The Yankees do NOT need your charity, Tito.

As our shit-tastic journey back to mediocrity continues, the gap widens between us and New York…

Seriously, Tito. The Stankees do NOT need our charity.

2.5 games behind! 2.5!

But even with the Yankees treading the better of those paths, their window for opening a four, five-game lead is temporal. So it would behoove the Bombers to keep their foot on the pedal while Boston continues to falter on the road.

Yeah? Well do you know what would BEHOOVE me, Boston? Stop your damn faltering.

For once it wasn’t (totally) Lackey’s fault.

“He was great,” Dustin Pedroia [stats] said. “They have a great lineup. He threw the ball well, got deep into the game, and still had the pitch count down. He did great. It stinks that we couldn’t get it together for him.”

A Lackey who, despite rumors to the controversy, is NOT joining Dice in the Tommy John club.

Manager Terry Francona laughed off the notion — “Go get ’em, Lack, because you have six starts left and then you’ll have Tommy John,’ ” he said — and added the Sox wouldn’t continue to use him if he was injured.

That’s true. It’s Lackey, people. If he had a splinter, Theo (I do believe) would force a bench. If he had a paper cut, Theo (I do believe) would force a bench. I think, I really, really think, that with that high of an ERA, the DL would be treasured.

I’m doing my web rounds and DAMN IT I am tired of hearing about the Stankees.

So Youkilis, light of my heart, is NOT in the lineup today. But Tek is. So that’s the bee’s knees.

Now if Jon Lester can just show people why he’s our ace…

I don’t know. My thoughts are jumbled today and my eyes are rolling.

I just don’t want to get swept by a team that shares its name with a sandwich.

And, thanks to a bachelorette party, I don’t even get to watch the game…

So, um, could you cheer twice for me? Thanks.

GET PERSPECTIVE, Tito.

~L

PS- Check out this article– Cameron’s future… up in the air…

And this clip. It is great.

Today’s disorganization is brought to you by a busy as frick work day…

How do you lose to a sandwich? WELL, I’LL TELL YOU.

Well, guys… We’ll always have New York…

————————————-

————————————-

Really?

Okay. So. I didn’t watch the game. Wasn’t working. Wasn’t saving puppies from fires. Was intentionally. Not. Watching. Yeah. That’s right. I didn’t watch a game. What? I have friends. I DO.

I had a social function. With people. And when I said, “um, I will be late. I kind of want to watch the game,” Chris said, “If you miss a party for a baseball game in JUNE, I will make fun of you.”

And then I saw this game yesterday. Where. We. Um. Mega lost. And I said… John Lackey… I do not feel like watching you. And so I didn’t.

That’s right, Lackey. You aren’t the boss of me. AND, APPARENTLY, YOU ARE NOT THE BOSS OF THE MOUND.

I see the “sputtered offense is stymied again.” Good use of alliteration, redsox.com. If I weren’t SO ANNOYED at this game, I would be impressed with your 10th grade retention.

It’s not the two runs that you gave up, Lackey. It happens. Really. It does. It’s the EIGHT hits.

EIGHT.

And the Braves won. So. Um. The like… TWO baseball fans I know. They’ll be thrilled. Thanks, guys. Thanks.

“He had great mound presence, and we were all very impressed,” Pedroia said. “It’s really good for a kid that young to have a presence like that on the mound. He’s going to be a good one.”

STOP COMPLIMENTING THE SANDWICHES, PEDROIA. I cannot handle your tact. I have been drinking.

“Did that guy just come up or something? Man, because he looked pretty good to me,” Ortiz said of Worley. “He had decent stuff, and it really looks like he’s been around for a long time.

SHUT UP.

And David Ortiz, maybe… instead of complimenting a sandwich hurler, you could be… oh… I don’t know… FIGURING OUT HOW TO HIT THE DAMN BALL.

Useless. You are all USELESS.

Except for you, Youkilis. You are in my heart. BUT NOT BECAUSE OF THIS DAMN GAME.

When are we going to turn it around, hmm, Bruce? See, it was almost better in April when we were consistent bags of fail. You know. Because we didn’t know any better. The bar was already at fail. Now, we’ve experienced Stankee sweeps and regular stompings. Fail. Fail. Fail.

