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Posts Tagged ‘MLB’

How ya doin’ this morning, Tom Brady?

February 6, 2012 5 comments

I’d like to dedicate this song to Mr. Tom Brady.

I’d continue to harass you about your devastating loss to New York last night, Tom, but if TMZ is correct, you have enough problems this morning, don’t you, tough guy?

Click here, Pats fans. This will make it all better.

Congrats to PAUL for winning the TooSoxy Super Bowl contest and rightfully predicting the Brady smackdown.

While it was fun to watch the close up of sad eyes through the helmet (TB, I’m talking to YOU!)… I couldn’t actually sit through the Eli Manning dance…

Anywho, back to the GOOD part of New England- the RED SOX.

Yay, Red Sox.

—-

Reports come out today that Jason Varitek is still “deliberating.”

“He’s deliberating what he wants to do,’’ said his agent, Scott Boras.

And that deliberation has to include the very difficult reality of possible retirement.

Varitek will be 40 years old on April 11. In his heart, he believes he can still play. His body feels as good as it has in a long time. So why quit now?

That probably is his mind-set, but the reality is that there is no room on the Red Sox roster for him.

Whatever, Nick Cafardo!

But seriously, what Scott Boras SHOULD be doing? Sorting out a way for the Cap to coach. Or buying balloons for the retirement party. Please don’t send Tek to Minnesota.

Tek shouldn’t have to fight for a roster spot. I really hope that’s not the route this takes…

—-

Speaking of our classics, David Ortiz is saying he really wants to avoid arbitration. Really, Papi? Because there’s a really easy way to avoid arbitration. Don’t arbitrate!

—-

And Roy Oswalt drama is STILL going on? Seriously?

—-

A sad analysis that Josh Beckett 2011 will return in 2012.

—-

And apparently we could trade for Jason Bartlett, who, as the Bleacher Report points out today, would be a terrible, terrible idea.

Bartlett managed a batting line of .245/.308/.307/.615 in 2011.  His worst full season in his career.  If that isn’t bad enough, he broke his own record by beating his previous worst career season, which came in 2010.  His batting line then was .254/.324/.350/.675.

Hey, you know who WAS NOT having a record bad season? Marco Scutaro. Let’s see if he’s available to shortstop.

—-

In unadulterated wallowing fashion, Over The Monster has released its collection of the worst baseball moments of 2011.

The Red Sox were going to win the World Series. At least that was the prediction before the season started. After all, they signed Adrian Gonzalez. And Carl Crawford. And the pitching rotation was healthy. All signs pointed to destruction and devastation of any team that could potentially stand in their way.

Oh, how wrong that prediction felt in April.

This is too depressing to keep quoting.

Yuck.

I made my own list, if you’ll recall, last year. Here it is, if you didn’t get a chance to marvel.

On that note, have a happy Monday! I’ll be 28 tomorrow. Do you think I’ll feel like an adult?

~L

PS- If you like politics, you will giggle at the comparison between the Curse of the Bambino and Mitt Romney, made by Matthew Dowd at the National Journal:

The legendary Curse of the Bambino fell upon the Boston Red Sox when they sold Babe Ruth to the New York Yankees in the 1919-1920 season. The Red Sox went nearly a century after that without winning another World Series. The curse was lifted in 2004. But could it then have moved on to haunt another team? A political team?

An ode to Timmy: Timmy Wakefield

January 30, 2012 5 comments

Tim Wakefield, aka Father Time- as the media would have you believe, wants another year. See, Wake’s the definition of a utility player- the first to raise his hand and literally the last to leave the bullpen. He’s like our “Wonder Years” dad. You know. But happier and slightly less curmudgeonly. There with supportive words of wisdom and the occasional scowling wisecrack. Working quietly in the background. But highlighted in select episodes so that we’ll be guilted into telling our own fathers “thank you?” But, you know, not always integral to the front-and-center Fred Savage-Winnie plot today?

What a great show...

In other words, Tim Wakefield is a workhorse. Just one that may be working at spending his money next season, not getting ours…

“I just saw that (Jorge) Posada retired, you know it’s something that my wife and I need to talk about,” Wakefield said, according to FloridaToday.com. “I’d probably need to talk about it with my kids, too. Ultimately, I would like to obviously play for the Boston Red Sox for one more year and see where it goes.”

Anyone else imagine his voice all mopey when he says that?

Okay. Now imagine it in this voice!

With the Sox since 1995. I was eleven. MLB debut in 1992. I was six. 200 wins. 2,156 strikeouts. A bazillion smiles.

Despite suffering through one of his worst seasons of an otherwise solid and sometimes spectacular career, the Eau Gallie High graduate and Florida Tech baseball standout is convinced he can still help a team win.


And it’s not that repetitive denial that has-beens repeat on their Facebook and Twitter feeds. Wake DOES have stones left.

It’s just- do those stones fit into our ball park and our ALREADY cramped pen?

“There have been a number of clubs who have called, who have an interest in signing me but I’m kind of just weighing my options right now,” he said, obviously waiting and hoping that Boston will make an offer. “I think I can be a valuable asset to them as an insurance policy, you know a fifth or sixth starter or if something doesn’t pan out for some of the guys they have already penciled in to the rotation. You know that’s kind of been my job these last two years; I don’t have a problem doing that.”

Getting past the condescension of the author’s “obviously waiting” remark (I hate condescending reporters, don’t you?)… He knows his value. As an insurance policy.

If the choices for No. 5 starter come down to reclamation projects like Aaron Cook, Carlos Silva and Vicente Padilla, or a number of other untested or questionable choices (Junichi Tazawa is one), is Wakefield really so undesirable?

And that is assuming Daniel Bard fits in as No. 4 starter, which remains an assumption for now.

Bobby Valentine has already said he cannot imagine Wakefield competing for a job. That might sound cold, but whatever the Red Sox owe Wakefield (and a roster spot is not on the list), the newly hired Valentine owes him nothing.

He’s not asking to take the lead. He’s not asking for $$$. He’s not asking for fame. He’s just asking to keep playing baseball, with a humility that SOME people (ahem, Lackey. Papelbon. Probably Jacoby next year) could learn from…

And even at 45-he can still be a benefit. My thoughts? We hold onto him. Not make him part of our regular rotation. Not make him part of our bullpen. But keep him for a clutch moment when everyone’s arm is shot. Going to happen. Late this summer when the rotation is tired and we need a miracle. A hero. Someone with a good attitude. Because when Tim does rise from the ashes of everyone else’s failure- that’s when he pulls it out. That’s when he shines. And that’s when debates start about his robotness. Save him for when we need him. And let him retire in a Sox jersey. He’s earned it.

And seriously, Benny C. Call. Him. Back.

You NEVER forget to call your father. Bad things happen, Ben Cherington. Bad things. He’ll just show up at your doorstep. He’ll just show up. And demand to see your packing progress. And when you don’t have packing progress, he’ll compensate by packing your coffee. And you won’t be able to find it. And you’ll have to go to a gas station Monday morning. A GAS STATION. That’s $1.99 you’ll NEVER get back, Ben.

—-

PS- and this is random- but I miss Mike Lowell. I miss Mike Lowell so much that it hurts sometimes.

Mike Lowell would NEVER have let Soxsplosion happen. No, sir. Not Mike Lowell…

I’m okay… I’m okay…

—-

In less somber news (because that was somber, man), Curt Schilling is expressing his opinions again. This time about something waaay more relevant than his usual cup of bitters. He’s defending something video gamey that I’ve never heard of. Whatever, Curt. Did you know he owned a video game studio? Did you care?

