Archive
Mulder says we should believe in you, Dice-K. But I have been hurt before.
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…”
Ahem.
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?
~L
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.
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.”
Bored now.
Yawn.
Hey! It’s working!
I think I’ll actually be able to…. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
No.
NO.
NOOOO.
DAMN YOU, GOOGLE NEWS ALERTS! DAMN YOU.
This is supposed to be hush-hush and on the deep down-low, but you know us. It’s time to pop the bubbly because Kevin Youkilisand Tom Brady‘s sis, Julie, are engaged!
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.
NOOOOOOOOOOOO.
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.
Maybe…
DAMNIT.
I’m going to go take a shower since I’m never sleeping again.
I hate change.
~L
I will never love again.
Nick Cafardo and I agree on something. Oh, and this could be as good as it gets, folks.
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…
~L
Pink Sox: Take 2: A sort of live, sort of sporadic version of the DLB.
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.
Thanks-be-to-Lester.
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.”
Weird, right?
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:
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.
Re-evaluate.
Thanks,
Lauren
—–
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:
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.
~L
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.
An until-I-go-to-sleep Live Blogging experiment. Is it really Monday?
Just got off work. Turn on browser just in time to see Scutaro kamakazi catch that. Sweetness. Like the ice cream I am going to indulge in. A treat after a long day. Is it really almost 10 p.m.? 9:58? I need a weekend already. Is it really only Monday?
So. The big news of the day. Of the week. Of the month. Of our LIFETIME. He’s BACK.
That’s right. The Lesternator. And this time, he’s going for blood. Now in High Definition. Prepare to be:
LESTERNATED.
Okay. So. Jon Lester. 0-0. Top of the second. Wait. Why do they have two on base? Why do they have two on base, Jon? 2 outs.
Okay. I get it. You were waiting for me. You didn’t want to start being a badass until I got here. Okay. Well, I’m here now, Jonny. You can stop scaring the good people of Boston. Thanks.
And an out.
Now that my new internet is working, I certainly am blogging a lot. You know what? Today brought my 900th comment. That was kind of neat. For comment 1,000 I should do something. I will. Um. Draw you a picture.
—
A walk to first by Ortiz and more annoying prattle by Jerry Remy. I am not going to be able to handle this whole game, am I?
—-
I really like Crawford. I really do. I like base stealers. He’s fun to watch. He breaks up the monotony of long games. And Reddick… a double as Crawford scores! 1-0. Nice.
Yes, Crawford. We will be friends. I will make you a friendship bracelet.
—-
May 19, 2008. Lester’s no hitter against the Royals. I remember that. That was the day I bought my car, Sweet Caroline. We watched the game at a Ham’s Restaurant near the car dealership. The food was terrible and the potatoes were cold. But Jonny, you were red hot.
—-
Now they’re talking about whether you can wear Royals gear at Fenway and not get mauled. I read a blog the other day saying that Sox fans throw nachos at people wearing other jerseys. Anyone ever experience this?
I bet if someone threw nachos at you, you did something to deserve it. Unless you were wearing a Joba jersey. That in itself is deserving of a major cheesing. You don’t have to do anything.
And now they are showing clips of Jonathan Papelbon throwing tomatoes.
Really, guys?
I don’t know. What are you thinking about Lester? I know they’re scoreless (so far) and he’s striking three of them out- but he just doesn’t seem to have his usual Lester snap. Am I just being paranoid? Evidently, because, as a speak, a cutter strikes out another Royal. And another strike out. Well, I feel better.
—-
Bottom of the third. 0-1. Jeb, the Pirate Princess, sent me a fantastic link that you should check out right now:
The Boston Red Sox have shaken off a woeful start to the season to take pole position in the American League and a near lock on a playoff spot. Unlike other recent great Red Sox teams, this year’s Boston club is doing it almost entirely with hitting.
~The Wall Street Journal
I think the current rate paid per win is approximately $4 million, so to have four different position players giving you over $16 million each of production at this point is pretty damn good.
~Jeb
For those of you who do not know Jeb, he is a kindred spirit. Just misled. He, like me, is stranded in North Carolina. Unlike me, he is Pirates fan. But in Boone, NC, you take what you can get.
And Pedroia extends his hit-streak to 22!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Can someone explain this Muddy Chicken thing to me?
—-
Another message from Jeb:
“You’ll love/hate this. John Lackey’s total WAR is currently -1.1. I think replacement-level is an average AAA player. So if you had started the season with an average AAA pitcher in Lackey’s place, you’d be 63-36 instead of 62-37. Poor John Lackey 
“
I will not love this. Not. Not. Not. Blah.
