub-3.00 ERAs in three different seasons, though he has never reached 200 innings in a single season.
Oh. Wikipedia says he is from Vancouver. Which means he’s probably a fan of Maxim Lapierre. Ew.
Ew. Do you think he will spread Canuck (the hockey team, not the Canadian stereotype) germs all over OUR Fenway Park?
Oh. Hah. I self-corrected, FDA. Totally just read your comments.
Well… we need a pitcher…
Okay. Man on first. Really???? I think it’s cruel to draw it out so, Wheeler.
Wow. I am at 979 comments now. I have to start planning my super-amazing piece of artwork. Commenter number 1,000, you see, will be treated to a special marker drawing. I should really get more markers.
Dear White Sox,
The pinstripes are still a bit much for me.
Oh, look. One on first. One on second. I’m sorry. One on second. One on third. Oh look.
I’d be concerned, really, I would. But it is 10-3. I’m just slightly bemused that you’re doing this to them, Dan. It’s like… beating a dead horse? Ew.
Thank you. Thank you for that out.
That’s right. Rip the band-aid off.
Now we can pay attention to these trades. Rich Harden…
I mean… wikipedia doesn’t SAYYYYYY he’s a Canucks fan. I’m just assuming…
Oh NO. He’s another Jed Lowrie. He’s “oft-injured.”
OHNO. That is exactly what our bullpen needs <- sarcasm.
MORE INJURED PEOPLE.
And Clay, you’ll like this. He gets blisters too:
Harden, 30, missed the first 82 games of this season with a strained latissimus dorsi muscle, the same injury that put Sox left-hander Jon Lester on the disabled list earlier this month. But in the course of a big-league career that began in 2003, Harden has had disabling injuries to his shoulder, hip, back, trunk and elbow. He also has had blisters. The never-ending cycle of injuries is one reason Harden has never won more than 11 games in a season, and has pitched more than 150 innings just once in his career, back in 2004.
THIS article says Navarro was projected as a third baseman. Good. I’m glad he’s leaving then. GOOD. You heard me.
So much drama.
What are your thoughts on trades/Youkilis’ beard/the Pink Sox series? You know. The important things.
PS- As indicated in the comments, TOOSOXY correspondent FDA will be at next Wednesday’s Wake-fest. 200. It’s going to happen.
SOOOOOOO The rest of this is pretty much in response to FDA comments. Which I’m sure you care about extensively. So I thought I’d let you know to increase your attention and focus.
All the comments! FDA, that’s why you were promoted to correspondent! Keep up!
Some Canadians play baseball. Um. Toronto. It’s very cold there.
No. I don’t pay people.
I like Canada. I really like Vancouver (as a place). They have orca whales. Did you know that, FDA? Orca whales. Which is great. And baseball is great. So. Um. Logically…
You never know, FDA. Maybe he can be converted. It happens. And maybe he’s not a Canucks fan. Maybe… um. Maybe he likes something totally random. Like the Ducks. For no reason. It could be a personality quirk. Sort of endearing in an awkward irrelevant way?
Well… at least twenty people were fans. There were fires, after all.
A baseball chat would be nice. We should do a dual blog. I wish I were smart enough to know how to do that.
Well, Harden is official. It’s in USA Today.
Southern accents are swell.
Trades. I’ve thought a lot about this. And I have decided to just breathe deeply and trust the following quote from Clay Buchholz:
Everything happening now? Just tweaking.
Yeah. So there are some upgrades that could be made in right field. But as we are now- we’re a winning team. We’re solid. Peter is right. No need to stress. Now is the time for breathing. Deeply and calmly. For being very zen. For being so zen that Seattle freaks out and needs more coffee. You know what? I need more coffee to maintain my zenness. One sec.
“I think we could definitely win all the way to the end with this group of guys,” reliever Daniel Bard said. “I don’t think we need anyone. That doesn’t mean you couldn’t help by adding guys, but I don’t think we necessarily need anything.”
