Home > Drunken Live Blogging > Beckett to the rescue: Live blog, Orioles vs Red Sox

Beckett to the rescue: Live blog, Orioles vs Red Sox

It is 5:41. Just over an hour to go. It’s like that scene in Les Miserables where the characters know the battle is coming, “One Day More.” Look it up. It’s very dramatic. And EXACTLY like what is happening tonight.

Josh Beckett. It is up to you. The Yankees (SIGH) did their part. It is… up… to… you…

My feelings can best be expressed by 80s icon Bonnie Tyler:

“He’s gotta be larger than life…”

Seriously. It is JUST like that music video. EXACTLY. I get to be the brunette with the bangs. You can be Bonnie Tyler, if you want.


Please, Josh Beckett?

Feel free to join me tonight in the comments as I slip into an even deeper depression during this damn crapshoot. Seriously. It can get worse than this. Live blogging starts 7ish.

PLEASE, JOSH BECKETT???? You have like, over an hour to sort out your deep-seated emotional issues. Do me a solid, and stay away from Lackey? And if Curt Young offers you Kool-aid DON’T DRINK IT. I repeat: DON’T DRINK THE KOOL-AID, JOSH BECKETT. Sorry, Weiland. It’s too late for you.


7:03 p.m. Jose Cuervo says we CAN do this. In case you were wondering what Jose Cuervo was thinking.


Hi, Don Orsillo. I haven’t seen you since yesterday.

Yes. Let’s say LOTS of good things about Josh Beckett. LOTS. Oh. Hi, Jerry Remy.

Look at that. Mike Aviles at third. SIGH. KEVIN YOUKILIS, I MISS YOU.

And the captain’s at the catch. Good. Good. Okay. Let’s try this winning thing. Shall we? Confidence. Check. Optimism. Um. Check. Yes. This is going to hurt, isn’t it? You know what doesn’t hurt? Tequilla!

Swings at the first pitch… Crawford makes the catch! Out one. That was… shockingly painless… Hi, JJ Hardy. Have you met Beckett? Steeeerike. Really. That’s how they said it just now. It was like a cartoon. This whole game is like a cartoon right now. At least inside my head. Cartoons are less graphic, don’t you think? Well, they can be. Then there are those Japanese cartoons my sister watches. They are NOT less graphic. Look! Look! A Strikeout. A strikeout! I thought we’d forgotten how to do this in the first inning. Markakis. Oh, Markakis. I wish I didn’t know how to spell your name. But I do, see, because you’ve been hitting the ball. Strike two! Strike two! Josh Beckett loves us. Even if you don’t, Tito. How many sunflower seeds do you think Tito consumes in one season? Just a ballpark figure? It’s raining in New York too, Orsillo said. That’s good. And Sabathia is pitching. Which is grrrr-eat. Just flipping great. See what a good attitude I have about the whole thing? I am so mature. Let’s take a moment and marvel at my maturity, shall we?

WHAT? Walk? WHAT? Why? Maybe. Um. Maybe it’s not a horrible horrible fiery downward spiral in the distance. But a publicity stunt. You know. Walk ’em so the fans will pay attention. Clever, Beckett. Clever. Because I’m paying attention right now,  I am. Oh look. I just paid attention to that crazy ball that let Markakis skip to second. Look at that. Did you see that, Adrian Gonzalez? No? Your first error since July 16. Yes. Today is the game for milestones. Goody. Strikes out. Okay. Good. Good. Everything’s going to be fiiiiiiiiine.


Tommy Hunter is on the mound. And Jacoby is going to bat now. Which is good news. Because Jacoby knows how to use a bat. You know. Unlike some people (CARL CRAWFORD). Oh. Look. Pop out. Oh. Okay. Hi, Mike Aviles. Oh ye of the batter twisty dance. Oh look. Pop out. Oh. Okay. You guys know I only have like, a little bit of tequila left in the bottle. You know that, right? Okay. Just checking. Adrian Gonzalez. Oh, look. Yes. Let’s just stare at the balls. Strike one. Down one and two. Oh. Okay. Strike out. Oh. Oh. 7:24 and the first inning is kaput.