John Lackey.
We can’t think of John Lackey today, Jeb. Jon Lester is back. And he must consume all of our brain cells. All of them, I say!
—
I do not like how we’re loading the bases up. First. Second. I do not like this one bit. One out. Okay. I’d like to see a Sox offensive pop here in a sec. I have a feeling we’re going to need it.
Salty makes a catch. Salty is looking kind of hot today. Does his hair always look like that?
Two outs.
Jonny, you’re freaking me out with the first and second. Let’s not do this again, okay? Brayan Pena. And Youk throws it to first and ends the inning. Okay. It’s 5 hits to our 2. Let’s put some snap in our step.
—-
Bottom of the fourth inning, Youkie at the plate. Do you think he gets his beard professionally trimmed each day? Because his cheeks have been looking smooth lately.
First out. Oh, the pivot turn. He looks dejected. It’s okay, baby. I’m still here. I’ll always be here.
David Ortiz. Over the shift and into right field for a base hit. 4-game hitting streak.
Carl Crawford. My new best friend. He looks like he’d be a great best friend. Oh, the happy times we could have together. Like at the zoo. And the park and stuff. I could swing. And you could push the swing. Because, if you can wield a bat like that, you can totally push a swing. We could tell secrets and swap stories and roast marshmallows and have great adventures.
I am going to make a children’s book about us.
I am going to call it “Carl Crawford and me.”
Ohhhhhhh. David Ortiz out on a steal. Papi!
—-
Alcides Escobar. What a great name. I want to date someone with your name. But not you. Because you are a Royal. And just took a walk. No me for you.
Poooooooor Mariners. Swamped by the Stanks. I was really rooting for them. And not just because it’s the Yankees. Because I know how it feels when you just can’t get a break.
This is for you.
1-0, Boston. One on first. One out. Bottom of the 5th. Picked off… Gonz fires to second! Out! Out! Out! A fun moment in the midst of kind of a boring game…Or maybe I’m just tired from my fourteen hour work day…
And… strike out to end the inning.
—-
Salty’s on base. Salty has been on FIRE. Remember when those crazy bloggers (um, um…) kept saying he should go? Remember that? I am simply shocked and… um… appalled…
Okay. So I’m eating my words.
At least I know what to flavor them with.
Scutttttt. I always liked you better than Lowrie.
Full count. You can walk there. I don’t care how you get there. Just get there if you can. That’s a song.
See?
NICE. That’s exactly how I wanted to get you there. Single. Nice.
Salty takes third. Jacoby is out. But Salty took third.
First and third with two outs. Let’s see some offense dazzle. Or fine. Just strand yourselves and end the inning. Sure. Okay. WHATEVER, RED SOX.
—-
I am concerned about post-DL Lester going 77 pitches. I am concerned. Full count.
Curt Young. Are you watching this?
80 pitches.
Through the left side. Base hit. Single.
Jon Lester. You know I love you. But 81 pitches might be enough. We need you, see. In October.
Billy Butler. 82 pitches. Billy Butler looks like a guy from our pressroom. Into the corner. And you let them score. It’s not your fault, Jon Lester. I blame YOU Curt Young. Look at you. Not making eye contact. Looking into your clipboard. I called this like a hundred words ago.
Tie game. CURT YOUNG.
—-
“I wouldn’t be surprised to see this is the last hitter for Lester,” Remy says.
I would. Curt Young NEVER listens to me.
—-
88 pitches. BALL FOUR. DID YOU SEE THAT?
Tito is heading to the mound.
Poor Lester. He looks frustrated. It’s not your fault, Lester. I love you anyway.
Curt, I will deal with you later.
—-
Do you know what I like about Lester? He’s in the dugout with death eyes right now. Mad. You can see the anger. See, John Lackey how he gives a shit? Remember all those times when you sucked it up- a LOT worse than Lester, I might add- and do that shrug walk-off thing that irritates me to no end?
—-
Albers strikes ‘em out. Nice.
—
Lester, I wish I could give you a hug. It’s going to be okay. I promise.
Ground ball up the middle. Pedroia tags. Out.
Bottom of the 6th. And I am fading fast…
Another night asleep at the keyboard. At least this time it’s baseball and not city council… ah… the life of a reporter.
—
Hi, Gonz. Could you slam one out of the park? I bet that would make Lester smile. Or just strike out. Sure. Okay. <- Sarcasm.
Hi, Youkie.
