LIVE BLOG: I’m not just blogging for the Red Sox tonight. I’m blogging for America. So don your American flags and your apple pie (ala mode if it’s heated, now) and join me for tonight’s match up against the evil north.
That’s right- John Farrell’s bringing out the birds.
The blogging will start (and probably more than a few fricks) at 7ish. Expect cursing. Expect beer. And expect videos with carefully constructed sharpie marker illustrations. They are dazzling, I tell you. DAZZLING.
See you at SEVEN? YES???????
Put your game face on. I MEAN it. That does NOT look like your game face!!!!! Canada rolls its eyes at you.
Let’s hope Doubront… um… does something.
No. Not that. A GOOD something.
SEE YOU AT SEVEN.
6:38. An American meal. Of Apple PIE.
6:46. Nervous yet?
6:54. One irritating face has been absent for opening week… JOHNNY DAMON! In fun, pre-game giggle news, Johnny Damon STILL hasn’t signed onto a team- a reality that has Scott Boras baffled. There’s Cleveland talk and the likely possibility that he’ll be teamed by May…
But hilariously out of touch people… you know, the ones who didn’t hear him cry last year at Turf-gate, or whimper at the scary mean Boston fans (lower lip trembling, poor ‘ittle guy), are calling this a MYSTERY. Nick Cafardo just can’t figure out why no one will sign him.
Allow me to Nancy Drew it for you.
1. He is old. 2. He is annoying. 3. His ego won’t fit in your ball park. 4. He is old. 5. the ‘tude. And 6. He is old.
Feel free to sleuth it out in the comments.
6:58. Wish the game would starttttttttttttttttt. I am ready to winnnnnnnnn.
7:01. The intro music, though for Toronto, is eerily appropriate… “..forgiven my mistakes…”
Hope so, kiddies. Hope so.
There is a lot of music in Canada. This intro is quite dramatic.
“He is THE MOST FEARED HITTER IN BASEBALL.”
Really? Jose Bautista? Really?
I mean. Um.
Oh. Now he’s getting his silver slugger award.
Were his ears always that big?
Oh no. They’re passing out those annoying towels. I hate those things.
This game is going to annoy me.
7:05. Remembering athletes who died. This is depressing. Oh no. The family is crying. Oh no. Why are you doing this to me, baseball? Don’t you know apple pie ALREADY makes me emotional? And the Blue Jays are making a $10k donation in the vics’ names. Wow. That’s nice. I’m sorry in advance for the pain our victory will cause you, Canada. You seemed like a really nice country just now.
Now they are defining the word anticipation. A little unnecessary for those of us who have dictionaries. Don’t you think? And there’s this weird intro where they are stitching a blue jay onto a hat. Weeeeeiiirrrdddddd.
I’m just ready to watch some baseball. Can we, um, do that now, please? Thanks. Now we are watching baseball players run? Or are they dancing? It’s hard to tell, actually. Santos just used the word “swagger.” Josh Morrow says he wants the whole country to watch him. Um. Okay. Seriously, kids. I am going to go get food. And maybe play three games of monopoly on my iPhone. I bet I have time. LONGEST INTRO EVER. “We can do all the talking we want but…” Apparently.
7:10. They booed us. I think they think they’re going to hurt our feelings. They REALLY booed Jacoby. Clearly, they haven’t been watching. Hi, Pedroia. A-Gonz slow jogs to the lineup. Yep. Is it just me, or was there more clapping at Youk’s name? Oh. That WAS me. Hi, Papi. Hi, Cody Ross. Hi, new boyfriend Ryan Sweeney. Hello, Jarrod Saltalamacchia. And. Um. Mike Aviles… And Felix Doubront. They didn’t even boo you, Felix Doubront. Poor Felix. Not even netting a boo.
While the Blue Jays are stepping out Kennel Club Dog Show style, I really am going to grab food.
7:15. They’re still at it. Hi, John Farrell! I miss you!
Do you think he misses us? I bet he does. Who wouldn’t? Haha. There is like one, lone guy booing the crap out of Bautista.
7:20. Some of the Jays were cutting up during the National Anthem. Kudos to camera man for THAT closeup.
Hi, Michael!!!! It’s going to be okay. Because they are going to win tonight.
Is it just me, or did Dr. Ron Taylor REALLY not care about that first pitch. He just sort of tossed it. I don’t think his expression changed. Um. At all. Remember last year when Pedro threw out that pitch? Sniff. I’m okay.
Maybe the game will start soon!
This intro is longer than the Titanic.
7:30. Maybe there is no game. Maybe this is just an excuse to arm Canadians with hand towels.
Oh! Oh! Oh! There are people on the field! And Jacoby’s icon just went up! That’s something! Does it… Can it… FIRST PITCH! It’s a miracle. Oh. It’s a warm up. But it involves a baseball.
The announcers are on mute or something. By this point, I fully expect MLB.tv screwups. I’m just glad it’s not checkerboarding this year. I do like the Toronto ballpark…
And I do like you, Jacoby. Hi.
I didn’t like that. Grounds out at first. Blatantly. And the fans whip out those towels…
Pedroia is at bat. He’s three and thirteen, as the announcer kindly tells us.
In case you’re keeping count at home, Toronto announcers have mentioned that the sox are now 0 and 3. THREE times.
Alvarez just tried to kill Pedroia, but missed. I heard Alvarez is like seven years old or something. Remember when we put out our seven year old, aka: Kyle Weilland?
“Pedroia never gets cheated. He swings hard. Might be one of the best high ball hitters in baseball.” ~Announcer says. Right before he grounds OUT to first. Two outs.
We’re having difficulty pronouncing Adrian Gonzalez in the announcer booth. Gonzalez struck out twice, apparently, at his last Alvarez encounter… good. To. Know. I like it when the announcers are helpful. Gonz slugged 815 against the Jays last year, including 8 homeruns. THANK YOU. I like these announcers. I do. Full Count… It’s okay, though, because Kevin Youkilis is on deck. Not that it matters, because Gonz has struck out. Damn, those towels are annoying.
Hi, FDA. I am glad you are back. I KNOW you are annoyed by those towels. I find them more annoying than our scoreless first, actually. John Farrell knows that, I bet. Because he knows me. I bet he KNEW that the way to incur my wrath was to pass out those towels.
7:40. Bob McClure, our new pitching coach, is, apparently, impressed by Felix Doubront. Okay, then. Let’s see. You are not the only one being judged, Doubront. So is your puppet master. First pitch looked good to me. He has a strange clean cut bubble gum chew thing going on. The announcers cut out again. Fix that, MLB. I am determined to be optimistic about you, Doubront.
Ohno. Now they’re talking about Tek. It’s okay. I won’t cry. Now they’re talking about how Tek taught Salty how to catch. Nice breaking ball. Very dramatic. As long as it’s a strike, Doubront. Doubront reminds me of someone and I can’t place it. He has that jackassy indifference thing that is great when he’s striking them out but will be annoying when he makes horrible mistakes. Full count. This at-bat is taking a long time. Do you think Felix shaves his face like that, or is that just how the hair grows? Ellsbury makes a nice catch to save you from my wrath, Felix. One out.
7:45. I think towels are for swimmers, but that’s just me. Bautista is on deck. I don’t think the guy batting is important. he keeps kicking his knee up like a “fierce” chick on America’s Next Top Model. Doubront definitely LOOKS like he’s keeping his cool. I miss Pedro. Okay, Doubront. These balls are getting irritating. I mean, 15 pitches for two batters?
OKAY, Felix. A walk? A WALK?
