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Posts Tagged ‘Terry Francona’

Mulder says we should believe in you, Dice-K. But I have been hurt before.

March 19, 2012 7 comments

Happy Jon Lester day, everybody! Sorry, just practicing. That’s right! The most Lesterish of all the lefties is primed to attack opening day.You’re watching, right? Because apparently Lester’s father won’t be.  And that’s a shame, because Lester’s  a special, special guy, and I’m sure he’s sorry about Soxplosion, 2011. I’m sure he’s sorry and that I’ll be getting my apology letter any day now.

I’m expecting one from you too, DOUBRONT. I hate to judge games I didn’t physically watch… but REALLY? REALLY, FELIX?

They were saying NICE things about you. Remember that? Remember THIS?

And you go Lackey on us against the fricking Twins?

And I didn’t forget about YOU, Melancon. I’m just… I can’t… I WILL GET TO YOU LATER. What really frightens me about you, Melancon? Is that Bobby V doesn’t seem to think you are horrible.

“Melancon outing? I thought he backed up the bases pretty well. He had that down,” said Valentine when asked about the reliever…

It absolutely fills me with a cold, hollow, trapped-in-a-well kind of fear when the managers think Lackey-esque performances back up bases “pretty well.” We saw it with Francona and Lackey. We saw it with Francona and Timlin. Need I remind anyone of a man named Lugo? Nearsightedness is a part of the aging process, Bobby V. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Just recognize it now and get some cool specs by April, k? They make prescription sunglasses and you could probably even get a fake nose and mustache for them.

Bobby V says he’s going to “sit down” and have a serious conversation about pitching. Um. Okay. Sure. I mean, I would have had that sit down, serious conversation about pitching while forming my rotation. You know. DURING THE OFFSEASON. But sure, with what,  TWO FRICKING WEEKS to go before Opening Day? Sure. Let’s all just SIT DOWN now. You sure you don’t want to wait two weeks? Maybe discuss it over CHICKEN?

I’m okay. I’m okay. Totally over September. TOTALLY OVER IT.

I have said it before. I shall say it again. Right. Now. Aceves for rotation. Do it, Bobby V. DO IT.  It’s not like we can…

Wait… what… wh… oh my God you guys… Could it… is it… DON’T TOY WITH ME, BOBBY. I have been hurt before. What’s that? Shining in the distance?

Oh hope, you calculating mistress… teasing us in the form of a…

This is exactly like that early 90s cult classic, “the X-Files,” available now on Netflix.

Allow me to explain.

See, for those of you who were like, seven when this came out with mean parents who didn’t let you watch the X-Files because of “graphic content” and nightmares and stuff (and you don’t have Netflix. Because, if you  have Netflix, I’m sure you’re already a “believer”), the X-files is about these two FBI agents. There’s a skeptic. Her name is Scully. She’s not relevant to my rambly metaphor. But I like her hair. And then there’s Mulder. See, Mulder, really WANTS TO BELIEVE in things like extraterrestrials and scifi stuff and an afterlife, right, because it gives his life’s mission purpose. It means there’s something out there that means something, see? Oh, and that his sister isn’t dead. But you can get a full explanation on that sideplot from wikipedia.

“I want to believe that the dead are not lost to us…”

Ahem.

Dice-K, I WANT TO BELIEVE in you, because that gives the 80 katrillion dollars and 17 gallons of tears I have shed for you a purpose. But I need evidence.

Much in the same way that, in season 2 of X-Files, Mulder needs EVIDENCE to continue his quest.

Can you tell what I was doing before I made Raleigh friends?

So see, Dice-K. You’re the aliens. We want to believe in you. But you’ve got to stop abducting people and just have a nationally televised conversation. And. You know. Pitch.

What do you think, Soxies? Do you believe in Dice-K? Or do you think we’re alone in the universe?

In other news, the media is really sorry about all that chicken sh#$ (see what I did there?) they spread in September and they’re trying to apologize by over compensating Lavarnway style. I appreciate the attempt to keep my cries of “VARITEK! WHYYYYY” at a minimum. But, seriously, Boston Globe. You don’t have to pander to me. All I need is time.

Some encouraging words about Jose… I mean, we didn’t win. But, apparently, he caught a cool ball. So that’s nice.