HuffPost released an interesting list today- the 10 worst contracts in baseball. Carl Crawford is #10. John Lackey is #6. Alex Rodriguez is #3.

There’s no way for the Yankees to get out from under a contract that will pay A-Rod $21 million during the season he turns 42. And then there’s the $30 million in home run bonuses he stands to earn. The Yankees print money, but yikes!

Jason Werth is #1? Really?

—-

Manny Ramirez, Juice King, may be back in the MLB fold, as the A’s are rumored to crave juice… Be a part of the collective eye roll in 3, 2, 1… NOW.

—-

MLB is reeealllyyyy struggling for news. So they popped up a craptastic piece about how we don’t always know who wins or loses pre-season. Wow with the ace reporting, skip. We allllll know which team this article aims to scrutinize passive aggressively.

Roy Oswalt, enjoying the attention, clearly, is going to milk it just a little bit longer before taking a deal with (probably) the Cardinals.

And here’s a theory about putting Jose Iglesias in the shortstop dance.

—-

So. How’s your Monday?

I’d quit again, if I could.

Is a dramatic exit redundant when you’ve already put in your two weeks? I think it might be time to stage “I quit: The Musical.” I’m good on vocals, but I’m going to need a five string…

~L

Well, there you go. Pedro says keep Tek forever.

January 14, 2012 5 comments

When Pedro says something, the gods themselves listen.

True story. Like, this one time, he was like, wow, I wish I had a grilled cheese sandwich. And these birds flocked from the trees and learned how to make a grilled cheese sandwich. Like how they made the dress in Cinderella. Except with, you know, toast and cheese and stuff.

That could have happened. You don’t know. You’re not here. North Carolina is a magical place.

Pedro said something amazing today.

“If there are any Red Sox management here, you cannot let ‘Tek go,” Martinez said at a charity dinner in his honor at the Liberty Hotel. “You have to keep him in Boston. He was our head, our captain. He should retire as a member of the Red Sox, and never leave.”

AND NEVER LEAVE.

This comes the same day we hear Tek’s been given a pity invite to spring training.

Yeah, well you know what, John Henry? He’s going to go to spring training. He’s going to train like you won’t believe. He’s going to train so well that you’ll beg him to come back to the roster. BEG HIM. Right Tek?

Um… Right Tek?

Um… So… Tek’s been awfully quiet through all of this…

Does that bother anyone else?

The Red Sox fairly have made clear to him that if he did come to camp, he’d serve mostly as “protection” in the event one of their two catchers, Jarrod Saltalamacchia or Kelly Shoppach, is hurt. Ryan Lavarnway is seen as Boston’s catcher of the future but is expected to start the year in Triple-A Pawtucket.

Then again… there’s another option.

The team has offered him an invite to spring training as a non-roster player, and if he elects to retire, the team is interested in having him in their front office.

Add in circulating rumors that he could be Pawtucketting... Really?

And, well, at least you’re in the news today, Tekky.

I’d kind of like to hear exactly what Tek thinks. Because, see, I’m kind of in favor of whatever Tek wants to do. I’m kind of hoping Tek wants to relocate to Boone, North Carolina and be my personal mentor. But, you know, whatever.

I do wish he’d say something.

I love you, Jason Varitek. Like, love-love. And I’d like you to live forever. Thanks. So. Um. Wake up. Stand up for yourself! Be assertive! And make sure that “C” is still attached to your jersey. I bet he sews “C”s to his pajamas. Tek, I bet you have manly pajamas.

My feelings can best be expressed through the following song by Wakey Wakey.

So, whatever YOU decide, Tek. I will support. Because you saved me life once. Or twice. Or. Um. All the time.

~L

Johnny Damon? Seriously? We’re talking about this? I blame YOU, Nick Cafardo.

January 11, 2012 10 comments

(WARNING. The following post contains multiple, gag-inducing pictures of a jackass)

“There’s no way I can play for the Yankees, but I know they’re going to come after me hard. It’s definitely not the most important thing to go out there for the top dollar, which the Yankees are going to offer me. It’s not what I need.” ~Johnny Rotten.

That was after winning a World Series. Remember? Oh, you know, I think he said something else after ANOTHER World Series… what was it… what was it… oh. Right.

“This is the greatest organization I’ve ever played for.” “Winning a world championship in New York is the most amazing thing I’ve experienced.” “I’ve always been a Yankee.” “No matter what happens in my career, I’ll always have this.”

See. I think that makes you a jackass, Johnny Damon. But not everyone agrees with me…

Alas, Bleacher Report. Our alliance was too good to be true. You go and print this filth:

Why not bring back Johnny Damon to start the season in right field?

Really, Bleacher Report? Really? You are going to force me to answer that moronic excuse for a question????

Let’s take away the fact that he’s old and gets taken down by fake grass. Let’s take away the fact that he’s been passed around to more teams than… than… well

Oh, and the fact that he’s a complete, egocentric jackass (can we take that away? Can we fit that through the door, guys?) who writes his own praises on, perhaps, the LAMEST personal website in an ever…

He is the biggest whiner in baseball!!!!! WHY DO YOU PEOPLE NOT SEE THAT???

Seriously. I think I do a gooooood job of documenting every time he whines. Do an archive search on my site. Go ahead. And I don’t get all of them. EVERY TIME he is in Boston, he says something snarky. EVERY TIME he plays Boston- he says something snarky. EVERY TIME he’s given an opportunity, he says something snarky. He is a bigger media whore than Curt Schilling. And he’s supposed to be busy. You know. PLAYING BASEBALL. And when he’s not being snarky, he’s acting all whimpery and hurt. Puh-leeze. Go blow your nose on your money, JD and leave the media out of it.

So, let’s take a September Soxsplosion team that’s disheartened and, let’s face it, whiny (how else would you describe the “unnamed sources’” state of mind?). And let’s add a whiner so weepy that he makes Andy Dick’s character on News Radio look attractive.

ARE YOU TRYING TO MAKE FENWAY PARK BLOW UP????????

The REALLY scary thing? There’s a poll. And, as of 10:53 a.m. today, 54.8 percent of Soxies say they’d welcome him BACK.

WHAT AM I MISSING? Is 54.8 percent of America on crack cocaine?

Seriously. Someone tell me when we decided to forgive the Idiot? Because I didn’t get that memo.

John Lackey doesn’t get a free pass for his jackassishness, and he still proudly wears the uniform. Johnny Damon??? Really???

Someone explain this using bullet points, please.

The reality is, Johnny Damon knows Boston.  He knows the city, the fans and the ballpark.

Really?

Because he was “surprised” at the fan reaction to his Stankee switch.

And he was “surprised” to hear boos upon returning to the park that let him grow his hair out.

Does that sound like a guy who knows the fans?

Or do quotes like-

You’re welcome for ’04. You’re welcome for making it fun again over there.

Make him sound like an egotistical jerkwad with a hankering to whine?  You tell me, America.

Seriously, Red Sox. You have pissed us off enough over the past year. You really want to throw Johnny Damon at us NOW? Not a good plan, guys. And Benny C- I don’t think you’re that stupid.

Johnny, go back to Tampa and leave us alone.

~L

Curt Schilling talks too much for HOF. Pedro doesn’t talk ENOUGH. Oh. And some jackass likes Johnny Damon.