Not cool, Felix. Not cool. Oh good. Jose Bautista is batting. Not exactly the time you want to have a guy at first. On the ground…. And double play. Okay. Very cool. I get it. That was totttttally on purpose to move the game along, right? You almost had me going there, Felix. Into inning 2!
Silly FDA. You know I never move on (PEDRO!).
7:50. Kevin Youkilis grounds out but it shouldn’t count because the announcers weren’t paying attention…
David Ortiz will fix this. Alvarez looks a little shaky. I would too. I don’t care who you are, Papi is fricking scary. Unless you are a kid wanting an autograph. Then he’s a big teddy bear. Oh! Oh! Oh! The Papi clap!
A single! A single! David Ortiz, ladies and gents. I love him so.
Hi, Cody Ross. I want to like you. You’re just so happy. Um. That is NOT your happy face. Um… Wow. What a grimace. Cody… is that really you? Yikes. That’s the foulest face I’ve seen on a sox since Padilla…
Um. Double play. Um.
So. Um. Felix Doubront?
7:55 Hi, Paul!
I think we should have a contest to see who can do the Cody Ross grimace the best.
I don’t know where Jeb is. Probably pillaging.
We have now mentioned the 0 and 3 record in the announcer booth FIVE times.
Come on, Doubront! I believe in you. So does Paul. And FDA. WE believe in you. And that’s all you need, really. Someone to believe in you. Ask Tinkerbell. The cartoon version. Not the lame Julia Roberts version. You don’t have to ask lame Julia Roberts ANYTHING. You could move this game along, though.
NICE catch by my new boyfriend, Ryan Sweeney, for the out.
8 p.m. This is a very long game. Hi, Adam Lind. HURRY BACK, FDA. Tea is much less important than sweet, sweet victory.
TWO OUTS. Brett Lawrie is at bat. I secretly like him a little. Like, not enough to cheer for him. But enough to smile at his pretty face. Okay. That’s over. DESTROY, DOUBRONT. DESTROY.
Well, damn. Single. You were captivated by your crush too, weren’t you, Doubront? It’s not your fault, really. You are forgiven this once. But just this once. Steeeeeerike. Hi, Rajai Davis. You look very young. In the face. Hi, Brett Lawrie. With your juxtaposed clean cut-ness and your nifty tattoos. Stay on first, please.
Focus, Doubront. We have much to do, you and I. We can not be distracted by idle things. If you want to be my favorite pitcher (and this year you have a shot), you better stay FOCUSED and stop hitting on Brett Lawrie. Seriously. You and Brett can get a room after the game if you want. Do you think Brett Lawrie will read this blog? Salty and Gonz try to catch a foul ball. This is neat, see, because Gonz actually RAN. Total miss. But Gonz actually HUSTLED. No one in the dugout helped. And the announcer commented on that. Ellsbury catches for the third out.
It is never cold in Raleigh, FDA. It’s probably like 111 degrees or something great like that. I love not living on a mountain…
8:08. Top of the third. My new boyfriend is batting. I hope you heard that, Kevin Youkilis. You are still my husband (I can’t quit you), but your recent tryst with a Ms. Brady, coupled by your lack of hitting, has you on thin ice with me, sir. That’s where Ryan Sweeney comes in. Oh. A ground out at first. It’s okay, Ryan Sweeney. You at least look sorry. Apologizing gets you mad points. Hi, Brett Lawrie. Was he looking at me just then?
Hi, Jarrod Saltalamacchia and your switch hitting. The announcer just called you “intriguing.” Yuck. Caught. It’s okay, Salty. Rasmus is such a weird kid. That was a neat catch. I guess.
Mike Aviles. Um. Okay. Maybe he’ll do something really great. Maybe Aviles will be like… a diamond in the rough. Like Aladdin. It could happen. Um. Okay. Clean slate, Aviles. I will seriously forget our history and praise you anew if you can just get on a flipping base. Oh. Swing and a miss. Oh. That was a painful strike too. Oh.
So. Um. Bottom of the third…
8:19. Well. That sucked. A triple. Um. Doubront? You in there?
Crap. Do you think Beckett chickened him? One out. Guy at third. Bah. Bobby V close up. He’s doing this sway thing. He knows. He knows this sucks. And he knows it’s his fault. Bah. Oh no. He’s smiling. Bobby V? Smiling? Really? “Directing the traffic on the infield?” Is it too late for Tito to come back? Do you think he likes his new gig? And John Farrell is watching. This is embarrassing.
And a WALK. Good. So. Um. Two on base now. One out. Good.
Oh. Good. With a dramatic slide, Rasmus scores. Oh.
Doubront has, at least, dropped the jackassy statue stare.
Bobby V has now decided to step outside of the dugout. I think I am just now grasping how irritating Bobby V is to watch.
Tito used to acknowledge suckiness. Remember? But Tito is gone. So really, really this is Larry Lucchino’s fault…
8:25. You’re right, Ellie. We shouldn’t dwell on whose fault it is. My dog is so smart. We should dwell on how we can FIX this problem. Edwin Encarnacion is at bat. Two outs. Can he be the third out? Thanks. It is 1-0. Still. One score is not the end of the world. Please do not be psyched out, Doubront. It’s really not a——
REALLY???? 2-0. This game is crap.
WHO PUT YOU IN THE STARTING LINEUP AGAIN? Oh. That’s right. Bobby V.
No. It’s April. It’s APRIL.
We’re okay. It’s just one inning. Just two runs.
“John Farrell has already shown us he is thinking about matchups, thinking about…”
Bah. Pay attention to what the announcer is saying, Bobby V. We can ALL learn from our mistakes. Does it count as a mistake when you just don’t do anything? Because that’s what is taxing about you, Bobby V. You just don’t do anything.
I know, I know, but Lauren! You don’t manage a team!
I do manage, actually. I manage TETRIS. And, when I’m playing TETRIS, and my L-shaped piece comes out upside down, I adjust.
Well, Bobby V, Doubront is UPSIDE DOWN. Hit the fricking space bar, already!!!!!!
Three outs. Fah-fricking-finally.
That’s dangerous, Paul. I mean, it IS only two runs. You don’t want to KNOW how Kyle would fudge that up…
8:32. I texted Jeb and said “FDA is asking about you.” I just got a response. “My girlfriend?”
Oh. It’s Friday, isn’t it? Yikes. I think the boy will be here Friday. Um. I don’t know if we’re at the “he-can-see-my-sox-side-stage” yet…
Two outs that are eye-roll worthy. Gonz is at the bat. He is more fun to watch now that there is a possibility of him actually running.
Dramatic pronouncements? Me? NEVER.
“Off to a rough start so far this year.”
SHUT UP, announcers. I never liked you.
Hi, Kevin Youkilis. Love. Light. Seriously. FDA, does he look skinnier? Look at his face. His jowls, as it were. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a fan… but I’d sacrifice hitting power over aesthetics ANY day. Seriously. He’s so pretty today. WHY CAN’T HE HIT????
I do appreciate that the announcer just called Kevin one of the best in baseball. Okay, announcers. I guess we are okay. Oh. A look at Josh Beckett in the dugout. I am sure he is LOVING this game. I am so mad at you, Josh. So mad.
But this is not the time for anger. This is the time for Youkilis. Who I will love. No matter what. She said…
Jeb and FDA, your love story is going to be so epic that it will become an internet meme and make me famous. I will be invited on the Ellen show and we will dance.
Can you name your first kid Kevin?
FDA! Kevin is my HUSBAND. Get it right.
Hi, Brett Lawrie. Keep your cool, Felix. I know it’s hard staring in the face of Lawrie. He is quite attractive. But if you could just hold on, all the rest of the Blue Jay players are ugly…
One out! Good job. It’s okay, Brett Lawrie. A trip to Raleigh would be worth the hassle…
That was the lamest not-bunt I have ever seen, Davis.