Oh, and the media, so astute they are, have decided to tell us all that Bobby V is not Terry Francona. Thanks, Yahoo Sports. What would I do without you in my life? I get you mixed up too, media. Like, just the other day, I was like, Why, Hello, Anderson Cooper! What are YOU doing in the booth? And then I realized it was Jerry Remy. You make THAT much sense, Yahoo Sports.

In conclusion, today was a sucky Red Sox day. Except for the bit about Lesterness.

So, comment, nation. Comment away. Doubront, or not to Doubront? Dice-K, or not to Dice-K? Aliens, or no aliens? Scully or Mulder?

~L

Papelbon is Papelgone.

November 11, 2011 5 comments

What the frick, Red Sox?

This means no more Papface.

No more Papjig.

No more PAPELBON.

He’s leaving us, see, for the SANDWICHES.

Seriously, Paps. I bet you could have found a sandwich in the dugout underneath all the KFC bags.

WHO WILL REMAIN AND WHAT WILL BE LEFT OF US?

Sigh.

I am never, ever, ever leaving town again.

~L

NO MORE PAPELPUNS. OHNO.

I am most upset about this. I need some time to process my emotions. And… the candy at the office today is… CIRCUS PEANUTS??? What the frick?

PS- You know what hurts worse than watching your ex move on?

When your ex moves on with your best friend.

This is a TERRIBLE day in sports.

Theo. Is. Gone.

October 12, 2011 7 comments

Officially.

I am very angry.

So angry.

But, when I take a minute. And pretend this isn’t the sum of an epic, epic collapse and its chaotic little entraily parts… I realize that Theo, OUR Theo… is in a better place.

While we will mourn his passing… we can take comfort in the fact that he and our beloved Tito do not have to deal with the SHITSTORM that is a Red Sox 2011 October. A shitstorm, mind you, that is EPICLY worse than the shitstorm that was our September.

The weather report?

MORE SHIT.

So, Theo, now that I have calmed down and taken YOUR feelings into consideration, my feelings can best be expressed by the 1970s sensation Kansas. Ahem:

Excuse me. I’m going to go cry in a public restroom now.

Thank you.

~L

HOLD THE PHONE. I have figured it out. I have a song. I have a scene. THAT PERFECTLY describes what is going on in Boston. I know I hurl my musical theatre background at you guys constantly and sometimes have to reach for relevance- but listen to this WHOLE song and TELL ME it is not the stupid Red Sox front office. Humor me and enjoy your education. Your instructor? Who I wanted to be when I grew up: Bernadette Peters. And I still could. I am not a grown up yet.

By the way, her name is Nancy Brady and she is a homewrecker.

Sigh.

Maybe it isn’t true

8 p.m.-

AND ANOTHER THING- the boy (the one that’s not Kevin Youkilis and exists on this reality plane) is at a Canes vs Bruins game. Right now. In Raleigh. And I’m not there.

WHATABADDAY

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.

There are no yellow lights in baseball. It’s allllllll green.

August 3, 2011 3 comments

Seriously.

Just read an article telling us to keep our “yellow caution flag” out with regards to Erik Bedard’s start tomorrow.

Why?

Because, ladies and gents, he’s recovering from an INJURY. The “oft-injured” Bedard who joins our “oft-injured” rotation is, like everyone else who wears the Boston “B,” or so it seems, INJURED.

“We want to help get him to where he can pitch like he can pitch and it might take a little while to do that,” manager Terry Francona said before last night’s 3-2 win. “He’s got 12⁄3 starting innings under his belt, he’s got no rehab starts, so he might not be at peak efficiency yet. Fans and media might not be patient with him, but we will be.

Really? You are NOT making me feel better about the “oft-injured” description. Oh, I’m sure you’ll be patient. You’ve been patient for… let’s see… JOHN LACKEY. And… you were patient with MIKE TIMLIN… and… let’s see… JOHN LACKEY. Oh, remember Delcarmen? Oh, and Lugo? Remember LUGO? I remember Lugo. Your patience does not instill in me CONFIDENCE. JOHN LACKEY?

“With Erik, we understand with him we have to be a little bit slow here. He pitched a game probably for obvious reasons probably before he was ready to pitch. He should have probably been on a rehab. We all understand why and we’re glad he did.”

Slow here? This is the Red Sox. We’ve got to hit the ground running. Don’t make me nervous before Bedard even hits the mound, please.

