Watching Kyle Weilland pitch with parents…
With parents. As Kyle Weilland walks the bases loaded.
“Is this the guy they traded for? I hope they didn’t pay for him.” ~Mom.
“They’re keeping him in. Of course.” ~Dad. “No outs.”
“You’ve got to let them hit it to get an out.” ~Mom
“You don’t have to swing anything if you’re Tampa Bay.” Announcer
“What kind of throw was that Pedroia?” ~Mom “Why do they do this? They’re just throwing in random pitchers.”
Johnny Damon at the bat.
“Traitor.” ~Mom. “And he never should have cut his hair.”
“What was the sign? Looks like Jesus, acts like Judas?” ~Dad
Now they are arguing about card shuffling. Because we are playing cards.
Johnny Damon just struck out.
But they are too busy arguing about cards to notice.
And another out. Fascinating how Kyle WHINING only lets one go, all things considered.
David Ortiz. Yay.
“I think our boy just got a hit.” ~Dad.
They are talking about Josh Reddick.
“We wish you would marry Josh Reddick instead of Youkilis. He’s got a big career ahead of him.” ~Mom
“Yeah, but he’s going to sign a big contract.” ~Dad.
“And Crawford doesn’t get the big hit. Not in a tight game.” ~Dad
“He got it Saturday, didn’t he?” ~Mom
“We were ahead. Not in a tight game. He doesn’t in a tight game.” ~Dad
“I thought that was Crawford.” ~Mom
“I’m talking about Crawford.” ~Dad
“What about Gonzalez?” Mom
“Neither one can hit. In a tight game.” ~Dad.
“They sure do get injured a lot. Think they ever fake it?” ~Mom.
“Manny Ramirez was accused of doing it.” ~Dad.
“They can just sit and get the money.” ~Mom
“Just get something,” Dad said. You know. As he gets NOTHING.
Ortiz scores. Ties the game. One to one.
“There’s a lot of Red Sox fans there. We might have been one tonight,” Dad said.
My parents were supposed to be trekking to Florida.
Instead, they are here. With me.
Now they are arguing about when the Rotary Club speech is.
They still don’t know I’m typing about them.
I am actually going to leave in like ten minutes. I have a thing.
But I didn’t want to deprive you of the pleasure of my parents. Now they are talking about the drive to Florida. And lower back pain. Scutaro is batting. They wouldn’t be talking about back pain if Josh Reddick were batting.
So. Um. All the pitchers suck tonight.
Now they are talking about my dog.
“It’s not that I don’t like her. I am not a dog fan.” ~Dad- my dog’s favorite person in the world.
“She is flirting with you with her eyes.” ~Mom.
My dog’s eyes have not left my father since he got here.
It’s kind of hilarious.
Here, here, S36! I just read your comment out loud and pretended I said it.
“They’re just acting like, save our big guns,” Mom said. “Actually, their big guns are hurt.”
“Is this the first football games this weekend that count?” Mom.
Dad- eye roll.
Now they’re talking about travel and back pain again.
Oh. Um. Golf.
All of these conversations sound the same.
Now they are talking about my social life.
Subject change. Subject change. Um.
Let’s talk about Johnny Damon again.
“Are you writing everything we say down on your blog?” Mom.
“You should pull your shirt up when you go out later. You look like a… you know.” Mom.
“The Yankees didn’t want him after awhile. They just got him because of the Red Sox, so they could say ‘screw you.'” ~Mom
Now we’re talking about Johnny Damon again.
“If we’re just talking about money. I mean, we give out money. But okay.” ~Mom
Casey Kotchman. I miss him.
They walked out of the room. Hmm.
I am supposed to be somewhere at 8 p.m. I wonder if I should leave…
My mother just used the word “snakey.” Is that a word? Is it “snaky?” Yes, according to spell check.
And Kotchman is at first.
Oh. Close up on John Lackey.
Now they are replaying the John Lackey game.
“Uh, yeah. We watched that. And when they were ten to nothing that day, I just turned it off. Maybe I am not a good fan, but I don’t like to watch it when they are doing so bad. It bothers me. Did you see Bard? I kind of felt sorry for him in a way. I felt sorry for the young ones who go out there, but oh my gosh, he had never done that.” ~Mom.
She asked me if Beckett would be in the playoffs. I said, Mom, we have to get to the playoffs first.
“They have a way of rallying. I haven’t given up on them yet.” ~Mom
“I bet he has to go to the bathroom,” Mom said of Kyle Weilland. “What are they supposed to do? I’d just be shaking out there.”
Mom in a… um… Kyle Weilland voice? Um
“Mr. Francona, I have got a tummy ache, and then they put him on the bench and on the DL list.”~Mom
“Do you think sometimes they just go? Because when you have to go you have to go.” Mom. “They do wear the jock straps so hopefully you can’t see it. Of course, they do have those white uniforms. Oh. Gray is worse.”
“He does not hustle like Reddick,” Mom said of Crawford.
“Still no outs?” Dad has reentered.
“Did you see the brand new guy this week who runs down to catch a ball and he runs into the green wall and we haven’t seen him since?” Mom. “They had a Cooper or something, I swear. Look on the DL list because he knocked himself out at the wall. I think he said it was a hand or ankle or something. I call BS on that. And Beckett. Did you see anything when he got hurt? I didn’t.”
“Surely someone would have made him familiar with catching those balls if he is going to work on the OUT FIELD,” Mom.
Now she is talking about fans that flip out of the stands.
“Then they keep showing her and showing her.” Mom. “They can’t think of things to talk about, these announcers. So if they get somebody like that woman falling out on the field, you know they’re going to show it. Last night at Tampa Bay they had the Heidi from Tampa Bay except the Heidi from Tampa Bay looks just like our Heidi. It’s uncanny. Why don’t you do that?”