Oh good. Another Beckett closeup. By the way, we have talked about the 0 and 3 record 11 times now.
They just said Beckett got “torched.” Yep. But that was days ago. Literally days.
Doubront knocks another one out.
See? He’s not so bad. I mean… two runs? Wouldn’t be so horrid if… you know… we could hit something…
I am okay with you, Doubront. Right now. At this moment.
Arencibia is at bat and I think I ate too much pie.
Andy Pettitte is pitching in Florida tonight. Has anyone seen how that’s been going? I kind of hope it goes well so we can destroy him later this season.
Dice-K is throwing in Florida too!
And… of course. As always happens, when I praise a pitcher, he WALKS someone.
Really, Felix??? REALLY? Oh. And it’s Rasmus. He looks like he lives under a bridge. A bridge near a river. With frogs or something.
And not a nice bridge. Or a nice river. Like, a crappy bridge. And a crappy river.
He is NOT Uselesssss. I will not have you talk that way, FDA. I will not. I would NEVER talk smack about Derek Lowe.
Rasmus… He looks confused. He didn’t earlier when he got that fricking triple, so don’t fall for it, Doubront. I think he just naturally looks stupefied.
Yeah. I guess it would be silly if we gave our kids the same name, FDA.
Oh no. They just asked Ortiz about chickengate. Because we haven’t heard that enough.
“Yeah, there were some guys having it (chicken) during the game yes but those guys, they wasn’t even in the game. I’m not saying that what they were doing was the right thing to do, but what I am saying is it wasn’t affecting us on the field.”
He says he doesn’t eat fried chicken re cholesterol- and has lost 20 lbs… Oh. And he’s out. I think the announcers are in love with papi. They keep talking about how good he looks. It’s weird.
Cody Ross, scowling away again.
Base hit down the middle! Now maybe he has something to smile about. Cody, you have such a nice smile. USE IT.
Ryan Sweeney. Hello, boyfriend.
Hi, Steven. You should NEVER go to class when there’s a sox game.
A double! Back to back hits. Love this.
See what happens when you start watching, Steven? Never leave us for class again.
Two outs. Okay. It is fine. Okay.
I still love you, Salty.
Crap. I take back my love for all of you except Ross, Sweeney and Ortiz.
Bostonians also make good creme pie.
FDA, Kevin Youkilis is perfect too. Clearly there is an epic wind in Toronto.
Steven, I have thought about this (For like ten minutes) and I think Aviles is a double agent.
Escoblablah is batting. Doubront is going to take him out. Doubront will take them ALL out. You’ll see. It’s the top of the fifth and I STILL have faith in you, Felix. So does FDA. And Jeb. And Steven. And Paul. And the bazillion trollers my stats indicate I have. We ALL have faith in you. Quick! Somebody flap their arms like that Gordon Levitt kid in Angels in the outfield!
Christopher Lloyd IS watching you. Christopher Lloyd is watching us all.
OUT. See? I told you it would work. I am often right.
It’s okay. It’s just a single. It’s okay. I mean, it kind of looks like we could have nabbed that. Oh, Doubront just swiped the dirt in dismay. See, I like that. That’s acknowledgment. Pay attention, Beckett. It would make me glare at you less. Oh, Bautista. I can tell, because the annoying towels are back. A rip strike. It looks painful. Maybe he will be in pain. I didn’t mean that…
One out, fifth inning. It is 9:09. I want a salad. I have nothing in my fridge but an empty pie tin.
You know, the blue jay with the maple leaf? It kind of looks like a horrible wound on the bird’s head. Look at that.
Jose is not nearly as much fun to watch as Brett Lawrie.
That looked like a strike to me. Marlon Hudson is making some fudgy calls, if you ask me.
Youkilis catches and kills Bautista. Yay.
I love, by the way, how Salty talked Doubront off the metaphorical ledge just then. That was very Tekky. Sigh. I miss Tek. I’m okay.
I’m expecting my “never forget” bracelet any day now.
Focus, Doubront. It would be nice if you would just retire this guy so we won’t have to look at the blue jays for awhile.
FOCUS. Yes. That is called Focus. Encarnacionicusocus just had a killer strike. Ew. He is a spitter. Ew.
Don’t you know you are on television, Encarnaciocockus? Your mother is watching and she does not want to see you spit. STRIKE THREE. Out. And the inning is ova….
9:16. Those braves are so sweet, thinking of us like that, FDA. We should play hopscotch with them or braid their hair or something.
I miss Jason Bay. His alien face always made me smile.
I like Felix too. I just wish I could like our hitters…
All we have to do is hit THREE TIMES.
That’s it, really. No pressure, JACOBY, but you have done nothing for me. And Alvarez catches your bounce. And you sit down.
Seriously, kids, let’s analyze this Jacoby situation. Did we drain him last year when he was the only one playing? Is that what is going to happen to Papi now that HE is the only one playing?
Pedroia is at bat and the announcers clearly have a crush on him too. If Dustin and Papi stood next to eachother, I think these announcers would pass out.
Seriously. This is weird. They didn’t even talk up Bautista this much.
And THAT is why the world loves you. And these announcers, apparently. Wow, announcers. Really?
I mean… I love him too… but… aren’t you supposed to root for Canada? Pedroia, I am promoting you to PRESIDENT of the those-who-give-a-frick club. PRESIDENT. I wish you were here so I could hug you. Even though, Ellie’s about your size…
DAMNIT, Gonz. The slow jog is back.
You are OUT of the club.
Hi, Youkie. Maybe you SHOULD eat chicken. Maybe that 20lbs you lost is the reason you just popped out…
2-1. I mean, Dustin, you could have done that when people were on the bases. But thank you. Thank you for not making us look ridiculous in Canada. America thanks you. And the announcers want… well… you.
IT IS NOT KEVIN YOUKILIS’ FAULT! IT IS THE WIND!
We are in the 6th and Bobby V has put Atchison in. I am actually really excited about this. Not you, Scott, stop smiling inside. I am just excited that, FOR ONCE, you broke your pattern of leaving pitchers in forever until they break and melt into a pile of strikeless goo. Thanks.
Come on, Atchison. Prove that you are not a failure. And by you, I mean the ENTIRE BULLPEN.
Honestly, Doubront was KIND of okay. I mean, you did leave in Beckett FOREVER the other day. Your brain is interesting, Bobby V.
Two balls, two strikes. Oh. Three balls. Two strikes. Oh.
Martin Short is here! Martin Short is here!!!! Who cares about those other two “celebrities?” MARTIN SHORT!
Can he hit?
Okay. Um. We are interviewing people from “Canada’s Got Talent” and not watching the game… um. And not talking to Martin Short. Seriously. If you are going to ignore the game, ignore it for MARTIN SHORT. Not hair chick.
Oh. Martin Short is talking about “Canada’s Got Talent” too. Okay. You can stop talking now.
I don’t even watch “America’s Got Talent.”
Now they are talking about belching instead of watching baseball.
There was a third out. A THIRD OUT? I missed like, ALL of those outs because of a cheap interview promoting “Canada’s Got Talent” where Martin Short wasn’t asked to do ANY impressions or anything. I feel cheated.
Papelpoo is dead to me. DEAD TO ME.
Sigh. I miss the Papeljig.
No I don’t. Yes I do. No I don’t.
We should teach Ryan Sweeney to jig…
Do you think we could buy Brett Lawrie? Just wondering. No reason. No reason at all…
Darren Oliver could be your dad, Alvarez.