Second inning.

Hi, BecKKett. Time to add another K. Oh look. Buck Showalter is back. Knew he couldn’t be perma-ejected.

Uhoh. Beckett’s face did a thing. Did you see that? It was a definite thing. Ohno. If his face DID do a thing, Tek would notice, right? Tek would be like, “Yo, Beck. Your face did a thing. Let’s have a chat about feelings real quick and get that out of the way…”

Pop out. Okay.

Maybe I’m paranoid. TELL ME I AM PARANOID.

Look. Tito is spitting more sunflower seeds. Jerry Remy, savant as he is, says that it would make things easier if we would score runs. Thanks, Jerry.

Two strikes. Maybe I imagined the thing. Grounded back to Beck- he throws to Gonz for the out-at-first. Okay.

Bheise! Bheise! I added your link to my page today. Because I actually thought about it. Thanks for being with me in my hour (probably hours. And hours. And hours) of need.

O and 2.

These announcers are pricks today. They’re talking about how awesome Beckett is. And then they add this “so far.” That’s just challenging the universe. DON’T YOU PEOPLE EVER READ?

I wish I was a baseball announcer. You know. Like Heidi Watney. Listen to that. The crowd sounds like it’s the bottom of the ninth. That’s what desperation does to your volume, I guess.

Oh. No. Oh. Oh.

I KNEW there was a thing.

So. Um. it’s 1-0 Orioles now. So. Um. Damn. Damnit. You know something? It hurts less today.

I think.

Oh. Look. Another- Oh. Jacoby caught it. Of course he did.

So. The inning is over. And. It is 1-0. You know. The worst team in baseball. And. Yeah. So. Shot thirty? Is that what time it is?


OhmygodBigPapiIamsogladtoseeyou. People are so mean, Papi. SO MEAN. I hope that Tek and Beckett are sharing a soda right now and talking about life. Oh. Oh. Look. Papi is out. Okay.

Dustin Pedroia. Was not even on long enough for me to get another shot. Okay. So. Two outs. Well. At least it’s quick.

Josh Reddick. Fix it. FIX. IT. Crap. So. Three outs. And. It’s 7:42.


I’m kind of having problems watching this. I keep doing that squinty thing I do when I know someone is going to jump out in a horror movie. I handle horror movies badly.

Now I’ve moved on to distracting myself with avocados. Which are very distracting, if you think about it. There’s the peel. And the pit. And the slicing. Like at least two minutes of my time. Yes. A veggie burger with avocado will make it all better. Maybe the Red Sox aren’t eating enough. Did Papi look a little thinner to you?

So. One out. Thanks to another K. Putting the K total at BecKKKett.

It’s just one run, really. A little run. Miniscule, even. They didn’t even replay it really. Well, not that much. One run. Hah. No big deal. I am not even concerned, really. It’s like water. Off of a duck’s back. I don’t get it. Because, if there’s water on a duck’s back, a duck’s back is still wet, right? Scut. Thank you. Second out. FDA is usually online by now. I hope last night’s game didn’t kill her.

Yay! Josh doesn’t have the “thing” expression. That’s a good sign, ladies and gents. Three outs! Three outs! It is 7:49 p.m.


Pickles and avocados and mushrooms. It’s like a veggie burger monster. I may not win the game, but I am sure as hell going to win at sandwiches.

TRIPLE! Triple! I just dropped the pickles. Pickle mess. Crap. But a triple! A fricking triple, you guys! We’re SAVED. Carl Crawford. Carl Crawford. You are worth the thirtysixbazillion we are paying you for today. But just today. I am not convinced you are worth last week’s thirtysixbazillion. But YAY! A triple! And Marco Scutaro is going to bring you home. And by home, I mean home plate. And by bring you in, I mean a home run. THAT GUY JUST TRIED TO HIT MARCO SCUTARO! In sandwich news, I found the sundried tomatoes. In Scutaro news, it is 3 and 0. Scut takes ball four! Scut takes ball four!

