Posts Tagged ‘Tim Wakefield’

I am alive. Apparently, you CAN live without… *sigh*… Jason… VARITEKKKKKK

March 12, 2012 10 comments

I am alive.

Thanks for asking.

Seriously. The thirty bazillion messages you guys have sent me over the past three weeks have been a nice interruption from my days of working and pretending to unpack.

I live in Raleigh now. I have a real job. Oh. And an iPhone.

Now. I don’t want to come down on you too hard. After all, this is the first TooSoxy you’ve had in a month. But. I feel some criticism is warranted.

Ahem. I’ll try to stay calm. I’ll try-


Really, guys? Really? REALLY? Re-frickingeallllyyyyy?


Tim Wakefield?! Jason Varitek???? WHITNEY FRICKING HOUSTON????

What did you guys NOT destroy while I was gone? Who’s next? Judi Dench? (Please, GOD, NOT JUDI. TAKE ANDERSON COOPER. Or one of the Real Housewives!)

I just don’t know what to say to you people.

That’s why I’ve been absent. It’s not me. It’s YOU.

And your POOR stewardship of life and things.

So. Jason Varitek, hmm? I cried. A lot. I mean, part of it was that the night Jason Varitek announced his retirement was the night my car broke.

So begins the story of operation Red Sox friend hunt. Ahem. Imagine me saying this in a snazzy radio voice, k?

So, I heard of this group. The Triangle Red Sox Nation, right? So, I thought, what a perfect way to start my Raleigh friend hunt! God, of course, had other plans.

God killed the electric system on my car.

Let’s just say after my parking lot temper tantrum, Triangle Red Sox Nation will remember me…

Oh. I went on a date with a Red Sox fan. Well. Um. It was kind of a date. And another one with this really Democraty guy. That was different. It kind of felt like I was on a date with the news.

Oh. And I met this Stankee fan who is also a UNC fan and it was a thing.

There are lots of things.

I’ve gotten really good at this unpacking thing, for example.

See, the cool thing about living by yourself in an apartment with five closets is… you can do THIS.

oh! And This.

And- well, you get the point.

SERIOUSLY. TIM WAKEFIELD? He was our INSURANCE. Don’t you people listen to ANYTHING I say?

Oh. And I’m still seeing the perfect guy. The one who lives in Boone. But you know. By seeing, I mean NOT seeing. Since he’s in Boone. And I’m in Raleigh, the land of traffic circles where people are consistently confused by traffic circles. And he seems intrigued by the fact that, come April, I’ll hulk up into the Soxzombie. I don’t think he believes me, actually. I told him about that one time I accidentally… um… dropped that napkin dispenser on that one guy…

I think he doubts my hulkness.

So. Um.

JASON VARITEK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I haven’t been watching spring training. Um.

And I haven’t been my usual Soxzombieness. Because I work a lot.

And. Um.

Oh, wow. He’s really gone, isn’t he?

Are we sure? I mean… um…

Are we…


I’m sorry. I’ve missed a month. I have to go watch Bodyguard on repeat with an Edy’s pint. Excuse me.


A Legacy in his WAKE- Timmy to make decision by this weekend

February 9, 2012 3 comments

Our father, Tim Wakefield, hallowed be his pitch… may be hitting the National League.

Is it wrong to kind of want to see that happen because Timmy-at-the-bat sounds entertaining? Oh. Right. National League. As in NOT IN BOSTON. I can feel the gods themselves trembling, can’t you?

Timmy, Timmy, Timmy. I know that you are (well) old enough to make your own decision, but let me tell you what I, the official spokesman today (why not?) for Red Sox Nation has to say…  You could retire… OR-

Go to spring training as a non-roster player!

Do it, Timmy, and here’s why-

You come through in a clutch. You know it. We know it. Benny C knows it.

We’re going to need your clutch powers this summer. We’ve got Dice-K (who, let’s be honest, could melt like Elphaba by May). We’ve got Bard (who, let’s be honest, is so going to wind up back in the bullpen. I hope I’m wrong). We’ve got Josh Beckett (who, let’s be honest, is one beer can away from punching that sexy pitch fist through the dugout). And Buccholz (who I predict will break in June). And then we’ve got the bargain binners and the criminals (Vincente, you know they’re alllllll thinking it). And let’s be honest. We’re not even going to have Jason Varitek and his stern, but firm looks and worldly control over all things pitchtastic. Children need a father figure, Timmy. And trust me, our bullpen/rotation is full of CHILDREN. Without you, they’ll be awash in a sea of confusion and cupcakes (see, I predict cupcakes will be the beer-chicken of 2012).

Stay. Have a shot at the Clemens record. Stay. Retire in a uniform. Stay. Continue to have fans that don’t just count on you for strikes- but respect you for decades of service.

Or go. Go to the National Leagues. Hang out. Tell all your “back in my day” stories to an inattentive audience. And have to move. Moving, Tim, SUCKS. There’s packing. And box finding. And packing. And not ALL liquor stores will give you boxes. And there’s u-haul renting. And deposit paying. And lease get-outing. And before you know it, you have your first gray hair. Well, you think it’s yours. It could be your dog’s. You both have very similar hair. And she does steal your hair brush.  And why did you buy all those canned black beans anyway? You can’t throw them away. They’re food. You can’t give them to the poor because you’re poor. They’re too heavy for the crappy boxes. And damnit, BOONE. WHY ARE YOU SO COLD?

What were we talking about again?

Oh. Right.


