Odysseus, MLB black outs and the art of the haiku: Live blogging Sox vs Tampa.

Tampa, prepare to get Lestered. Which is hopefully a new, catchy way of saying pulverized. Annihilated. Chewed up and spat out. Or. Um. Losing in the 15th inning or something. Or whatever.

I’m tired, people. I had a long night.

See you in an hour-ish. Seriously. Come hang out with me. Because, after last night (and I’ll give you details), I don’t think I can watch Sox games in public anymore. I think I need to watch them all. Alone. In my apartment. Surrounded by soft things. And you, the internet, of course…

———-

Okay. So. My MLB says I have a post-season black out. My MLB contract says I get all non-post season games.

Um. Really? You guys do know it’s Sept. 17, right? So. Um. I might actually have to go out in public. And I’m definitely going to be calling MLB. Because that’s crap.

——–

This is how prepared I am: Sushi- well, because Tampa, you’re slippery, so it’s eel.

And Arrogant Bastard Ale. Because MLB, you are arrogant as hell in your refusal to let me watch the game.

So. I have AUDIO. So I will satisfy myself with AUDIO until I can figure out where to go where I won’t be called “that girl.”

And while sorting this out, it’s 2-0, Tampa, and I have no idea what happened. Screw you, MLB.

And Youkie sitting out again.

Poor Youkie.

This audio thing is NOT working for me.

So. A bar. Hmmm.

Bar next to my house is where I screamed at the Florida State fan and wrote “Screw you” on a napkin with a 900 phone number…

Bar down the street is where, last night, I got grabbed by a Stank fan and was forced to throw a napkin dispenser…

Boone is the location of an Appalachian State home game… so traffic is a no…

Hmmm… Decisions.

——

Well, Nick’s has internet access, so I could pretend I’m a student writing a paper and not an adult at a bar alone… Yeah. Could you, um, guard the game? I’m going to take a quick shower. Please don’t let anything terrible happen? Thanks.

—-

So. You shouldn’t… um… listen to baseball while you’re taking a shower. You might get mad. Or excited. Or something. And, if you’re, say… hanging your bathmat up to dry, so there is no bathmat say… you might fall and… um…

Yeah.

I’m okay.

Good thing, too, because that wouldn’t be something I would want to explain.

——

Okay. in like 15, I’m heading to the bar. The local bar. Trying to look inconspicuous so people won’t talk to me. Leaving the Youk jersey at home and wearing the Fenway shirt and pigtails. That’s inconspicuous. Screw it. I’m wearing the 20. K-Youk needs my support. Note to self, make sure pepper spray is in bag.

So, if you don’t hear from me, hopefully I’m somewhere where there is no banjo music…

I don’t understand the world. I posted a Facebook status of “MLB is the devil,” and someone who, mind you, knows me fairly well, posted “MLB? What is that?”

I don’t understand the world. Okay. It’s 3-0, fricking Tampa. Hold on, boys. I’m coming. I’ll be back in like 20 from a scary bar… That’s how much I love you, Lester.

—–

A double for Avilles!!!!!!!

Okay. I’m really going.

Crap. Is it safe to get in my car, FDA? Can you… can you guard this game for me? Seriously. Like 20 minutes. I’ll drive fast and…

Oh god. this is the bar where they fought me about switching it from the Florida State women’s game or something.

I’ll fight harder. Okay. Avilles took third. Okay. No. I have to go. I have to go. Running. Runnnnnnning.

—

SCORE! Okay. Getting in car now. 3-2, Tampa!!!!!!

—

This is the WORST bar ever. Everyone. EVERYONE is watching the Carolina game. I finally got them to give me this tiny tv in a corner and it is playing the fricking METS. They said they will fix it. When they get a minute. But to get that response, I had to chase the bartender from, literally a foot from me, to the other side of the fricking bar.

I’m already that girl, guys. I’m already “that girl.”

—–

So, The Mets game is zero, zero.

I can’t believe I am paying money to drink here.

Okay. So. The tv schedule says the game is on Fox. I just looked it up. But it’s not on Fox.

Which means, no matter how many bars I go to here, I can’t watch this game. And now I have to finish this $2 budlight. And try not to get killed. And get home. To watch absolutely nothing.

MLB, YOU SUCK BEYOND WORDS.

Bottom of the fourth. I think. It’s flashing across the BOTTOM of the screen.

I think MLB owes me $20. Seriously. Every game I watch checkerboards. EVERY GAME. And- they just e-mailed me back and said the post-season notice was an error. That it’s actually blacked out because Fox claimed the game.

So, Fox claims rights on the game, and yet Fox refuses to air the game on Fox.

I knew ESPN was against us. But Fox too?

WHERE WILL IT END????