January 10, 2012 5 comments

Bah. Day fifteen bazillion of crutches. Let’s call today the WORST day. I am at a meeting right now. It is HORRRRRRIBLE.

It’s so horrible that I am sitting here looking at Red Sox news. Okay. So I do that on the occasional not-horrible meeting. Whatev. Can we just be in agreement that my time would be better served blowing on cement to help it dry quicker?

In today’s news, people are already talking 2013 HOF ballot- a ballot that could have juice king Roger Clemens. It could also have Curt Schilling.

In complete opposition to my headline (I’m still mad at Curt for certain September comments), anytime a Soxy makes the HOF I’m excited. So, go Curt. What are your thoughts? Curt a HOF contender? Or should he first master the quiet game?

—-

In other news- better news- much, much, much better news- PEDRO MARTINEZ WAS ON THE RADIO TODAY! The gods themselves rejoiced.

AND- he talked about… VERLANDER’S MVP. I LOVE you, Pedro.

“I was kind of pissed off at first [when Verlander won the MVP], but then I went to realize that they are the [voters] are going to have to live with that label on their back. If anyone calls them prejudice or racist for not voting for me, everyone will have to understand that it’s their responsibility for not voting for me at that time,” said Martinez. “I feel kind of bad, but at the same time, I was really happy that the pitchers who really deserved it like Justin finally got the monkey off their backs, that a pitcher can have such an impact on his team that he probably deserves the MVP sometimes. It has to be an exception, like the year I had in ’99, the year that [Dennis] Eckersley and those guys that won it, Roger [Clemens], had the impact that they had on the team. Justin Verlander was one who really had an impact on the success of the team. I really believe that the most important person they had on their whole team was Justin Verlander. That’s what makes you an MVP.”

Pedro. You are so classy. Would you like Ben Cherington’s job?

Or… um… you know… a spot on a rotation… say…. OURS?

I was never approached by the Red Sox. I actually thought about maybe going back and trying to do something. I knew that they needed someone. But I have a hard time leaving the lifestyle that I’ve chosen now. Leaving the family wasn’t going to be easy. Even if it was the Red Sox, I was going to have a hard time leaving my family.

But… but… but… WE are your family, Pedro! WE ARE.

My favorite comment Pedro made came from a discussion on steroids-

…when I was in Triple-A, I was told that I was too small, that I was too fragile to pitch in the big leagues in the Dodgers organization. Back then, I felt tempted. One of my teammates said, ‘I have a doctor, if you want to go and get a shot and get whatever and get big…’ He never gave me details. I asked him what would happen. How would that work? He specifically said that there are certain areas of a man that will get damaged. As soon as he said that, I said, ‘No. There’s no way that I will go for that.’

I love you, Pedro. Like, love you-love you. Like, on the Yes, No or Maybe boxes- you’d be a YES. Every. Single. Time.

—-

In less lovable news, some jackass named Sid thinks we should re-sign Johnny Damon. I’d rather eat this table.

Some jackass named Nick thinks it’s a great idea:

It would be awesome to have Johnny Damon on this team. Precisely the personality they need in the clubhouse to lead as he did in 2004. But I’m afraid he has no arm and he’s a lefthanded hitter.

I bolded the parts that made me snort. Audibly. In this meeting.

Feel free to be as sarcastic as possible in the comments.

~L

The Bleacher Report AGREES with me on something. And I think Ryan Braun might have leprosy.

January 8, 2012 6 comments

The Bleacher Report agrees with me on something.

And that something IS… RYAN BRAUN!!!!

If he is indeed innocent and did not take performance-enhancing drugs, he needs to do everything he can to clear his name.

If it’s leprosy, you can just TELL us, Ryan.

Bud Selig would MUCHHHHH rather you have leprosy than juice in your veins.

Leprosy is nothing to be ashamed of. Lots of famous people have leprosy! Like Nicholas Cage.

My advice? (BR’s too) As I have said on this blog at LEAST twice now, Ryan- it’s to un-privatize that “private medical issue.”

Really, Ryan. No one cares if you have leprosy. Or. Whatever. Well, your random hookups might. But I bet you and Derek Jeter could hang out and make gift baskets as an apology. Jeter’d just appreciate a friend. So would Minka. Think of all the happy times you could have together. Make a sleepover out of it! Play “never have I ever” with jello shots!  “Never have I ever juiced…”

See, it’s not just about you, Ryan. It’s about the Brewers. And MLB. And little kids with chewing gum and Ryan Braun trapper keepers (do you think they HAVE Ryan Braun trapper keepers? I want a Kevin Youkilis trapper keeper. Can someone get on that?). When you bring steroids into the mix- it’s about more than your career.

So, how’s about setting a few rumors straight?

Doesn’t look like you have a lot of time.

~L

Seriously? Nicholas Cage does NOT have leprosy? What’s leprosy again?

Oh. OH! Ew.

DODGING (hah! a pun! a pun!) Joe Torre. Carlos Silva. Jason Varitek. And other news to whimsy your Wednesday.

January 4, 2012 6 comments

Joe Torre is NO LONGER AT MLB! Why? Because he wants to be George Steinbrenner when he grows up.

Sorry, Bud Selig. You’re going to have to find another sleepover pal to play Truth or Dare with on those long, lonely nights… you could always hire a friend. You can afford it.

This was right before they did each other's nails.

Joe Torre resigns from MLB!

And there was much rejoicing.

But I don’t know if they’re rejoicing in LA. Of course, I do think I heard a chorus of Well-it-couldn’t-be-worse-than-McCourt. A catchy tune, that one…

Joe Torre resigned his executive position at Major League Baseball on Wednesday to join with Los Angeles developer Rick Caruso in bidding to buy the Dodgers.

You’ll recall he stuck it to NY by managing the Dodgers in 08- a role he won’t be returning to…

And NY stuck it to him in a… well… we don’t have to go down that awkward memory trip again.

—-

I hope you’ve got another facial expression…

And the Sox could be hoping newly signed Carlos Silva hulks into a badass…

Last January, the Yankees signed Colon to a minor league contract. The one-time Red Sox starter made New York’s roster in spring training, and for the bargain price of a $900,000 base salary, the 38-year-old right-hander made 26 starts, logged 1641⁄3 innings and posted a 4.00 ERA.

Nick Cafardo reports we’re still interested in Roy Oswalt, Hiroki Kuroda, and Joe Saunders- but not their price tags.

…the price tags on them are not compatible with their budget restraints for the 2012 season.

But Nick Cafardo gets nothing from me until his other prediction comes true- the one about Jason Varitek.

I'll never let go, Tek! I'll never let go!

While there’s lots of Tekky speculation- nothing is coming from the actual RED SOX- a point gracefully pointed out today by MassLive.

Maybe the Red Sox are formulating a creative plan for Varitek to return in some non-playing role but stay in shape, just in case.

If it’s anything else, they are not being polite by stringing Varitek along.

Seriously.

If the Sox hired Varitek as a coach or advisor, but told him to stay in shape in case an emergency need for a catcher occurred, I could see the logic.

Let’s do that.

In other news… Snowpocalypse averted in Boone, North Carolina.

And I get to write about basketball Friday. The new guy (UNC-Chapel Hill fan/musician. Let’s call him “Sweaters.” Yes. Because he wears sweaters.) is big into basketball. So, I guess this will just give me an excuse to nab a couple study sessions. Is it tacky to bring wine?