“We’re discussing the options — and he has some options — and over the next few days, we’re going to try to figure it out,” agent Barry Meister said by phone today. “These next few days is just a period of introspection, where he’s trying to decide what to do, whether to play, who to play for.”

Meister is a great last name. I think it means master.

Barry Meister won’t pack up your boxes for you, Tim Wakefield.

And you’re old. And you probably have a bad back. You probably got it from helping the aliens craft the pyramids during your teenage years. Carrying that sleeper loveseat down all those stairs in the snow is REALLY going to suck for you.

So, Soxies! What are your thoughts on Timmy? Recount your memories- and maybe, together, we’ll convince daddy to stay.


PS- It’s not official, but I found a smarmy Timmy fan page.  I mean, MY blog has more visitors… but…

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 “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…


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.


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…

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


Great moments. Long time coming.

September 14, 2011 Leave a comment

There are things in life you’ll remember.

Things so incredible, it takes at least six seconds for the feeling to hit your nerves.

Things that, no matter how long it takes you to get there, they’ll stick with you longer.

And last night?

Okay. Not exactly one of those things.

But close enough for this smile.

Close enough.

Happy Tim Wakefield Day, everyone!


At least we are not Cleveland.

September 8, 2011 1 comment

Yes. So we all needed a good cry/Fiona Apple angst marathon after what can only be called the nauseating icing on a crapcupcake of a game… (Avilles, REALLY???? REALLY???)

But now that we’ve had our moment. Our breath. Our private walk punching session. Now that the Neosporin is starting to cool off our bandaged knuckles… it’s time to put things into perspective.

Sweet, sweet perspective.

And that perspective says:

At least we’re not Cleveland.

Over Labor Day weekend, 10 of the ablest minds at Grantland briefly stopped typing their own names into a Google search bar and devoted themselves to a sad question: Which city’s fan base is enduring the roughest stretch in sports right now? Where should the sympathetic among us direct our pity? Or, for the cruel at heart, our Schadenfreude?

Check it out. It’s how I almost smiled today. Thaanks, JEB.


PS- If I get off work (60 percent chance!), join me at 7 for a live victory blog. <-positivity. Let’s try it.

You know, Wakey, maybe you should stop thinking about 200 as a milestone. Shoot for 500. FIVE HUNDRED. Then, see, you have 301 games that don’t matter, really, in the grand scheme of the milestone. It’s psychological. Write it on your mirror or something. It can only help. FIVE HUNDRED.

Wake’s 200 plight is like ‘Waiting for Godot,’ a live blog- Sox vs Blue Jays

September 7, 2011 75 comments

Live bloggin’ this sucker at 7. So stay tuned! (For those of you who don’t know how this works- it’s quite easy. I watch the game. I blog. You watch the game. You comment. I respond. It’s like… um… watching the game together. But with screens in different states.)

Your facebook status BETTER read “200.”

Guys! Come on! Wake is like my grandfather. And grandfathers should always get a free pass!

I’m just happy his balls are still hitting home. Now. 30 minutes to game time. Time to get serious.

Hat? Check.


Um. Check?

I really need to find a more willing Red Sox friend.


Waiting for Tim Wakefield’s 200 is really like “Waiting for Godot.”

You and I are like Vladimir and Estragon. Waiting tirelessly. Endlessly. For a shitty number. These boots just won’t come off! “Nothing to be done.”

Seriously. It’s just like that fricking picture. See how there’s no winning going on? But there is a hat? Nothing to be done, really. Think about it. Here are a few random Becketty quotes that are TOTALLY relevant to any recent Wake game. Pick one.

“Let’s go. Yes, let’s go. (They do not move).”
- Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot

“Such is life.”
- Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot

“Let us not waste our time in idle discourse! (Pause. Vehemently.) Let us do something, while we have the chance! It is not every day that we are needed. But at this place, at this moment of time, all mankind is us, whether we like it or not. Let us make the most of it, before it is too late!” And they do nothing.
- Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot

“We wait. We are bored. (He throws up his hand.) No, don’t protest, we are bored to death, there’s no denying it. Good. A diversion comes along and what do we do? We let it go to waste… In an instant all will vanish and we’ll be alone once more, in the midst of nothingness!”
- Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot

So, predictions. Think this will be the day? Or will we still be under that tree tomorrow?

I love literary references.

Literary references: Check. Couch. Check.




For those of you JUST jumping on the bandwagon, Tim Wakefield had his 199th victory July 24.

For those of you JUST investing in a calendar, that was over a month ago. Like 45 days. And he’s 45-years-old.

And he’s had plenty of opportunities. SIX, actually. or SEVEN.

But. No run support. AND, and this is a big AND, some mighty suckage- especially in the recent games.

I think the problem is that number. 200. That number is grating on our Wakefield and making him crazy.

So, let’s collectively lie to him, k? Pass it on to someone at Fenway. Sorry, Wake. Trouble with the math. You’re at 197. You can win one now.

Someone put a post-it note on the warm-up ball.

Do it for America, Wake.


For those of you JUST warming up your heart strings, here’s previous toosoxy coverage of Wake’s 200 plight: A post from July 24July 29, August 3


14 runs on 20 hits yesterday.

Kevin Youkilis, everyone’s favorite, .263. 4 hits yesterday. By the way. In case you were wondering.

Brandon Morrow- run support has been lacking, announcer said. Somehow I think we can imagine.

Jacoby at bat. Riding an 11 game hit streak. 2 for 4 yesterday. “Career season,” announcer says.