And, sportsies the world over say, it’s not just about Bedard specific:

Boston has had little success through the years in picking up helpful starting pitching midway through a season.

But you know what? That’s tomorrow. Bedard is tomorrow. TONIGHT is Wake. NUMBER 200. 200, people. Let’s watch it together. Sayyyyyy my blog, 7:10ish? See you then.

~L

 

The Good. The Bad. The Ug– um… Gritty.

August 1, 2011 1 comment

Pink Sox: Take 2: A sort of live, sort of sporadic version of the DLB.

July 30, 2011 28 comments

DLB. Drunken Live Blog. Duh.

So, I’m starting this in the 6th inning. The last time I started a game in the 6th inning was horrible. That was yesterday. Yesterday was horrible.

Jon Lester. Jon Lester is today. TODAY.

And, if the 4-0 score is any indication, today is a GOOD day. One out.

——

GOOD DAY. THREE OUTS. GOOD FRICKING DAY.

—-

4-0. Pedroia doing his I-know-how-to-play-baseball (he forgot yesterday) trek to first. AND Second. Man on first. Man on second. Triple sexy. Welcome back, Gonz. Thanks for running to first base this time. See how much better things progress when we run?

Weird. They keep doing these crowd closeups. And no one looks invested. Are you seeing this? Everybody’s just like, eh… it’s a game. There’s no anger. No fire. Really, no Chicago hats. Oh. There’s one. Weirdness. It’s like body snatchers or something. They’re soulless out there.

Youkie strikes out.

As we’ve been pitching (let’s say hurling) lately, a four run lead seems scant.

Scant, I say.

Thanks-be-to-Lester.

Papi at the plate.

By the way, did you see THIS? Jeb sent me the latest proof that the Onion hates us.

Facing the cruel prospect of winning 200 grueling games in his interminable 19-season career, 44-year-old Red Sox pitcher Tim Wakefield tried to get a line drive to hit him in the head Friday to finally put an end to it all. “I didn’t throw [White Sox hitters] any knuckleballs because I wanted to make sure the ball had enough speed coming off the bat to shatter my skull,” said Wakefield, who lunged face-first at everything batted toward him.

Andddddddd…. strike out. Whatev.

—–

That was a sexy Youk catch. Catch. Throw. Kazaam. Out. Bottom of the 7th. One out.

Really?! Really? Homerun. That’s not what I’m reallying. I’m reallying at the dramatic fireworks. Well. Okay.

—-

Top of the 8th. Carl Crawford. Is out.

It is so hard to keep my attention on this game.

Top of the 8th. Two outs.

We’re on a base. That’s nice. Hi, Josh.

Well, that got my attention. 5-1. Two outs, one on base.

So, I met a strange person that gave me a very strange idea today. I met a girl who… Okay, Whatever. Scut looked safe in THAT replay. Whatever. Okay. Story. Right. So, I met this very strange person…. ohmygodithoughtthatwasahomerunbutitwasapopout. Right. Three outs. Okay. Very strange person. She watches tv. A lot of tv. And is, apparently, quite dissatisfied with just an hour-long episode. She writes fan fiction. See, I knew that people did this with Star Wars (I dated a guy… there was a Wookie incident… don’t worry about it) but I was unaware people did this with, say “Friends.”

Weird, right?

But it gave me this idea. What would happen if we wrote baseball fan fiction? I mean, besides scoring 50,000 runs, I keep thinking about things I would insert into games. Drama. Plots. Side characters. Clearly, there would be some elicit scandal.

Orioles cry off the field after 47-0 shutout. What a great title for my fan fiction. I’ll work on it.

—-

It is the bottom of the 8th. One out.

Kevin Youkilis would be the star of my fan fiction.

Oh, and that homerun… the one that just made the score 5-2? That wouldn’t have happened. I might, however, keep the lame fireworks.

—-

And the eighth inning ends. And the 9th inning begins. And I’m distracted thinking about my fictional game where Yamaico runs on the field for a goodbye anthem.

It’s really great.

Oh, we just got on a base. Just one base. Because I’m not writing this game. 9th.

—-

You know what? I like watching games on mute.

And Adrian Gonzalez gets a homerun. Oh, that one was real. And the score is 7-2. Top of the 9th. Zero outs. That means no outs.

