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Posts Tagged ‘Theo Epstein’

Jackson’s diss. Oh and Theo and Cash are besties now.

February 2, 2012 3 comments

Today has been ridiculously icky. Not only did I have to work (gahk. At least I didn’t fall into a deer carcass this time. See Twitter.), I had to teach my last class at Appalachian State University. I think I scared the bejeezus (that’s a word they use in Boone) out of the little dreamers and hopers. I might have told the little newsy hopefuls that their destinies included $18 k jobs and a lack of health insurance. Oh, and that stress and 80-hour work weeks would cause them to die alone of a heart condition with only the distribution of their underfed cats and a missed deadline to remind people they existed in the first place. You know. Unless that get a snazzy new biz journal job and a the promise of a snazzy new paycheck. But that probably won’t happen to you, I said. You are all too idealistic.

I must make myself pretty for my date tonight (I have a date. Yep. Now that I’m moving. I’m dating. That’s apparently how it works)- but you deserve news briefs. So, here.

And repeat after me- We DON’T need Roy Oswalt.

I’m thinking Alfredo Aceves will astound us all. Um. Maybe. Here you go:

—-

Edwin Jackson dissed us officially. For – and this one will make you roll your eyes- THE NATIONALS. Whatever. $10 mill? Really? Whatever.

Some people say we should go after the Nationals reject now- John Lannan.

Lannan is a groundball pitcher who has never induced fewer than 50 percent grounders, and holds a career groundball-to-flyball ratio of 1.9. His FIP haven’t exactly been stellar despite this, as he’s been about 12 percent worse than the league in that regard over his career.

Um. I’d rather have Scut back.

—-

Curt Schilling WON’T STOP TALKING.

This time he’s not talking about video games. Or the Red Sox. Traitor boy is talking Cubs.

“I would feel very comfortable putting a very large chunk of money that [a World Series title] would happen in the next five to 10 years. This guy is a game-changer from a baseball knowledge perspective. He is as smart, as aware as anyone I have ever been around, and I’m talking about game smart. The kind of smarts that generally have been associated with people who have been on the field.

“He understands the human element to this. A lot of what I learned from and about Theo I’ve taken into my company and tried to help my company grow. Theo gets it, and it’s not lost on the people who played for him. He’s the only general manager I ever played around who fit into the clubhouse. That’s a very dangerous thing for general managers, especially if they don’t fit. He was always welcome. He’s a very smart guy.”

Whatever. Thank you for 2004. Now go home.

—-

So, Cubs. If Curt is right, you’ll get the WS. Whatever. We get your scout. Um. Well, we DO get your scout.

The Red Sox have hired one of former Cubs GM Jim Hendry’s top assistants to help out their major league scouting staff. He’s veteran scout Gary Hughes, who served as special assistant to Hendry before resigning in late September after Hendry was fired.

Hughes is 70-years-old. He scouted Tom Brady as a catcher. So. He’s old. And he recognizes good hair when he sees it.

—-

And in news that makes the reporter in me cringe in utter heebee jeebees, New York Times Company lost like $40 katrillion (eeek!) and had to sell some of its Sox stock to an “undisclosed” buyer.

Let me repeat that parenthetical: EEEEEEK.

So, not only does some rich kazillionaire out there (hey, it could be Snookie people, you don’t know) own us, my industry is melting faster than a wicked witch in a rain storm.

I think my feelings can best be expressed through the dramatic David Grey classic, “Nightblindness.”

You’re welcome.

I really enjoyed Bleacher Report today. Read under-the-radar-free-agents-that-paid-off.

They give Aceves (my personal fav) a shout out:

For a mere $635,000 Alfredo Aceves probably provided the highest overall return on investment.

Seriously. In a year that brought us Crawflop and A-walktofirst-Gonzalez, Aceves was a rock star.