“Ellsbury’s got some thunder in his bat,” announcer said.

Really? Because I just see a lot of swinging.

“Sharply hit.”

Into left field. Goes right through a blue jay. Gets to first. Lovely. Lovely.

Wake needs you, Pedroia. He needs you. And you don’t want to let Grandpa down. He’ll take you to the woodshed, yessir. Pedroia was 0 for 5 last night. But, according to the announcers, must have been leading the cheers.

These announcers are super nice. Why is that? It’s eery, right? They’re saying allllll these super nice things and- oh. They are Canadians.

Base hit to left field for Pedroia.

Hit Gonz on the foot. Bases loaded.

Wake, I’m sure, is jumping up and down.

Zero outs.

Papi at the plate, 4 for 6 last night. I really like these announcers. They are quite informative.

Is this crowd golf clapping?

“The Red Sox are a very good team, especially with runners in scoring position,” announcer said.

Good, because when I see runners in scoring position, I think about how good we are at stranding runners in scoring position.

These announcers sure are making me feel better.

Ortiz. .377. “You know he’s driving in a lot of runs.”

Thanks, announcer.

Oh. Strike out.

Yuck. First out.

“There are a lot of good numbers for the Red Sox order,” announcer said.

Wow. He just made me feel better about the strike out.


“Just clipped him, barely,” announcer said.

Okay. Good. Barely, hmm?

“Didn’t even leave a mark,” announcer said.

Thanks, Canadians.

1-0, thanks to the HBP.

Crawford at the plate. Swinnnngggg and a miss.

Strike. “A little late,” announcer said.

Strike out.

Two outs. “That’s why that hit batter hurts with the bases loaded, because you can do this,” announcer said.

Scutaro up. Strike. Strike.

“Boston, their hitters aren’t afraid to hit with two strikes,” announcer said.

I like this guy. Can we trade for him? You can have Heidi.

Then Boston will be like, we don’t have a female announcer! Yegads! Best get a cheap one from North Carolina…

Up the middle. Base hit. They get Youkie, but the Red Sox score two more runs. THREE run inning.

See, this is a great thing, because Wake tends to play games with little to no offense support. Therefore… 200? We may see you yet.


And Wake, the OLDEST player in MLB, steps up to the mound. First win in 1992 with the PIRATES. Jeb, pay attention.

200 career wins.

“It’s been awhile since he has had his last one.”

First pitch is a STRIKE.

Against Eric Thames, who is 0 for 3 against the Wakester.

Bouncing ball, flipped by Pedroia. One out. Bautista up.

Dmitri! Hi! I’ve missed you! Hope all’s well on the island.

Knuckleball is slow and hard to catch. Demonstrated by the lack of catching demonstrated just now which forced the throw to second that bounced all over the place.

Crapola. A walk for Bautista. At least it wasn’t a homerun.


Okay, Wake. You’ve got run support. You have that. All you’ve got to do is throw.

And… another ball. Edwin Encarnacion. I like your name. It is alliterative. Ball sneaks through legs of Salty AGAIN.

“It is a challenge to catch a knuckleball.”

That’s why JASON VARITEK usually plays with Wake.

And why we now have runners at third and second to contend with.

“That’s when Wakefield is at his best, when that ball is dancing like it is now,” announcer said. “I thought that was ball four. Obviously not the case.”

I am glad you are announcing and not umping.

Second out, thanks to Reddick. But Toronto makes it home.

3-1, Boston. Two outs.

Strike. Nifty.

And again. STRIKE OUT.

Step it up in 2, Wake.


Josh Reddick. Hit a homerun yesterday. Has earned my mother’s love. My mother, after every phone conversation, heads out with a “you really should marry that Josh Reddick guy instead of Kevin Youkilis.”

Reddick strikes out.

Jarrod Saltalamacchia- switching it up with his left.

Now we’re getting a history lesson on Salty. These announcers sure are thorough.

“They traded for Jason Varitek how many years ago? A young catcher with skills that hadn’t reached his full potential. Same thing with this guy.”

Oh, they just mentioned Derek Lowe. I bet my favorite DL fan is beaming.

Oh no. Crazy catch of crazy.

Runs for it. Dives for it. And we get the out. McCoy gets a youtube clip.

Jacoby up. The people immediately behind the plate are so boring. Golf clapping during a baeball game. I deserve their tickets.

Caught. 1, 2, 3 inning.


For the first time two Canadian players bat back to back in the Canadian lineup. First time? Whose fault is that?

Single into left field while Wake watches dumbfounded.

Clearly operation convince-Wake-it’s-not-game-200-so-the-pressure-won’t-deflate-his-balloon-of-confidence-like-a-busted-parade-snoopy was a failure.

No pressure, Wake. It’s just YOUR milestone.

No. JP whatever his name is has just set the franchise record for homeruns by a pitcher.

Whatever. Bye, bye, Godot.

I didn’t mean that. Keeping the faith. Keeping the- It’s 3-3? Seriously?

Come ON, Wake.

J.P. Arencibia. 21st home run this season, new franchise record for catchers.

The Canadians are booing the hell out of Gonz for tagging that guy at first just now. Hear that?

Two outs. Yunel Escobar is at bat. Blue Jays have difficult names.

Wakefield is off now. Totally. Look at him. He has his deflated-snoopy-balloon look.

Josh Reddick makes the catch and saves Wake. Kind of. 3-3. Really? Long game. Long, long, ugly, long road to 200. 200 or BUST.