Ortiz is 3 for 13 against this guy. Come on, Papi. We need you to get on base. Or better, really. Because the A-Gonz’ slow jog is back. And because Kevin Youkilis is broken. And because we need justice and harmony in this world.
Cody Ross. Apparently, his single did NOT make him happy. I am concerned. I do NOT remember Cody being this stodgy. Do you guys? He was … fun. Would this happen to Brett Lawrie? Would we break him? Because I don’t want that to happen to you, Brett. Stay free… free like that lion on “Born Free.”
What WAS that strike, Cody? Was that an IMPRESSION of a baseball player? Because you certainly weren’t even close. It’s like you were playing charades and the answer is “Julio Lugo.”
Hi, Ryan Sweeney. One on base. So if you could just hit a home run (no pressure), we would be winning. Because it is 2-1. There is one out. So. Um. No pressure…
Seriously? REALLY? David Ortiz????? You don’t steal!!!!!!
THAT is why! You lost twenty pounds. You didn’t gain wheels!
So. Ortiz got caught stealing.
So much for my “all it takes is one hit” strategy, Ryan.
Papi, you need to sit down and THINK about what you just did.
9:40 p.m. Damn it. really? We can’t hit DARREN OLIVER?
I think Dustin is a good leadoff candidate. Because Jacoby is BROKEN.
It’s okay. It’s OKAY. We need TWO fricking runs. TWO fricking runs. We will find them. SOMEWHERE.
And the first batter is out. That was actually kind of nice. Thanks to PEDROIA. Guys, pay attention. There’s no reason you can’t ALL be Pedroias. We could have a giant team of Pedroia’s. Well, it wouldn’t be giant…
Ellsbury makes an easy catch for out number two.
Atchison is kind of looking like a badass. Thanks for refraining from the chicken.
Oh! They just said 0 and 3 again! That’s 17 times, I think. Oh! 18. 19. Oh! And again! 20.
Last year it was 0 and 6. They’ve said that at least seven times…
That’s for reminding us, announcers. Soooo helpful. I guess it’s either make fun of us or make out with Dustin Pedroia.
Escobaby gets a single. Youkie, that was NOT your fault. Gonz, see how Escoblob actually RUNS? If that had been you, it would have been out number three. You know it. I know it.
Yes. This game SCREAMS Taylor Swift song, FDA. Let me know your selection, and I will put up the video so we can all listen and bemoan our fates together.
Oh! An out!
I think we’re going to be okay, actually. I feel good. I feel good about this game. We just need TWO fricking runs, after all…
Maybe we don’t need Taylor. Yet.
Paul- Atchison for PRESIDENT! I think he can last longer than a closer. Let’s make him bullpen president.
Salty. Hi. It is 9:50. Could you get a home run, please? I am very sleepy.
Hahahaha. Oh, Lawrie. You are even sexy when you super-fail at catching. He really smacked into that camera. I hope it got a good shot of his bicep.
ACK! They just tried to assassinate Saltalamacchia! ACK!
That was so on purpose. I officially hate this guy.
It’s okay, Salty. THAT strike out was not your fault. It’s because he tried to KILL you.
Let’s kill him with our glares, shall we?
I am glad you are still alive, Salty.
Mike Aviles. Out at first. Yep.
I like this inning. I do. TWO outs. Eighth inning. Okay. All we need is ONE run in the 9th to keep this going. Just ONE. And we’ll be safe… and sound… like… oh, I don’t know…
10 p.m. Okay. All eyes on the screen. NOW. This is serious. It is even MORE serious than Taylor Swift.
DUSTIN PEDROIA IS SERIOUS>
SEE?! See? Dare we dream? Dare we hope?
It hurts so much more when we get like this… hoping…
DUSTIN PEDROIA I HAVE NO WORDS SO I SHALL USE CAPITAL LETTERS AND-
Oh no. Adrian Gonzalez.
Okay, A-Gonz. You need to run. No. Look at me. LOOK AT ME. RUN. Run like Bobby Valentine is chasing you. Run like I AM CHASING YOU. In a go cart or something so that my speed is more intimidating. You have to do this. You HAVE to do this. For freedom. And mankind. And AMERICA. AND MY SELF ESTEEM.
Oh! Oh! Oh! Pedroia steals third. Oh! Oh! Oh!
I just fell off my bed.
Oh. Okay. Come on, Gonzalez. R-U-N.
But, you know, hit first.
And that foul fricking me the fudge out. Frick.
Look what you did. You scared my puppy! She just left the room.
Another foul. And a commercial? A COMMERCIAL?
Yeah, that’s right. Bring it back. Ohholyfrickmotheroffrick…
Bobby V gives him an ass smack and says, “do it pedey!”
Suddenly, Bobby V doesn’t look so bad and I-
Holy frick-We are. We are going to win. We’re going to win.
It is tied. We have one out. And Kevin Youkilis is batting.
Youkilis strikes out.
Um… It is 10:09 and I can’t sit still.
David Ortiz at the bat.
This is how it should be, really.
Bobby V, could you please leave in Atchison? Thanks.
It’s okay, FDA. I handled it. Just now.
Um… Aceves… um…
Ortiz is my baby’s daddy. True story. Just ask Elliot-May-Precious Ortiz.
Of course, his baby is hiding from me because I keep throwing socks.
Walk. He is ON BASE.
Oh. Oh. Oh.
Let’s just all walk. I’d be okay with that. Let’s ALLLL walk.
We’re going to give Youk a cat scan. And then, if there’s nothing wrong, we’re going to feed him cans of Ensure until he gets his ass kicking weight back on, that’s what we’re going to do, Paul.
Cody Ross, stop frowning and play BASEBALL.
It’s this GAME that you get paid to play.
If I got paid to play a game, I would turn MY frown upside down, best believe.
10:13, And my last fingernail is gone.
We have two people on base. Two. And McDonald is going to run for Ortiz. So that’s goooood.
Hi, Ryan Sweeney. Ryan Sweeney will save us.
He kind of reminds me of Jason Bay. Anyone else see it?
MCDONALD Slides in… SLIDES in… drama… awesomeness. We will win. WE WILL WIN. And that ball hopped and we scored and there was no tag and…
Remember to breathe, Lauren…
And … and…
It’s beautiful. And Santos cursed. And it was beautiful too.
Isn’t it nice to see another bullpen implode?
It is 3-2. 3-2, BOSTON.
Did you see that, John Farrell? Were you watching? Because we can replay it. We can replay it.
And the ball runs away and Ross comes in!!! And it is 4-2!
And I LOVE baseball.
And I love YOU, Santos. I can’t believe that mean John Farrell is bringing you in…
Hear those boos?
Hahahahahahaha. I wish I had a towel too be obnoxious with. Who am I kidding? I am at my house. I have LOTS of towels.
10:22. Actually, Salty’s not so bad. I really think this is going to be his year, Paul. You’ll see. Mark my words…
10:25. BOTTOM of the 9th. OHMYGOD MY COMPUTER FRICKING FROZE.
Okay. Whew. It’s better. Hi, Alfredo. If you screw it up, I fear for your life.
One out. This is STRESSFUL. You know. Unless you’re my dog.
Aceves, I have ALWAYS loved you. I don’t think ANY of this is your fault. I blame Bobby V for putting you in this situation.
That disclaimer aside, I’m going to need another out in order to justify your existance on this earth, okay?
Did we… um… We… won. We WON. WE won.
Was it just me… or was that anticlimactic?
I mean, with the previous pedey lovefest, I was expecting like… confetti?
I think confetti would have been fair… um…
SCREW IT! We WONNNNNNNNN.
You’re welcome, Red Sox. On behalf of myself and all my commenters, who, undoubtedly, pushed you to victory, you are welcome.