—-

Okay. If you are not watching this, you’re going to think this is fan fiction too: Kevin Youkilis just got his 15th season homerun.

See, you know I didn’t make that up, because if I made it up, it would be like 211th home run. 8-2, top of the 9th with Papi at the plate.

Oh. One out, by the way. Sorry, Papi.

One on base. Jarrod Saltalamacchia about to show off. Right? Right.

Brilliant. 9-2. Brilliant. Hi, Salty. Your doubles make my heart smile.

—-

Did I say 9-2? I must have meant 10-2. Because that is the score now. With one on first. And 2 outs.

Rich Harden? What? I’m glad FDA is paying attention in the comments section. Because I’m paying attention to the game. Oh, and my brain.

Okay, who is Rich Harden? We’ll know soon enough, apparently- talk of a trade- Lars Anderson may be leaving on the Yamaico jetplane:

The 29-year-old has a 4.30 ERA this season, the ninth of a career that has been slowed by injuries. He has had sub-3.00 ERAs in three different seasons, though he has never reached 200 innings in a single season.

Oh. Wikipedia says he is from Vancouver. Which means he’s probably a fan of Maxim Lapierre. Ew.

—–

Ew. Do you think he will spread Canuck (the hockey team, not the Canadian stereotype) germs all over OUR Fenway Park?

—-

Oh. Hah. I self-corrected, FDA. Totally just read your comments.

Well… we need a pitcher…

—-

Okay. Man on first. Really???? I think it’s cruel to draw it out so, Wheeler.

—-

Wow. I am at 979 comments now. I have to start planning my super-amazing piece of artwork. Commenter number 1,000, you see, will be treated to a special marker drawing. I should really get more markers.

—-

Dear White Sox,

The pinstripes are still a bit much for me.

Re-evaluate.

Thanks,

Lauren

—–

Oh, look. One on first. One on second. I’m sorry. One on second. One on third. Oh look.

I’d be concerned, really, I would. But it is 10-3. I’m just slightly bemused that you’re doing this to them, Dan. It’s like… beating a dead horse? Ew.

Thank you. Thank you for that out.

That’s right. Rip the band-aid off.

Now we can pay attention to these trades. Rich Harden…

—-

I mean… wikipedia doesn’t SAYYYYYY he’s a Canucks fan. I’m just assuming…

—-

Oh NO. He’s another Jed Lowrie. He’s “oft-injured.”

OHNO. That is exactly what our bullpen needs <- sarcasm.

MORE INJURED PEOPLE.

And Clay, you’ll like this. He gets blisters too:

Harden, 30, missed the first 82 games of this season with a strained latissimus dorsi muscle, the same injury that put Sox left-hander Jon Lester on the disabled list earlier this month. But in the course of a big-league career that began in 2003, Harden has had disabling injuries to his shoulder, hip, back, trunk and elbow. He also has had blisters. The never-ending cycle of injuries is one reason Harden has never won more than 11 games in a season, and has pitched more than 150 innings just once in his career, back in 2004.

THIS article says Navarro was projected as a third baseman. Good. I’m glad he’s leaving then. GOOD. You heard me.

So much drama.

What are your thoughts on trades/Youkilis’ beard/the Pink Sox series? You know. The important things.

~L

PS- As indicated in the comments, TOOSOXY correspondent FDA will be at next Wednesday’s Wake-fest. 200. It’s going to happen.

SOOOOOOO The rest of this is pretty much in response to FDA comments. Which I’m sure you care about extensively. So I thought I’d let you know to increase your attention and focus.

All the comments! FDA, that’s why you were promoted to correspondent! Keep up!

Some Canadians play baseball. Um. Toronto. It’s very cold there.

No. I don’t pay people.

I like Canada. I really like Vancouver (as a place). They have orca whales. Did you know that, FDA? Orca whales. Which is great. And baseball is great. So. Um. Logically…

You never know, FDA. Maybe he can be converted. It happens. And maybe he’s not a Canucks fan. Maybe… um. Maybe he likes something totally random. Like the Ducks. For no reason. It could be a personality quirk. Sort of endearing in an awkward irrelevant way?

Well… at least twenty people were fans. There were fires, after all.

A baseball chat would be nice. We should do a dual blog. I wish I were smart enough to know how to do that.

Well, Harden is official. It’s in USA Today.

Southern accents are swell.

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