Edwin Jackson. Rumor has it, we’re looking at him over Roy Oswalt. Which, you know, could answer the question, WHY THE FRICK HAVEN’T WE SIGNED ROY OSWALT?
So- is Jackson worth the Scut monies?
Like in all things, we turn to our trusty friend for the answers.
Edwin Jackson, Wiki says, was born in Germany. Okay. But he’s an American professional baseball player. His father was a German army cook, see. Okay. In 2011, he was both a White Sox and a Cardinal. Mmm-K. He threw a no-hitter in 2010.
There was a time when Jackson was regarded as one of the premiere pitching prospects in baseball (after posting sub-4.00 ERAs in AA and the majors at age 19 in 2003), but poor showings in AAA and MLB after that season ended his status as a “can’t-miss” prospect. He made his major league debut on September 9, 2003, his 20th birthday. In that game, he pitched 6 innings, giving up just one run and out-pitched Cy Young Award winner Randy Johnson to earn his first career major league victory.
He tied with James Shields to lead Tampa to 14 victories in 2008
Jackson is one of a minority of MLB starting pitchers who relies almost exclusively on two pitches, a mid-90’s fastball and an effective power slider..
No interesting personal info, wikipedia? None at all? How are we supposed to make a judgment on numbers alone?!
On July 29, 2011, Edwin Jackson pitched his first game as a Cardinal and threw 7 strong innings, leading St. Louis to a blowout win over their rivals the Chicago Cubs.
Uh oh, guys. He’s another Scott Boras. WE DON’T HAVE 214 MILLION DOLLARS! It’s okay. Breathe, Lauren. Breathe. Sometimes Scott Boras makes mega-fails. Like with Ryan Madson.
What do our friends at Over the Monster have to say?
Jackson isn’t as good as Roy Oswalt, and maybe not as good as Gavin Floyd, but at this stage, he likely would be cheaper than either: Oswalt is reportedly looking for around $8 million per year, and Floyd, while inexpensive monetarily in terms of the luxury tax, will cost the team in prospects. At the least, he is durable, averaging 208 innings per year over the last three years, and 202 over the last four, and his ERA+ since he left Tampa Bay is an above-average 108.
How about the Globe’s Peter Abraham?
For a guy who has been traded six times, the 28-year-old Jackson has pretty good numbers (a fWAR of 11.2 the last three seasons) and is a decent bet to produce a good season. But he’s also a Scott Boras client.
And the folks at Bleacher Report say Jackson is vital to “keep the Cardinals on top.”
Jackson might be a good fit… but what happened to Oswalt?
What are your thoughts, nation? Are we bargain-binning- or is this move something we can brag about on our facebook statuses?
The quest for a new Nomahhhhhh-
It’s dominating the painnnnnnfffulllllyyyyyy boring headlines (if you can call them that) of Sox nation today, as we mourn the passing of Scutaro and quirk our confuzzled eyes at our roster. Seriously. Boston short stop=Spinal Tap drummer.
The kryptonite Nomar Garciaparra left behind when he was traded in mid-2004 has lost none of its potency in 71⁄2 years. Saturday night’s trade of shortstop Marco Scutaro to the Colorado Rockies for $6 million in salary relief — and, don’t forget, pitcher Clayton Mortensen — once again put the spotlight on the Sox’ curiously consistent inability to groom Nomar’s heir.
Other than giving the Herald’s Michael Silverman‘s inner child the chance to use words like “kryptonite,” not much is new.
That’s kind of the story of this off season: Nothing new, folks. Enjoy the cheese plate.
Nick Punto and Mike Aviles are going to tag team shortstop. So. Um. Apparently it takes two to make one Nomar. I hope it’s like those two guys in the Mighty Ducks. Remember the bash brothers? But with less time in the penalty box? Maybe it will be like Batman and Robin. I kind of think Mike is going to be Robin. I’d like to make a Captain Planet reference here, but I’m just not up to it today.
Does it really take TWO players to equal Marco Scutaro? I mean… I dig the Scut, really I do… but the math is fuzzy for me. Is it fuzzy for you? I get the why. Really, I do. But I still don’t understand the math. I don’t understand why we couldn’t unlock Lackey. Or Dice-K. Or a plethora of other money sucking black holes. And I really, really, really don’t understand why we care about luxury taxes. Or taxes in general. Aren’t our wallets supposed to be endless? Maybe you could sell your yacht, John Henry.
Speaking of strange purchases, Detroit wants Johnny Damon. And Roy Oswalt (who, undoubtedly, they will buy. I have no faith in Sox’s shopping department right now). Fascinating.