“I think it’s too early to get too cocky about it. But I can tell you that without the injuries and all the (stuff) that we’ve always got to go through, I’ll take my chances with this ballclub.” ~David Ortiz.
You know what? Me too.
PS- More Johnny Damon press blabbing. He’s STILL talking about HOF uniforms. Like A) He’s getting in and B) he has an actual choice over what jersey he would wear and C) Boston actually wants him.
For such a humble guy (<-sarcasm), he sure does talk about this a lot…
PSS- Jon Lester has a blog. Am I the only person who didn’t know this? It is here.
I mean, we all know Curt Schilling has a blog. Who else has a blog? Seriously? Tell me Kevin Youkilis has a blog…
We get to leave Baltimore. Thanks be to Fisk. The whining, a shrill echo bouncing around in the migraines of our minds… might never fully go away. But for now, it’s a distant, distant memory. Onward toward the sound of a muuuucccccchhhhhh less whiny team: The Mariners.
Yeah. I just really like that song.
The big news? Apparently Ellsbury.
See, I don’t think this is big news. I have ALWAYS said he’s got the speed… and when he gets the power, it’s going to be insane. Guess who got his power yesterday?
Jacoby reminds me a lot of early not-horrible-Damon. Remember him? The speed? How fun he was to watch? Then he started to get the power. And clearly his brain couldn’t handle it. And it turned to clumpy muck that exploded all over our hopes and dreams like a dynamite tumor of arrogance. I’m okay-I’m okay. It’s just hard sometimes. I need a minute. I have Youk now. I’m fine. I’m fine!
But Jacoby can do great things. I want him in a Sox jersey for the long haul. Think that can happen?
Daniel Bard is also streaking. So fast some of us hadn’t even noticed until the Boston Globe pointed it out. With Buchholz still on the mend and Lester not up to speed quite yet… it’s a good time for a streak.
And Gonz has his groove back. And Pedroia’s got pop.
It’s quite a happy blog I’m putting together today. The kind of thing Showalter put together in April. Remember that, Showalter?
Okay. I’m done.
And now for your daily injection:
Lance Armstrong is going to court. Lance Armstrong, who is a legend in the North Carolina High Country for saying Boone is one of his favorite places to bike, is denying any steroid use… but the questions have still been asked.
Jon Lester. 15-day disabled list.
John Lackey. On another kind of DL.
The DENIAL List.
And no. I’m not talking about a river in Egypt.
But who is in greater denial? John Lackey, who has an ERA of OVER 7.4, allows 7 runs in like three innings AND then says things like ““Overall, my arm felt pretty good?”
Or Theo Epstein, for STILL holding on to his $85 mill investment? An investment that is making the 2008 economic collapse look like a checking error.
Despite BUZZ to the contrary, he’s still around. Or maybe we’ve just ALLLLLL got our JLs mixed up. JOHN LACKEY, God. NOT JON LESTER.
Perhaps we should have all been more clear. That’s the last time I close my eyes and wish with initials alone.
“Maybe,” coworker-who-barely-knows-what-baseball-is says, to stop me from continuing ANOTHER John Lackey rant, “This Ted Epstein doesn’t have cable.”
I don’t have cable.
“Maybe,” exasperated coworker says, “He’s not as tech savvy as you with the internets.” (yes, we say the internets, plural, in THIS office)
He makes like, a BAZILLION dollars.
“Maybe,” dead-inside-coworker says, “He has better things to do than fire pitchers.”
He makes like, a BAZILLION dollars to do this.
“Maybe,” bleary-eyed coworker says, “You should save this for your blog.”
But, I already blogged about John Lackey. Like… ALL THE TIME.
And then he told me to shut up. Me. I know. The nerve of SOME PEOPLE.
PS- MORE STEROID NEWS. Awesome. They should call today WednesROIDday.