I am …
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.
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.
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.
Ground ball. Easy out.
And then Scutaro kicks it.
Scutaro kicks it?
Scutaro kicks it.
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.
Clearly, you are not Peter Pan. End of inning.
39 pitches for you, Timmy. 40th… a strike. And a fast ball.
Okay. Breathe. 200. 200. Just repeat that. You know. 200 times.
Hopefully this won’t take 200 tries.
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.
Thank you. Sit down.
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!
But BASES LOADED!
Come on, Marco.
Come on, Marco. Stephen King is watching.
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.
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.
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.
And the fifth crashes. Like I am about to…
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.
This game will clearly last forever.
Youkie. Fix it.
Ball four. Leadoff WALK.
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?
Salty. Yes. Salty.
This game is stressful. I know what will make us ALL feel better:
The 9th. An out.
Crowd on its feet. Wish we were there.
Hi, Darnell McDonald.
FAIL, Darnell McDonald. Go. Sit. Down.
One out left.
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…
I love you too, Jacoby. I love you too.
“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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
There is no fishing in Baseball (sorry, Carp).
Walks on. The God of Walks. And my heart.
No thanks to YOU, ANNOUNCERS.
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.”
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?
Brandon League. the Closer?
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.
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.
Two outs left, guys.
Scut shoots it to first.
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.
Ball three? Stop it.
Come on, Ackley.
Oh, it’s Ackley.
The hot one.
I’ll be your consolation prize.
I didn’t mean it, Youk.
Left field… off the score boar???? Gut scores? 12-8? Really?
“You’ve got to like what you see from Ackley.”
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.
In the air. Left. Crawforddddd makes the catch! Red Sox wins.
15 consec losses to Seattle.
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.
Thanks for playing, kids!
8:35 p.m. I just got home. JUST.
I have had the worst day. Really. The worst.
And then I listened to testimony from a Holocaust survivor. Which was amazing in that masochistic-awesome-story-reporter kind of way… but horrifically depressing in a human kind of way. But kind of life altering in an amazing way.
And then I blew up at a copy editor. Which was amazing in NO WAY. And (despite “tantrum kitten” comments from my coworkers) it was not cute. It was dynamite in an entirely different sense of the word dynamite. The explosive, graphic, violent sense of the word dynamite. And then I had a town council meeting. Which was the crap icing on the crap cupcake.
SHITHAWKS, leave me alone!!!!
So I am NOT in the mood to be messed with, Baltimore. Do you hear me, Buck Showalter?
I will reach through this computer screen and install a new pitcher myself if you don’t fix this Weiland mess, Curtis Young. It will be bloody. It will be gritty. But I swear to Fisk I fill find a way to make it happen.
I wasn’t sure I was going to watch, honestly. But I talked to my mom on the way home from work just now and she said, “If you’re having a bad day, don’t watch this game.” And, like all real Red Sox fans, there’s something wrong with me. More with the masochism. So I don’t even skip a beat to change out of my miniskirt. I flip on the game. I will, however, make the bloodiest mary that ever Ketel One did make during the next commercial break.
OHMYGOD I forgot about you, announcers. I forgot about you. But my brain didn’t. It hurts the instant you start talking.
Do you ever imagine what your office would be like if it were filled with quicksand? Like, all of a sudden. Like, imagine all the office furniture slowly sinking. That’s when it gets a hold of you. The lines on the linoleum blurring as your feet slowly sink. Do you struggle? I hear that makes it worse. Sometimes I feel like my office is already full of quicksand. Metaphorical quicksand. And I’m just sinking, sinking, sinking. I don’t even struggle anymore. I think I’ve made my peace with it.
This game is kind of like that.
No. No! This game will not be like that! Damn quicksand. You can take me. You can take my office. And my pretty desk. And my “world’s best boss” cross stitch. But damn it if you will take my Red Sox. We will not go gently into that great night! We will not! Do you hear me? Pedroia hears me. Nice catch, buddy. Adam Jones, I hate you. I don’t know why. I just do. You must have earned this hatred in another life by doing something terrible. Like ticketing cars or something.
AND I’m getting texts from work! Hold me back, Youkie! Hold me back.
Crap. For a second, I imagined you were really here.
Another out. And bottom of the fifth.
Gonzalez gets an out. I just sort of watch. No reaction right now. I’m still stewing. You know what would be neat? If my office just filled with water. And my desk could float. It would solve none of my problems, but it sure would be swell. I like water.
Youkilis out at first.
Or jello. I don’t like jello. I don’t eat jello. I really try not to eat things that jiggle. It freaks me out, jello, because I’m not entirely sure what it is. I just know what it isn’t. Food. But it would be neat if my office was filled with jello. I’d like to take a picture of that.
Oh, bluecheese olives. You call to me.
And people keep calling me.
“Come to the bar,” Hannah said. “I’ll even let you watch the Red Sox game.”
And I turn them down. And you know how much I like the bar.
No. Only my bluecheese olives understand. Is it blue cheese? Or bleu cheese?
And Jason Varitek. He would understand. He understands a great many things, Jason Varitek. He is the captain, after all.
Hi, Buck Showalter. I enjoyed watching you on youtube today.
“He just muscled that one.” Hell yeah, Reddick. I like you. You can be my official mistress. Youk won’t mind. It’s like King Henry tried to do with Ann Boleyn. Except I won’t divorce you, Youk. I just started watching The Tudors on netflx.
Crap. An out.
And we enter the 6th.
Jenks got an injection??? Oh. It’s just plasma. Calm down, Lauren. Google doesn’t always tell it like it is at the first glance.
I still don’t trust that guy.
Damnit. Bottom of the 6. Reynolds finds a hole. We just kind of look at it.
One on first.
I like Nolan Reimold’s name. But I do not like his team. Or his manager.
So much Sox love in that stadium tonight! Can you hear it?
I even see a Youkilis jersey. Worn by a girl. You want to fight, girl?
I’m in the mood for a fight.
Thanks, Ellsbury. I think you’re swell. I need a joke. Anybody have a joke? Because my office just texted me again.
Scut is on base. Hit number 8.
I hate Guthrie. He’s another whiner.
DAMNIT. Called out on Scut’s steal. Okay. It looked fair. Fair but CRAPPY. Damn it, Scut…
Bottom of the 7th. Aceves. I am glad to see you. They’re talking about bikes being the reason Aceves is on the Sox? I don’t understand. Stop talking, announcers.
Angle has a Jorge Posada quality. Don’t you think?
Okay. The announcers just made a joke about whether Youk brushes his teeth. Do NOT talk about my Youkilis, stupid announcers. DON’T DO IT.
Okay. Aceves. You are doing your part. Offense… you have GOT to step it up. Hear me, Pedroia? I’m talking to YOU. Because you are the only one who ever listens to me.
I bet if we worked together you would listen to me.
You could have the desk next to mine.
Oh, what great adventures we would have together.
I’m going to write a children’s book about it.
I might. You don’t know.
And Hardy is out. Huzzah.
Okay, offense. It’s time. It. Is. TIME.
Oh no! I am sleepy. I do NOT want to fall asleep during this 8th inning too. I won’t. I won’t…
WHAT IS ON YOUR TIES? Don’t they have people to pick those out for you, Baltimore announcers? Apparently not. APPARENTLY NOT.
Hear this shit? They’re talking about how it’s a true pitching duel, best of the best. Really? Weiland is our best?
Jim Johnson is on. Perfect chance for a rally. Guthrie, you should watch this.
Crap. “Ellsbury is retired.” Just say he’s out, orange-tied jackass.
WHY are we ALL aiming for first???? Stop it! Gonz, seriously. I can just see the post-game interviews.