It was such a nice season that Aceves may have a shot at a spot in the Red Sox starting rotation this coming season. Even if he doesn’t start, another season similar to last year’s will net Aceves a considerable raise the next time his contract comes up.

I’d really, really, really like to see Aceves start. Over Bard. Just saying.

Troy O’Leary is another nice example.

In irritating news, our very own East Bound and Downesque Vincente Padilla may be delayed by LEGAL TROUBLE. An arrest warrant in Nicaragua (I have to interview someone in Nicaragua at 5!) for child support something could delay him getting back to the states. So it’s not even a nifty arrest warrant. Like for assaulting a Stankee.

Whatthefrickever.

—-

And here’s something irritating. Theo’s now all roses that him and Cashman can be buddies. It’s all about the shirt.

“I was never able to totally relax because I felt like he was always lurking,” Epstein said. “He had a great sense of the marketplace.”

But now they can jog down the hillside and pick poppies together.

Brian Cashman and Theo Epstein said that after years of being on opposite sides of baseball’s most bitter rivalry, they are looking forward to being able to make deals with one another.

Whatever.

Oh- and Carl Crawford is now an accused swindler.

Somehow, I think Carl can afford the lawsuit.

—-

Have a lovely Friday! Off to get pretty(er).

~L

Moving sucks. But either way, Roy Oswalt, you’re still going to have to pack.

January 29, 2012 3 comments

I think I get it. I think I get why it seems to irritate these baseball players to be offered loads of money to move to a new city and play a game.

Because, see, I have an offer too, Roy Oswalt. More money. To move. And I should be celebrating. Or eating cake. Or dancing to Cheap Trick or something. But I’m not. Because I have cleaning and packing and cleaning and packing. Is that why you’re not excited? Because you know, Boston or otherwise, you still have to pack…

I think that’s it. Baseball players just don’t want to move. Because moving is horrifying. Terrifying. Annoying. Irritating. Sweaty. Gross. Inconvenient. And heavy. Oh. And expensive. So expensive. What was I talking about again? Oh, right. Roy Oswalt. And Edwin Jackson. And the rest of the baseball players of America who don’t want to move to Boston.

It’s so expensive, that I’ve resorted to some creative, if humbling tactics. Like begging. And Craigslist ads.

I'm making progress. Sorta.

But see, Roy Oswalt, you’re rich. You can pay people to do this crap for you. I looked it up. For like $1,500, you can even get someone to put everything in boxes for you. $1,500. Hmmm. What do you think they’ll do for $15? I can spare $15. $22. But that’s ALL I have in my emergency vodka fund.

Which means… I’d have to do some of this sober…

THAT could be a problem…

But not for YOU, Roy Oswalt.

You could probably drink mimosas on your porch (it’s going to have to be beer if you’re moving to Boston) and take bets on which mover splits a disk first. You could probably sit on your porch and play a rich person game. Like bridge. You could drink mimosas. Play bridge. And watch blue collar workers break themselves over your canopy bed. Do you have a canopy bed? If I was rich, I’d have a canopy bed. I think I’m going to buy a canopy bed. But I’m going to wait until I get to Raleigh so I don’t have to move it. Maybe I could donate all of my things to charity and get new things. Um. From a charity. In Raleigh. Um. Things cost money…

If you don’t want to go the professional mover route and, you know, actually accomplish something. You could hire college students. Or. Um. Me. I bet moving your things would be more interesting than moving my things. Can I have your canopy bed? You can pay me $1,500 exactly so that I can get to Raleigh.

I have a lot of girly things. Like really, really girly things. Like Miley Cyrus-esque hot pink things. I should get rid of my hot pink things. Adults don’t have hot pink things. I’m already pushing it with my Red Sox lamps…

Some free advice- NEVER watch your boyfriend’s cats for five months. Because he won’t pay you back for food like he said he would. And, when you break up and they’ve destroyed your carpet and made your house smell, the ex will just call you a bad word in a grocery store parking lot. I mean, I’ve heard that can happen. Um…

—–

So, in relevant to everyone else news, the Sox could actually get something out of this Cubs situation. I mean, -I- doubt it… but some people actually think we’ll see a payday.