In other news, Josh Beckett is listed as the #25 “biggest hothead” in sports. Well. He is pretty hot. I don’t think his hotness is confined to his head…
Newly acquired Vicente Padilla (oh goody) is also on the list- number 19.
Red Sox pitcher Vicente Padilla never met a batter he didn’t want to hit with a baseball; he’s pegged an impressive 106 batters in his career so far.
Vicente, do you take requests?
He also apparently shot himself- accidentally- in 2009. Oh, goody.
A nasty temper and a deadly weapon are an excellent combination.
Oh. This is funny. Apparently he nailed Mark Teixera in consecutive at-bats in 2009.
Does Vicente remind you of anyone?
Good job with the bargain binning, Benny C.
No Yankees made the hothead list. And no Kevin Greggs either.
In other news, Doug Mirabelli isn’t even PLAYING and he’s winning. So maybe we should snatch him up too. Why the frick not? Dougie, want to come home?
And, if you want to sigh an audible awwwwww at work today, read this.
So. Um. Just in. We’re. Um. Scut-less. We better get a great pitcher. A GREAT one. We traded with… let’s see… the Rockies. So a great pitcher would be… Oh. Right.
Update- hearing it’s Clayton Mortensen. Clay Mortensen. Okayyyyy.
Let’s meet you, courtesy of Wikipedia.
On the night of 2 October 2009, Mortensen was arrested on suspicion of drunken driving and spent the night in the Santa Clara County jail.
Um. Anyone else feel another beer and chicken joke coming?
Oh no. Don’t read this article on a Rockies loss in June. It sounds too dejavuzy. You will shudder and have Bard-bad-streak-flashbacks. Here’s an excerpt.
Clayton Mortensen, at this moment the saddest man in Colorado, was muttering to himself as he trudged to the Rockies’ dugout.
His shoulders sagged. His right arm was hanging low. He kept talking, with himself as the only audience, as he approached his teammates.
Are you seeing this? Rumors abound that a Scutaro trade could be a-foot.
Scut was actually useful. USEFUL. Could we stop this crazy talk, Benny V?
Let’s talk more imports than exports, guys. Who we can get. Not who we can kick out.
The theory is- Scut would free up the $$$ to get pitchers. Okay. Great. I like pitcher $$$.
Someone explain again why we can’t do that with Lackey? He’d be a GREAT export.
What’s your take on Mr. Marco? Leave the scoop on the Scut in the comments section.
PS- it is snowing in Delaware. See?
I am terrified. Because I have to drive to the Philly airport in the am. Stupid snow. It follows me. I’m telling you…
PPS- I like Delaware. Because you never have to pay for drinks. More on this later.
Inspired by fellow blogger Jup.
Jup, you see, doesn’t like Jacoby Ellsbury (who she calls Pretzels). And is unapologetic about it:
You’re not getting me on that bandwagon. It looks crowded, and I’m not that social. After giving it thirty seconds of thought, Pretzels has Kevin Cash syndrome. No matter what he does, no matter how well he plays, I won’t like him, and I don’t have a legitimate reason.
I get it.
No, I do.
I am a staunch Jacobist. Always will be (as long as he stays anti-juice) thanks to a well-timed home steal against Pettitte that one time.
But it got me thinking…
Who’s that player that you’re unapologetic about? Who’s that player that can’t do right by you, even if they work the win?
I have two, really. You know my anti-Lackeyness… (who I grimace at even on the few outings where he kicks) but unless you’ve been paying close attention- you may not know about my anti-Jed Lowrie-ness. I can’t explain it, really. I think it’s because he’s always injured. But Dice-K is always injured. And much more of a liability. And I find myself missing him, that little smirk he does when he sizzles. You know?
Jed Lowrie? I don’t even miss him when Scut anti-sizzles. You know. That thing he has been doing ALL THE TIME lately.
So who is it that cringes your last nerve? That you force yourself to watch? That you root for BECAUSE he’s on the home team?
And, on the other side of the spectrum… who do you unapologetically defend with every fiber in your fan being, often for no reason? Who will always be on your fantasy team? Even when he’s swinging strikes and falling face first into the baseball dirt on his way back to the dugout?
I don’t have a player like that. Nope.
KEVIN YOUKILIS DOES NOT COUNT. HE IS PERFECT.
Non-Sox fans? Same question.
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.