It’s these damn shithawks. I’m telling you.

You have ONE MORE CHANCE, Red Sox. ONE DAY MORE.

You should watch this. It will educate you. Musically. Imagine I’m Eponine. I always do when I watch that clip.

~L

PS- I’m kind of glad I have no Red Sox tickets. And don’t live in Boston. That’s not true. I’d like to at least see the failure in person.

So THAT’s what Tiger’s blood is…

I interrupt sandwich series bemoaning to bring you an important news bulletin. This just in- the latest athlete (and I use that term liberally) to admit to the steroid smack dance is…

Charlie Sheen!

TMZ says everyone’s most exhausted soundbite juiced up for “Major League.”

Sheen added, “You can print this, I don’t give a f–k. My fastball went from 79 [mph] to like 85.”

I would also like to point out that Sheen is…

A YANKEES FAN.

~L

Puppy. A “P” word we can tolerate.

Look at the puppy.

Okay. Did you get a long, hard look?

Look again.

One more time.

Okay. Now that we’re all calm… all zen (FDA, you need to look at the puppy again. Ready? Okay. Keep reading.)… let’s talk about last night.

Let’s talk about it very calmly. Very rationally. We’re not here to cast blame (TERRY FRANCONA! JOSH BECKETT! TERRY FRANCONCA! GAHK. Sorry. I’m looking at the puppy. Looking. At. The. Puppy.)

We’re to analyze this. Breathe. And move forward.

So we lost to the sandwiches? Big fricking deal. So we’ve lost the bulk of our last bazillion. Whatever. So we lost to the Pirates. Big whoop.

So we lost to the … to the… to THE FRICKING PADRES?

ARE YOU FRICKING KIDDING ME?????? WHAT THE HELL, TERRY FRANCONA? WHAT THE FRICKING HELL ARE YOU DOING NOT UTILIZING THE FRICKING DH? FIND SOMETHING FOR HIM TO DO, DAMNIT. YOU ARE TITO. FIX THIS. I CAN’T FIX IT FOR YOU. What the frick, Tito? You’re doing that Timlin thing. And you have to stop. BECAUSE YOU ARE MESSING WITH MY ZEN.

AND YOU, BUD SELIG!!!!!! INTERLEAGUE PLAY WILL NOT WORK AS LONG AS THERE IS THIS FRICKING DH DIVIDE. You know what Bud Selig? Maybe we SHOULD reorganize. MAYBE WE SHOULD. Of course, you don’t like to ROCK THE BOAT, do you, Bud Selig????? DO YOU??? Ahem. Steroids. Ahem. Steroids. I WILL REORGANIZE YOUR FACE.

AND YOU, JOSH BECKETT!!!! IF THAT IS YOUR REAL NAME. Because after yesterday????? I don’t know. I DO. NOT. KNOW. I want you to find where you and Dice stashed that time machine and I want you to get the frick in it and find yourself when you KNEW HOW TO SHUT OUT GAMES. It does not take a ROCKET SCIENTIST (pun FRICKING intended) to know that you were OFF YOUR FRICKING GAME. That was not the stomach flu. And if it was, CLEARLY you are not better. CLEARLY you should have been a wee bit more honest in our pre-game chats and people are all… OH BECKETT… RUNNING WITH THE BAT… Poor AL pitcher baby. But you and I BOTH KNOW you can be a badass with the bat. We have BOTH seen it. Oh, you’re mad about the game? You’re going to stomp off with mad-face to anger-ville? GOOD. GET MAD. You better get good and fricking mad because the All Star Break is coming and LACKEY is still in the rotation and CLAY keeps getting fricking blisters and there is something wrong with Lester and the kid hasn’t been tested and JENKS IS BACK… so we’re going to be counting on YOU to NOT SUCK. Comprende? Get your wife to translate.

AND YOU, ACEVES. I WILL NEVER FORGET HOW WE LOST TO THE FRICKING PADRES. NEVER. This is your fault for being a demotivator. You’re an anti-cheerleader. Limp like the PASTA DISH IMPLIED BY YOUR NAME, ALFREDO. And don’t think I forgot about you, JOHN LACKEY. Oh no, you Dirk-armed sloth creature. But you know what, John Lackey? This isn’t your fault. NONE OF THIS IS YOUR FAULT. I BLAME TITO. See, Terry Francona? He watches the games I watch. He can smell your failure from the dugout and he KEEPS PUTTING YOU ON THE FRICKING MOUND. What. The. Hell??????? There comes a time when you need to eat your losses. EAT THEM. Stuff your face with them. Write passive aggressively and tearfully in your journal, Tito, have a good cry and MOVE THE FRICK ON.