We’re NOT close to a deal with Edwin Jackson. Of course not. Because that would be the opposite of stagnancy. And stagnancy is the off-season theme. Can’t depart from the theme. Oh no.

In I’ll-Elaborate-On-This-Later news, Timmy Wakefield is thinking retirement.

We have another random bargain bullpen (seriously- what’s with this?).

Oswalt hates us.

Jenny Dell stole my job.

And I have so much fricking packing to do that it is interfering with my Sox news alerts.

~L

Oh. And Jose Canseco STILL hasn’t e-mailed me back.

He did update his twitter feed, though.

Jose, it’s not about the money, is it? Because I’ll give you $22 to move a couch. It’s enough to buy… um… vodka.

Packing and packing and packing. Looking for music to pack to. But still on that Gavin DeGraw kick…

Do you think John Lackey’s TJ surgery means he can’t lift things? Because we could load him up like a packhorse! I mean, he’s already paid for…

Great. Thanks, Theo. Now we have to talk to Bud Selig.

January 18, 2012 3 comments

OOPS! Sorry! Wrong photo.

Here we go:

Thanks to THEO, we’re going to the principal’s office. Where, undoubtedly, we’ll all lose our ability to hold back laughter. Awkward, awkward laughter.

The compensation headache over Theo Epstein’s move from the Boston Red Sox to the Cubs is officially Bud Selig’s problem, turning a minor embarrassment for the Cubs into a potential precedent-setting action for Major League Baseball.

See. I know what you’re doing, Theo. You’re making all these jackass moves and throwing them in our faces so that we’ll hate you. You’ve been doing it allllllll offseason. So that we’ll cry, “Theo? Theo Epstein? Bah. Curse that Theo Epstein. We don’t need him or his big, big moves!” And then Bud Selig (who hears everything. Except needle injections) will say, “hark! You don’t need him? Then here is your $5. Epstein buy-out problem solved!”

You know what, Theo? It is not going to work. You are worth so so so so so much. INVALUABLE. Hear me, Selig? It’s like, you take alllllll the elephants in the world (they’re endangered, you know. And expensive) and add in Yu Darvish’s salary. And multiply it by how old Tim Wakefield is (he’s a hundred, apparently. I read it in a Yankees blog). And then you add in all the copper (it’s valuable. I saw it on the news) from allllll the street lights on U.S. 1 and then you add in a pot o’gold for every Papeljig in the history of Papeldom (curse you, Philadelphia! curse you all! um. Unless you’re a fan in Delaware. Then great tidings to you. Great indeed). And then you add your five dollars. And THAT is how much the Red Sox will accept for Theo Epstein.

NO LESS.

Or. Um. Garza. Castro AND Jackson.

Don’t like it? SEND HIM BACK.

Oops! Did it again! Awkward…

Here you go- Sorry about that.

—-

In other news, I landed in Philadelphia this morning and have been playing in Delaware all day. I love it here. There is Thai food and I feel appreciated. Oh. But the speed limits are ridiculously low. Which bothered me, until I realized no one has to follow them. And people really, really like stocking hats. And I don’t think you can talk on a cell phone and drive. Which is silly. Because I’m very popular and people call me a lot.

There is a place here called Tasti Thai. It is a restaurant. Not a… um. It’s a restaurant.

But there’s no Which Wich Sandwich Shop. Nowhere is perfect, I guess.

Could you call the state of Delaware and tell them to hire me? Thanks.

And Jonathan Papelbon didn’t even have the decency to meet me at the airport. After ALLLLLLLL the cheering I have done for him. I guess it really is over, guys.

~L

Nick Cafardo and I agree on something. Oh, and this could be as good as it gets, folks.