6:30 p.m.: T-minus one hour and counting… And I am definitely stopping by the liquor store on MY way home. Because tonight… horror of all horrors (crap. The PLEDGE) wonder of all wonders, we have the one, the only,
Tonight’s drink of choice is…
The John Lackey! A double shot of whatever cheap liquor is on sale.
See you in an hour. And please join me. I have pledged not to say anything bad about John Lackey. John Lackey is pitching. <– See the moral support I require?
Which Wich: I’m happy you opened a store in Boone. Really, I am. And my hummus sandwich with the crispy onions makes me quite happy. But your clientele? Questionable. Just saying.
A trip to the ABC, and I’ll be good to go…
“Lackey (8-8, 6.28 ERA) started the month of July with a putrid performance, allowing seven runs in 2 1/3 innings against the Blue Jays, but he’s steadily improved over his last three starts. Since July 9, he’s 3-0 with a 1.95 ERA, including an impressive seven-inning, one-run start against the Mariners in his last outing. Granted, the Mariners rank 30th in the majors in runs, batting average and on-base percentage, but the win brought Lackey’s record back to .500, a confidence boost for any pitcher.“
And. Okay. I did see THIS, when Lackey made a big deal about being willing to go in Monday night. That was cool. I GUESS.
In one way, the image of Lackey, who is on tap to take the mound Wednesday night, stretching in the dugout and then making his way out to the pen was not something the manager ever wanted to see. In another way, it was.
“That’s probably a side of guys that you guys don’t see, that we appreciate,” Francona added. “Probably why we defend guys, because that’s not at my urging. He’s running down there to help. We appreciate that.”
I can read between the lines. This is the internet telling us everything’s going to be okay.
You’re right, internet. We are going to be JUST fine. John Lackey is going to be JUST swell. Thanks, Internet.
A still of that clip is Jeb’s facebook profile picture.
6:50. Ready to play.
7:19. Okay. Um. I have been very quiet. Very quiet for about five minutes now. So quiet. Just watching. You know. Sitting here. On my couch. Watching you, John Lackey. The game is FIVE minutes in. And it is THREE TO ZERO Royals. Top of the FIRST. One out.
I just want YOU to know that I know, Lackey. I KNOW.
Base hit. Look at that. Third hit in the inning. Look at that. Are you looking at that, LACKEY? Just checking. Jussssst checking.
Oh, look. Line to right. Heading down the corner. Double for Brayan Pena. Look at that. Hi, LACKEY. Keeping my cool. Just like we pledged. See? Just. Like. We. Pledged. I’m sure this is ALLLLLLL part of your plan. Whip them into a false sense of security, right? Right?
29 pitches. 2 outs. and… oh, what’s that? TWO on base? Losing by what, THREE? Just checking.
I don’t know, America. Does THREE runs in an inning violate our pledge?
Time for another John Lackey. JL, you are so much more tolerable in shot form. 7:26.
Bruce Chen. Jacoby Ellsbury.
And… just as I’m about to say something snarky about John Lackey, Jacoby HITS ONE OUT OF THE PARK! Number 17 for Jacoby! 3-1! 3-1! And, thanks to Jacoby, the pledge is intact another minute.
Dustin Pedroia has to jump out of the way to avoid a crazy pitch from this Chen guy. Pedroia is riding a 23-game hitting streak. Kind of a big deal. Kind of something we need. When it’s the FIRST inning and you’re down by THREE. I didn’t say anything. Not a thing. But I am looking your way, Lackey.
HOMERUNNNNNNNN! And Pedroia extends his hitting streak. Oh, yes he does! 14th homer of the season. 3-2. John Lackey must be wetting himself. He needs to buy them beers or something. Because about ten minutes ago I was full of hate. And now I’m full of sunshine. Sunnysunnysunnysunshine.
Gonz is struck out. To a lot of booing, I might add.
Kevin Youkilis. Aka Youki-poo. Aka loveofmylife. Doing his bat dance. I am so glad to see you, Youkie. Alive. And uninjured. And alive.
Fire in their eyes tonight, see?
Ball four. First base for the Youkie-poo. With Ortiz snaking up to the plate.
Chen looks petrified. His eyes keep darting around, and he’s not just checking bases. He has these weird freckle things, see? 2-2, Papi’s giving the death glare. Full count. Death glare. Checking first. Death glare. Papi’s on fire with the glares. Let’s hope he can back it up with a punch. Not literally, David Ortiz. This isn’t an Oriole. He’s just a Royal.
A home run should suffice.
Strikes out? I’d like to see a replay of that, please. 2 outs. “He did not check a swing on that one but he was called out,” Jerry Remy says.