He got something in his eye. Poor dear. Okay. Now we’re ready to rumble, he says.
Yikes. That one was straight for him. He’s getting good at ducking those.
Ground. Up the middle. Out. Close. I’d like to see a replay, please. Youk made it back to that dugout in about two seconds. Yikes. Did you see that lunge? It looked painful. Youkie, stop hurting yourself! And Ortiz thrown out.
Well. That sucked.
—
1-1 game in the 7th. And I’m droopy. I may not make into the 8th. God forbid this go extra innings.
Seats are emptying out. That’s what happens when it’s this late on a Monday.
—
Pena out. Thanks to a snazzy throw by Pedroia.
This game is hurting my brain.
Full count. Close up of Tito sweat. Thanks, cameras.
Crawford makes the catch. Because he’s my best friend.
And there are two outs.
STRIKE THREE. Out. Despite a dramatic jump-away by a faker. Good job, Albers.
See, Lester? I told you there was nothing to worry about. It’s alllll going to be okay.
Oh. Right. It’s still tied…
—-
Tim Collins. Pitching at my BEST FRIEND. Hi, Carl. What is with Collins’ hair? It’s like a back mullet. It’s a new invention, clearly.
First out. It’s okay, Crawford. Let’s meet up for hopscotch later.
Hi, Josh Reddick. You are not having a good hair day either. Just saying. If I can’t tell you tehse things, Josh, who can?
In the air… Caught. Out.
This inning blows.
I could be watching “The Tudors” or “Wings” on Netflix. Or. Um. Sleeping.
Salty’s up. Bottom of the 7th. Two outs. Keep hope alive, Salty. Keep hope alive.
Speaking of hope, Daniel Bard is warming up in the pen.
Who is umping? Do you know? Because he’s obnoxious.
Grounder to third…. and out.
That inning was worse than Tim Collins’ hair.
—
Pedroia fires to first for the out. And they replayed Youk’s bag slam. I knew he was hurt! I knew it! If he’s really hurt, I’m driving to Kansas. I will!
Scut dives on his face.
Single.
Jeb’s still awake. He’s watching the Pirates, as indicated by our recent Facebook convo:
WHATEVER, JEB
Ahhhh…. Facebook.
Two outs. Billy Butler sits down.
They called a balk on Bard. A bullshit balk. I don’t understand. The announcer doesn’t seem to understand. No one seems to understand. Except the pricky umpire.
2 outs. 1-1. One on second. Just so you feel my pain. Because this is painful.
Strike two.
Come. On.
Throw to first. OUT.
Bottom of the 8th. Paaaaaiiiiinnnnnnfullllll.
—-
Marco Scutaro. Up against Aaron Crow.
And the crazy Fenway yelling commences.
Pena makes a foul catch. Blah.
Out one.
I love looking at fans’ faces when the ball flies.
Jacoby. 0 for 3 tonight. So this is his moment. Right? Right?
Papelbon is warming up in the pen.
Ellsbury! Base hit! Single! 7 game hitting streak for Jacoby.
Ohmygod there is a bug on my computer screen. Ohmygod.
Eeek. Now it is on my bed. And the lights are out and…
—-
It’s okay. I’m okay.
A double play. Which is horrible, because it pushes us into the 9th. But the real horrible thing is, there is a bug in my room. And it is dark. And I’m sure it’s on me. And I can do nothing.
It’s probably like some rare African bug that will burrow into my shoulder while I’m sleeping. Ohgod.
—-
And… Johnny Paps…
—–
—-
Catch. Out one. Out 2.
—-
I am so upset. “After hobbling around, Youkilis leaving the game.”
I am so upset.
He better be okay.
—
Strike out.
Bottom of the 9th.
Okay guys. Get serious. I am only half awake. I can’t do a 10th. So score for me, okay? And for Youkilis. Who had better not be broken.
—
Alright, Gonz. You have done NOTHING today. It is time.
We need to get the spark back. There is NO SPARK.
The K-Guys are holding the A-Gonz sign. That’s for YOU, A-Gonz. YOU.
And Gonzalez strikes out. An 0 for 4 night. Really.
—
Yamaico Navarro taking one for the Youk. With a base hit! Youkie is welling up with pride and-
OHMYGOD THE BUG. I will get you this time, bug. I see you and… OHMYGOD IT FLIES.
It’s like an ant. But with wings. It’s an ant thing. It’s like the Pegasus of ants!
OHMYGOD. It’s alive.
—
Speaking of holy terrors, David Ortiz staring down Crow.