S36! Yes! Yes! Now if you could all just move to North Carolina…


Gonz at the bat. Hit by a pitch in the first. And fouled OUT on a catch. Just now.

Okay. Remember who is pitching, guys. REMEMBER. We need you, Papi. We need you like Cruella De Vill needs puppy skins. Oops. I think the dog read that.

Out. Out. And that inning’s over.

Thanks, Tim Wakefield says, teeth gritted. Thanks.


HBP. So, one at first.

They’re already one up on our half of the inning.

Wake. Breathe. Seriously. Just take a breath. A little one.


Jose Bautista. Fricking frick frick.

Fair ball. But BARELY. And a score. And Bautista stops at second. And Canada rejoices. And I throw a pillow. And 4-3 Toronto. And steam coming out of my ears. And Wake looking dejected. And snoopy-like.

There is no one out there. Way too much blue in a stadium.

And Salty can’t catch today.

And I left my bottle opener downstairs.

And it’s raining outside.

And I’m cold.

And beerless. I wonder if I can open this beer bottle with this pencil.

No. No, I cannot.

Stupid Bautista.

The Kelly kid is up and we only have one out and Wake is doing that slow, dejected, hat rim down thing that always precedes terrible, terrible failure.

So. Um. I have an off-topic question. Is cheerleading a sport? Because, as a former pom-pom toting flyer, I have no doubt it’s a sport. It’s athletic as hell. It requires strength, flexibility and badassishness- and there are more injuries in cheerleading than any other sport. Our sports director argued with me for an hour (busy day) about this. He says, no matter what the high school sports association people say, it’s not a sport because it has judges. I say the competition judges judge based on skill criteria- and it’s a sport, like gymnastics. He said gymnastics isn’t a sport. We had a severe, severe argument about this. What do you think? He said objectionable things aren’t sports. But look at some of these calls today. What’s the difference between an ump judging a questionable strike and a competition judge giving a combo jump points?

Now back to relevance. 4-3. Still. Two outs. Adam Loewen at bat. Wake looking like he’s tossing tennis balls at bottles at the fair for a gold fish. Not knuckleballs at a catcher to win a baseball game.

“Started out as a positions player… in the Pirates organization.”


Scut throws. Doesn’t matter. Batista scores. Guy goes to third. I roll my eyes. Wake looks down. My puppy rolls over.

Crapmuffins. This wouldn’t happen if it were still game 199. 5 to fricking 3.


FDA! Youkilis is amazing and is immune to insults on this blog. You take that back. And girls can run just fine. I read a news article about a girl outrunning a mountain lion. I would just pass out.

Youkilis would eat it. He’d take that mountain lion and he’d–

Oh. Mountain lions are endangered, aren’t they? He’d shake its hand and invite it out to lunch.

I’m glad that inning is over.

I know, right? If we had this fricking 200th win out of the way, I bet we’d be winning right now, because Wake would be thinking about playing the fricking game.

Youkilis is batting, FDA! Youkilis is batting!

Youkilis is arguing that the ball was low. So I’m SURE it was low. Caught.

It’s okay, baby. We still love you. Um. I still love you. I just can’t quit you, baby.


Crawford hits it. Gets to second. Stumbles. But gets to second. Active leader of all players with triples. If he hadn’t stumbled…

But that’s a shoulda-woulda-coulda.

I mean, you know, we need compensation runs, but, whatever. Sure. Stop at second, Crawdad.


I am with you, FDA. That is the best idea I have ever heard. He should have played YESTERDAY. Hear that, Terry Francona? Anticipate better!!!

No. Don’t be done with baseball! Tim needs you! He neeeeeeeeeds you. The cupcake doesn’t need you. It’s not going to choke and miss its 200th milestone. Gymnastics is sooooooo a sport. I don’t care what my sports director says.

Cheerleading is too a sport. Why isn’t cheerleading a sport? It’s competitive. It’s hardcore. And it involves a lot of jumping. If gymnastics is a sport, so is cheering.

But then I exploded my knee and couldn’t cheer.

I could, however, yell loudly. That’s why I became a baseball cheerleader. Because I’m great with posterboard and sharpies and I yell like a loudspeaker.

Two on base, first and second. One out.

Reddick moves into second. Bases loaded.

Not to score, mind you. To make it more painful when we strand THREE.

So make frosting with the TV on.

You know what’s better than frosting? Josh Reddick. I kind of love that kid.

I mean, he’s no Kevin Youkilis…

I could go for some cream cheese icing. Super easy. Cream cheese. Powdered Sugar. Mix. Love.

Kevin Youkilis would love it. I mean, I bake all the time. You’d think that, knowing that (and he should. I totally referenced my baking prowess in a letter), he would have saved me from this state already. There are coyotes here. Did you KNOW that?

Strikes out Salty. Of course you did.

It is 5-4. Toronto.

High and deep… and GONE.

Jacoby Ellsbury! 3 run home run! 25th of the season!!!!!!

And THAT is why I love you. I love you like Patsy Cline loves sultry.

7-5, BOSTON.

And I’m sure Tim Wakefield is rejoicing. My live feed went away!!!! What the frick, MLB?

Jacoby is not going to be a skankee. God and I had this conversation, see.

30 runs would be nice.

Feed comes back, and inning is over. Of fricking course.

I’d like 11. I think we could win with 11.

It would probably be 11-9.

Is it raining in Boston? It is pouring here. And I have these really high windows and a vaulted ceiling and it is quite scary in the toosoxy tower.

Crawford makes the catch. One OUT. Now we’re talking about Tim Wakefield history.