“All of a sudden, things are on the wild side,” Orsillo said. I don’t know what he means, but I am happy. And Buck Showalter growled and took out a notebook.

No outs. And Jason Varitek, who is perfect in all things (you heard me) takes the plate. I hope he chooses to hit the ball today.

Sidebar- see Curt Young? See how he has a little bit of trouble and they go to the mound for a feelings chat? See that? Write that on your clipboard please.

Two and Ohhhhhhhhh. My captain can sooooooooooo kick your captain’s ass. This is clearly a good luck sandwich. Maybe I shouldn’t eat it. Or maybe I should. Maybe then the luck will be inside me and I can enter things like Bingos and lotteries and raffles. Oh! And cakewalks. Those are really hard. I love cake.

That was noble, Tek. Noble. A grounder to second. We get the out at first but we ALSO GET A RUN.

Which means the game is tied at 1-1. Which means hope is alive and well in my kitchen. And I think it’s safe to eat my sandwich now.

BASE HIT!!!!!!!!! Jacoby. I love you. Line drive up the middle. It’s like caffeine, really. Runners on first and third. Aviles at bat. A breath away from the lead. A breath. A little half breath. A hiccup, even.

Crap muffins. Double play. Crap muffins.


They are replaying that Aviles out. And the announcers are saying he was safe. Tito. Me. The announcers. So. Looks like the umpires hate us too today. Not exactly new, revolutionary information. But an interesting tidbit. One out, by the way. And two outs.

After rain delay- NY game has started, Orsillo says. It’s zero-zero.

High. One and two. It is the top of the fourth inning. Beckett decided to throw that one in the dirt. Okay. Now they are showing us close ups of all the photographers. I’m sure some people enjoy seeing the photographers. It just makes me jealous. Because I could do that. Gonz DIVES. It’s kind of exciting, actually. You know how he hates getting his uniform dirty. But he does, darts it to Beckett, and it’s the third out.


So. Um. Anyone out there? Because my computer says lots of you are watching this blog. And none of you are commenting. And that’s kind of like staring. And staring is. Um. Unsettling.

Adrian Gonzalez. Uniform all nice and dirty. He’s going to hit the ball this time. You’ll see. They’ll all see. And then they’ll write us heartfelt apology notes. In cursive.

Centerfield! Agonz gets a base hit!!!! You scan and e-mail me those apology notes after the game. ohnolauren@gmail.com. Thanks.

Oh, Papi. I am glad to see you. If you had hit that ball into centerfield, you would have made it a double. Because you understand what running means. At least in principle.

He looks pissed off. Doesn’t he? He wants to knock that ball THROUGH the park. If this were fanfiction baseball and not real baseball, this would be the big moment. The BIG moment. And there would be tears. And chants. And probably a marriage proposal. Why, it’s a beautiful ring, Youkie. Of course I will!

But this isn’t fantasy baseball. It’s real baseball and that jackass just caught the ball for the first out.

Pedroia the Destroyah. Off the wall! Off the wall! Gonz heads to third! Gonz heads to third!

And there was much rejoicing.

Crapola. Caught at first. But we have one out left, see.

It kind of looks like it came out of the glove, says the announcer. Whatever.

OFF THE WALL FOR CRAWFORD!!!! Two runs in!! Two runs in!! And the Red Sox take a 3-1 lead! A lead! Thanks to… Crawford? Really?

Scut takes strike one.

Remember, kiddies, we’re only comfortable when we have EIGHTEEN RUNS. Scut is caught. But see, we’re winning now, so I feel better. I am switching to beer. Um. Mainly because I don’t have any more tequila. I wish the tequila fairy was real.

MLB keeps showing commercials about this new ABC show, “Revenge,” with this slogan- “This story is not about forgiveness” and this girl- with flowy hair. I feel a lot like that. Because this week? Is not about forgiveness. It’s about shoving pundit’s noses in a Crawford induced victory series. Notice I said series? Because this, children, shall be the start of an upswing. And my hair is soooo flowy.