And I could watch that if I didn’t suddenly feel ants all over me.
Paranoia. Delusion. It was just one ant thing.
Just one, after all. You’re fine.
It was like a dragon ant.
Ortiz hits it on the ground- it gets through! Navarro on third! Ortiz first! Somehow that ball got through. Looked routine. Went through second baseman. Went through shortstop. Gave us sweet, sweet hope.
Hi, best friend Carl Crawford.
—–
This is so stressful. Please. Please. Please, Crawford. Please.
That strike was crap. The announcer agrees with me. He did not swing.
Out.
On crap.
Reddick.
2 outs. High fly ball… Catch. DAMNIT.
Damnit, damnit, damnit.
Extra innings. Damnit.
That check swing call was crap. I blame the ump.
Morales. And I am asleep. Please don’t let him screw it up… Going to sleep.
—
Damnit. We all know I’m lying. Come on, Morales. Get this DONE.
Josh Reddick. I love you. There have been some great dive catches tonight, no?
That was hot. No wonder my mother wants me to marry you, Josh.
Out one. And a pop out to Pedroia means out TWO. Okay. Alex Gordon. You are going to be out three. Right, Morales?
Pedroia. First. Out.
Hah.
One to one.
Damn.
Come on, offense. Now is your chance to help me sleep. DO THIS. This is painful.
—-
This is the song in my head right now. I do not know why.
Better than Jar of Hearts, at least… And I think it expresses my feelings about this game quite eloquently. I saw Joan Osborne sing this at MerleFest a few months ago.
OHCOMEONSCORENOW.
—-
Damnit, Salty! I specifically told you to score.
One out.
—
Fly ball. Caught. Scutaro, you are a jerk. Two outs.
—
Jacoby. You have grounded out, struck out, flown out and singled and OHMYGODTHEFLYINGANTISBACK.
It’s okay. I’m okay. I’m okay…
OHNOIT’SBACKAGAIN.
—
What if there’s more than one?!?!
—–
Ground chop to first.
Are we even trying???
11th.
—
Navarro!!!! Youk would have caught that. Cabrera singled. Damnit. And there’s a dragon ant trying to eat me. But other than that, I’m fiiiiiiiine. Crawford catches. First out. Two more. And please let that be it.
Eric Hosmer. You look familiar.
Throw to first! What?! That was out. That was completely OUT.
“That really was borderline,” Remy said.
That really was out. These calls are crap tonight.
Crap.
I do not know who is umping, but I would not be surprised if it was Angel Hernandez.
Crawford makes another catch. Two outs. Because he is my best friend.
Terry comes out. Dan Wheeler to come out.
—
Hi, Dan.
Please do not mess up. Thanks.
One on first. Two outs.
And his first pitch… a ball. Of course.
I get that you guys love baseball. That’s great. But please do not love 12 innings worth of baseball. Hear me, Sox offense?
Strike. Nice. Do that.
Do that again. Foul. Okay. Whatever.
YES. Cabrera does something stupid, runs and is tagged the frick out at the base.
Thank you.
Now it is up to you, Offense. Up to you. Do it. Do it NOW.
Adrian. The shouts make me think I’m watching Rocky.
Gonz to left field… OFF THE WALL.
Thank you. Thank you for doing something, Gonz.
A single. One out. And Gonz on first. Okay. Gonz. You have to score. I’m not kidding. You have to. HAVE to.
Okay, Navarro. Don’t be a hero. Just get on a base. ANY BASE.
NO.
Strikes out. Two down.
DAMNIT.
Youk would have had that. I’m just saying. It is one in the morning. SOME of us have to work.
David Ortiz. Okay. Papi. Okay. Let’s do this. And by “let’s,” I mean you, Papi.
Closeup on Jacoby and Beckett in the dugout. Jacoby is drinking a red drink. Suddenly I am thirsty.
—-
Come on, David Ortiz.
Bounce. Kicks. Gonz scampers to second! Yes! Yes! Do that.
Now Gonz is on second.
And they’re going to walk Papi.
There are boos in Fenway, but I am okay with this.
He is on a base. That is all that matters. He is not out.
First. Second.
Crawford up. My best friend.
Come on Crawford. Buddy.
ANOTHER bad strike call.
“Crawford’s about had it… that pitch being called a strike.”
When Remy knows the umpire sucks, the umpire SUCKS.
Stressssssful.
Strike. Two and two. Okay. He looks apprehensive. Don’t be apprehensive, Crawford. Please? Breathe, baby. Breathe. Ball three.
Full fricking count.