29 appearances this year. The “forgotten man” in the bull pen who always pulls through in “big games.” That’s true. And Blue Jays- not exactly a “big game.”

I have a laptop. I can take the Red Sox everywhere.

I think that’s the problem. He wants it. I think that’s why I have not won the lottery. Because I want it. If I were a truly humble person, I’d win allllll the time.

It is 8:29. This is going to be a long game. Yes. It. Is.


Gonz! Gonz! Gonz!

I’ve decided to use my brain time machine and go back to earlier this summer when I loved you.

Gonz! Gonz! Gonz!

What I DO like about you, Gonz, is your durability. You are always here. Swinging. Now if you would just learn to be consistent and RUN to the bases.

Strike out. Yeah. Stop that.

One out.

Hah. It won’t stop raining. I covered flooding all day yesterday and got a flat tire which may or may not be flat tire related.

HOME RUN FOR DAVID ORTIZZZZZ! Number 29 for the season. I LOVE that guy. 8-5. I mean, I’d like to have someone on a fricking base when you do that… but my love for you wells from my toes.

“Reports of his demise are dramatically premature,” announcer said.

Kevin Youkilis! Kevin Youkilis! Shhhhh, announcers! Stop talking about Papi. Kevin Youkilis is playing.

“He is probably the last true DH in the American League,” announcer says.

Because they are still talking about Papi. Despite Youkie having a FULL COUNT.

It’s okay, Youkie-poo. I am just watching you, baby.

Base hit!

Yeah, now you pay attention.

I love you and your goatee.

Pitcher switch.

But Youkie’s on a base!

We’re saved! Um.

I had forgotten the Pirates gave us Tim Wakefield. That must be their purpose, the Pirates. To give us Wakefield. What a great meaning to your existence, Pittsburgh. It all makes sense now.

If I won $500 mill, I would get my friend Jeb to help me invest whatever I had leftover after my boat and my beach house. And my minstrel. I would have a minstrel. I’d give some to charity. And I would let really nice people borrow my minstrel. Can boats get the MLB network?

Crawford strikes about fifty thousand years after the ball goes in the glove. That was a terrible swing, Carl. Terrible.

A new race of dinosaurs lived and died during that swing.

As FDA will tell you all, Carl Crawford HATES getting hits when people are on base. But, because he loves me and appreciates Youkilis’ efforts, he took a walk just now. Thanks, Carl. And Youkilis. For your inspiration.


“He is in one of those zones right now,” announcer says. About SCUT. I am still shocked that there is a zone for Scut.

“When you’re in this type of zone, the ball looks as big as a television,” Announcer said.

How strange.

Two outs. Because Scut’s zone struck a leak.

Reddick. Hi, Reddick and your .297.

JD Drew not even close to being ready to play, announcer said… sprained knuckle on his middle finger? Hmmm.

Middle finger, eh? I won’t comment. Nope…

Now they’re talking about Clay.

“He threw a little bit here earlier this afternoon,” announcer said. Then they show Clay wearing a weird cammo t-shirt. See that?

I hear Crawford boos. The Stanks were booing him like crazy. The blue jays booed him earlier.

He needs earplugs. NO FROSTING. Sugar kills.

I wish I lived in Boston. Then I could just go to a bar and make friends.


Jose Bautista at bat. One out. Bottom of 5. Wake knocks him in the back and shoots him to first. Fans are booing.

“But you never know where the knuckleball’s going to go,” announcer said. “He doesn’t have the command we’ve seen with that knuckleball.”

That’s because today’s game matters, see.

July 31, 1992. Gas cost 1.05. Oh, and Wake won his first game.

Gonz caught it for an out.

Tim Wakefield is the winningest active pitcher, they say.


Please win again. Some day.

Matt just sent me a link about another 200 in the news. EW. Jerk. Don’t read this.

Salty makes the out. Nice. OUT.

Johnny Damon was in your kitchen? Ickdoubleick!


Top of the 6th. Jacoby is going to hit another home run. You’ll see. They’ll all see.

A bigger idiot than Damon????? Take a picture, please, for when my newspaper takes me up on that “best of” section idea. You know. Best restaurant. Best bartender. Best idiot.

Ellsbury, never one to show off… decides to just go with a single. Okay.

Pedroia. I’m sorry the announcers are paying more attention to Jacoby than your batting.

Wow. That was a scary pitch. Almost clocked Dustin in the face.

Without a photo it’s not a story. My boss says that allllll the time.

Which is silly. Because so many stories don’t have photos. Like Shakespeare.

Jacoby is out. That’s like Shakespeare too. A tragedy. Like Hamlet. Failed, failed steal.

You could take a picture of a reflection of the idiot. That’s how they take pictures of Medusa.

FDA- I know, right? America already has tacos. Stop stealing, already.

My boss IS wrong.

Morales. Franklin Morales. Eh.

Okay. We’ve got 200. We’ve got it. Do you hear me, Franklin Morales? Don’t do this for me. Don’t do this for FDA. Do this for WAKE.

This is where we mess it up and make a 45-year-old man cry. I just feel it in my bones.

Wishes have consequences, FDA. Don’t you watch movies?

I agree. Reckless. And not cool and reckless like that time he stole home (remember that? Oh, memories). Just reckless. Let’s watch it again.

You think it’s going to get old and it just never, never does. Nope.

A drreeeeeaaaammmmmm is a wish… your heart makessssss…

Apparently my dog doesn’t like my singing. She went away again.