Alex Rodriguez’ doctor pleaded guilty today in federal court for… *drum roll* bringing drugs from Canada… including *another drum roll* HUMAN GROWTH HORMONE!
Awesome. Thanks, guys. For CONTINUALLY throwing the juice in America’s face.
Other athletes on…
the DENIAL List:
Johnny Damon (I’m still relevant! Hall of Fame, hear I come!)
Andy Pettitte (Roger is my BEST friend)
Derek Jeter (I’m still in the game!)
Jason Giambi (Wow, people sooooooo care about what I have to say)
Coco Crisp (This hairstyle is a GREAT look for me!)
Tiger Woods (I can change!)
Dale Earnhardt Jr (It’s a real sport. Really.)
The US Women’s Soccer Team (People are sooooo watching us on television right now. Sad but true, people. )
Maxim Lapierre (Je suis étonnant!)
Dirk Nowitzki (I have normal arms. Really. You guyyyssssss)
Jorge Posada (I could totally play another five years)
Manny Ramirez (This will ALLLL blow over)
Alex Rodriguez (They ALLLLL want to be my girlfriend)
The Cubs (It will happen our lifetime, guys!)
Got anymore? I’m trying to compile an official list. Then I’ll move onto actors. That means you, Nicholas Cage!
I think this one was my fault guys.
Sorry. First pitch, ball. A-Gonz, dropping a foul ball, third pitch, 1-0- Milwaukee. Fourth pitch. 2-0, Milwaukee.
Remember the second inning? Lester literally feeds a ball into the baseball dirt?
This isn’t Jon Lester. This isn’t our team.
Kottaras being helpful? Kottaras getting a homerun? Does that sound like the Kottaras WE know?
Lester pulling this crap when we have NO PAPELBON?
I’m telling you, this isn’t baseball.
This, ladies and gentleman, is a shitstorm.
See that “S” word I just dropped? If you don’t like it, I’d skip today’s shithawk lesson, k?
Ever make a joke turn into a reality?
You know, not really. But really.
Like, do you ever repeat something so much that it becomes true? Like really? Really true?
See, a writer I work with watches some Canadian show about trailer parks that references “shithawks.”
(As in: “I’ll be watching you like a shithawk.”)
There are several definitions of “shithawk.” I know. I looked it up in the Urban Dictionary two days into the joke.
But, in this context, a “shithawk,” is this hawk, right, that flies all over the office dropping, well, shit.
See, when work piles up. When they change a deadline without telling you. When you’re twenty minutes after deadline and that senator decides to call you back.
When the power flickers. When your car stalls. When you lock your keys in your car. When the batteries fall out of your digital recorder, no matter how much scotch tape you put on the hinge. When the computer shuts down just as you’ve sketched out that terrible article on extra-territorial jurisdiction.
Oh, and when your copy editor decides to “correct” extra-territorial jurisdiction and make the Boone community think there’s suddenly a special jurisdiction for extra-terrestrials? It’s the shithawk.
Shithawks LOVE copy editors.
Sometimes the shithawks don’t even do anything. They just sit there. There on the wall. Watching you. Watching you and just waiting to shit.
And you’re so paranoid because of all the shit you typically have to deal with, that you can’t get anything done. You know. Out of paranoia. Their crazy eyes. Their crazy, beady eyes and their evil little shitclaws (also called shithooks, as in, “damn it, Lauren, they’ve got their shithooks in me today.”)
A flock of shithawks? That’s called a shitstorm (as in, “I can’t even talk to you in this shitstorm.”). They’re quite loud.
Going to work?
Going to the shitfactory.
Sometimes we can hear them buzzing around the office. So much shit. We call it “bullshit,” you know, as in, “Damn it, Lauren! This job is bullshit!”
But it’s actually hawk shit. But it’s a lot. So you see why we make the comparison to bulls.
Sometimes, I find feathers at my desk.
Today I found two.
It started out as a great joke.
And then in our delirium, it became a little serious.