Come on.
Please.
Come on.
afdsjkkkkkkkkklnokdnjdfkdfjkldfsjkl
That was my head hitting the keyboard. Let me demonstrate again.
afdljklkjfadjkdfaaereiorf;j
Strike.
Out.
DAMNIT.
12. DAMNIT.
I can’t do this guys. I have to sleep. Have to.
fadslkjljkdfsfljkfdljkdfjklsfdsjkls
Damnit.
I am sad. Randy Williams warming in then pen.
I am so tired. So tired. Soooooooo
—
Walk. Guy on first. Thanks, Wheeler.
I blame the umpire, actually. The umpire that HATES my new best friend, Carl Crawford.
Sacrifice. And the runner is on second. One out. Damnitdamnitdamnit.
Brayan Pena.
Damnit.
Only one out.
Damnit.
I can’t type unless something monumental happens.
—-
strike out. good. 2 outs. throw to first. out. bottom of 12. please score please.
—-
Okay. Let’s do this. And by do this. I mean score. Hi, Josh Reddick. Just get on a base. If four of you get on a base, that is all it will take.
Do it for your fallen comrade. Speaking of fallen comrades, I would like an update on my husband, please.
The announcers want this to end too.
“Put it right where you want it, Josh,” Remy said.
I would like it over the green monster. Thanks.
Reddick… base hit!!!!
“Thatta baby,” Remy keeps saying.
Single.
Three more and we’ve got a ballgame.
Salty.
one for four. single. Okay. let’s. please.
Youkie is watching. I know he is. He should be asleep. But he’s not.
I should be asleep. But I’m not.
Salty. Scutaro is after you. But let’s not need him. Let’s just use you, Salty. And your bat. In the air. Left field. Catch. FAIL.
Marco. Hi. Can you hit something? A triple would be nice.
YEESSSSSS. Ball gets away and Reddick stops at THIRD!
One out and we are at THIRD. Yes. Yessssss. Yes. Okay. Scut. Do not mess this up. Do not.
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Reddick is out. He was trapped. Squeeze play. Damn it. Scutaro missed the sign. Scut missed the sign, Remy said. Damnit, Scut. DAMNIT.
If this goes to 13, so help me…
Homerun or you are NOT going back to the dugout.
Base hit. And Scutaro is OUT AT SECOND BASE.
Scutaro. Scutaro. Scutaro. SCUTARO
—
-
Lauren13 inning games are the reason I am cranky at work.
19 minutes ago · Privacy: · Like ·
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Holly likes this.
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Jeb: Excuses excuses.5 minutes ago · Like -
Lauren: did you see that? angels just wept. in the sky. and that, jeb mcrary, is how rain happens.about a minute ago · Like
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Jeb: Is this on TV? I’m following online. So I see that Boston’s odds just went down. http://www.fangraphs.com/livewins.aspx?date=2011-07-25&team=Red+Sox&dh=0&season=2011
Red Sox win probability for Monday, July 25, 2011a few seconds ago · Like · -
Lauren: it is on mlb.tv. and scutaro… i can’t say it. i don’t want to talk about this. this game is dead to me. dead.2 seconds ago · Like
——————————
-
Seriously. I am making no sense. I need to go to sleep. Tell me who won?
-
Just breathe…
Trades. I’ve thought a lot about this. And I have decided to just breathe deeply and trust the following quote from Clay Buchholz:
“We’re pretty solid at just about every position,” Buchholz said.
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.
Ah… coffee…
~L
————–
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…
NOOOOOOO! Wrong JL. WRONG JL!
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.
I’m talking about a sloth on the mound.
DENIAL.
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.
~L
PS- as for YESTERDAY? I thought he was out. Don’t like it? Petition Bud Selig for robot umps. Oh-oh-oh- And Johnny Damon hurt his ‘ittle wrist. I’m playing “Cry me a River” on my way home from work.
—–
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!)
Roger Clemens (They were manly vitamins, man! Andy is my BEST friend)
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!
The shithawks are watching.
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.
(you didn’t know I was an artist, did you?)
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.
Really.
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.
It’s ALIVE!
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.
~L
PS- This made me feel a little bit better. Thanks, FDA. Kevin Youkilis is my favorite human.
Stankees, I have never been so happy to see you.
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.
IF YOU HAVEN’T VOTED FOR AN ALL-STAR, YOU NEED TO!
And yay, hockey. We’ve still got this. Can’t wait for tomorrow…
A Stankees series AND the Stanley Cup. Beat this. Please.
~L