Adam Loewen has a weird face. Kind of like an animated shrimp.

Ew. He spat. I hate when they do that. Ew. Play, play, play. One out. Just one fricking out.

Hurry it the frick up. Bottom of the 6th, children. And 9 p.m. is sooooooo late for the overworked.

You wouldn’t know anything about being overworked, Morales. Don’t pretend.

You wouldn’t last ten seconds in my life. Whereas I could totally hit a batter just like you did. Just now. When you decided a person on first wasn’t good enough. And you wanted to put someone on first and second.


Dan Wheeler.


Come back, Morales! Come back! Is Lackey in the bull pen?


I am SO mad at you, Dan Wheeler. I refuse to speak to you. I refuse to speak about you. I am going to delete you from my brain. Which will be kind of neat, actually, when I see a ball hurling out of nowhere…

Wheeler’s 46th appearance was Monday.


No. You aren’t real, Wheeler. You’re not here. You’re not real.

J.P. Arenciblahblah. Awesome. Homerun guy.

Ohhhhhhh good. A ball. From something invisible on the mound.

Ohhhhhhhhhhhh good.

You-who-shall-not-be-named-today, if you screw this up for Wakefield, so help me, I will take away more than your name. I will start a mean rumor about you and put it on the internet. I will call you Dan Whaler and your threshold for taking insults will be low because you will be tired from sucking and your lip will quiver and you will cry. You will CRY. And then Jason Varitek and Tim Wakefield will take you down in the locker room. DOWN. And then Kevin Youkilis will come visit me in North Carolina and we shall go to Grandfather Mountain and enjoy a happy day together and have a picnic with eggsalad sandwiches (but not the kind with celery) and cold beer and lovely conversation and…



NO. Even if Tim Wakefield is in a walker, he HAS to be on our fricking roster. HAS TO BE. I think Tito is Timlining us.

Wheelerrrrrrrrrrrrr. Two outs. You just need one more. Because, see, it’s one, two three strikes, you’re out at the old ball game… I have an mp3 of that if you want to borrow that, Wheeler.


Why is there someone in your kitchen?

Crawford caught the ball. And I just caught my breath.

Okay. Okay.

The game. Not you, Wheeler. You and I are NOT okay.


Jesse Litsch is pitching. He kind of looks like a cooler, Canadian Bobby Jenks.

I do not miss Bobby Jenks.


Do the extra z’s help?

Yikes. I think I’m putting you to sleep.


Or just stare at it. Sure. Swing with your mind. Okay. Just get to first. You might have to run.

You could imagine you are eating frosting. Like the lost boys did in “Hook” with Robin Williams.

See? You don’t even need a kitchen. This is for you, FDA.

You are welcome. That’s from Kev and I.



Papi on first. And we’ve got man on second. Annnnndddd presenting… everyone’s favorite… Kevin YOUKILIS!!!!! The crowd goes wild!

Wait.. are they booing? Are you booing MY man? Don’t make me fly to Canada. Um. In my mind.

I will haunt your dreams, Canadians, if you mess with MY husband.

An out at third. But no Youkilis. Because he’s wily. One out. top of 7th.

Robin could be acting. Maybe he is not a Yankees fan. He’s a good actor, after all. Unless you watch Patch Adams (don’t).

Crawford! Hit something. Um. Not that. Pop out.

Two down. Still 8 to fricking 5.

It’s a shame Canada is annoying us. I love Canada as a country. I wish their baseball team annoyed me less.

I’d probably have a harder time glaring if they were French Canadian. You know how I feel about the Frenchies. Erik Bedard! I really think I’m going to love him.

We will talk to each other in French and we will be the only two who understand. But then Youkilis will get jealous and compensate by taking me on more picnics.

Look at how there is NO ONE out there in the stands. Sad.

Scut strikes out. Because stranding people is fun!

We do it on purpose, FDA. It’s because, clearly, we’re trying to get a record for the most fan aneurysms in an hour.

I’m kind of worried about the strange idiot in your kitchen. Because I can’t rescue you. I am in North Carolina.


Living in Boston, do you ever see Kevin Youkilis at the grocery store? Because you can give him my e-mail address if you want. Tito too. Because I’d like to talk to him about his pitcher choices.

How scary- I think I’d feel better with LACKEY on the mound. Irrational, I know. But I am not a rational fan. Please don’t do this, Wheeler. Please. What part of PLEASEDIDYOUNOTGET? Safe?

I’d like to see a replay of that “double,” please.


“It’s not Daniel Bard time unless it’s September.”

Well, announcer…

Wakefield probably has no fingernails left.

And Tito probably has no sunflower seeds left.

Okay. Let’s wash the slate, k, Danny Boy? Let’s just take a breath and forget your horrible, horrible, horrible, miserable, no good, icky, ridiculous failure, okay? Let’s just focus on this moment. THIS moment. Tim Wakefield’s moment.

Okay. Gonz saved your ass, Wheeler. Okay.

One out.

Two left.

A lot can happen in two outs, damnit.

D-Dub- you focus. You focus HARD. No. I don’t want to see you even LOOKING at the Canadians. FOCUS.

Why don’t they listen to us, FDA? You’d think they would have a social media guy. You know, in their marketing department. Like big companies. They have these people whose job it is to search blogs and search twitter. They’d see this blog. They’d see your comment. They’d see my utter disdain. And we would have Bard. And everything would be alright again. And then Kevin Youkilis and I could have our picnic.

TWO outs. 9:46 p.m. TWO outs. You just need one more. Don’t make me sing the song again.