Okay. Looking at the puppy. Nice puppy. Looking at the puppy.

Let’s look at the puppy again together, shall we?

There. Now. It’s all behind us. We’re abso-frickin-lutely fine.

Letter “P”? That stands for PUPPY. Not Phillies. Or Pirates. Or… or… or… padres…Padres…

We’re fine.

See this control, Josh Beckett?

Now that we’re all calm. Again. Let’s look at tonight’s game.

“We’ll come out tomorrow and try to play better tomorrow,” Pedroia said yesterday.

That’s the spirit. So. We have… John Lackey? Still? Are you fricking kidding me?????

Okay. Let’s take an… unbiased look. Highest ERA among pitchers with 50 innings… in ALL OF BASEBALL????

Okay. Looking at the puppy.

7.36. Okay. 7.36.

$7.36.

Oh my GOD, John Lackey! Your ERA is more expensive than my lunch. Oh God.

Puppy. Cute puppy.

In fact, if his season ended right now, Lackey would have the second highest ERA in franchise history for a pitcher with at least 50 innings pitched.

I can’t do this. I have to work. I have to support myself so I can afford lunch at Lackey’s ERA.

Dear Tito,

WHY?

Inconsolably yours,

Lauren

———————————————————————–

Youkie-poo,

Okay, baby. Clearly Tito is broken. Clearly it is up to us now. You and me. We can only count on each other, baby. But I’ve got to be honest with you, Youk. I’m starting to think you don’t read this. Do you have any idea how many people call my faith in you “blind”? Two. Two whole people.

See, I love you. You know I do. But I’m starting to think you don’t love me. Because if you did love me, Youkie. If you did, really and truly love me, you’d take on some sort of leadership. You’d fix this! Tek? He’s transitioning. Okay? He’s not there every game. But you! You wield that bat almost every time.

It’s up to us, Youk. You and me. But I can’t do it alone. Cheerleaders, you see, can do nothing unless the players take the initiative. With a questionable rotation and bullpen, the nation needs you to rally on offense. Get Skippy to help. Go. Go. I know you hate good byes. So I’ll leave you with a beach photo from Ocean Isle, NC, currently serving as my computer background.

All my love,

Lauren

The great sandwich smacking of 2011.

That was horrible. We were just sandwich smacked. WE BARELY GOT OUT ALIVE.

It was an exploding, rotten sandwich, with icky mayonnaise sauce, coming out from everywhere like lava. This game was a mayonnaise sandwich of ultimate catastrophe.

My feelings can best be expressed through the following clip from the classic 1976 movie “Network,” starring Faye Dunnaway, William Holden and Peter Finch.

And YES. You have to watch the WHOLE THING.

If you want to see the play-by-play torture, scroll down for drunken ramblings. In the meantime, DO WHAT THE VIDEO CLIP SAYS.

LET’S GET MAD, PEOPLE! I am a human being! My life has value!

Get up out of your chairs. Get to the window. Open it. Stick your head out and yell, “I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take this anymore!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

I CAN’T HEAR YOU! And if I can’t hear you, HOW IS TITO GOING TO HEAR YOU????

PS- Tomorrow we start a new campaign. PUT LACKEY ON THE DL. Because I can’t take this tomorrow too.

Conclusions I have drawn from this game? The Red Sox are afraid of the letter “P.”

PS- You KNOW you are in trouble when Beckett is on the “what went wrong” list and BOBBY JENKS is on the “what went right” list. God help us all.

—————-

—————-

New bar. Get here 6th inning.

Yeah. I saw that.

All of that.

Why Josh? Why?

Adding to my frustration, sandwich game is on a television that is smaller than my computer. It takes me 20 minutes (and I COUNT) to get one of the 12+ big people televisions on the game. They are watching the Florida-South Carolina game. ON EVERY TELEVISION. Really? REALLY????