I’m watching you, Ump.
Saltysaltsalt up for some smacking. 5-game hitting streak. I’d be more impressed if HITTING WAS NOT YOUR JOB. Like, If it was me? Like, Lauren has a 5-game hitting streak- see, that’s impressive. Because I don’t have to hit anything. Ever. Ever at all. Except Pixie sticks (the candy. not the drug euphemism). It would be like saying Lauren is on a five-story streak. See, I am paid to write stories for the paper. Just like you are paid to hit balls for the Red Sox. I just … I just… not impressed with your five streak. I’m sorry.
That was rambly. Omen of rambles to come, no doubt. Hi, Salty. You adjust your gloves a lot. Yeah. It’s the gloves fault. Sure. Jacoby’s uniform is awfully clean in the dugout. Meanwhile, back in salty land, full count. Third consecutive three ball count for Bruce Chen, if you’re paying attention. I’m not. But Jerry Remy is. Strike out.
Wow. Two runs. We’d be 2-0. You know. If SOMEONE hadn’t allowed those three runs.
“John Lackey had kind of a guard on his elbow and the umpire asked him to take it off,” announcer said.
Maybe it was the sleeve that allowed the three runs. Not the Lackey. Thanks for watching out for us, Ump.
Grounder, thrown out. First out.
Ew. Lackey just spit. Ew. America saw that, Johnny.
Fair ball. Look at that. Second base. Look at that. Second double of the night for this guy. Hmmm. Second. What was that, Lackey? Second?
Staying calm. Staying cool. Just the second. Just Johnny being…
Running Gordon back and forth… got him out. Other guy safe at second. Okay. So we’ve got a guy on second. How did that happen? Oh, that’s right. He got a hit, Lackey. That’s what happened.
Butler at the bat. Lackey’s on pitch 39.
This is not a criticism/mockery/judgment… but what is John Lackey doing with his beard? Really?
In the dirt. Okay. I’m sure you were just keeping Salty on his toes. He’s on his toes, see? So you can just pitch now. Thanks. Oh. Another base hit. Oh. So, someone at first and third. 6 hits into the game for the Royals. Oh. Look at that.
Lackey. I think you need to reread the terms of our Pledge RIGHT NOW.
Ellsbury makes the catch. Lackey, you owe him balloon animals or something. I didn’t call you a clown just now. I called you a finely tuned rubber artist. Who is. Um. Full of hot air.
Bottom of the second. Scutaro leading off. Oh good.
Scut, I thought I told you I needed space. After Monday, I need time to rebuild the trust. You’re smothering me, already. How are we supposed to make this relationship work if you won’t listen to me?
Trust in what we have, Scut. Just trust in what we have and give me time.
Full count. Fulllllll count. A walk. Okay. A walk. Thanks, Scut. I appreciate the gesture.
Darnell McDonald. Another ball. Pitching coach and Pena to the mound to dry Chen’s ‘ittle tears. poor tike. Okay, Chen. You do not blow a bubble with your gum when your boss is talking to you.
Nice. Now we’ve got McD on first and Scut on Second. Nice.
LOVE it. Navarro. A pop that looked like they could get to it. But it drops about two feet away. Lovely. And We load the bases with no outs. Lackey, you better be cuddling that lucky blanket.
3 balls for Jacoby. With the bases loaded, I’d like to add. BALL FOUR. Walkin’ in the game tying run. You can open your eyes now, Lackey. It’s okay.
Bases STILL loaded. 3-3.
And Dustin Pedroia pops it out. But McD scores for a 4-3 lead.
Okay guys. I don’t want to say what leads me to this conclusion: But that’s not enough! Up your game, guys! Up your game. We’ve got runners on first and third and Gonz at the plate. And Jacoby steals second. That’s steal 29 for those playing at home.
Out, but with room to score in a run. Thanks, Gonz. 5-3.
Still not enough guys! Pump them out.
Youkie at the plate. Caught pop. But that’s okay. Because it’s 5-3. I kind of wish Lackey hadn’t seen that. I kind of wish he thought we were still 3-0. Because now he’s all, “I’ve got a cushion.”
But chairs come with cushions.
That was deep. Think about it. You’ll see. That was so deep.
Catch. Catch. Two outs. Top of the third. Nice.
Beltran may be headed to the Giants? Whatever. We didn’t really want you. Your name doesn’t rhyme with anything.
And three. Three outs. Okay, Lackey. Okay.