Beckett leading the fifth off with… a strike. A strike of JUSTICE.

Out. A strike out.

Ohno. Problem solving! So, I left my beer opener in my car. And my car is literally feet and feet away.

So… using the following tools, what would you do?

Yeah. So, the can opener was a fail.

Yay! Strike out! Yay!


And Varitek chooses to be out. Um. Okay. We have no choice but to support our Captain’s decision, you see.

I am now trying to open this bottle with a keychain. I think I’m going to cut my finger off.

Two outs.


A base hit, AND my keychain did the trick. So. full attention now. Two outs. One at first. ANNNNNND Aviles goes to third and Now we have runners at the corners. And the runs in the fourth inning came with two outs. And And And Yay. So we have two outs. But alllll it takes is one. David Ortiz at the plate.

ORTIZ BASE HIT! Aviles scores! 4-1! 4-1!

Lovely. Yes. Replay it again. Replay it again!

We are outhitting the Orioles 8 to 1. You know who I wish I was watching this game with? Kevin Gregg.

Strike out. Whatever. It’s 4-1, bitches.


Did that sound conceited just then? Reddick makes the catch! Because it’s not conceit. It’s a furious sense of justice, really. And it’s really aimed at all these pricker bloggers that have been so mean to me. Oh! And the pricky e-mailers. I have pricky e-mailers.

I wish this was a team that was, you know, relevant. Then we could brag for more than 11 minutes. Stupid Orioles and their lack of relevance.

You’re kind of like that friend of the woman who ends up marrying the woman’s ex husband. And it’s really dramatic and awkward. But then her ex husband divorces you and gets back with his ex wife. The one that’s not you. And your whole purpose, really,  was to make him realize how much he loved her. That’s kind of what you are to the playoffs, Orioles. You only have spoiler relevance.

This is, of course, directed mainly to Kevin Gregg.

Um. Only at Kevin Gregg. And a little bit to Buck Showalter.

I like Tampa fans (mostly). Because I feel they are special. Because, according to the empty seat disease that plagues Tropicana Field, there aren’t many of you. So those of you that are fans, really fans. You are special.

Throw is not on time. That would make me quite made. You know. If it were yesterday. But it’s today. And Annie was right.

Oh. Another Orioles run. Oh. Yeah. That was a little frustrating. But it’s 4-2. So I’m going to stay quiet. Well, quiet-ish.

The Angels – 4-0, top of the 6th against Toronto. I guess I should cheer against the Angels? But I’m so focused on this… this… wanting the Yankees to win thing. I don’t think I have anything left for Toronto. I’m worried about my Yankee-cheering soul as it is. No need to make it worse, really.

You know, many more people read this blog when we’re losing. Why is that, America?

Strike out, Beckster!

I do not understand why FDA does not love you.

You are like chickensoup for the mound.

Did you know Arrogant Bastard Ale is 7.2 percent alcohol by volume (1 pt)? I did not know that. Nope.

Out. Lovely.


Josh Reddick. The man my mother wants me to marry. Hi. I wish you were Kevin Youkilis. Oops. I didn’t mean that. That was the wrong thing to say. Um. Josh Reddick. I am glad you are who you are.

I mean, you’re no Kevin Youkilis…

BASE HIT! Crawford. OUR Crawford. Not the great Crawford of old. OUR Crawford. Is a homerun short of a CYCLE. OUR CRAWFORD.

FDA! WHY AREN’T YOU WATCHING THIS? Seriously. I wish SOMEONE was watching this. Maybe if I didn’t keep throwing napkin dispensers I could go out in public…

I need more Red Sox friends. Hey, um, Boston? Any of your residents want to move to North Carolina? I have a sleeper sofa. I mean, you probably wouldn’t be allowed in my apartment. But I have one.

Jason Varitek is batting. We’re SAVED. Or. Um. We’re already winning. Go team!