—

So now, so I can justify sitting here by myself, I am typing about random crap. Like this Carolina Virginia game I do NOT want to watch. I could be typing a paper. For a class. These guys don’t know.

The guy- the basketball-come-back-from-the-dead object of my confusion guy- he’s going to be at the State game tonight. So. Um. I guess I cheer for state? So, um, I guess I HAVE to cheer against Carolina? At least while I work this out?

Which is made easier by these Carolina fans. Let me tell you.

They have these southern lawyer accents. I don’t really know how I’ve arrived at that observation. They stand straighter than most people and they have that cool “I do declayah” accent. I wonder if they know what kind of bar this is? Collared shirts and turtlenecks have no place here, buddy. Turtlenecks???? Really????

—-

And, at 0-0, the Braves game is even more boring than it sounds.

So boring. I will cheer for the Mets. Because I am starting a Mets movement, see. You know those guys that are like, “Don’t hate, of course I’m a Yankee. I’m from New York.”

I’m starting a movement to say to those guys, “Give the Mets a try.”

The Mets could use all the help they can get.

—-

No! No tv version! I do not have a television. Or cable. And I used to work for television. So there is little to no desire to ever ever ever ever get one.

I rarely have trouble (other than the checkerboarding) with MLB video online.

—

Oh, now these guys are talking smack about NC State. I feel like a double agent. I mean I have absolutely no connection to NC State other than come-back-from-the-dead-guy. But I feel like I have to have some kind of loyalty. Probably because, thanks to him, I was forcibly exposed to NC State basketball all winter. And then, it became this thing like sports Stockholm syndrome. He’d be in Raleigh and I’d STILL be watching games.

Probably because there was no baseball.

Oh god! Soon there will be no baseball. Is this what it will be like?!?! He watched a baseball game with me that one time, what a month ago? When I was in Raleigh? And he was moving but didn’t? So there was that. And he sends me texts sometimes about the Red Sox. And not fake crappy texts like faux Red Sox fan, but real humoring-me texts.

Of course, I did call him Johnny Damon when I was mad at him that one time. But I don’t think he got it.

—–

Oh… I refuse to waste this beer. But I really don’t have the heart. I sure hope there’s Lestering going on. That sounds dirty.

—-

I chose the WRONG seat. The WRONG seat.

There are about a thousand empty chairs. I was alone over here. Until this big group of pricks in crochet hats came into my bubble. Now my bubble is burst. My beer is gross. And my Sox are not on tv.

—-

And that other guy- the solar panel guy. I just learned he is from Buffalo. And his family is made up of Yankees fans. There’s a Romeo and Juliet story.

And that creepy in-my-house guy just texted me.

And I’m still typing. Because my tab is taking forever.

Yelling. Apparently Carolina is doing something? Wait, are you cheering on Virginia? You better hide, red turtleneck. You better hide.

—-

Dear Carolina fans, your clapping is loud. Stop doing it. Thanks, Lauren. Okay. That was in my ear. What a terrible day.

—–

It is 2011. And I am enlightened. And tv-ed out. And really, take sports out of the equation, and you don’t need one. Think about it. TV is online. And internet= $30 a month. Cable is like a hundred thousand or something. And Lester and Beckett do not meet the bar of suck.

—-

Beckett is not overrated. Lackey… yeah. Um. I can’t defend that.

Yes! It is bad! I need stability. I need Theo to stay HERE. And we’re fine. We’re going to be fine.

I know what you’re doing, FDA, because I do it in life. You push people away because you’re afraid of being hurt. But the Sox are here, FDA. They’re here. And they love you. What a great movie this metaphor would make. Take a chance, FDA! Don’t turn into me, 87 years old with cats in this cabin in the woods. And then tomorrow, when the spaceships come… Okay. Maybe I shouldn’t be the one who WRITES the movie. But I’d watch it.

Keep the faith.

—–

It is 4-2. I do not even know what is happening and I am sad. DOWN WITH CAROLINA!

Ooops. I think he saw that.

Oops.

Joel would be proud of the fight I just accidentally instigated with my fist shaking. I’ll be right back. Um.

—-

I don’t know. They’re in the national league, FDA. The Mets don’t count.

And the ones I’ve met are just sad. Not like they have anything to be arrogant about.

—-

“Did you even go to Carolina?”

“No.”

“Then why are you arguing with me?”

“Don’t you have a Red Sox game to watch?” *jab at jersey*

“Thanks to Fox, I’ve got nothing but time.”

—–

Okay. I have called the other two bars I know about in a 10 mile radius, and NONE OF THEM ARE PLAYING THE SOX GAME.

This is what Odysseus felt like that one time when he thought he was almost home and he ran into a Cyclops. This is EXACTLY like that.