Yeah. Um. I have to go. I will catch you kids later. I wish I had a tape recorder so you could hear the rest of this spectator session…
“I think in basketball you could run off the court and use the bathroom, maybe. It wouldn’t be as far to go. Would it?” ~Mom.
On that note…
Just got back. Hearing breathless renditions of homers that tied us in the 9th.
You know what’s not interesting? Bars in Morganton, North Carolina.
But that is neither here nor there.
It’s very quiet in this room all of a sudden.
Strange. My mom even put down her kindle.
“Does that not say designated hitter at the end?” ~Mom.
No. Pinch hitter.
My mother does not remember Casey Kotchman.
“I guess, what is his name, Aceves, replaced him, and he actually did okay. And Papelbon,” Mom says, explaining the 7 innings I have missed.
“Oh no.” Mom.
Tripping on the mound. Darnell fricking McDonald. YOU BETTER NOT BE HURT.
“In his defense, that did really sneak up on him,” Mom said.
Yep. They’re going to be replaying that one.
It is 10:49.
Out. Two down. One more, Paps.
“Come on, let’s show it one more time of him falling and rub it in. He’s probably very embarrassed. They put him in and took out Reddick.” ~Mom
I’m sorry they took Reddick out, Mom.
“Yeah, thanks,” ~Mom said. “I like Pedroia too. Pedroia is like a little puppy. All eager when they show him. I think he’s cute. Who do you like?”
Um. Kevin Youkilis.
“He seems too normal.” ~Mom
I think Kevin Youkilis is fantastic.
Mom goes back to her kindle.
She is reading something about Haines, Alaska and just informed me that childbirth must happen at home in Haines because the hospital doesn’t birth babies. So, in case you were curious, I decided to share this newfound knowledge. You are welcome.
Papelbon is doing his breathy thing.
I like my mom too, FDA. You should keep watching. I hope you are still watching. Because this could be glorious. I kind of like watching just the beginning and end of the game. Get all the heartbreak without eight innings of aneurysm.
Now they are showing a commercial of the Bruins parading through the streets.
“The end is just the beginning. To be continued…”
I cannot wait for hockey.
I’m sure FDA has an advent calendar complete with chocolates.
Hockey puck-shaped chocolates.
“They didn’t blow it yet?” Dad says, coming in.
“McDonald missed getting a foul ball because he tripped,” Mom said.
Now they are discussing this in great depth.
“They have it the old style where it’s sort of in the field.” Dad said.
I am abbreviating. He is explaining the construction over what McD tripped over.
“Wasn’t it Tampa where they had the 16 inning game?” Dad said. Sees pitcher from Tampa is from Mass. “He should be a Red Sox fan. Give them something he can pitch. He’s doing the Papelbon look.”
He really is.
Now we are discussing how Scut could get to first.
“The Yankees fake getting hit,” Mom said.
“Was it Derek Jeter? He fell to the ground and acted like he was hurt and it was like four inches away,” Dad said. “I’d like to see back to back again by Salty and Jacoby. I don’t know if that’s been done.”
Scut is out.
“I hear ‘Go Red Sox,'” Mom said.
I’m sure there are more Red Sox fans there.
“It’s easy to get tickets,” Dad said.
Tampa fans are sad.
Yes. we all agree on this.
The Salty chant. I hear it. They hear it. You hear it.
“That was your pitch,” Dad said, making a growling noise at that last strike.
That was an interesting noise.
Salty strikes out.
My father makes another noise.
Kind of like a tsk, but with more fire. Much more flamage.
“MVP,” the chant says.
“Not for Gonzalez,” Dad reminds us.
Apparently Jacoby’s homer tied the game in the ninth, so there are expectations in this household.
I like being a casual observer. I’m kind of less connected to this game, so it won’t hurt as badly when we hellahella fail.
Now they are replaying these homers. They are pretty.
And Tito eats more sunflower seeds. Of course he does.
Dad makes another growl as he’s out at first.
“You see how he hustled there, just in case? Did you see that, Gonzalez?” ~Mom.
“Bard did not have a good outing last time,” ~Dad <—- understatement of the day.
Oh no. Daniel Bard. This is awkward. We haven’t seen each other since…
Yeah. Let’s not talk about it.
I won’t talk about it.
You won’t talk about it.
Oh. My parents will talk about it.
Ball one. Yep.
And now we’re hearing about his last outing from the announcers.
Darnell McDonald falls.
“He stayed in the way,” Mom said. “McDonald was in the way. Get back. I think Ellsbury could have gotten it just fine. Where’s he going?”
“McDonald got in his way.” ~Mom
“A triple? Well, ball game’s over.” ~Dad, going into another room.
Dad comes back, huffs, sits, props his elbows out in ultimate pain.
“It’s obvious McDonald didn’t know what he was doing.” ~Mom
Gonz tags the bag for one out. Dad makes a growly huffy noise again.
I feel like a spy.
“All he’s got to do is hit a fly ball,” Dad said.
My parents have ice cream. This is swell.
I am going to concentrate on the ice cream.
“Don’t throw a change up. He will crush it.”~ My father. “Look at all the empty seats. Unbelievable.”
“Base hit. That’s game. Of course.” ~Dad.
I didn’t see it. I was looking at ice cream. Like how in horror movies when I know something terrible is going to jump out, I kind of close my eyes but not really? Like that.
There is silence.
Now we are watching tennis and I do not care. Something about Serena Williams winning a game against a seed. I don’t know. And now it’s Two and a Half Men. I hate this show. I am going to bed.