Ortiz. Strike One. Ortiz. Ball one. Chen, it’s going to be okay. It’s just one game.
Pop catch. David Ortiz looks frustrated. Give that one to Chen, Papi. We don’t want tears on the mound.
Salty pops up. And Another out. One, two three. Just like Lackey. Blah.
Top of the fourth. 1, 2, 3. Yes. Out, out, out. Okay, Lackey. Okay.
McDonald on 2nd. In a neat failed dive catch by the Royals. Neat.
Us! Us! Us! And I’m distracted by people. I’m so popular, you know. So popular.
Okay. a REALLY weird out call on a Jacoby steal. We’re at 2 outs. And Youkie-poo is at the plate. Being all Youkilicious with the bat dance. Ground, leftside! Through the glove! Base hit! Bases are loaded.
And three people is an island you don’t want to strand. Right, Papi? Pooooooooor Chen. Bottom of the 4th and they are already warming someone up. Outside pitch. Three more of those is a walk on run, Chen, dear.
Ball THREE. One strike. Ball THREE. Anddddddddddd… In the air, right field… and….. GRANDFRICKINGSLAM.
Oh, pretty. And Lackey grins. You better grin. You better buy David Ortiz an egg roll or something. Because he has saved you.
1,000th CAREER RBI for Papi! A grand slam. I think I just teared up. Remember two years ago when they (you know, they) were allll Papi’s finished? Remember that? And I said to you, Papi… I said, if you can break your crap streak, if you can break it, I will name my puppy after you. I was at Midtown Tavern in Charlotte. With Eric. And when I got home, Elliot’s name was Elliot May Precious Ortiz. Oh… Oh… oh…
I love him so. 10-3 SOX, baby. Salty’s out. But no one noticed. They are too busy grinning at our Papi.
I’m walking Ortiz’ name puppy while I’m on a high. Don’t let Lackey ruin it while I’m gone.
Okay. I was gone six minutes. SIX minutes. And is 10 to 4. And one person is on second. I knew this would happen. Lackey makes a 7 point lead look iffy.
And he walks someone on first. Awesome.
90th pitch for Lackey. Is a ball. Of course it is. Curt Young, you watching this? Lackey, if you blow this lead, I swear to Fisk I will…
I haven’t broken the pledge yet. No. I haven’t. Damnit.
To left field. And a base hit.
AND the bases are loaded. ARE YOU WATCHING THIS, CURT YOUNG?
Okay, Lackey. Okay. You are trying my patience and my keyboard. You let ONE of those batters hit home and we are done. Do you hear me? DONE. The pledge will be null and void and I will mock you like you have never been mocked before. MOCKERY. Randy Williams is warming up. Of course. The one that cost us the fifty bazillion inning game the other day. Yes, that seems smart.
Chris Getz at the plate. If he gets a grand slam, our 10-3, I’m sorry, 10-FOUR lead will be 10-8. 10-8! Do. NOT. Let. That. Happen.
And it’s the fricking ROYALS, Lackey. Seriously. The ROYALS. They are from Kansas. KANSAS. And I know a lot about Kansas. I’ve watched Wizard of Oz. So I know there’s wheat there. And no color. Oh, and people that hate dogs. Does that sound like a team YOU want to lose to, Lackey?
And Salty makes the catch… saving your ASS, Lackey. We’re cool. Really we are. But I do NOT want to see you in the 5th inning. Hear that, Curt?
Jeb, dear. Which Wich is a smarmy new sandwich place where that healthy grocery store used to be near Boone Mall? Winkler’s Creek, maybe. But apparently Cano and Jeter eat there. That’s what the wall says.
Marco Scutaro. We’re on better terms now that I have another focus for my negative energy (LACKEY). Well, we were on better terms before you just got that out.
Okay. You know what? I thought I could do it. I did. I thought I could be mature about this and look at the score numbers and…
Oh, look. Heidi Watney. Talking to Jed Lowrie.
“I continue to push it every day. If I didn’t get that feeling I would think I didn’t get enough work in that day.”
Oh, Jed. You DL addict.
That’s it. I can’t hold this inside of me anymore. I feel like the Hulk. I feel like James Dean in Rebel without a Cause.
YOU’RE TEARING ME APART.
It’s YOU. YOU, John Lackey. I take it back. I rip the pledge up. I am ripping… the pledge up… and now I have a paper cut. I have a PAPER CUT. THIS IS YOUR FAULT. YOUR Fault. YOUR FAULT you Napolen Dynamite-esque jaw of inappropriate proportions. You sullen-faced attitude crapping, base loading excuse for mediocrity. I can NOT believe I ever-
Out number one?