Okay. So I just argued college football with a guy in an orange harley shirt and sweatpants. The impressive part is that… I… um… think I won the argument?

Neat.

Next stop, BAR EXAM.

—-

Ohno. Now he sat down at my table.

Ohno.

Focus on computer. It’s a term paper. Sure it is.

“What are you typing?”

“Nothing.”

“No, really, what are you typing?”

A suicide note? No.

“A term paper.”

“On what?”

“Antelopes.”

Crap. Did I really just say antelopes? STUPID LION KING.

—-

There is a guy in a Sox shirt over there watching the Carolina game. Swear. Why?????

—-

Well, now I’m afraid to leave because Game Day says every time I look away something bad happens.

OHMYGODHEISDIPPINGTOBACCOewwwwwwwwwwwww

I can smell it and it smells like failure and i-told-you-sos…….

—–

If by sucks you mean is AMAZING… he saved us, FDA! He saved us all.

Lester is spiffy-swell.

Beckett is not garbage.

I like Aceves. I’m with you on that.

I would take A-Gonz- the A-Gonz from April where everyone else sucked. And maybe Crawford. Because I do think Crawford is having a bad year.

You didn’t say KEVIN YOUKILIS!!!!

Oh, it’s because you knew he was coming with me, right? Right? I get Tek too. I don’t care if he’s in a walker. He’s on my team. Ohwow. I bet that’s what Tito said about Timlin. Ohwow.

—–

It is the top of the 5th or the 8th in the Mets game. The television screen is to small to tell. If it’s the 8th, do you think they’ll switch to the Sox game? It’s 0-0. Crapola.

—-

I would LOVE to come to town. LOVE to. Stupid distance, money and job.

—–

This guy just yelled in an extremely loud lion-angry voice “GOODNESS, GRACIOUS.”
—–

I should have just gone out with faux Red Sox fan today. This sucks. Maybe I will pick up one of the Carolina fans. That one in the turtleneck looks like he’s. Um. Kind of my age. Maybe. Or forty or something. I’m glad orange guy left. There are like fifty older people in here and one three-ish child.

—-

Okay. A guy just stumbled IN the bar. IN the bar.

Time to go.

Could you guys… could you guys guard the game for me? Because… because it is precious. And I don’t want it to break… Oh, 4-2… please be 4-5, Sox when next we meet…

Ohno. Turtleneck guy is talking about squirting ketchup in his mouth. I might vomit. Have. To. Go.

—

Oh, home again… with Boston audio. Pray tell, what’s the damage…

—-

Damn it! STILL 4-2? STILL?

I hope this is for ratings and dramatic emphasis, guys. You better have a hell of a come back. Because I, like Odysseus, have gone through a whole lot of fricking CRAP for you today.

Josh Reddick is a cute adult. I’d date him. You know. If Kevin Youkilis didn’t already fill my heart.

The last person you would take… Lackey!

What? What did Salty do? What????

—–

Avilles at bat. He did something before. Maybe… if we cross our fingers and close our eyes really, really tight (which we can do and still keep track, thanks to MLB audio…)

Yay! I don’t know what happened, but I know he’s not out! Yay! This is how blind people experience baseball. Except I can watch netflix at the same time.

—-

A Scut homerun would make allll this up to me, universe. Just FYI.

—

Out? What-what just happened? No really, announcer, what just happened???? Oh. force out bunt. Oh. Okay. YOU COULD HAVE LED WITH THAT. We’re okay, world. We’re okay. First and third runners. A homerun would do it…

And it’s Jacoby, guys! It’s Jacoby! We’re saved!!!! Ahoy! Jacoby!

Wild pitch. Runner now at second.

Okay. Okay.

YAYYYYYYYYYYY

I hope you are watching, FDA. Yayyyyyyy.

And I didn’t have to go to a bar to hear that. Of course. I can’t see it. So I’m really taking this announcer’s word for it… It’s 4-3, two outs, runner on third. OR SO THEY SAY.

I hate not having picture. Have I articulated that clearly enough for YOU, Fox Network?

End of the seventh. But in 4-3, there is HOPE.

—-

Daniel Bard. I am doubly nervous because I can’t see you.

But one out. That is nice.

He did OKAY. OKAY yesterday. He caused me so much stress in my brain that I would rather him of been in the dugout. Like right now. He’s not doing anything wrong and I am still having an aneurysm. We’re just not okay. We have to rebuild the trust, Daniel.

No. We will NOT lose this by one run, FDA. NO. We will NOT go gently into that great night. We will NOT.

I feel like I should be wearing tweed to give a speech like that. Silly FDA. This blog is not the place for REALISM.

Two outs. But the PTSD I have every time you throw the ball, Daniel, continues. I don’t have any fingernails left on my left hand.