So, by the time I get my computer out to fake work and really blog- it’s the bottom of the 7th. I cannot talk about the evils that I saw in the 6th. No. I cannot.

And now this Morales guy is stressing me the frick out.

So, new bar. Closer to where I live. Farther from Boone. I think I’m in… *gasp* local territory.

Clearly, I am the only one in here with a job.

Does that sound judgmental? I do try not to be judgmental.

Okay, Morales. We’re cool. 9:05 p.m.

—

Okay. This big people tv is pissing me off too. It has all these little sparkly flaws in the screen. Is that what not-HD is like? I am going to do the bar dance. I see it. All. Around. The. Bar. The strange bar. Where I know no one. And I really think that guy’s drink is really a tobacco spittoon. Ew. Ew-ew-ew.

Make. It. Stop.

My bartender has to be seventeen. Has to be. Seriously.

—

Wow. Just got a phone call from a really sweet guy I haven’t talked to in like a year. Because he moved. It was clearly a pocket dial. But how sweet to pretend he was calling to check up on me.

—

NO. I DO NOT WANT A PBR. I AM DRINKING A SAM ADAMS! SEE? IF I NEEDED ANOTHER DRINK, I WOULD NOT BE PORING OVER MY COMPUTER DOING FAKE WORK AND WATCHING A GAME.

This. This is called AVOIDING EYE CONTACT WITH YOU.

—

I think this was a bar fail. Hi, McDonald. 9:11. That strike hurt my soul.

—

AND another thing. There are subtitles. Which is smarmy keen, really. Except that I can’t see any stats. Or anything, really.

—

Hmmm. Maybe that wasn’t a pocket dial.

But probably.

I am conflicted.

—

You know. My mother (the mother that wants me to marry Reddick and not my soulmate Kevin Youkilis) says I should never go to bars alone. Of course not, I say.

—

Jason Varitek. He looks good today.

Oh, and a close up of Kevin Youkilis. Not while Tek is batting, kids, you’ll distract me! The way the stadium just glistens off his bald head.

But I digress. The captain is batting.

I wish there was sound on this television.

Why aren’t we scoring, Tek? Really. I’ve read allllll day about how kickass awesome the sandwich pitching is.

JERKS. HOW DARE YOU GET TEK OUT AT FIRST?

But also about how kickass awesome the Sox offense is. Seriously. WHERE IS THAT?

Padres. Pirates. Phillies.

OHMYGOD. We have something against the letter “P.” I will drink another beer and analyze this revelation privately. Perhaps on a napkin. 9:16. One out. Top of the 8th. Rallyin’ time. Right? Right?

—

STOP TALKING ABOUT JAMES SHIELDS!!!! THIS IS A BOSTON GAME.

—-

The subtitle gods can’t spell.

Why are you even playing? You’re like an insta-out!!!!!!! CAMERON! Add a del- before your name and call you loser.

You heard me.

—

Not even my Boston beer can save us now.

—-

9:19. Scut. Fricktastic. 2 outs.

—

DAMN YOU, SCUT. 9:20.

—

Okay. When a girl is yelling at a television screen and throwing coasters, DO NOT APPROACH HER. Tell your friends.

—-

I am using the commercial break to analyze this guy’s jellyfish tattoo. I asked him if I could take a picture of it so you could analyze it too (I didn’t tell him I would put it on the internet) and he was like “no.” He doesn’t seem to want to talk to me. He’d rather spit into a cup.

I am delightful, I say. Not only should you want to talk to me, you should be astounded and honored that I want to take a picture of your tattoo.

He opens his mouth to speak.

SHHH. The game is back on.

Some people.

—

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Bobby Fricking Jenks.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Well, now that I’ve alienated everyone around me…

—

Okay. Out 1. You didn’t do that Jenks. That was god. Don’t get cocky.

Why????? Is John Lackey really going to pitch tomorrow? Really-really? Are you sure he’s not going to get on the DL? Maybe he’s already there and I just don’t know it. You’d tell me, right? You’d tell me?

Bobby Jenks. Okay. It’s going to be fine. He’s better, right? He’s not going to royally, royally, royally screw up. Please don’t Posada us, Jenks. Please? Gonzalez looks pissed. Did you see that? He glared at the camera.