What? You’re. Um. Not sucking?
Wait a mite… maybe…. could it be… could my public ridicule be… no…
Pop out. Two outs.
Could it be helping you? Every time I call you a name, like a wormy-slackfaced excuse for a Bond villain… you do… well?
Base hit. Well, blows that theory.
You’re just slime.
I would like to give Lackey to the Pirates. Here. Take him. He will be your booty. FDA, I’m going to need some help. His ego’s so huge.. I just… can’t… lift… him…
Jup! It’s so good to see you, Jup. Did you see that? Did you see what that sloth almost did to our 7 point lead? Did you?
Seriously. That fifth inning… by the grace of god and…
BASE HIT? Frick on a frick stick. One on first and third. I’m typing that out in case you can’t see that from your vantage point, Curt Young.
YESSSSSS Tito going to the mound. YESSSSSSS. Send that sloth to Pittsburgh! The dugout will do for now.
OhnoRandyWilliams. Ohno. Monday. No. We must not think of Monday. It’s a new day. A new day. With liquor. And cookies. Crap. I’m out of cookies. Have you ever had Paul Newman-Os? No? They’re Newmanneriffic. Randy Williams, I wish you were Daniel Bard.
Ends the inning. Pedroia does. Yes he does. Why do we call him the muddy chicken? I never figured that one out.
Jacoby Ellsbury. Double off the fricking wall. 10 to fricking 4. To fricking four. With Jacoby on second. Which means Jacoby will soon be on third. Which means… we’ve got this, Soxies.
Of course, that means Lackey’s also “got this.”
I can see it now. Can’t you?
Smug chin. Shrugs it off. Saying, see how bad ass we were tonight? We. WE.
Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn. You still make my neck knot.
And base hit! base hit!
The Offense.The Offense. The Offense’s on fire. And we don’t need no water let the motherf…
Right. Blogging. Baseball. Tequilla. Shot thirty. Excuse me.
David Ortiz! Stop spitting! America is watching.
Gonz! Base hit! Score! Score! Jacoby! Run, Jacoby! Score. You do! You do! 11-4. 11-4!!!!!!!!! Zero outs. First and second. Zero outs! And… from the mist… baseball dirt, rising like fog from a mountain… steps the mighty… the fearless… the furious… the sexy… KEVIN YOUKILIS! And the crowd moans Yoooooouuuuukkkkk and it sounds like booing. But it’s not booing. It’s Yoooouuuuukkkkkiiinnnngggg. And he shrugs it off, like a noble warrior. Like a noble viking warrior. Like um… viking. Some of them were noble. They had Cool helmets sometimes.
Oh. Fail. Double play. Fail. Oh.
And. Like a noble warrior. He collapses. Gracefully. In the depths of the….
Damn it, Youk. Damn.
First base. You are on first base. And that is enough for me. You are enough for me. Hold me close and don’t let me go. Shot thirty again. Hi, Papi.
Inning ends. But that’s okay. Because we got to see another replay of your grand slam.
Okay. Observations. This is the Royals. This is not the Yankees. This is not Cleveland. This is Kansas Fricking City. This is Chen. Easy trumped by power bats. What if this was the Yankees? What if this was some badass like Cliff Lee? And Lackey pulled this shit? What if, instead of catching that ball when Lackey loaded up the bases, Salty dropped it? An ordinary error? What if-what if-what if? And, see, soon, we won’t be playing piddly teams like the Brewers and the Royals and the god awful Orioles. Soon, we’ll be playing actual teams. We’ll be playing October teams. And I don’t want to see what Lackey will do.
How many others must the paper cut?!
It’s like politics. And the economy. And the stock market. It’s all like that.
That’s called a stretched metaphor, for those of you playing at home.
Dan Wheeler. Warming up. Good. See, I’d rather see you than Mr. Let’s-allow-the-doubles. That’s your name, Williams.
Top of the 7th. Monday on my mind. Wincing as he hurls the rocks. Strike one. But it’s three and one, see. Three and fricking one. Is it just me, or did they get louder?
Ball four. Moustakas. REALLY. Of course. Seeing this, Curt, baby? Watching this?
I get it. Put the annoyingly frustrating players out this game so you can save people like Bard and the Beckster for Soxtober. Nice strategy. Stressful, but nice strategy.
Brayan Pena. NOBODY OUT. Until now. When Pedroia catches you, Pena. But runners on first and second.