~L

Erik Bedard. Glad to meet you?

August 4, 2011 26 comments

When I start watching, there’s a C.C. Sabathia Pepsi commercial on. Pepsi, I am never drinking you again. Okay. So I don’t drink Pepsi. Or soda. But you know what? I’m double not drinking you now.

Nervous. Haven’t seen the score. Just want to watch Erik Bedard pitch. It is 8:11 p.m. How much damage can be done in an hour? Right. Right.

I like that you are French, Erik. If you are sucking, I plan to yell at you in French. Oh, look. The same bad screen problems.

Oh, Masterson. I loved you so.

I cannot see the score because of the split checkerboard screen.  We must be winning.

3-2. Oh. 3-2.

I am so conflicted. Justin Masterson, I want you to do well, but I want my team to hit your balls. Oh, was that a look of recognition? Did you recognize me through my computer screen just then? We were something special, you and I, Justin. Remember the happy nights we spent together? While you pitched okay plus and I fantasized about your potential? In a few years, we said… in a few years…

Alas. Our love story was not to be. Like “Love Story” with Ryan O’Neal (or is it O’Niel?). Except instead of cancer, you got Cleveland.

Kevin Youkilis. Awkward. Two of my loves fighting, pitcher and batter. I am going to imagine they are fighting for me.

Youkilis is out. I am agape. It’s okay, baby. It’s okay.

Justin! That’s not the way to win my heart. No sir (she says as she shakes her fist at a Theo Epstein graphic. For me, I said, Theo! For me! Why couldn’t you have kept Justin Masterson for me?!).

—-

Strike out number four for Bedard. Okay. I like strike outs. I like how Jerry Remy pronounces your name. Be-dod.

I’m not sure what happened with the three runs. So I am withholding judgment. I was late because I was giving my dog a hair cut. She looks awful. I may take a picture and put it on here. I don’t know. She doesn’t want me to because she’s embarrassed and partially bald on one side.

Oops.

Strike out 5. Okay.

So. Um. From what I see, you’re okay.

So why the three runs again? Was it Lackey? Did you tag him in? Because I meant to warn you about that.

Ellsbury catches. Ends. Niceness.

But 3-2 Indians? What’s with that?

—-

Once again, someone asked me why I am in love with Kevin Youkilis.

It’s really not an easy question to answer.

But I will try.

Well, he’s affectionate.

He’s a hugger, Youkie is.

Oh, and he is a kickass baseball player.

Oh, and he gives me a secret signal. You wouldn’t understand. Ours is a spiritual plane kind of love.

Justin just struck out Ortiz. I think I have a corner tear. Oh. It’s from dog hair, wafting through the apartment. Next time I give you a haircut, Ellie, you will be outside.

Justin Masterson, can you come home? I will give you Jed Lowrie. And John Lackey, Cleveland. And, okay. You can have Bobby Jenks too. But only if you can get Justin to us by the 7th inning stretch.

2 outs. I blame Theo.

Josh Reddick. Home run. 3-3.

Now, Sox-Rox (see comments), Cleveland is not cancer. That’s just mean.

They’re more like Roundworm. Oh! Or Rabies.

That’s less mean. Right? Isn’t that less mean than cancer?

I am drinking vodka and Gatorade tonight. And it is not good.

Home runs are good. Thanks, Josh.

—-

OHMYGODYOUGUYSSHUTUP! It is Jason Varitek. I haven’t seen Jason Varitek in so long! He will do great things for us today. He will… strike out.

OHMYGODJUSTINYOUSTRUCKOUTTHECAPTAIN. You deserve ice cream or something.

NO. No ice cream for the person who strikes out the Captain.

No.

Feelings are confusing!

—-

It is 8:31. And Josh Reddick just spit. CHILDREN ARE WATCHING YOU.

I can’t stand a spitter.

Hi, Bedard.

Qu’est-ce qui était cela?

Youkie. Merci.

Honestly, people. It’s so stressful watching a pitcher you do not know. Oh, and John Lackey.

Hey, you ended the pledge, buddy. I tried.

Hi, Erik.

I like you.

I do.

We’re going to be friends.

We will speak French to each other and say things with French accents. And you can braid my hair.

I think I love you. Enchanté.

Strike two. Full count. “Bedard has not walked anybody in the game tonight.”

He won’t start now. Not when I’ve just professed my optimism. He won’t…

Crawford running catches it. You knew he was going to do that, didn’t you Erik? Clever. Giving him a false sense of security like that. But see, Josh gives me a signal so I don’t have a heart attack. You should… you know what? You’ll learn. You’ll learn. De rien.

Hi, BH (see comments)! Glad to see you. Glad you didn’t miss the Reddick homer. Go away. And then come back. Maybe that is the key to our home runs tonight. Go! Hurry, so you can come back!

—-

Marco Scutaro. Oh, Bedard- à quoi bon? Seriously.

Out. Of course.

Oh, Heidi is talking about Jed Lowrie.

“I need to make sure that I’m healthy so I can help this team win.”

Hah. You. Healthy. Yeah. Okay.

Now he’s talking about in 2009 “playing through the pain.”

Really? When did you EVER play through the pain?

—-

Left Center…. can’t get it! Yess. Ellsbury gets to first. Sweet.

—–

Either of you guys interested in guest blogging? No?

—–

Ellsbury still at first. Pedroia sinks into an out. A stinky, stinky out.

I really hope I get to see at least ONE Stanks game this weekend…

Hi, Masterson. I mean Gonz! I mean Gonz!

So confuuuuuussseeed.

Justin. For old time’s sake. Could you…

No… I could never ask you to be what you’re not.

We live in two different worlds, Justin. It’s like in “The Last Unicorn.” You’re my Prince Lir. It’s very romantic in a mythical cartoony way.

A happy ending cannot come in the middle of the story.

Like the wind off the sea…

Justin Masterson. I just don’t know what to say.

Screw that.

My feelings can best be expressed by Idina Menzel.

Erik Bedard. You are kind of great. I say kind of, because, thanks to checkerboard MLB that I am paying $20 a month for, I can’t entirely tell.

But you seem swell.

My dog looks really horrible. I kind of feel bad. She’s being boarded for a few days starting tomorrow. All the other puppies might make fun of her.

High fly ballllllllll Jacoby at wall… Jacoby leaps… Jacoby flubs. Double. Whatever. WHATEVER.

Oh no. A home run. Oh no. It’s okay. It’s… It’s okay. A two run home run.

Carlos Santana. Pffft. Il ne casse pas trois pattes à un canard. Pfft. We’ve still got this, Erik.

5 to… um… 3.

Pffft. Revenons à nos moutons.

Two runs. Whatever. Two runs is nothing. We’re fine. We’ve got this, you and I, Bedard.

And, thanks, Pedroia. We finally have an out. That’s something. We’re fiiinneeee. Not even worried. Not. Even. Worried. No.

Okay. I just got the memo that wasn’t you, Erik. That was Morales. Because I just saw through the checkboards. And NOW I AM ANGRY. YOU KNOW BETTER, Morales. YOU KNOW BETTER. This is YOUR fault. YOUR FAULT.

FIX ITFIXITNOW.

——

Make. It. Stop.

MAKEITSTOPNOW.

—–

Gatorade is a TERRIBLE drink.

—-

Alfredo Aceves. Ohmygod, Alfredo. Did you see what Morales tried to do to us? Did you see what Morales DID to us? Did you see? Ohmygod, Alfredo.