ONE more strike. PLEASE. Grounds out!!!! Three outs! YESSSS.

It is time, my sox. It is time. Prove FDA wrong. Prove that ESPN is full of poo. PROVE IT with back to back homeruns, please. Thanks.

—-

Maybe, FDA, but I am STILL NOT OVER September Daniel Bard. I… We… I just need time.

—–

I think audio games make me EVEN MORE STRESSED OUT. This cannot be good for me.

Oh, Adrian Gonzalez… PLEASE.

Ohohohohoh OUT.

DAVID ORTIZ. I turn my desperate, pleading, delusional eyes to you. I don’t ask for much. JUST A HOME RUN.

No. NO! NOOOO.

No.

Okay. It’s fine. We have Reddick. REDDICK. He has a history of doing things in moments like this and WHO THE HELL IS CONOR JACKSON?????

WHY?

Someone tell me… Is Josh Reddick sick? Or broken or…

You just did this, didn’t you, Tito? You just DID this.

YOU did this. I will never… I will always…

DAMNIT, TITO! STOP HAVING WHIMS.

And, to CONFIRM my notion that you do NOT GIVE A FRICK, enter Morales. MORALES.

Johnny Damon. At the plate. Or did you even notice, Tito? I can’t see you, but I bet you have a mouth full of sunflower seeds.

Oh. Look. A hit. Oh. Look. A HIT. No, really, LOOK, TITO. Because one of us has to. WHY? WHY?

Okay. I’d like to put this game in the category of LOSINGBECAUSEOFSHITTYDECISIONS.

Morales. This isn’t your fault, really. We knew this would happen.

Conor, this isn’t your fault because, frankly, I don’t know who you are.

TITO AND CURT… I can’t even look at you. GOOD THING YOU AND YOUR SUCK GAME ARE ONLY ON THE RADIO.

This is NOT Little League. Conor and Morales’ mommies are NOT going to call you if you keep them on the bench. There are SNACKS at the bench, Tito. I’m sure they could find some gatorade to slug.

DAMNIT, TITO. This is YOUR fault.

I don’t even LIKE Okajima that much. But I want to wear a Bring Back Okajima t-shirt. Right. Now. Let’s make them and sell them on the street. If we sell enough shirts, maybe we’ll have enough money to buy him back.

That’s… let’s see… 500,000 shirts…

At least Johnny Damon is out.

That puts the happy in my sunshine.

Oh. It’s raining.

Oh.

ONE out left. ONE out. But some jackass is at third base. OHMYGOD I felt something pulse in my forehead. It’s finally happened and THIS is how it starts.

Out. Okay. Out.

Offense. You have to do this.

Tito, stop putting people we don’t know in the lineup.

Offense. Do it.

If Youk were here, this would soooo not be a problem. I mean, I guess you can BORROW him for your fantasy team, FDA. But that’s only because I don’t have time for a fantasy team. He’s still mine.

Peralta. Whatever. I don’t care who it is. HIT THE DAMN BALL.

Salty, dear. Love. HIT THE BALL.

Salty hasn’t been useless. He’s been okay plus. Great in a few games. I’m actually liking Salty.

SHE SAYS AS HE STRIKES OUT. COME ON, SALTY! I WAS DEFENDING YOU.

Oh no. Crawford. What’s particularly painful about Crawford is the fact that he CAN actually be a badass. It’s like he’s CHOOSING to suck. Do you feel that way? Seriously. He can be amazing. And does amazing things. WHEN THEY ARE NOT NEEDED. COME ON, CARL…

Strike out. Yep. Useless.

One out left and Mike Avilles up to the plate.

I cannot believe I fought metaphorical Scylla AND metaphorical Cyclops to get here.

SINGLES? SINGLES? Watch that, Crawford. See how AVILLES KNOWS HOW TO PLAY?

And Scut. Good, steadfast Scut.

Please, Scut? Please? If nothing else, just make it to Ellsbury. Please.

OHMYGODTHISBATISTAKINGFOREVER

A ball. A ball would do. PLEASE. Give me SOMETHING.

We steal a base. Which is adding a little UNNECESSARY stress, actually. But you got away with it…

No. NO. NOOOO.

Tito, this is YOUR fault.

i love you tito, and yet you- you love me not. oh. a conundrum. <- A new haiku by Lauren.

the baseball dirt drifts, solemnity of failure. bash head into wall. <- A new haiku by Lauren.

You should give haikus a shot.  I think they are the appropriate rhythm of the Sox September, really.

Oh, FDA. Because it’s… sigh. Over.

Like an apocalypse of suck.

Sigh.

I… I do not know what world this is, FDA. I am going to go on a spirit journey.

Or make tomato soup. Or whatever.

Have a good night.

Damn it.

~L