Sometimes, at 2 in the morning when I’m still working on copy for the Friday paper, I think I see one. You know. Just in the corner of my eye. It whizzes away, of course. But not before doing something terrible. Something shitty. Something like causing my notebook to self destruct or drying up every ink pen in my desk when I have an interview.
Today, the story got a new chapter.
Where do shithawks come from?
I’ll tell you.
See, deep in the poo ocean (there’s a poo ocean. Do I really need to spell everything out for you?) is a creature, a mystically awesome (as in, capable of evoking awe, this is not a complimentary use of the word awesome) sea-beast known as Poo-seidon. I have a picture of Poo-seidon. But it is at my office. So you will have to wait until Monday.
Poo-seidon, see, has a magical poo-crystal. It’s called the great looking-poo, but you don’t need to know what it’s called. That doesn’t advance the story. Anyway, he looks into this poo-crystal at all the happy people. All the productive people. All the people getting things done, and with remarkable efficiency. All those journalists out there naïve enough to love their jobs.
Then he raises his poo-triton (it’s quite powerful. And shiny) and takes a feather (I don’t know what kind of feather. Probably a sea bird. Like that albatross from “The Rescuers”) and raises it over his head (like Triton does in the “Little Mermaid”) and summons a poo-nado.
At first, the poo-nado is really terrible. Sucking up all the productivity in its path (journalists near and far tremble with dejavuz when reading this part of the story), the poo-nado looks like a whizzing wall of poo.
Then, suddenly, the winds settle, solidifying. Individual feathers rise up from the shit. A desperate, screeching, banshee sound echoes your eardrums as wings start to emerge. The weak lose hearing all together at this point.
And then, like a phoenix, the shithawk erupts from the chaos, its smelly claws curling toward you with a ferocity known only in mythology, as squiggly gray waves (you know, the kind that surround Pigpen in Charlie Brown) halo the beast.
Then the cycle repeats itself. You know, until you have a shitstorm. That’s a flock of shithawks, in case you weren’t paying attention earlier.
Shithawks typically travel in shitstorms.
Anyway, I thought the shithawks were confined to the office. They’re happy here. They have lots of souls to drain of hopes and dreams. We do, after all, have five reporters in our newsroom. But I didn’t take into account what would happen when their food supply finally ran out.
See, that’s what’s happening.
It’s budget season. Wayyyyyy too many opportunities for the shit –ahem- to hit the fan.
And when a shithawk hits a fan, it divides into a thousand individual shithawks.
Anyway, as our hopes and dreams fade in the office, the shithawks grow restless. Their food supply dwindling, they have to look for other sources of hopes, dreams and productivity.
They turn their lonely eyes to Boston.
Sorry, guys. I think this one is our fault.
I invested in a pellet gun. But they’re wily little shitters….
I’m really sorry. I should have warned you. I just thought Boston was too far away for the little shitters.
It’s a shithawk migration. No one is safe.
More evidence- I worked most of today (shithawks LOVE it when I work)- worked the Appalachian Roller Girls FIRST EVER HOME BOUT. They are undefeated.
Sorry, were undefeated. Until I covered their match up today. And the shithawks followed me. Sorry, ARG! You looked great in your fishnets! And are, as always, unparalleled in awesomeness.
PS- This made me feel a little bit better. Thanks, FDA. Kevin Youkilis is my favorite human.
This is the series that will push us over the top.
Most importantly, this is the series that will keep us from watching another Heat game. No offense, Aunt Sally. Go Heat!
Oh, Stanks. How I have missed your silliness. It is much more fun to shake my fist at you than that Dirk guy. He has REALLY long arms. Am I the only one who thinks his arms are irrationally long?
Oh, Stankees. You are the Bentley of our internal Bachelorette. If you get that, I feel sorry for you.
And yay, hockey. We’ve still got this. Can’t wait for tomorrow…
A Stankees series AND the Stanley Cup. Beat this. Please.