I ate your pasta today.

Okay. I didn’t. But I wanted too. I went to Which Wich again.

Oh, Alfredo. Fix this. And then go give Erik a hug. I don’t want him to think we do this to pitchers. I mean, you know we do this to pitchers. But I want him fooled. I don’t want him to think our bullpen hates our rotation. Okay?

John Lackey! Stop talking to Erik! You might be contagious! Stop it!

It’s okay, Erik. I won’t let them hurt you. I hear you hurt easily. I’m going to protect you. With. My. Mind.

Alfredo?

Alfredo? Why?

Why would you… Why?

Double for Matt LaPorta.

“As he plays pepper with that left field wall.”

What does it mean to play pepper with something?

I don’t understand. I am confused.

Google search time!

Oh. That’s what it means?

That does not make sense, Jerry Remy.

We really only have one out?

Alfredo? You’re supposed to fix everything and then you were going to go tell John Lackey to stay off our Erik. You were going to do that intimidating snarl that you do. You know the one. No. Not that one. No. Not that one. Nope.

Oh good. Now the audio is checkerboarding. It’s like a Jerry Remy round. Seriously, MLB. I can’t believe I pay money for this.

GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. Full count. STRIKE. Stop saying that, Jerry! Stopppp it.

I don’t understand why you keep repeating and why I haven’t muted you. Oh. Mute. You sound better now.

And I can hear myself. I will sing.

You are so deprived. I wish you could hear me. I bet my neighbors can hear me.

They’re so lucky.

Did you know there are Youtube videos where you can sing opposite Idina Menzel?

Oh. Neither did I.

After a discussion from Jason Varitek… Yes. An out. You were struck out. With an out. Two outs.

There are supposed to be three outs, Alfredo.

—-

It’s okay, BH. I think I handled it. I explained to Alfredo that there are three outs and that innings are supposed to end. It’s okay now. You’re welcome.

—-

Just YOOUUUUUUUU AND I… DEFYYYYYING GRAVITY….

My neighbors are so lucky.

I can sing and type. Can I sing and type?

Um. Kinda.

Come on, Alfreeeeeddoooooo…..

Striiiikeeee threee… and the indians suckkkkk <- you can sing that to the tune of “Defying Gravity” if you want.

Out.

More Gatorade!

—-

Dear Justin Masterson,

I hope you’re happy now.

Now that you’re choosing this.

I hope it brings you bliss.

I really hope you get it. And don’t live to regret it…

Okay. I’ll stop.

Typing. I’ll never stop singing. Never.

“I met Pedroia at Red Sox Camp,” kid’s sign says. I am sooooooo jealous.

And you jerk. You just outed Youkilis. I mean you gave him an out. I mean you made him out. I mean… he was out. You know what I mean!!!!

Molina spit on an ump? really? Fascinating news tonight, Heidi.It is the bottom of the 6th. And David Ortiz is batting. And it is 9:12. And his helmet is REALLY shiny today.

Clap those hands, baby. Clap those hands! Work it!

See that Justin snarl, Alfredo? If you had snarled like that, you probably would have pitched better.

Just saying.

—-

I think I would like “So You Think You Can Dance.” But I don’t have a television. Is your computer doing weird boxy things that break up your image, BH?

Maybe MLB just hates North Carolina.

Ortiz is walking. Masterson’s first walk.

Thanks, Justin. Thanks.

Don’t think I don’t know that was for me.

—-

You can’t keep doing this, Justin. They’ll know. They’ll know about us. And there’s no telling what Cleveland will do.

Outside ball? They’re going to find out, Justin. And Cleveland will tell Youk. And then we’ll both be in trouble. More Gatorade? Okay!
—-

Electrolytes are good for you. Really. I looked it up.

And an error leaves us with no outs! Swell.

Swell!

But Justin, you’ve got to be more subtle. Belcher’s talking to him. Oh no! They’ve found us out! Quick! Alfredo! Cover Youk’s eyes!

—-

Oh, it must be dramatic. They’re playing previous clips like the Reddick homer. Oh no. I’m sorry I got us into this mess, Justin. Blame it on the ‘rade.

—-

Josh Reddick, aka Joshy-poo, is going to get a three run homer. He will. You’ll see. They’ll all see!

—-

In the air to left. Caught. Joshy-poo?

Two outs. But two on base.

Masterson is faced with a dilemma. Help the one that got away (that’s me) or save face with his buddies in Cleveland.

Ball two.

Jason Varitek.

Jassssooonnnnnn Varitek.

Foul. Two and Two.

Justin. Stand strong. Help a captain out. You knoooowwwww you want to.

Tek is like a FATHER to you. He’s like a FATHER to me. That makes us… um…

DAMNIT, Justin.

We’re over.

Again.

Stop calling me. Cleveland can have you.

—-

I didn’t mean it.

I did!

I like how the commercials come in crysssstttalllll clear.

—-

Anyone know any good knock-knock jokes? I heard this one today about Florida. But it wasn’t a knock-knock joke. It was something like a Canes fan, a Gator’s fan and… um… A Noles fan? Yes. They’re all on this roof, see, trying to show how great their fanship is, right? And the Noles fan jumps to show his devotion and says “This is for …” I can’t remember. But he says something dramatic, right? And then the Canes fan pushes the Gator’s fan off of the roof and says, “This is for the Canes!”

I know. I know I’m not supposed to drink Gatorade. It is not the drink of my people. But it is lemonlime. And at the corner market near my house.

—-

Pestano is warming up. For the best, I suppose.

—-

Is Miller really pitching?

FDA, I have loved Youkilis since he started playing. We got married in April of 2005. I am nothing if not faithful. And marital status does not matter to me in my baseball marriages.

—–

Oh no. Asdrubbbbbbbbbbbbubbbbbbbuubbbbuaaallllaaabear is about to bat. That’s his real name, you know.

Miller. What are you doing? Is this on purpose? Because you are not Erik Bedard. You do not get a free pass from me.

—–

Strikeeeee out. See? Snippy comments work. Good, Miller. Gooooood.

—-

And FDA- I LOVE Youkilis. I LIKE Chinese food.

—-

On the other side of the planet. Um. Internet. Jeb just said the Pirates are losing.

—-

I don’t think Andrew Miller has seen “Wicked.” If he had, he would be inspired. Because everyone in all of Oz, all Wizards that there are or were are totally going to briiiiiingggggg himmmmm dowwwwnnnnnn…

Okay. I’m done. With the typing. Not the singing.

My dog just went upstairs.

Hmmm.

—-

No. No. No. NO.

Cabrera, aka Asdrublahavomitabeaaaarrrr, scored.

—-

I do not know what the score is. Because of the checkerboards. Okay. I do know what the score is. But I’m not typing it. That makes it real. And this? This isn’t real. This isn’t reality. There are too many walls. That’s deep. Deep. Like this Gatorade. They give you a lot for six dollars.

OUT. Fahfricking finally. 6-3. SIX TO THREE. There. I said it. Don’t hurt me, sky.

—-

Let’s write fanfiction about this game. Let’s. Okay.

The game that one day when we weren’t losing

by Lauren

One day there was this game.

It was at Fenway Park.

There were these Red Sox. And they hit lots of home runs. But not normal home runs. Magical home runs. That hit irritating people in the stands and made them fall off Fenway Park. No one died or anything. But this girl with the spikey hair who cut off Lauren on King Street today? She got hurt.