Cameron- is that a tattoo on your neck? Remind me to google that later.

Is it just me or did Jenks trim his stupid goattee a bit? How do you spell goatee? Oh.

—

Yeah. Strike three. Sit the frick down.

Yeah, I don’t know if that was a strike either. But I’m sure you deserved that call. You know, for being a bad person or something.

—-

9:27. Chase Utley. You look painfully normal. Bobby Jenks. Sigh.

WHAT WAS THAT, JENKS? Did the baseball dirt LOOK like a catcher’s mitt?

Excuse me, random guy at bar? WHAT THE HELL DOES IT LOOK LIKE I’M WATCHING?

Okay. I’m wearing a Fenway t-shirt and a sour disposition. WHO DO YOU THINK I’M ROOTING ON? Look. I can’t be expected to answer your stupid questions.

Did you see that? That was my husband. MY HUSBAND. Thanks, Youk. Bobby Jenks, you should kiss his shoes.

—–

We have really Posada-ed ourselves, haven’t we?

—-

2 outs. One on first. There is no sound. I am so confused about these mystery calls.

I feel like Youkie and I are playing our own private game of baseball charades.

The guy behind me has really big teeth. I’m just saying.

Hi, Jason Varitek.

I don’t think they’re real.

The teeth. Not Jason Varitek.

I should give this guy gum or something. You know. As a test.

Anyone have any gum?

—-

9:32. “A full cout,” subtitle says. I think you mean COUNT.

Cout Dracula. Ahahahahaha.

Time for another beer.

NOW I’m ready for that PBR. Thanks.

—-

My name? Argentina. Argentina Jones. I’m a mathematician, you see. Solving mysteries through math. Like in 3-2-1 Count Down and that show called “Numbers.”

Of course I’m being serious.

Your name? Kip? Seriously?

Don’t laugh, Lauren. That’s rude.

—-

Yeah. Bar fail. It is the bottom of the 8th. STILL. TWO ON BASE (THANKS, JENKS). 9:35. TWO OUTS.

—

Hi, FDA. I’m glad you’re out there somewhere. Like in Fievel. Commenting from afar but looking at the same moon. Except it’s not a moon. It’s  Bobby fricking Jenks.

Josh Beckett makes my soul cry.

Now, I don’t know what happened. I was doing that job thing. So maybe they said something to you, Beckett. Maybe they insulted rocket scientists or something. I don’t know. But I’d like an essay, at least 5 paragraphs, on my desk TOMORROW, explaining exactly what happened and how you sure as frick won’t let it happen again.

YOU TOO, JENKS.

FDA, You really don’t think they’d make us watch Lackey pitch again tomorrow, do you? OUT. Finally. Fah-fricking-finally.

I am very sad.

—-

Gooooooooo, commercials!

—-

Shot thirty. Aka: 9:39. Guy came up to me. Said, “mind if I sit?” I said, “Oh, yes. I do.”

He sits.

And laughs.

Bar FAIL.

—

Okay. I feel so much better after that commercial break. And that shot. It’s all going to be okay. I can feel it. In my bones. Jelly fish guy can feel it too. I can tell.

Andddddd strike.

Crap.

FEEL IT IN YOUR BONES, Sutton. YOUR BONES.

—-

I had a second grade teacher named Ms. Sutton. And you know what? She was a bitch too.

—-

We’re losing to junk food, people. I hope you realize that.

One out. 0-5. Top of the fricking 9th. And I have NO idea what that was, Ellsbury. But it was CRAP.

—–

2 outs. Um. 2 outs.

—

9:43. Skippy! Pedroia! Light of my life. Solace of my soul.

Could you at least swing the bat? It’s this thing. This thing that GOOD players do. Remember when you were a good player? Days ago?

—

FRICK. Frick.

Damn you, LETTER P!!!!!!!! DAMN YOU…

DAMN YOU TO HELL!!!!

~L

You know. I never liked Cliff Lee. Or the Phillies. Their uniform has PINSTRIPES. Just saying. 9:46. Downing an extra drink for Jup.

I keep hearing this cheering. From the tv WITH sound. The stupid Florida- South Carolina game.

DAMN YOU, SOUTH CAROLINA!

DAMN YOU TO HELL!!!!!