On the plus side, if the O’s can win, they can say, “hey, Gregg, see how we win without your whiny ass on the mound?”
On the negative? It’s the fricking Orioles. COME ON.
ANOTHER GROUND OUT????????? WHAT THE FRICK?????
Where are our fricking bats?
Bottom of the 8th. There is no more time. Fix this. Fix it now, damnit. FIX IT. I could be watching The Tudors right now!!!
So, I’ve been thinking a lot about this. Do you think Showalter has had laser hair removal on his face? Guys, tell me, is it possible to get THAT smooth a shave? EVERY DAY? Seriously. Thoughts?
12 and 2 in the month of July. Do you guys reeeeeeealllyyy want to screw that up?
That was lovely. A lovely out. Courtesy of Pedroia. THE ONLY ONE WHO LISTENS TO ME.
Yessss. Close up on Kevin Youkilis again. Yessssss.
No. He walks one. NO. He did that on purpose. Aceves!!!!!
Derrek Lee, who I remember because he misspells his first name, is on.
STOP SAYING THAT. “It’s a pitchers’ duel tonight.”
Um. No. A pitchers’ duel is like two extreme badasses. Like Cliff Lee versus Beckett. Like Holliday versus Lester.
ACEVES. WE WILL HAVE A FIGHT. Homerun. 5-2. Sonofabitch. Derrek Lee. Oh, Derrek Lee.
Seriously, Aceves? I’m going to give you a big REALLY? REALLY?????
What part of I AM HAVING A BAD EFFING DAY inspired you to hand him a homerun? What, no giftwrapping?
I should just watch the Tudors.
DAMNIT. ANOTHER HOMERUN? Mark fricking Reynolds?????
Curt Young, I BETTER see you at the fricking mound.
WHAT THE FRICK????????????
6-2. Nolan is on. There are STILL TWO OUTS. So any fricking minute now.
Seriously, Aceves. Are you a double agent? Do you work for my newspaper? Were you there for my copydesk blowup? Because you know the buttons to push.
I am NEVER eating fettuccine alfredo again. EVER.
DAMNITESLLBURYYOUBETTERCATCHTHAT. Ellbury caught it, but he did not absolve you, ALFREDO ACEVES. IF THAT IS YOUR REAL NAME.
Well, good news, I’m awake.
I am sososososososososososososososo angry.
Not even about the game.
About the inevitable pompous and ridiculous post-game comments. I hate you, Buck Showalter, for the comments you will make that will annoy future me. Poor future me.
I am so mad.
Two outs. I don’t even want to watch this crap.
See, just a loss doesn’t do this to me. A loss to a team that is going to run its mouth to every media outlet and inflate its own ego unnecessarily? Does this to me.
Again with the anger.
And that’s the game.
Just a loss.
Just an ANNOYING loss.
Aceves, I hope you’re happy.
And you, Dustin Pedroia!!!! You should have gotten six home runs. SIX.
I am going to watch the Tudors. If this was the Tudors, the King would have your head, Aceves. You better be glad this isn’t the Tudors.
PS- The Tudors is on Netflix and it is neat.
9:59. Jeb and I just had a facebook comment fight. I totally won.
“You’re just mad because Ortiz can’t land a right hook,” he said.
“But I can, and I will remember that statement,” I said.
Yeah. So I turn my computer on to see the triple. Yeah. Awesome.
Fine. Just adding more vodka.
Hi, Reddick. I’m glad you’re still here. I like you better than Sutton.
These announcers suck. 0-2, top of the second. Carl Crawford. Okay. But which Carl Crawford are you? Are you the badass batter or strike boy? Hmmm…
Oh. Apparently ground-out boy.
Oh good. Yes. Let’s KEEEEEEP talking about Ortiz and Gregg. I’d much rather do that than PAY ATTENTION TO WHAT IS GOING ON ON THE FIELD. Seriously, announcers?
“It’s kind of ill advised what Michael did. It didn’t serve any purpose. It didn’t even hit them.”
I know, prick announcer guy. As soon as I figure out your real name, prick announcer guy, I will google you.
So, got a new mix for Bloody Marys. It is supposed to be “extra spicy.” It tastes like a tomato died in sugar and splatted in a microwave. Good thing I have my own horse radish and… wait for it… blue cheese stuffed olives!
I love you, Pedroia. I love you, I love you, I love you. That’s right, number 18. Eat it, sucka. Gregg, I hope you saw that from home. Or the showers. Or wherever they keep you in your shame. Pedroia and his anti-base-stealing-badassishness (am I supposed to call him a muddy chicken now? why?) save the day.
HOMERUN FOR SALTY! 2-1. And it was a pretty one, too.
Top of the THIRD. JD Drew is up. I would LOVE to see a homer out of JD. LOVE. LOVE. We all know I’m a Drew apologist. I’d really like a power bat to back up my loyalty.
The “Let’s go Red Sox” guy is a lot louder than the Baltimoreans.
YESSSSSNOOOOOOOOOOOO. I really thought Drew’s ball was out of there. Caught. Crapnuggets.
A single for Scuttttttt!
Announcers, please stop coddling the child pitcher. Bergesen is in the big leagues now. Let’s treat him like a big boy.
They are BOOING Jacoby. How can you BOO Jacoby? And he lets errrr rip. A single. Nice! Maybe if you hadn’t booed so hard Karma wouldn’t have hit you in centerfield, Os.
Oh, nice. They are replaying Pedroia’s 1:54 a.m. hit. Which is thrilling. Because at 1:54 I was in and out of a sleep coma.
Wow. Check out the bat chick. How do you get that job? I would be a greeeeaatttt bat chick. You know, because CLEARLY you don’t have to actually CATCH the ball. And I look damn hot in a ponytail.
I thought blue cheese olives would be fitting since the Orioles are so whiny. And they sure are. And only $3.59 at Ingles. I love you, Dustin Pedroia. YESSSSSSSSSS Base hit. LOVE it. Game is tied. That was one of those stand up on the couch, scare the crap out of your dog moments. Replay! Replay!
Oh. Of course. You’ll replay Ortiz-Gregg crap all day long. But we mustn’t show a kick ass hit again. Ohno. Hi, Gonz.
YESSSSSS. 3-2. 78th rbi for the GONZ.
Uhoh. I think I hear whining…
Bottom of the third. 3-2. It’s like losing, but the opposite. I’m sure we’ll hear alllllll about that later from Bucky Boy. Think Gregg is watching? Of course he’s watching. Think the tears are rolling down his cheeks, or just welling in the ducts?
YESSSS. Double play. Thanks to the Youkie-poo.
And… it’s phone shot time. I kind of have the best family in the world.
And I least I can PROVE my phone shots. Seriously, kids, without photographic evidence, how am I supposed to think you just downed it?
See how not lying I am?
Did anyone ever figure out what John Lackey did Saturday? Because I am curious.
Does anyone read this? Because I get loads of comments on live-blog posts. But they’re always when I’m not live.
Hi, Carl Crawford, “the only member of the Red Sox to NOT HIT IN THE THIRD INNING.”
Hey, the announcer said it. I didn’t.
It’s so nice not to be working.
Oh, Maddon “let Crawford go,” announcer said, because of the Trop and its effects on Crawford’s legs. Yeah, I’m sure that’s why you didn’t get him. Had nothing to do with the moneys.
Yay! Base hit! Adequacy! You tell ‘em, Crawford.
Alright Salty. Let’s teach the O’s to spell your name!
Lester “is ready to go Monday.” Sweet.
Comeon, announcers. Let’s talk some salt. That’s Saltalamacchia.