Oh, and Kevin Youkilis got four grand slams. And that was only part of the 87-1 score. Justin Masterson cried a lot. And said, “Whyyyyy? Whyyyyy?” And Theo Epstein (he was wearing this hat. It was a big hat) looked upon him and said, “Boy? Why are you crying?”

And Justin said, “Because no one loves me and I suck now in Cleveland. And my only friend is Drew Carey.”

And, since the thimble didn’t make him feel better, Theo decided to take him away to a magical land on the other side of the stadium.

“Come with us, Justin,” he said. “You will never be sad again. And we’ll let you grow your hair out so you don’t look so awkwardly bald.”

“But, Theo?! However will I escape?”

“I’ve got a plan.”

And, with Youkilis’ help, Theo threw John Lackey and Jed Lowrie (whose injury made him bouncy) and Marco Scutaro at Cleveland and they stuck like double sided tape. And we got this amazing new short stop. Named. Um. Greg. His name was Greg. And he had many home runs.

And The Red Sox Won.

The end.

—-

I am really talented.

I understand why no one wants to guest blog. But if none of you volunteer, I am going to call Jeb again.

—-

Bottom of the 7th. 9:42. Ohno. If the Yankees win (and they are winning) and we lose (and we are losing), we would be tied.

OHNO.

Dustin Pedroia, I hope you heard that. Swing and a miss makes quick work of Pedroia? Stop it! Stop making quick work of yourself!

—-

Clearly your laundry is cursed, BH. Hurry! Roll it around in grass or something!

—-

Adrian Gonzalez. You should do something. Like. Um. Score. Like hit a two-run homer and let the crowd cheer. “Adrian!” They’ll chant! “Adrian!” And then they’ll throw crepe paper and streamers and candy and everyone will be happy again and… Gonz chops it toward the shortstop. And Cabrera ends the inning. Didn’t you like my scenario better?

—-

BH, did I tell you that awhile back you were comment 1,000? You win a prize but I have not drawn it yet. It is something you can look forward to.

—-

If I do not have a guest blogger, my blog will be blogless for days! For days!

—-

I would like seven guest bloggers. SEVEN.

It may not be today. But some day, Cleveland. This day you will rue!

Rue is the name of the kid in the “Hunger Games” books. Not the big kid. The little kid. Great books. A lot like the Red Sox, really. You would like them, FDA. They are violent.

Heidi is telling everyone to donate canned food. I would love to. But see, I can’t. Because no one loves me enough to take me to the games.

—-

6-3. Still. Top of the 8th. Tony fricking Sipp is warming up. I HATE that guy. I think it’s because of the necessary “p” in his name. I’m not a fan of most verbs as names. I am not fooled by the extra letter.

Jacoby makes a running catch. And you are out.

Lalalalalalalalala.

Gatoraaaaaade.

Yeah? Well at least my team name’s not racist.

You heard me.

No. Cleveland isn’t so bad. Blogger friend Bheise is just swell and dandy.

But you, weird fan at Fenway, you are not swell or dandy. And I saw that finger. I saw it.

I met a guy today in a Red Sox hat who told me he was a Twins fan.

Yeah. That’s the expression I had too.

I am going to start an anti-spitting campaign.

“The spitting starts with you,” it will say. And it will show a little meek child with a quivering lip. And then it will say:

“Spitting means no Santa Clause.”

Yikes.

Hit by a pitch. Yikes.

Yeah. Let’s not do that again. Two on. Yeah. I’m not happy about that one…

—-

Strike out. Two down. But see, two on. And that’s what I’m not liking, Curt Young.

Yes. All of you should e-mail me your guest blogs- ohnolauren@gmail.com.

Pedroia flips to second. Out.

Still 6-3, Indians. But at least that half of the inning is OVER.

Okay. SOMEONE keeps using the following keyword phrase to find my site: “Is Jacoby Ellsbury on steroids?”

Seriously. I’ve gotten six searches in the last day.

Let me make it easy for you: NO.

—-

Youkilis hits it high in the air to left! And…. they make the catch. Is a period the opposite of an exclamation point?

—-

It is the bottom of the eighth. One out. Stupid. Sipp is slinking up. Stupid Sipp.

—-

Speaking of sipping- Gatorade!

If you have NOT answered my curiosity question, I encourage you to do so. Answers entertain me verily.

—-

Ortiz. Monster. DOOOOO IT.

Boston Globe guy catches it.

Whatev.

I would so catch it.

You know. If I was there. SIGH.

David Ortiz, your helmet is muccchhhhh shinier today. Did you wax it?

Ortiz to left… caught.

DAMNIT, GUYS.

Two down.

Stupid Tony Sipp.

Stupid.

9 appearances has not given up a hit to the Red Sox. This will be the day, SIPP. This will be the fricking DAY.

I could be watching “Into the Woods” with Bernadette Peters right now. Did you know that is on Netflix??? I know.

Tony Sipp falls. He falls! He collapses! He’s…. laughing? Laughing? The baseball dirt? It’s tickling, he said? And the ball rolls out of his hands and Carl hits it out of the park.

Oh, sorry. I was fantasizing again.

Come on, Carl!

And he ends the inning. Blah.

—-

Of course. It is great news when we lose. Because we are perfect, and all. Of course. ESPN must overreact, you see. They have to, FDA. Because this will NEVER HAPPEN AGAIN (Right guys? Right?).

—-

Dan Wheeler is in the pen. Chris Perez looks like Johnny Damon. Blah.

—-

It is the top of the 9th. We are still pretending we know how to throw. I say pretending, because you LOOK like a pitcher, Miller. You do. Except for the whole NOT PITCHING THING.

Are we really going to tie the fricking Stanks?

In a way, it’s a good thing. We’ll beat them in Fenway and there will be nothing the punk Stanks can say about it.

Strike out. Okay. Thanks, Miller.

Thanks for the thought. But it doesn’t mean anything, see, until we actually start HITTING THE BALL.

Lester against Colon tomorrow. Lackey and Sabathia (crinnnggggeeeee) Saturday.

—-

Asdrububuablahbloserjerkfacethrowupvomitbrerabel is up. Outside Ball Three. THREE. See this, Miller? Strike. Okay. Okay. Strike. Gatorade. Oh yeah, Asdrubabbeliwetthebedbel, adjusting your gloves. Because -that- was the glove’s fault, I’m sure.

In the dirt. And a WALK.

A WALK. You know who should walk, Miller? YOU. Back to the fricking bullpen.

It’s okay, BH. When we beat them with LACKEY, they will be humiliated.

Swing and a miss. Strike out. Okay. Um. Good, Miller. Good.

Adrublahbrattabel just stole a fricking base.

—-

Miller, your hair is doing this flippy thing. I wish you would fix it. If I could just cut that one little piece…

—-

2 outs. 9th. 2 outs. “A little nubber up in front of the plate.”

Silly announcers.

Okay, Ellie. I’m SORRY. I’ll never cut your hair again. Just come back. It’s like she knows I’m laughing at her. It’s like she’s a people again.

—-

Chad Durbin warming up. Yes…. I like that better than the Sippy Cup.

COMEON. First and third. Distress. Ball. Hit. Foul. Youkie hits the photogs. I’d rather you hit the ball.

—-

Theo, this really is your fault, you know.

Ball off the wall. Double. 7-3 now.

Theo, are you happy?

Yeah, go to the pen. GO.