January 17, 2012 11 comments

Nick Cafardo and I agree on one thing today. And that is Tim Wakefield.

Who- as I’ve said before- we shouldn’t just write off- despite the imaginary walker.

Not sure it’s safe to assume that his tenure with Boston is over. Even if they don’t sign him right now, what prevents them from bringing him back in May or June or even after the All-Star break if they need a starter? He could always be one of those half-season veteran pitchers.

That’s what I see for Tim. Tim’s a utility guy and a hero. He’s not the guy you parade around the mound for a milestone. He can still serve a purpose.

And every time we write him out- he comes back as a weapon.

Well, you know. Except for that one time. Okay, that several times over the summer.

But that wasn’t his fault, see. It was the number.

Numbers are scary beasts.

So. Here’s the deal, folks. Benny C is playing it… safe? Is that even the word for this? He’s certainly playing it oppositeville. Maybe he was hanging out with Michael Hill… they were playing chess, see, when all of a sudden… the board, it got struck by lightning, right? And their hair frizzed up. Oh! And then, something magical happened like that one time on Gilligan’s Island. They switched brains!!!!!

Or, maybe Benny C doesn’t know we have money.

Maybe he doesn’t read all the disparaging comments people make about how we’re moneybaggers and buy our championships and have a bazillion dollars.

Or maybe he’s busy arguing salaries with our six unsigned arbitration-eligible players: RHP Alfredo Aceves, INF Mike Aviles, RHP Andrew Bailey, RHP Daniel Bard, OF Jacoby Ellsbury and DH David Ortiz.

Or maybe he’s still playing with the rolly chair in what used to be Theo Epstein’s office.

Are we REALLY too broke for Roy Oswalt?

I do not understand how moving around payroll works. I understand that it’s how we lost Alex Rodriguez (blessing in disguise). I understand that the internet understands it better than I do-

…in order to sign the pitcher at his current asking price a corresponding roster move would have to made in order to free up payroll.

Can we unLackey ourselves or something? I mean, it’s not like he can play…

I am so confuzzled by our pseudo-poverty.

So, in other words- this could be as good as it gets- at least for now.

Provided we have Aceves in our rotation- how do we stack up- right now- as of Jan. 17? Because I’m not feeling the rotation strength. The real people we’ll be counting on- Lester, Beckett, Buccholz- they couldn’t pull us out of a Soxplosion. And now they’re starring in our comeback tour? I’m not feeling the pep today, folks.

—-

In other news- it always hurts when someone moves on. You know the relationship is over. You say you’re fine. But it’s like that Gavin DeGraw song-

I think it’s pretty obvious who I’m talking about

~L

Alfonso Soriano, alas, we’d hardly heard of ye.

January 6, 2012 4 comments

It's a shame, really. We need more players who can fly.

Alfonso Soriano, the Globe reports, is NOT bound for Boston. Why is this bloggable news? Well, I’ll tell you.

I’m cooped up in the condo after “over-exerting” my crutches-bound-self yesterday, bored as HELL, and NO ONE. NO ONE will bring me ice cream. It’s kind of ridiculous. And these people call themselves my friends! Hah! “No, sorry, Lauren. We have to work.” WORK. BAH. Some of us can’t WALK. Much less work. Brag about your functional limbs, why don’t you? Jackasses. Jackasses every one.

Kill it! Kill it now!

When the initial shock fades of, you know, imploding your ankle, the other injuries start to surface. Like, let’s say you slid down a flight of stairs into a wall. Clearly, your ankle isn’t the only thing you made purple. But you’re so busy concentrating on your ankle, you don’t notice the tiger striped bruising all over your back. Not right away.

I notice now.

I am SO bored, America. And limited by the many, many stairs in my apartment. And the fact that I can’t move! I have to cover something at 3 p.m., regardless. So stairs, you WILL be my bitch.

AND CRUTCHES MAKE YOUR ARMS HURT.