“It may be last man standing… or, it could be Tampa Bay coming in around the corner…”
What corner, announcer? Seriously. Because the only corner they’re coming around is a coffin. Or time out. That’s less dramatic.
YESSSSSSSSS Sweet. I love it when they dive for it and smack into the turf. Two players. No catch. Thanks for making us look swell. But, got to warn you, PIE, get ready to hear some whining in the dugout. Bucky’s not going to let you get away with an error without a trip to the corner. The time out corner. Not the coffin corner. Hi, Drew.
“That tells you how he’s seeing the ball.”
Shove it, announcer.
It’s okay. Scut’s taking point.
I don’t think they’ve decided how to pronounce Bergesen’s name. I’m hearing Berg-a-son. And Burgggg<-soft g-esson. Decide, please.
YESSSSSS Crawford, comes around to score… what was that? Was it out? Was it safe? Replay it, damnit. It looks safe. It looks fricking SAFE. Is it? You suck, announcers.
“That’s the first one, error-wise, the Orioles have committed in seven games.”
Well, announcer, they are too busy whining to commit errors. Oh, and to win.
SAFFFEEEE. You’ve got guts, Scut.
Loverly. Like in the song from “My Fair Lady.” The musical based on another play called Pygmalion.
5-2 Sox. Sorry, Gregg. You should bottle your tears. You know. To water plants. We’ve all got to do our part to save water. I wrote this article about it today. Want me to send it to you? Should I just address it c/o Time Out?
Okay. Two people have invited me to be on Google plus. What. Is. It.????
HOMERUNREDDICK. Yay. 6-2. Are you watching this, Bucky?
Are you seeing these announcers and their ties? Seriously. Is that a Valentine’s Day tie?
Felix Pie. Peee-aaayyyy. Sure. Okay. PIE.
“So long as the knuckle ball is working he can pitch from now to 75,” announcer GARY says.
Seriously? You let Pie get on first? That’s ridiculous. Did you see that? Wild pitch, he hail Marys it to first… now they’re saying it’s on Salty?
There’s a sign that says Hankook or something…? But just now, Andino is blocking part of it, and it just says Kook. Hah.
“It’s the invisible baseball. It sort of just darts away.”
Hardy gets a homer. 6-4.
“The problem with a knuckler is when it doesn’t knuckle, it rolls,” ~Announcer.
Okay, Wake. Baby. Let’s focus. Okay? Focus. Tito, you watch him, k?
I am about thirty seconds from muting these damn announcers. 6-4. Bottom of the 5th.
I want to be a baseball announcer. Seriously. I would rock at your life, announcer guy.
DAMNIT. Okay. 6-5. Homerun.
Alright. I love you, Wake. Really. I do. But it’s time for a rest, k? Tito, don’t you think it’s time for a rest?
“You can just watch Wakefield put his head down.”
But seriously, Tito. I think it’s time for a powwow. Come on, Curt Young. I can’t do this for you guys. Believe me, I want to.
STOP SAYING ONE RUN BALLGAME, ANNOUNCER JACKASS. We get it.
“Keep in mind, the Red Sox had that 16 inning ball game last night.”
Wake looks sad.
Okay. Now I look sad.
This game is making me SOOOOO glad I have blue cheese olives. You don’t even know.
Yeah. Hi, Curt Young. Let’s do this. Wheeler’s warm. Let’s. Do. This.
Oh. Okay. Or we could just leave Wake in. Sure. Okay.
This is me trusting you, CURT YOUNG.
Please. That so did not almost hit you.
BASES LOADED????? Seriously????
What. The. Frick.
SOMEBODY? Can anybody fricking hear me??????
Kristin, why is this happening to us?
DAMNNNNNIIITTTTT! 7-6. This is YOUR FAULT, Curt Young. YOUR FAULT.
Okay. I am using this commercial break to breathe. And calm my puppy down. Who ran upstairs and is probably in the bathtub.
Seriously. Why? I need an answer. With words. In paragraph form. Stat. Go.
FDA, is this because of that time I called John Lackey a water bug larva? Are we being punished? I know I look 12. I’m told that on occasion. It makes being a reporter super fun, let me tell you.
Oh God. Maybe the whining works.
I would rather lose to the Stankees.
Come on, Wheeler. Come ON. 7-6 O’s, bottom of the fifth. TWO outs. Runners on second and third. This would be a gooooood time for an out. Thank you. Thank you, Dan Wheeler. I am naming my tomato plant Dan Wheeler in your honor, good sir. The beefeaters. Not the heirlooms.
So, I was really excited to find the new Morningstar “spicy” breakfast sausage on special… but it is not spicy. It is full of lies.
“Both bothered by a lack of defense behind them.”
Anddddd… MUTE. 8:47.
“Lackey’s the big question mark.”
SHUT UP. Yeah. So I lied about the mute. I was going to. I swear. I just. Um. Didn’t.
Jacoby Ellsbury is pretty.
Don’t tell K-Youk.
I see wayyyy more Sox fans than Orioles fans. Oh. And some pinstripes. Why are you in Baltimore?
Come on, Scut. Please hit the ball. In a scoring way. Not in a pop out way.
Swinging would help.
What did I say about popping out?????
I can’t watch this.
Yes I can.
Hi, Dan Wheeler. Did you always have that much facial hair?
Okay. Moved computer to bedroom. Maybe I’ll sleep through the rest.
We’re fine. One run. And we’re on base. Thanks to kickass Jacoby. And Pedroia’s up. And there are no outs. All-in-all, it’s a good place to be. You know. If you’re the Sox.
I really hate these announcers. Top of the seventh.
Three balls. One strike. And one kickass Pedroia. Crap. Crap. Oh, thank you screen. Thought we were going to have a caught foul ball and a cranky me. And he walks.
Two on. And Gonz AND Youk coming up. We’re just fine. Just fine…
Gonz. He’s one for three.
Tampa Bay is leading the Yankees! Sweet.
Even though, honestly, I kind of wanted the Stanks to win so Joe Maddon could cry in his car.
It is amazing how many teams have been pissing me off that aren’t the Yankees.
Two balls. Two strikes. Gonzzzzz.
Okay. That was no strike. That’s a super questionable out.
YESSSSS. Youkie. Hits. Jacoby. Scores.
Delightful boos rise up in Baltimore. Like Showalter, like fans…
7-7. In the 7th. ONE OUT
Oh, now they call. Friends call at 9:16 trying to get me to go to the bar. Maybe you should have called two hours ago.
An out. And Crawford comes. Up. 13 for 86 against lefties. Got to hit them sometime, though, right?
Pedroia and Reddick on base.
Would be an excellent time for a slam.
Ohno. I have not been paying close enough attention. Michael Gonzalez is pitching? Really???? Out. Whatever. “Crawford didn’t like the call.” I didn’t either, dear.
Seriously, that call was crap. Blue shirt announcer is totally trying to hide his lame Valentine’s Day tie with his microphone.
Oh. It does. It has hearts on it. No. Just… no.
Michael Gonzalez really shouldn’t be in this game.
Just saying. Guess his appeal wasn’t worked through today.
Still 7-7. It is 9:21. And I really might pass out. That’s sad.
Five relievers used yesterday. FIVE. That is insane.
“Breath Lauren and play the drinking game. Every time anyone speaks Take a drink.” FDA gives the best advice.
Don’t mind if I do.
Being a Red Sox fan can be a lot like being a Charter customer. You can’t help it and it hurts.
Oh, Reynolds. That almost-homerun-actual-foul just made me terrify the dog again.
Okay. I’m not going to argue. Really. But there’s something fishy going on in ump world tonight… 9:32. Still a tie.
Ohno. Please don’t let this game have 16 innings. Please?