For those of you who care about REAL news, Troy Davis’ execution was just delayed.

Now back to your regularly scheduled out. Inning over. 4-2 SOXXXX. It is 9:06. I like saying the number nine. NIIIINNNNEEEE. What a great game. Post season. Tigers. I need pranks. To do to my tiger fan coworker. The beer. Is gone. Oh.



Where is everyone?

I’m so alone, aren’t I? I could blog in my flamingo pants, couldn’t I? Um. No one can see me when I blog. You know. I have been drinking. And not club soda today. I keep mispelling things and having to retype them. I just misspelled misspelling. But we are winning.


Oh! It is the top of the seventh. THE SEVENTH. And Josh Beckett is still in. Which is like a recent record or something. And it is 4-2. And it is 9:09. I love the number nine. And Josh just gave up a base hit. Which was inappropriate.

Ohohoh! Almost a double play. But not a double play. One down. But we have a O runner on first. There was spin on the ball, Jerry Remy said. SPIN. Now I have the “You spin me right rounddddd” in my head. It is a song. In the 80s. I like the 80s. I mean. I don’t remember them. Not really. But the 80s made me, soooooo

Two more outtttts. Just two morrre. When you use extra letters, it pumps up emphasis. It does. I read it somewhere. I think.

Mark Reynolds. It’s Reynolds like the wrap. The aluminum wrap. The plastic is not Reynolds. It is saran.

In the air to deep left field and Mark Reynolds gets a home run and we are tied. WE ARE TIED? WE ARE TIEDDD????

We are tied. This is YOUR fault. You. 4-4. DAMNIT to New York. Blast. This is this beer’s fault because I feel floaty. And when I felt on the ground solid, there was no run getting for the Os. The Orioles. The birds. I saw a dead bird today. I thought it was a premonition. Well, I didn’t think so at the time. But I just did. Just now. It was at the peace parade. Which is ironic. And Ellsbury makes the catch. So there are two outs. And Aceves is warming up. And maybe Beckett shouldn’t be in. Because we are TIED. TIED. Damnit. And maybe 7 innings is too deep for our broken, broken selves. And maybe Curt Young should know that. Or not know that. Or something. And I am angry at the tie. This is YOUR fault. Yours. Damn. Why???? Oh. Now they show Kevin Gregg. Flipheads.

Doves cried. Like the Prince song. Except real. I am sad. Why can I not have my vengeance? Why oh why? I mean. Yeah. So. The skinny red hair thing. Got it. Doesn’t really fit the villainous MO. But this is 2011. And I can be whatever I want to be. Even an evil super villain that cackles when she wins baseball games. OHNO All I have left is Keystone Light. IT IS THE END OF ALL.

Jacoby Ellsbury. Comes to restore our faith in JUSTICE. And stuff.

Did you know it’s International Peace Day? There were parades and everything.

But there is NO peace for us today. NO PEACE.

Peace? I hate the word. As I hate all Montague. AND THEE <- a Shakespeare quote. I have two degrees in Shakespeare, you know.

Jacoby just struck out. Because he just got the Curt Schilling tweet, probably. WORDS HURT FEELINGS, CURT. FEELINGS.

And feelings sure do hurt games. Oh. O’s pitcher just called in the guns. Even Bucky. Maybe he hurt himself. Maybe they’ll send in Kevin Gregg. Maybe we can beat on Kevin Gregg for awhile. This is the lamest live blog ever. I kind of blame you guys. I NEED people. So I have resorted to bothering Jeb on his Facebook page and now he’s ignoring me too.

Annndddd the 7th is over…


Josh Beckett is hurling balls.

And the Yankees are winning.

Josh. Do not walk him. Do. Not. Walk. Him.

Angels are winning too. Um.

Full count. Okay. DO NOT WALK HIM.

Beckett about to reach 101 pitches. I have no clue why Tito is keeping him on the mound. Probably just to kill me. Slowly. On the inside. Gonz makes the catch. Out.