—-

You know what other musical I like (and it so counts even though it is just internet)? Dr. Horrible’s Sing Along Blog. It is on Netflicks too. Check it out.

Dan Wheeler. He has a Lackeyesque quality to him today. I don’t know what it is…

Matt LaPorta. Please make Matt LaPorta sit down.

—-

Two outs. COMEON.

Seriously, Theo. If you had kept Justin Masterson, none of this would have ever happened. And, with the Butterfly Effect, who knows what other wonders might have ensued? I might have a pony AND a boat by now.

YOUR FAULT.

Gatorade.

I liked Tonya Harding. You know. Before she went crazy. I wasn’t really a Nancy Kerrigan fan. I LOVED Katerina Witt. Remember her? I wanted to be her when I grew up. But I decided to eat.

—-

Crawford catches it. The inning fah-fricking-finally ends. And Josh Reddick is up next. It’s just BOTTOM OF THE NINTH. No pressure.

Your pitcher looks like a classier Johnny Damon.

And catch. One out.

Seriously, Erik. Please do not think this is something we do all the time. Please do not think this is acceptable here. This game is not your fault, Erik. This game is Theo’s fault. This game is an opportunity for me to scream “I told you so,” after telling him so when he fricking ripped Masterson away.

Tek to right field. Caught.

Out.

Two outs.

That’s okay. There are three of them, the outs.

—-

OHNO.

It’s Marco Scutaro. The man who is SWELL at being the last out. SWELL.

—-

Who doesn’t like Dr. Horrible? Clearly Bad Horse has Scut on his side.

STOP ALIGNING YOURSELF WITH THE THOROUGHBRED OF SIN!

Justin Masterson, I do not know what to say to you. I just don’t.

Scutaro. I know exactly what to say to you. But I’ll say it French. That way, Erik and I can have a secret.

Plus. It is very vulgar.

Tu me fais chier! Faut péter dans l’eau pour faire des bulles. Brûle en enfer!

And you, Theo!

Le cerveau il etait en option chez toi. Tu es betes comme tes pieds! Comprend bien, tu parles à un con.

Vous avez le cervau d’un sandwich au fromage.

Blah.

Please lose, Yankees.

~L

I have seen the Potter musical. Of course I am a Harry Potter fan. I am an American.

Just can’t win.

August 4, 2011 7 comments

Inspired by fellow blogger Jup.

Jup, you see, doesn’t like Jacoby Ellsbury (who she calls Pretzels). And is unapologetic about it:

You’re not getting me on that bandwagon. It looks crowded, and I’m not that social. After giving it thirty seconds of thought, Pretzels has Kevin Cash syndrome. No matter what he does, no matter how well he plays, I won’t like him, and I don’t have a legitimate reason.

I get it.

No, I do.

I am a staunch Jacobist. Always will be (as long as he stays anti-juice) thanks to a well-timed home steal against Pettitte that one time.

But it got me thinking…

Who’s that player that you’re unapologetic about? Who’s that player that can’t do right by you, even if they work the win?

I have two, really. You know my anti-Lackeyness… (who I grimace at even on the few outings where he kicks) but unless you’ve been paying close attention- you may not know about my anti-Jed Lowrie-ness. I can’t explain it, really. I think it’s because he’s always injured. But Dice-K is always injured. And much more of a liability. And I find myself missing him, that little smirk he does when he sizzles. You know?

Jed Lowrie? I don’t even miss him when Scut anti-sizzles. You know. That thing he has been doing ALL THE TIME lately.

So who is it that cringes your last nerve? That you force yourself to watch? That you root for BECAUSE he’s on the home team?

And, on the other side of the spectrum… who do you unapologetically defend with every fiber in your fan being, often for no reason? Who will always be on your fantasy team? Even when he’s swinging strikes and falling face first into the baseball dirt on his way back to the dugout?

I don’t have a player like that. Nope.

KEVIN YOUKILIS DOES NOT COUNT. HE IS PERFECT.

~L

Non-Sox fans? Same question.

200 or BUST.

August 3, 2011 4 comments

4:23. At work. Explaining to someone the tradition that is Tim Wakefield.

So, betting time. I’ve got all my imaginary money on a win. That’s approximately 127,450 imaginary dollars. Imaginary dollars that I was saving for my imaginary boat and my imaginary high-interest mutual fund. It’s all I have left after purchasing my imaginary island last week with my imaginary savings. If I lose it, I’ll be marooned.

What do you think, Soxies? Is today the day that Father Time… um… Father Tim will deliver double hundreds?

See you in a few hours!

—-

6:15. Getting off work. Step closer to being able to watch entirety of actual game…

—-

HILARIOUS story about Alex Rodriguez on Deadspin (thanks, Jeb!).

New York Yankees star Alex Rodriguez played in an underground, illegal poker game where cocaine was openly used, and even organized his own high-stakes game, which ended with thugs threatening players.

Check it out while you tailgate.

—-

7:15. Okay. Carlos Carrasco. There’s something funky about the video on MLB.tv today… anyone else experiencing this? Checkerboards? No? Just me.

Jacoby chops to first. First out.

I wish they would stop spitting in public. It’s embarassing.

This is frustrating already. two outs. Sorry, Pedroia. I thought it was a homer too.

Gonz has an extremely dramatic single. Jacoby would have made that a triple. But whatever. The crowd goes silent as Youkie steps up to the plate. Okay. I may have assisted with the mute button on my computer…

Okay. They’re picking on Youkilis. The announcers say they’re picking on Youkilis. STOP PICKING ON YOUKILIS.

Thank you. With that complete and utter fail, Cleveland, you stopped. And helped my husband have one hell of a double. Okay, sound. You can come back again.

Papi at the plate. This MLB feed is really going to annoy me. I can tell. Base hit! Youkie! Gonz! 2-0 lead. 2-0. I like how this is going. Yes. Go team 200. That’s what I will call you all today. Team 200. Do it for Wake. Do it.

Carl Crawford, buddy, pal, friend, let’s widen the cushion, shall we? Let’s spread out that cushion like a picnic blanket. Like throat coating cough syrup. Like… like a home run.

Out. Okay. Um. First inning. Two runs. Okay.

Top of the second. 7:29. Travis Hafner. at the plate. Strike two.

Youkie in the shortstop spot (????) throws him out.

K.

Carlos Santana who has shifted from catcher to first base? What a weird game.

Okay, announcers. I don’t want to know how well the batters hit against Timmy. This is not helpful information for my pro-200 mindset. You will go on mute again. Mute, I say.

Steeeerike. First K of the night.

Knucklin’. Knucklin’ your way to 200. Knuckleballs look so silly. I wonder how they look coming at your face. Judging from the confuzzled expression on Konerko’s face, not pleasant.

Throws it in the dirt again.

Um. Let’s not do that.

Tim turned 45 yesterday? Why didn’t I know that? I would have thrown a party.

A-Gonz shoves in the out.

Sweetness.

7:35. I am so tired, guys.

Bottom of the second.

Not. A. Good. Sign for my awakeness…

Cleveland, I’m sorry your pitcher lost his last five starts. Really. And I’m sorry that tomorrow it will be six. Heidi Watney, I really don’t care about this. Thanks.

Reddick. Base hit. At the wall. Dramatic single. One out. But Joshy on first.

That ball almost hit Baltimore… wayyyyyy on the bottom of the wall list.

Marco Scutaro kind of looks like this guy I went out with this this one time. Not sure why I’ve never noticed that… my, what an awkward memory.