I went out last night. Which was idiotic. And some guy had to carry me to my car. And I had parked at the courthouse. Because that’s what you do in Boone. And a friend drove by and thought I was, how did he put it? Oh, “in the drunk tank.” It was interesting.

And I know you’re really glad I shared that with you.

So. Alfonso Soriano…

Epstein is trying to gut the Cubs from all of their bad contracts and start anew, and has been willing to eat a lot of money to do so.

His next order of business is to find a place for outfielder Alfonso Soriano. But it won’t be the Red Sox. They are not interested, according to a major league source.

I miss you, Theo.

But I have this little question. WHY THE FRICK DIDN’T YOU GUT THE SOX WHEN YOU WERE OUR GM, Huh? Why did we have to watch Lugo OVER and OVER and OVER again???? Why-oh-why-oh-why did we not sell John Lackey for parts when he was kind of HEALTHY????

And don’t get me STARTED on Delcarmen.

In other I’m-Still-Trapped-Here-and-Bored-with-Netflix news… Matt Garza is expensive.

And Danny Duquette is playing with dirt.

So. Um. Anyone got any good stories? Any good knockknock jokes? Want to bring me ice cream?

Oh, and remember that job interview I had where they basically said I was pretty and had a great personality but wasn’t “intellectual” enough for the job? Apparently, my badass package (filled with examples of my intellect, FYI) impressed them and they called me back! So, if I can ever get down these stairs, I have a meeting with the publisher a week from today.

Huzzah.

~L

Seriously. Anyone like online scrabble?

My everything hurts.

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

Soxy support.

August 26, 2011 1 comment

Words of encouragement needed. Today=hellastress.
That’s right. It’s worthy of a new word: hellastress.
Defined in the Soxy dictionary with a big picture of ME TODAY.
The photo kind of looks like this:

Except with better hair.
But we won yesterday (thanks, guys), so, there’s that.
So If I just take a deep breath I’ll…
WHAT?????

The recent talk around the baseball world has been about whether the Chicago Cubs would consider targeting Red Sox general manager Theo Epstein as the person to rejuvenate the Cubs’ organization if the GM position became available.

SHUT THE FRONT DOOR.

You are kidding me, right, Theo? This is all a bigggggg joke. You wouldn’t drop John Lackey off on our fricking doorstep and then jaunt to the big C… no. NO. No. You wouldn’t do that to me. No..

“Theo is one of the elite GMs in baseball, and he’s proven that year after year by piecing things together when we get hurt or whatever,” Red Sox pitcher Josh Beckett said. “Why wouldn’t Theo want to make his life better by being one of the best GMs in baseball? I hope he doesn’t leave, but if he does, I’ll understand. He’s done a great job since I’ve been here.”

Josh, love, my darling, SHUT YOUR FACE.

Oh, whyohwhyohwhy did THAT have to come up on my Google search?

It’s okay. Breeeaaaathhheeee, Lauren. Breatthhheeeee.

Let’s read this stress free article about amazing AL offense, shall we?

What?!

The Yankees’ 22 runs were the most scored by any team this season. The Bronx Bombers now have four of the seven-highest tallies posted by a single team this year, all of them coming in the last six weeks, and two of them coming against the A’s, a team that ranks among the league leaders in run prevention this year.

Frick-double-frick, guys.

A double header Saturday. Hah. Well, that’s only fair. I have two shows Saturday.

And the Sox about to expand their minor leaguer additions on the roster…

Okay. I need to say good bye internet.

I’m like stress bubblewrap. But it’s more like bubblewrap if it were dominoed. You know, like a row of mousetraps? Where one goes and they all just start pop-pop-popping and no one’s toes are safe? It’s like that. But bubblewrap. And brains.

~L

Youkie tossed a ball! Youkie tossed a ball!
We’re saved!

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.

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

August 1, 2011 1 comment
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