When I get home, I have some illustrations just for a crapfest like this. Check back. Did the Brewers win? Lie to me and tell me the Brewers won?

—

I have a question. Um. What the hell is that green thing in the Phillies’ park? If you know… um… could you tell me? Because that’s terrifying.

Manny Ramirez: You can’t get your money with a syringe.

Sorry to break into your pre-Sandwich series meditation, but breaking Manny Ramirez news!

Turns out, he’s the Dodgers’ biggest unsecured creditor.

$21 million.

Unpaid from the initial $45 million.

Yet ANOTHER reason Manny should have swallowed the drama and picked up a bat in those final days in Boston.

Aren’t you sorry now?

We’re not, Manny. See, we’re needle-free in OUR dugout. Glad, glad, glad to see you go.

McCourt has to pay up by June 30. Or else.

Don’t worry, guys. The world is horrible. I’m sure he’ll get his money.

While hilarious, awkward, awful and embarrassing to the sport of baseball (all at the same time, mind you), this does accomplish something quite irritating. It brings Scott Boras’ name back into the news:

Super-agent Scott Boras, who represents Ramirez and Jones, had no immediate comment.

Somehow, I think Boras will still get paid.

Really, don’t let Manny troubles pull at your heartstrings, all you Manny sympathizers. He still gets a check, regardless of whether he gets anything out of this McCourt drama. Your favorite hormone pusher will be just fine. And we all know it’s going to be fine. The money will be paid. The headlines will irritate us for a little while and then they (like YOU Manny) will fade into obscurity.

SAD, SAD, SAD.

Is it just me or does Manny needle his way into every baseball controversy?

It breaks hearts of people who USED to call him the Man. Every time I see his name I think about how steroids cheapen the sport. Seriously. Now I’m in a cranky mood and we have sandwiches to slay. Thanks, Frank McCourt. Thanks a lot.

~L

Now back to your regularly scheduled broadcast.

A June World Series

That’s what everyone is saying.

“In the back of your mind, you kind of wonder if we’ll play them again,’’ Boston slugger David Ortiz said.

So much talk, talk, talk. Let’s see what my husband has to say:

“I don’t lose any sleep thinking about the Phillies,’’ Red Sox third baseman Kevin Youkilis said. “I haven’t really thought about it. I didn’t even know who we’re facing or anything like that. When we go out on the field and we take batting practice and prep for the game, then we’ll be ready.

“I’m not really interested in this series other than going out there and just playing baseball. I don’t look at it as foreshadowing. Both teams still have to play a lot more baseball to even get in the playoffs, let alone the World Series. If it’s October and we’re both in the playoffs and we’re both playing well, then we can talk about it. But until then it’s just a series where we have to go out and play some good baseball and hopefully take two out of three.’’

Thatta boy- keep your head in the game, love.

“We don’t need to build it up,’’ Francona said. “They’re all important. We love them all; that’s why we play. I think it’s a little dangerous pointing to series, because then you’ve got a chance to stumble somewhere else.’’

But EVERYONE else is building it up, Tito. Turn on ESPN. Google “Red Sox.” Look to your heart of hearts. We’re all thinking the same thing.

Well, except my friend Chris, who said something horrible to me last night.

“Eh, I think they’ll both miss the play-offs by a game and a half,” he said.

My friend Chris is a prick.

But there’s pressure. Lots of it. Despite what Tito says. Despite what … Youk says.

If we weren’t a team that balked exclusively to unpressure, I’d be nervous.

The real pressure’s on Beckett, who just came out of a shut out. He’ll be pitching, conveniently, against another person who just came out of a shut out: Cliff Lee.

See, I like Cliff. Why? Because he didn’t go to the Yankees. And he turned down a wad of cash. See, Johnny, some people can do that. And he has a comic book name. Really. I can see it now: The Base Loader (insert theme music here), aka: Cliff Lee…

A girl can dream.

But really, I like the Phillies. They don’t irritate me like SOME teams (ahem, Angels. ahem, Braves). So I hope it’s us versus them in October. Best versus the best.

Fun fact- last time it was shut out pitcher versus shut out pitcher? A game where Terry Francona was the lead BATTER for the Indians.

The things the internet teaches you. Like that thing about porcupines and their ability to float. Who fricking knew?