Good swing by Marco Scutaro? Um, Remy, a good swing is going to be when it’s out of the park and we’re two runs scarier.

Full count for Scut. See, I’m not worried- because Jacoby’s up next.

Fly to center… catch. Out.

Whatever, let’s see you, Jacoby.

Ball one. Okay. We can walk there. That’s fine. My computer keeps freezing on ridiculous expressions in the audience. Like this guy in a pink plaid shirt with his mouth open. He is clearly a Cleveland fan.

No offense, Bheise. You would NEVER wear that shirt.

In the air to right. Makes the catch. Ends the second. Okay. That’s fine.

—–

0-2. Top of the third. Tim Wakefield is about to be a badass. You’ll see.

Any minute now.

Pop out. Jacoby’s all over it.

Any minute now.

He just smirked. Was that a badass smirk?

Yes. Yes it was. Second strike out for Tim Wakefield.

That’s KK, for those of you paying attention at home.

Two outs.

Ground ball. Easy out.

And then Scutaro kicks it.

Scutaro kicks it?

Scutaro kicks it.

SCUTARO!

Bunt. Out at first.

Okay. Scut… you better go shake Gonz’ hand.

—-

Up the middle, base hit for Pedroia… our 5th hit of the night, by the by… on a new 5 game hit streak… Okay.

25 game streak broken by the White Sox. That one hurt.

Gonz tries the bunt. Not so much with the success.

Pedroia tagged out. Pedroia!

“That’s a helpless feeling for a baserunner, when you take off too soon,” announcer said.

Caught stealing. Bah.

Gonz grounds into the shift. Obvious out- but he runs for THAT one, notice.

Shut up, Heidi! Youkilis is batting.

Ball and a strike. I just love the Youk chant. It’s like a moan, really. Ball and two strikes. Two outs. Come on, baby. I believe in you. Want me to clap? I’ll clap. I can do that. Hell, it worked in Peter Pan.

Damn.

Clearly, you are not Peter Pan. End of inning.

—-

39 pitches for you, Timmy. 40th… a strike. And a fast ball.

Home run.

DAMN.

Okay, Timmy.

Okay. Breathe. 200. 200. Just repeat that. You know. 200 times.

Hopefully this won’t take 200 tries.

Zeeeeerooooo outs.

Chop.

Ball bounces. Ridiculously.

Clearly witchcraft. 2-2. Tie game.

Yeah, Salty. I think you SHOULD talk to Tim Wakefield. Maybe you should talk to him longer. NO outs. 2-2. 8:05 p.m.

Wild crazy pitch puts the guy to third.

Okay. Wakey. Okay. Let’s just calm down.

This inning is gross. Let’s start over. Or. Um. End it. Or something. Wake?

52 pitches. Tonight a year ago collision at the plate with Santana? Yeah. Let’s not repeat that. I’d rather Wake just strike you the frick out.

Like he just did. Making it KKK.

55 pitches. Okay. Let’s give that lonely out some friends. Two, to be specific.

Pedroia catches.

2 outs.

ONE MORE.

Thank you. Sit down.

Papi walks.

And, in the announcer booth, we’re talking about Tito bobbleheads. I really, really want one. Is that wrong? Will you buy me one?

“Where’s his finger so I can dislocate it again?”

That’s a bit much, announcer. A bit much.

A bobblehead night?

Doesn’t make the catch- Ortiz stopped at third, double for Crawford. Lovely. Kismet.

Second. Third. ZERO outs. ZERO.

BASES LOADED! BASES LOADED!

One out.

But BASES LOADED!

And…

Crap.

Marco Scutaro.

Crap.

Strike 2.

Crap.

Come on, Marco.

Come on, Marco. Stephen King is watching.

3-2 lead.

Okay. Okay.

I mean, it’s not a grand slam… but… at least we avoided a double play.

2 outs. Carl at third. Marco at first. Jacoby at the plate. Scut steals.

And crap.

Anddddd we start the bottom of the 6th with an out.

And about fifteen yawns from me.

And two outs. Blast.

That was a dramatic fail… and we’re on first.

Of course, it may be moot, because Marco’s up.

Out. That was fast.

Top of the 5h. 8:30 p.m., but it feels like midnight. Wake… can you do this quickly? Thanks.

Thanks. 1 out.

Crap. And one on first.

2 outs. Okay. Okay. Guy on second. Whatever, guy on second. Wake promised this would be fast.

First and second. Okay. And Asdrubal is up to the plate.

Wakeeeee…

3 outs. Thanks be to Fisk. I’m so sleepy, guys. So sleepy…

——

Gonz and Pedroia are trying to wake me up. It’s sweet. Thanks, guys. But it’s not working. Youk is going to load up the bases. He will.

Crap.

Youk.

Crap.

2 outs.

Papi. Papi.

And the fifth crashes. Like I am about to…

—–

Hi, Timmy.

Tim Wakefield. Please?

Oh no. Alfredo Aceves is warming up.

Oh no. Wakey, you can do it. I believe in you…

200. 200. 200. 200. 200.

—-

Tim. 200. Tim.

He is stressing me out. Are you watching this? Is anyone watching this?

Tito looks stressed out. And Salty, I hope that’s stress, because you are causing some plate scariness with your not catching.

Okay, One on first. One on second. two outs.

Oh. AND IT IS TIED AT THREE-THREE now.

Tim is gone. And I have this sinking sleepy feeling that this is only the beginning of our journey to 200.

Top of the 7th. I am too tired to yell at you, Randy Williams.

It looked fair to me too, Jacoby. It is 9:20.

—–

3-3. top. 8.

Bottom.

Nothing changes.

This game will clearly last forever.

Youkie. Fix it.

Ball four. Leadoff WALK.

Okay.

Tony Sipp. Whatever.

Mike Avilles pinching. This is the first time I’ll really see you in action, Mike. Can I call you Mike? Papi. Oh, Papi. Swing and a miss. ‘Course.

Zero outs, Aviles on first.

Aviles steals second. This Aviles, he’s alright.

Pop out. Papi.

Carl. Can I call you Carl?

Seriously. Ties cause me to lose sleep. Fix this, Carl. Be a buddy.

Out on strikes.

Okay. Um. Aviles is still in scoring position. One out left. So. Um. Salty?

Oh no. Justin Masterson tomorrow. Oh no. I am so conflicted. I loved him so.

Right. Back to the actual game.

13-1 Yankees? Really, White Sox? REALLY?

Bah.

Salty. Yes. Salty.

Strike three.

Damn.

—–

This game is stressful. I know what will make us ALL feel better:

You’re welcome.

—-

The 9th. An out.

Papelbon.

Second out.

Crowd on its feet. Wish we were there.

Strike out.

—-

Score. PLEASE.

Hi, Darnell McDonald.

FAIL, Darnell McDonald. Go. Sit. Down.

Oh, Marco.

Marco Scutaro.

DAMNIT, SCUT.

Crap.

One out left.

ONE OUT.

ONE OUT or extra innings. And I can’t stay awake, people.

Jacoby, if you CARE about me at all…

OHMYGOD. You… you love me… you… you really love me…

HOME RUN.

OHMYGOD.

I love you too, Jacoby. I love you too.

4-3.

~L

“Just want to try to drive the ball.”

You did, Jacoby. You did.

I love Paps’ victory face. I love it.

“We’re going to compete until the last out,” Jacoby said.

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