8th. 8th innings are great times for rallies. You can rally a tie. You can.
Michael Gonzalez is treating the mound like a slip ‘n slide. And I am having a lot of trouble keeping my eyes open. Seriously. If I pass out, you have to finish my play-by-play, FDA.
DO SOMETHING, MCDONALD. ANYTHING. Thank you. And he walks.
I’m glad you helped an old lady, FDA. Because I accidentally shut the door on one. It was an accident….
Just add more vodka!
That does the opposite of wake me up.
Seriously. Michael Gonzalez should be in Gregg’s circle of pout right now. They should be weaving friendship bracelets and swapping handkerchiefs. Is Showalter crying? Do his eyes look puffy to you? Another walk would be nice. Still top of the fricking eighth. Scuttttttt.
Yay. Hit. Yay. First and Second. Yes. Tired. But first and second. One out. We will score. Because of FDA’s old lady. And because of God. Anddd stuff. Tired. Jacoby is up. He is o for four against M-Gonz. But that was before the whiny week. Surely he has been inspired by the whining. oh, the incessant whining. So tired. Faddding. Fading fast… oh the typos I have to fix before I click “update.”
11 to 7. Yay. Youkilis.
Yeah. We won. And I fell asleep and missed it…
A battle’s raging at Fenway.
Between two nations. The United States. And Canada.
And it’s being semi-live blogged. Right here. Right now.
It’s a battle for a 2-game winning streak.
Top of the 5th. 4 to 1. Jon fricking Lester.
But today’s game isn’t just about Jon fricking Lester.
Today’s game is also about Jacoby fricking Ellsbury.
My feelings on Jacoby’s three-run homer can be best expressed by the chorus of the song “Defying Gravity” in Wicked.
I don’t know how to classify this post since I’m sober and enjoying the sunshine between game shots. Seriously. Only half watching the game. That’s because I’m trusting you, Jon Lester. TRUSTING YOU.
It is a beautiful day and I have a porch. And I plan to use it.
But I can’t resist watching Lester pitch… he’s making me nervous today, for some reason.
Sweet. Jon, I’m glad your last name is Lester and not Lackey.
Sunshine. Porch. Tequilla. Blender. But no Margarita mix. I do have lemons. Hmmm…
Right. The game. Coming up on bottom of the 5th.
And Crawford bats. He’s 0 for 2. Surprise.
Make that 0 for 3. Not surprised.
He’s … Crawful. <- get it?
Hi, Destroia. Make Litsch work for it, baby. Crap.
Well, that was fast.
Coming up on bottom of the 5th. And a sunshine break. 3:12.
Yay! A Papi single! I like this laying in the sunshine only to come inside every time something good happens. It’s like the exact opposite of a John Lackey game. 3:27 p.m.
A Lowrie single! Jed, maybe I judged you too harshly. Maybe you’re not a nambi-pambi DL list junkie…
3:28. Maybe I should go outside again with my lemoniquila (it’s this new drink I’m inventing) before Drew messes this up. Crap. Someone at door. Company. Company and baseball games… dangerous combination. Maybe she knows what to do with lemons and tequilla… Hi, Hannah. Yeah, you can’t stay. I’m watching baseball.
A walk?! Loaded bases?! And… crap.
Salty walks up to the plate. Sunshine break. 3:31.
Crap. I can’t do it. I can’t just walk away when the bases are loaded. Crap. Salty. That reminds me. I need salt. Okay, Salty, let’s knock one out of the park.
Come on, Salty… if we can just make it to Jacoby…
YESSSSSS! A single. And a purpose for Salty. A purpose, people. 6-1, baby. With Jacoby fricking Ellsbury at the plate to start the next inning. This shot (which is much more effective and less gross then the lemonquilla) is for you, Salty.
Top of the 7th. Sunshine break. 3:38.
3:43. Daniel Bard makes me nervous. You know, because he’s not Jon Lester. or Josh Beckett. That double play was sexy. Hi, Dustin.
2 outs. Walked onto first. Runner at second. Please don’t mess up Lester’s work, Bardy-boy. One strike. Just one strike. Awesome. Loving you, DB. Well, liking you. I can forgive but I cannot forget…
Of course I care about the Braves, Daniel. Kind of. Um…
I care that YOU care.
You know what would be nice? To see Crawford hit something.
I hate to complain. Really, I do (when it’s 6-1), but we’re hitting. We’re hitting again, Tito! Except for that guy you spent a bazillion dollars on. What’s with that?
And you know what is really, really, really gross? When you blend lemon juice, ice, tequila and brown sugar.
3:56. Come on guys. Do it for America! Show Canada that they’re… um… north?
Oh, look… Carl the Crawdad is out. Crawdad. Crawful. Crapford. What say you, internet?
Hello, inning 8. See, old school Sox fans will remember this is where we screw it up. This is why we, as fans, tend to be slightly… what’s the word… paranoid? Cranky? Frazzled? Because the old school way to lose isn’t by playing a crapcombo (like the entire first week of baseball this year)… it’s by playing kickass baseball, then screwing it up for NO. REASON.
But see, I have new school pep and optimism. So I’m not even thinking about those days. Not even thinking about them.
You know, brown sugar should not be mixed with alcohol.
Hello, Doubront. So we meet again.
Does anyone else think the ump has it out for this guy? Totally a strike.
Okay. Um. Well, that one was fair. Okay. At least two of those were strikes, damnit.
That’s okay. Just six more outs and we have a streak, Doubront. A streak. Do it for the troops.
Another walk?! Why do you hate our troops, Doubront? Why?
Crap. The announcer says “Bobby Jenks, they might use him to close this game.”
No. No. No. No. No. No.
That’s right! Out on third (thanks, Youkie-Bear). Who do you think you are, Jacoby Ellsbury?
4:11. 2 outs.
Bobby Jenks. Oh. My. God. No one reads my blog posts! Okay, several of you do, but CLEARLY not Curt Young.
I’m not being a very good hostess. But it’s okay. Because the girlfriend I am currently hanging out with isn’t actually watching the game. In fact, she hasn’t stopped talking for two innings.
So I think it’s okay if I ignore her completely for these last two innings, right?
Bobby Jenks will be fine. I’m so, so, so confident.
Oh no. The world stopped for like five seconds. My husband was just hit by a pitch. How DARE you, Shawn Camp. How DARE you?! 4:23 p.m.
Ack! Ack! What happened? Gonz scores? Youk scores? And… I… miss… it… crapola.
Was saying goodbye to my friend… and…
I will never let friends inside my house again.
Okay, that’s not true. But I will only be available during commercials.
My phone is ringing. But I won’t answer it. Oh, no…
Okay, guys. Streak of two. Two streak. Hot streak. Winning streak. Let’s go.
What’s a good pun for a two streak? A double streak? Crap.
It’s okay. We’ve got this. We may not have puns, but we do have a 2-streak. Almost.
Dear Bobby Jenks,
Can I call you Jenks? Okay. So, it’s the 9th inning. Which means three outs and we have our FOURTH win. Not one win. Or two wins. Or three wins. But FOUR wins.
Four. Just a few wins away from people at my office leaving me alone.
I know that doesn’t mean much to you, your office is a dugout, but really, after your fantastic failure the other day (one might even call it epic, epic failure), you’ve got to be experiencing some ragging yourself.
So you know what? Don’t do it for me. Don’t throw those 9 strikes just for me. Do it for yourself. Do it for America.
Jenks, do it for me.
Oh. Hi, Dan Wheeler. THIS is what happens when I’m not paying attention, HANNAH.
We… we won. We won?
We are the champions!
We are the champions…
of TWO games!
Back to the happy music…