But I digress…

Speaking of Tito, he’s not “expecting a parade.” Such dramatic sandwiches they are. Whatever. Back to the ace.

This game could put Beckett at a Pedro-level era.

I think this is going to be one of those games that comes down to the bull pen. And, if we were playing a team of losers, that would terrify me. But, my we-only-suck-to-suckies theory is something I’m quite confident in… you’ll see. Because the sandwiches are arrogant. Their fans are annoying (Call me a kettle and I’ll put hot steam in your eye), but they are not sucky.

And we have a not-so-secret weapon, after all:

The Red Sox just might have the solution to Cliff Lee, and it should come as no surprise that it is Adrian Gonzalez.

Gonzalez is 7 for 10 with a home run and three RBIs in his career against Lee. That’s the highest batting average of any batter with 10 or more plate appearances against him.

Speaking of the Gonz…

HAVE YOU VOTED YET?

If you’re feeling frisky, there’s a write-in option (hello, Tek). Just make sure you vote for KEVIN YOUKILIS. And Gonz and Pedroia and everybody. AND KEVIN YOUKILIS.

Dear Red Sox,

Stop hurting yourself.

Thanks.

Love,

Lauren

—-

So, scouting through the Red Sox site today and noticed a new, fun facet! Auctions! Was looking at all of the Red Sox things I can’t afford and found a hilarious statistic. 0 percent of John Lackey merchandise is selling. This Lackluster chair hast been up for bids since June 15. Apparently, people think his negativity can be passed from derriere to derriere. Fascinating.

The Lackey DL watch continues…

—-

And, if you want a Red Sox-free read about our favourite Bud Selig‘s exaggerated relevance, my blogger pal Jup has a doozy of a rant today, one that I thoroughly enjoyed. Check it out here.

—-

PS- Hateorade? Seriously? Does NOT do a body good, sandwich fans. John Gonzalez, you’re a prick.

—-

Keep your pellet guns ready. You know. JUST IN CASE.

I’m in the mood for a sandwich.

Good news, guys! The Phillies are number one! See?

And that’s GREAT news. Great, great, great.

Because we seem to only suck against sucky teams, of course.

Seriously. Look at the facts.

Yankees. How’d that broom feel?

Brewers. Would you like a side of cheese to your whine?

Padres… um.

Pirates… um.

Padres- suck. Pirates- suck.

Therefore, mathematically, we’re going to take the sandwich series.

Why? Because they kick ass.

Don’t you wish other teams kicked ass?

Then we’d never lose again.

It’s called logic people, keep up.

I’m very smart.

~L

Universe apologizes with rookie win

Okay, universe. We begrudgingly accept your apology. BEGRUDGINGLY. But we are NOT okay.

Miller struts his rookie stuff, and you give us the win (I say give, because with that many errors, we shouldn’t be floating on air. After all, it is Jeb– aka Pirate Princess aka PP- and his little Jolly Roger gang. There was more talent in “the Sandlot”).

And sports copy editors get to use that headline they’ve been drooling over since they thought of it like a week ago: Red Sox sink pirates.They’re wetting themselves I sure.

A Papi slider.

“I went with everything I got, man,” he said. “The thing is his left leg was on the other side of the line and that’s where you go through. But things happen in the game. It was good it wasn’t anything bad, just a little touch and the contact you have with the catcher, but no collision.”

And he’s still smiling. Papi is ALWAYS smiling. And he earned those smiles.

Just prior to the final pitch that secured the walk, Ortiz had launched a 92 mph fastball from Moskos just barely to the right of the right field foul pole, and almost into the Allegheny River.

“I hit it good,” he said. “That pitch was very in so I don’t know how I kept it that fair.”

Everyone seems to be smiling, actually. Look around the blogosphere, and you’d think we swept the Phillies.

The rest of us? Not exactly viewing not being shut out by the fricking Pirates as the victory of the fricking year.

Good news?

At least Miller’s a rock star.

Crawford is coming back. Eventually. But, in the meantime, I’m really enjoying Reddick. I mean, he’s no Youk (sorry, Mom), but he’s fun to watch.