McD makes the catch. Second out. Randy Williams, you need to get better. Just saying.
Alcides Escobar. I want to date someone with your name so I can say it quickly. But I do not want to date you. Because your team is annoying me. But you do have a lot of money. So there’s that. Okay. I’d go out with you if you asked nicely, bought me things and didn’t tell Youkilis.
In the air to left field… McD catches … and you are out. Call me!
Okay. I feel so much better. After another John Lackey, the drink…
I miss Reddick. Who, according to THIS article, saved us much cash today.
BASE HIT, SALTY! Loverly. Just like the song form My Fair Lady.
All I want is a win today.
It’s not enough, just to play.
With your enormous name…
Oh thank you… Saltalamacchia…
It’s to the tune of “Loverly,” if you’re playing at home. I’m very talented.
Popped up. Whatev.
Oh, Heidi Watney.
“there was a controversial end to the Braves-Pirates game… he was clearly out….”
Oh, that’s you, Jeb!
Apparently, it’s sparking talk of instant replay… And she asks Ortiz.
“You know already post season because of tv and everything they’re already too long… so just make the effort and try to stay on top of the game… You don’t say that many plays like the play last night between the Braves and Pirates… he’s a human being,” Ortiz said of the ump.
See, Jeb? He’s a HUMAN BEING. Treat him with dignity! And hugs! After all, it’s only baseball Jeb. It’s just a game… and I’m sure he’s very sorry.
Terry Francona has an idea to have a fifth umpire in a booth up top.
“And you rotate them like you rotate guys in the field,” announcer said.
Navarro strikes out. But that’s okay. Because it’s still 11-4.
Top of the 8th. And Randy Williams back on the mound. I see Curt’s point. Curt’s like, ‘why not?’ Let the pup have his day.
In the air… Ellsbury can’t make the catch. A long double. Third double of the night. They’ll call him the Doubler, they will. And our eyes will roll. Poor little kid at the wall. He really thought he had that. The kid, not Jacoby. I think Jacoby figured it out.
FDA is going to be at the game tomorrow. She promised to stalk Kevin Youkilis for me. I mean us. I hope that means acting as my go-between for the great love affair we will soon start.
Tito comes out. And Wheeler has a turn. Sit down, Williams.
Royal Reunion is a movie that MLB.TV has decided to preview. Hah. They also had a Royal Caribbean commercial. Noticing a pattern?
One out. 8th inning. Dan Wheeler.
I hope to see a lot of players I’ve never heard of at the bottom of the 8th. That always makes me feel better.
So, Soxies. How are you? You good? Thought I should check in. 11-4ness gives me some time to check in on YOUR needs.
Wheeler strikes out. B2B strike outs. It’s like he read the wikipedia article on how to pitch or something. Could you print that out and post it in the bullpen?
Two outs. Two outs. Two outs. I can chant here too, guys.
Damnit. The throw gets away. Run is in. 11-5.
This is your fault too, Lackey.
You know what? You don’t like it, e-mail me, email@example.com.
Felipe Paulino warming in the pen for KC. Jeff Francoeur. Whose name I love. But whose bat gives me hives…
Sexy catch. OUTTTTTT.
Bottom of the 8.
Okay. You know what? We’re winning. Right? Right.
I should stop bashing Lackey. I should save it for the losses, right?
The losses we will inevitably have if we don’t figure out the Lackey situation…
Am I too harsh? I’m too harsh.
Okay. I’ll see what I can do about that pledge. but I really ripped it up. Maybe some scotch tape? And another shot. That will fixxxxx everrrrrryyyythinggg….
Yesss! Error throw gets Jacoby (our MVP candidate, I say) on first.
11th straight Sox game, btw, with at least 10 hits. Neato.
Hi, Pedroia. On the ground right side, throws out Pedroia. One out. Ellsbury takes third. A-Gonz who, shockingly, seems to be hitting the LEAST right now, takes the plate.
He’s 2 for 4 tonight with singles. Crazy close foul right now. If only this were horseshoes.
I like having Jacoby on third. Reminds of that Pettitte game. Ahhhhh memories. That’s a song from Cats. Memories….
In the air to left… back… OFF THE TOP OF THE WALL! Ellsbury scores. Gonz is out at second? Really? 12-5.
“This had to miss being a homerun by inches,” Remy said.
If only this were horseshoes, I say again. The game, not the crabs.
12-5… 10″08 p.m. Line drive down the right field line… foul.
Swing and a miss for Reddick. Strikes out.
Headin’ to the 9th. Feelin’ groovy.