You should shave, Wheeler. It might help with aeronautics or something. And hits it to left. And a base hit. And it’s now 8 to 6. EIGHT TO SIX. Tim Wakefield, I hope you are in the shower or something because your 45-year-old heart may not be able to handle this.

Dan Wheeler is out of the game. They DO listen!

“To-morrow, when I wake, or think I do, what shall I say of to-day?”
- Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot

They go to the Cheesecake Factory? That is where I will live when I move to Boston some day. If only in my imagination. Youkilis looks like he likes cheesecake.

Daniel Bard. Hi.

Why can’t I run into Kevin Youkilis in North Carolina?! We have… um… barbecue. And. Um. Jam. And he needs those things! Everyone does (says the vegetarian). I need more beer.


And now we’re batting again in this insane, Beckettesque game. Samuel. Not Josh. Josh is broken.

Reddick is out.

“We are all born mad. Some remain so.”
- Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot

Salty is out too.

Two outs, for those who have difficulty with the counting.

Close up on weird collared shirt guy in the audience. Is he important? Because we’re still watching him, and Jacoby is hitting.

And they dive for it. Crap.


And Jacoby is on second.

Where he will likely be stranded like the Minnow.

Jacoby, You would be the professor. Papi, YOU are the Skipper. Curt Young, YOU are Gilligan. And John Lackey, YOU are Ginger. Go.

Hi, Dustin Pedroia.

If I move to Boston, we shall go and eat cheesecake and we shall NOT leave until we see Gabe Kapler.

Pedroia!!!!! Don’t make me shift you to the Gilligan spot.

“But be a little more attentive, for pity’s sake, otherwise we’ll never get anywhere.”

Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot


Base hit. Headed for third. Frick. Frick. Frick.

Daniel Bard clearly caught a case of the Wheelies.

The Wake curse strikes again.

Um. FDA. Dear. Could you be more specific about WHO SHOULD SCORE THOSE TWO RUNS????


“One daren’t even laugh any more.”

Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot

DANIEL BARD. IF that is your REAL name.

Maybe the reason the pitchers screw Wake over is jealousy. They are JEALOUS of the number 200.

If I can’t have it no one can, Bard says, laughing cruelly into his powerade.

Frosting WON’T help.

The bases are LOADED. You can’t leave now.

ZERO OUTS? Put Morales back in.

Frick. Walked him.


I hope this guy chokes on his chewing gum.

Crazy… crazy for feelin’ sooooooo blueeeeeeeeee

I am crazy for loving you, Red Sox.

CRAZY. I will die at thirty from an aneurysm. At this rate, I may not make it to 28. That rhymes. Huzzah.

[struggles to remove his boot and fails] Nothing to be done.

I’m beginning to come round to that opinion. All my life I’ve tried to put it from me, saying Vladimir, be reasonable, you haven’t yet tried everything. And I resumed the struggle.
[to Estragon]

~Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot

What???? Strike… strike three? AN out? AN out? ONE out? Okay. Okay.

New dilemma. OUT OF BEER.

I am glad it is the 8th. That means we can… we can…


CybelleKate- hang in there. We’re in this together. We’re in this- OHMYFRICKINGGODDOTHISFASTERDANIELBARDORWEWILLALLDIE.

26 pitchesssssss. “Wilder than we have seen,” announcer said.

Full count.

Well, there went another fingernail. Nothing left but the fingers.

Sit DOWN, Canada. Sit DOWN.







“…the light gleams an instant, then it’s night once more.”

~Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot

And Salty crowd surfs and does not catch it. And Bard does this depressing lip licking thing. Because he knows America is angry.

AMERICA. Not just me. Not just Wake. AMERICA.

They are booing you. CANADA is booing you. And back home, America is booing you.


Not. That. 8-8 game.

And Terry Francona is starting to skip to the mound.


Sit. Down.

This is Tim Wakefield’s fault, you know. If he wasn’t at 200, this wouldn’t be happening. THIS. WOULD. NOT. BE. HAPPENING.

Someone do something. Anything. FDA, you’re closest. GO. RUN. THERE’S STILL TIME.

My puppy has now relocated to my closet. Am I that loud? I ask the internet, who does not hear me.


Tim Wakefield is now no longer the pitcher of record.


No. Don’t leave me, FDA! Don’t leave me… No.

I don’t think I can do this again. Really. I’m sorry, Tim. I love you. I do. But…

Oh, Tim. I bet he’s having some colorful words with the baseball dirt right now.

Bases are STILL loaded. It’s 3-1. Albers sucks.

And Tim Wakefield doesn’t get a win.

And Albers sucks.

And FDA is running away. And CybelleKate and I are like shadows because of the pain.

And the hit. The hit.


And now it is 11-8. And we are undone. We are undone. And Samuel Beckett is laughing at the eery, eery, eery comparisons that just keep spitting off those bats.

DAMN YOU, 200.

Here. Distract yourself for thirty seconds.

And this inning just keeeeeeppppppppsssss trucking. Man on second AND a batter. AND a clueless Matt Albers. And two outs. And a full count. Which means we’ll get a walk. And load up the bases again. And spin the circle of failure.

Strike out? Strike out?

I can’t cheer. I can’t do anything, really, but type and watch Beckett clips on Youtube. Real ones. Depressingly absurd ones. Muppetless ones.

I am so sad.


Frank Francisco. Please suck. Please.

Not that it matters. Because 200 is dead. And we are all watching Beckett.