So. Good notes. Let’s focus on a crazy, sports pundit-filled week. Because with everyone and their third cousin calling this week’s sandwich-Sox series a Soxtober preview… We need to focus. Did you hear that Tito? FOCUS.

Sandwiches are not meant to win ball games. Remember that, Red Sox!

Dear Jeb,

Hah.

My feelings can best be expressed through this video clip:

Yours,

Lauren

PS. I can’t wait to get back to Fenway. ‘Cause that pirate ship is the pits.

Also, I’m starting a personal campaign for you to get your own blog. Go. Get it. Now.

Mothra and the skirt

So, something genuinely horrible happened to me today. I don’t know if I’m ready to talk about it. But I feel that I have to. For closure.

You guys are my friends, right? We can have deep conversations every once in a while, right?

These… these negative feelings… they… they can’t be good for the Red Sox. See, when bad things happen, there are these shadows, these negative feelings that hover there. I know. I saw it in the movie “The Others” with Nicole Kidman and that Irish chick from that Irish movie with Bob Hoskins.

I love Bob Hoskins.

And these feelings, they influence contemporary activities. Like the Red Sox or hotel management (The Shining) or husbandship (The Amityville Horror). You know, I always liked the Omen movies. I went to Gregory Peck’s house this one time in Derry, but he was already dead. I mean, he wasn’t dead in the house. I went there with his wife. She was a yank, ahem, American, so we had ohsomuch in common.

Anywho. I digress. The bad thing. Right. I have to deal with it. Face it head on. I give you my word. I swear on Kevin Youkilis’ beard that what I am about to tell you is the god’s honest truth.

It started when I was trying to walk my dog in my backyard about an hour ago. I have a backyard. It’s enclosed, kind of European, and I can peer into the backyards of all my townhouse neighbors. You know, the townhouse neighbors that are seasonal and don’t actually exist ever.

Anywho, it started with Elliot (the puppy). Her spidy senses got tingly and she discovered and accidentally rescued THIS butterfly-moth-monster from a spiderweb. It was in her mouth and scary and what happens when you’re too busy drinking tea and thinking river thoughts to pay attention to what your puppy is eating.

Poor thing, I think. It’s floppy, see, moving around on the leaves. So obviously, my next thought is to run and get my camera and exploit this moment while it’s still alive.

Take a picture.

Can take better picture. Move closer. Put lens in creature’s face. Flutter. Something happens. It’s like a flash of darkness. Surely that thing can’t fly! But, when I move my head away from the viewfinder, it’s gone. And, as you can see, there’s not many hiding spots in my backyard.

I look in the leaves. I look on the walls. I look everywhere.

And this thing couldn’t fly. Seriously.

Oh god, I think.

It’s on me.

Blink panic.

Why did I have to wear a skirt that looks like a moth?! Sarah bought me this skirt. Does that mean it’s her fault?!

Oh god. I don’t see it! Spend like five minutes going through the layers of my skirt.

Sigh of relief. I must be paranoid, I think. Silly Lauren and her paranoia. Go inside. Pour more tea. Sit back outside. Drink tea. Think happy, positive thoughts. Bring out camera. Think happy thoughts about taking pictures of hummingbirds. Ah, nature, I think

And then.

OH MY GOD IT IS IN MY HAIR.

Camera goes wild.

Oh. My. Goditshuge!

Fling it… leave camera for dead. Leave dog. She can fend for herself.

Go inside. Close door.

Feel bad.

Come in, Ellie! Hurry, baby! For the love of Fisk, hurry!

Dog is truly petrified. Darts inside and hides upstairs.

I peer slowly out my window. No sign of the dragonmoth.

But there is something peculiar on the ground in front of my door. It’s like it left it there for me.

Doesn’t this feel like the ending of a Twilight Zone episode? But it’s not. It is real.

I’m not sure if it left the feather there itself, or if that’s the feather of a dragonmoth victim. Do dragonmoths have feathers?

I’m okay now. I’m taking it slowly. Retrieving the camera. Putting the teacup in the sink. Closing the sugar bowl. You know. Small things. It’s going to be awhile. Hours, even. Before I can drink tea again.

I think… I think talking about it helps. Yes.

You know what else would help? Winning a baseball game.

Thanks for your thoughts during this difficult and stressful time.

~L

OHGOD! It’s been inside my house! OHGOD!