Just read your comment. Don’t you worry about it Jeb. Lackey’s free. We don’t need anything from you. He’s going to be part of a surprise fruit basket, tucked between the cantaloupes. And we’re going to be out of there so quickly you won’t even be able to find the WSJ article. Your mouth will be full of grapes and then you’ll see Lackey, and you’ll be like, “oh shit,” but you won’t be able to say anything, it will come out like, “ohmfffft” because your mouth will be full of grapes. They’ll be really good grapes, though.
Two outs. Back to back in the 9th. This game’s MVP is going to be a toss up between Jacoby and David Ortiz. Oh, and Lackey. Wait. That was a joke.
I love this part. Where people stand and rally the win.
Well, not this part, where the ball goes into the dirt.
Come on, Wheeler. Can you hear my stomping from Boston? I bet my new neighbors can hear my stomping.
Base hit. Yeah. That’s not what the stomping was for. Let’s try that again. Strike one. Outside. One and one.
The last batter always takes the longest.
Come on, Wheeler! Come on!!!!!!!!!
On the ground. Thrown out to first! What? Safe? What? Fricktastic. Frick-frick-frick-frick-fricking-frick. Crap. Okay. That looked fair to me. Fair. Whatever. First and second runners.
This is wayyyyy too complicated for a 7 run lead.
Just go quietly.
It’s like the last scene in a movie where the villain (that’s us) tells the victim (always a girl) that it’s over. No one can hear your scream, little girl. So why fight it? I’ll make your death quick.
Of course, we’re not villains. So we’re not actually going to kill you by tying you to some train tracks. We shall show mercy and beat you at baseball.
Swing and a miss…. two and two. Gordon. The baseball player. Not the fisherman. Fenway rises to its feet. Love. It. North Carolina’s Fenway (in my townhouse) is doing the same thing. Except for the puppy. She isn’t sure what to do. She looks very confused.
Popped up. Foul ground… Navarro …. overruns the fricking ball.
For frick’s sake, people.
STRIKE OUT. 10:20.
And the Red Sox win.
That was way too complicated.
John Lackey, You did NOT do this.
Did you see how close Heidi Watney just got to David Ortiz? Why can’t I have her job? Can you make that happen? I used to be on television, after all. And being a news anchor is just like being Heidi Watney. Except I would get to stand more often. I would totally come out of television retirement for her job. I am going to sleep.
Thoughts? Have we been too hasty writing off Lackey? Do you think he did a good job? Do you think he will do a good job? Do you feel sorry for the Pirates, or are you just bemused? Oh, and are Newman-Os better than Oreos? These questions and more can be answered in the comments section. I look forward to reading what you have to say.
I have had some time to reflect. Yes I have. So let me amend that.
“I just didn’t see the sign,” Scutaro said. “My fault. I was kind of watching the signs but didn’t see the squeeze. I was watching Bogie (third base coach Tim Bogar). I was focused on getting a pitch to hit.”
“It’s my fault; I just missed the sign,” Scutaro said afterward. “Tito’s trying to get something going. It’s late. We haven’t scored. We’ve been kind of struggling tonight bringing guys in from third base … It just feels bad, man. It feels like all your teammates, the manager, fans just want to kill you.”
It’s just one game. Just one game. We’re still at the top. Because, it being one game, it’s not exactly the point of a knife.
It’s just one game. To. One. Of. The. WORST TEAMS.
After 12 innings. TWELVE. No. I’m sorry. FOURTEEN
“We just missed the sign,” said Red Sox manager Terry Francona, whose team was 1-for-11 with runners in scoring position. “I thought it was a good opportunity. We got half of it right. We didn’t’ get the whole thing right. Red got it and Scoot didn’t. We had some other opportunities too. We kind of let them off the hook it felt like. I know there’s not much sleep anyway, but that will be a tough one tonight.”
We? WE missed the sign? No WE didn’t. YOU DID, Marco. YOU DID.
FAILS: Marco Scutaro
FAILS: Garry Cederstrom. And BAD CALLS.
FAILS: The fact that it took TWELVE INNINGS TO LOSE.
MVP: Crawford. Who kept his cool in the midst of some of the dumbest calls ever made.
Runner up: Reddick. YOU WERE PAYING ATTENTION!
MVP: Scutaro. Oh wait. I think I meant. Mauled Victory Perpetrator. Because you mauled my victory, Scut.
I can’t talk about this.
Jon. I am glad you are not broken. But if Youkie is broken… oh, Scut, you will get a letter from me.