It is the top of the 9th, see. Zero outs. And 11 to fricking 8, Canada. And A-Gonz is at bat. I can’t watch.

A homer? A homerun? 11-9? A homer?


It’s not going to work guys. I won’t do this hope thing. It hurts.

Frick. And now Papi’s at bat. Which is one of those shining things you love to see.

Crap. There it is. That evil, cruel hope virus.



Base hit for Ortiz?

Base hit?

Base… hit?

Okay. Okay.

Hope… it’s trickling. Cruel, cruel hope.

Youkie? Youkie? Breaking ball.

Youkie. To third. He is out. He is out… It’s okay, baby. You get this inning’s free pass. I only had one…

ONE out.

Two outs to score TWO points.

TWO. It is 11-9.

Strike for Crawford.

Okay, Carl. Okay. It’s really cute, this oblivious attitude you’ve been sweeping the field with lately. We all think it’s cute. But today’s the day to strip it off like snake skin and earn that B.

Or strike out. Okay.

Do that.



It is 11-9. It is 10:36. It is one out away from a COMPLETE wash.

Scut. It is up to you. We need TWO runs.

It is up to you.

Just SCOOOOOOOOT your way to first. Base hit. Base hit? base hit!

Papi scores.




You cruel mistress.

Okay. Scut is at second. He is at second. And Papi scored. And we need ONE more. ONE more. Okay. Scut is now at first. WHATEVER.

And Josh Reddick is at the plate.

It is two strikes in. One strike left, Josh. Please don’t make me yell at my computer screen. B



Scut tried to…


Out at second?


Scut… why…






I do… not…

And I…


I am sad.

I cannot…

I cannot talk about this right now. I need… Um. Something.

Why would you give me…


…. why?

I am so sorry Tim.

I am…

I am soooooo sorry.

I just…

I don’t think it’s going to happen for us, darling.

This curse. We can’t…

We just…

Is this my fault for believing in 200?

This is EVERYONE’s fault. I need sleep. But not before a tear drenched pillow dance with Annie Lennox.


At least we’re in it together.

This is YOUR fault, Jeb. YOU and your PIRATES. You just haaaaaaaddddddd to create Tim Wakefield, didn’t you? And he just haaaaaaaddddd to have 200 wins, didn’t he? And we just haaaadddddddd to fall in love with him because he’s so great and personable and lovely and sweet and….


Let’s make our own sport, CybelleKate. And we will play in neat purple uniforms with tassels (I love tassels) and Dan Wheeler YOU ARE NOT INVITED.

I can’t sleep now. But I can pace. Yes. I will pace. The dog will love that.

This might have been the worst game in an ever.

I am going to create an interpretive dance to express the way I feel. I will call it HATE.

Now I have moved on to Fiona Apple. And Superchick. This is healthy. Is this what that guy meant when he said I was overdramatic?

Here’s an article about our failure.

Oh good. Another one. And another one. And:

The standings and the injury list force the Boston Red Sox and their fans to confront a somewhat unanticipated prospect in a year that began with unmatched expectations.

Would second place be so bad?

Damn it.

CK- Yes. And Gold. I like gold. I am glad I do not have NESN. A pathetic montage of Wake losing over and over again might push me from Fiona Apple to Tori Amos. And then there’d be no stopping me and my angst.

Ooops… now it’s in my head.

I hope he’s listening to something. Anything. And not the sound of Tim Wakefield’s tears. Hitting the cold, cold lonely Canadian concrete as he cries into a gutter. With leaves. And rain muck. And cigarette butts. Alone, with the memory of that game that got away.

Oh! Oh! Oh! Another literary reference. Wait for it… Tim Wakefield is…

Wow. That video is weird. I don’t understand.

Here we go.

Um. Weird music.

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 today… anyone else experiencing this? Checkerboards? No? Just me.

Jacoby chops to first. First out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

Steeeerike. First K of the night.

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

Throws it in the dirt again.

Um. Let’s not do that.

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

A-Gonz shoves in the out.


7:35. I am so tired, guys.

Bottom of the second.

Not. A. Good. Sign for my awakeness…

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fly to center… catch. Out.

Whatever, let’s see you, Jacoby.

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

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

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


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

Any minute now.

Pop out. Jacoby’s all over it.

Any minute now.

He just smirked. Was that a badass smirk?

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

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

Two outs.

Ground ball. Easy out.

And then Scutaro kicks it.

Scutaro kicks it?

Scutaro kicks it.


Bunt. Out at first.

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


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

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

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

Pedroia tagged out. Pedroia!

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

Caught stealing. Bah.

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

Shut up, Heidi! Youkilis is batting.

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


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


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

Home run.


Okay, Timmy.

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

Hopefully this won’t take 200 tries.

Zeeeeerooooo outs.


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.


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.


One out.




Marco Scutaro.


Strike 2.


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.


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.




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.


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.


Nothing changes.

This game will clearly last forever.

Youkie. Fix it.

Ball four. Leadoff WALK.


Tony Sipp. Whatever.

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

Zero outs, Aviles on first.

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

Pop out. Papi.

Carl. Can I call you Carl?

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

Out on strikes.

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

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

Right. Back to the actual game.

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


Salty. Yes. Salty.

Strike three.



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

You’re welcome.


The 9th. An out.


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.



One out left.


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

Jacoby, if you CARE about me at all…

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



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



“Just want to try to drive the ball.”

You did, Jacoby. You did.

I love Paps’ victory face. I love it.

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

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

August 3, 2011 3 comments


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


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.




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