Oh. My. God. John Lackey.
This could hurt.
The first inning.
So I’m multi-tasking and semi liveblogging. At a bar. With friends. Doing work. All at the same time. So I don’t know how successful or clever this will be.
Of course John Lackey fricking walks them. WHY? Because he is FREAKING JOHN LACKEY.
And what the frick was that, John Lackey? Ohmygod. Did you see that? 2-0. STANKEES. OF FRICKING COURSE. And, apparently we’re having trouble throwing today. But I digress.
I’m yelling a lot.
It’s margarita day at the Portofino. Sitting here with Chris, Christian… waiting on Mark, Nicole and Ashley.
I need all the moral support I can get. This is painful. I think my yelling scared Chris away.
So, I’ve thought about this, and I have a new target of blame. LaBron James. And I’m not the only one who thinks this.
Dustin Pedroia, thank god for you. Home run. 2-1, Stanks.
And Yoooouuuuk has a chance to shine. Ah, I’ve missed this. The Youk dance at Fenway. Look at you, Girardi, in your douchey sunglasses. Blah. Hi, Youk.
And he’s walked. Yes. Living up to his God of Walks title in true form. LOVE IT. 2 outs, so let’s get serious.
And Papi flies out. It’s okay. We’re on the board. And I’ve got a second margarita.
Jorge Posada, you still have absolutely no neck.
Loving this crowd in the background. Wishing I was part of it. The crowd assembled at the Portofino is decidedly more sparse.
Son of a- did you see that? Off the wall and we still can’t catch it. And Curtis Granderson, we meet again… At least at a Stanks match up I’m more fluent in my opponent. Except for you Russell Martin. Who are you? Out. That’s who.
Crap. 3-1, Stanks. 2:38.
Salty… hit something?
Okay. Man on first and second with… Jacoby at the plate… 2:46 p.m.
3-2 Stankees. Much love from NC.
Annnddd…. 2 outs. We have ourselves a game, Soxies.
And another margarita!
I love this team. The Stankees drop it again (twice) and, thanks to Pedroia and Fenway magic it’s 4-3 BOSTON.
YESSSSSSSS. And it’s 5-3. Pedroia, you are my favorite. SAFE.
Yeah, this live blogging thing isn’t working out for me today. So many things are frustrating. So many things are great. And I’m distracted by the moment. And work. And Ashley. And margaritas. 6-4, RED SOX. Loving it. 3:05 p.m. No neck’s at bat. Lackey is still stinking up Fenway, but our offense is trying its best to compensate. And NONECK IS OUT. Margaritas.
And the stanks have a new pitcher. Colon? Is that your real name? Bottom of the third.
J.D. Drew. Is out. Hmmm.
Yeah. Okay. I guess that was a strike. Whatever.
They’re replaying it a lot.
And Salty’s back. Looking to spice up (get it?) the playing field. Oh, I’m clever. Hmmm. Strike out. Okay.
Kind of looked like a solid ball to me. Outside left. But What-Ever.
I think this Colon guy looks like one of the robbers from the Cooookie Crisp commercials.
I shall call him Cookie Crisp.
Hi, Jacoby. 3:13. Annnddddd… easy pop out. That’s okay. Because it’s still 6-4. JOHN LACKEY, DON’T SCREW IT UP.
A promo for Tampa and Boston Tuesday. Looking forward to that one. How about you, Manny?
Okay, Crawdad. That catch was kind of amazing. Did you see that?
Oh, Russell Martin. It’s you again. Hi. It’s the top of the fourth, by the way. Did I say that, already?
Ew. Old guy in a Yankees hat. Irritably close to me. Annnddd he’s coughing. Gross.
Yes. 2 outs. Hey, baby.
Anddddd,.. it’s John Lackey throwing rocks. Fourth inning, Francona, you can grab him at any time.
But… hmmm… two outs and no one on base. That’s something.
Crap. A triple.
Like I said, Francona, you can grab him at any time.
Wow. He aimed that one at Jeter’s face. I’d like to hit him in the face with a rock as much as anybody, Lackey, but there’s a time and a place, you know?
So… um… Tito… you can pull Lackey at any time. ANY time.
Like, how about now? What exactly were you aiming for, Lackey? DEREK JETER IS LAUGHING AT YOU.
Mark Teixeira, ladies and gentlemen. The guy with too much in the nose and teeth department. Come on, Lackey.
YES. That’s right, Texeira. Sit the frick down. 3:26. Is anyone else getting stressed out?
Andddd… bottom of the fourth. Cookie Crisp is back. Scut’s at the plate. 6-5 kind of pressure. And… it’s caught. No one is surprised. But it’s okay. It’s all okay, because the Crawdad, the 127 (is it 127?) million dollar man is at the plate. Cookie Crisp has this eery blank stare. Kind of like a chubbier Vin Diesel… but I digress… Crawford… pops out. Hmmm. 3:32. It’s okay because skippy… er… Pedroia is at bat.
C’mon Destroia… Do you think the black lipstick below his eyes really keeps the sun out? Crap. That inning sucked. 1, 2, 3. A-roid due up.
Oh, Look… John Lackey is still at the mound. Well… what harm can he do?
And… A-roid gets a homer.
6-6. Can we address this mound situation, PLEASE? Top of the 5th, 3:36 and Lackey is STILL pitching.
Awesome. He’s laughing. See that. Ahahaha, says A-roid in the dugout. Ahahaha.
2 outs. That’s something.
So… um… Lackey… And it’s the no-neck-monster. Hi, Posada. So we meet again. STOP SHOWING A-ROID DUGOUT CLOSEUPS.
3:39. And Tito is just sitting there. Let’s think mound contingencies, people. Tito, you have a cell phone. You could be checking this blog.
And… it’s caught. Inning over. Thanks be to Fisk. It is freezing in here.
Bottom of the 5th. 6-6. Stressful. Youk on first. Ortiz at bat. Cookie Crisp (sounds too much like Coco, doesn’t it?) on the mound. Youkilis looking hot as ever on first.
Right. Ortiz at bat. Run, baby, run! Yesssss. Youk hits third. Ortiz on first. 3:47.
And Jeb is here.
“To watch the Red Sox go 0 and 7.”
Jeb is a jerk.
It’s the bottom of the 7th. Margaritas.
Yes! A bunt and ultimate failure on the part of the Yank’s catching department.
Breaking news. MANNY RAMIREZ? Elected to retire rather than continue with the process? Drugs? What? But Manny, what about Tampa? Hah.
Is it wrong to think that’s laugh-out-loud fun?
The table is talking about Manny Ramirez. Not the game.
“Is he Dominican?”
“I think so.”
Crazy distracted with work issues. The trials and tribulations of being an “investigative journalist.”
But it’s 9-6. And I am most pleased. Most. 5:03.
9th inning. Love. It.
Papelbon. I love the Paps face. That deep breath. Love it.
It would be lovely if a Teixiera strike out gave us this game.