Ball one from Beckett. Of course it is. Beckett! You have eight strikeouts! EIGHT. Be your inner badass.

Or don’t. Whatever. Ball two. Make me unhappy. GO AHEAD. You know, I could be watching Felicity on Netflix right now.

A strike. A LONE strike.

Fair ball. Double. So. Um. Yep. Double. Beckett. Did you see that? Better question. Tito, Curt, did YOU see that? Tito comes out on the mound. He waits, of course, until we’re tied and I’m tipsy and irritated. But yes, pitching change.

So. To recap. We have runners at second AND third. And now Aceves is …

CRAP. So. So.

This is it.
Two runs. They’re charged to Josh Beckett. But that’s inconsequential, really. Because it is 6-4, Orioles. And Red Sox nation died a little inside.

I don’t know, Josh. I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t know and I don’t pretend to know why you did what you did. But I don’t blame you. Not entirely. I blame CURT YOUNG. Curt Young who SHOULD know not to keep you in for 100 pitches.

Aceves is getting yelled at. You know. By Boston. But it’s not his fault. Not really. It is 9:40. And I feel… I really feel, like this is the moment where it’s over. All of it. No, I think we’re still in the post season. Because Tampa sucks. And Johnny Damon is evil. And the universe, in its infinite wisdom, will eventually recognize that. I think we’re in the post season. But not because we’re winning. Because THEY are losing. But we’ll make the post season… and then… we’ll look around… and honestly… what will be left? What will be left of us?

Double play. That’s nice. So the inning is over. But honestly? So is my optimism. Oh, and my sobriety. That went away too.

I don’t know guys. I don’t know.


Who will survive and what will be left of them?

David Ortiz. Hi, David. Hi. Remember that time you were slumpy? And then you weren’t? And I named my puppy after you? Remember that? Eliot May Precious Ortiz does.

Her love is unconditional. She doesn’t care if you strike out. Or pop out. Or homer.

I do, by the way. I do.

I am not as nice as your namesake puppy.

Fly ball. Out. Look at that.

Okay. I was lying. I still love you. But I’m disappointed.

I wish Kevin Youkilis were here.

So. Lester and the Yankees Friday, hmm?

Bottom of the 8th. And Orsillo, prick that he is, keeps repeating the fricking score.


Oh look. On the ground. Oh look. Another out. Oh look. WHAT KIND OF DESTROYAH ARE YOU, DUSTIN?

Shut up about Dunkin’ Donuts, Don Orsillo. SHUT UP No one cares about your fricking donuts.

Reddick chops it… and straight to first. Look at that.

Now we’re heading to the ninth. Untimely death. Yadayada. It’s like Logan’s Run. Except there’s no RUNNING. It’s carousel 24/7 and all we have are the white outfits.


Bheise! You are late. I figured it out. And. Um. Lost the nail on my index finger. But small sacrifices.

Where have you been? I’m all by myself. And that is the OPPOSITE of classy. Look at what happened, Bheise! Look at this. FIX IT. FIX IT NOW. I wouldn’t ask you, a Cleveland fan, to fix anything, if it wasn’t really important. Look. An Orioles base hit. FIX IT.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME, UNIVERSE? Franklin Morales waiting in the wings? Frankling MORALES?

I can’t believe this is what we’re left with. It is the 9th inning. We are all going to die. ALL OF US. And listen to the crowd? Do you hear that? Like TWO people going “Let’s go Red Sox.”

Because two people. That’s all that’s alive.

Because you killed us, Curt Young. YOU did.

Oh, John Lackey. Why couldn’t YOU have been ankle twisty guy?

Runner at first. For now. I’m sure he’ll be score number blah for fricking Orioles.

Just think about how much Netflix I am missing for your team, Tito.


It is okay, Aceves. This is not YOUR fault. This is Curt’s fault. And the universe. And the Stanks better win. And. Crapola. Ohohoh. Fly ball. We catch it. You’re out. I mean, it’s only out number one. But it’s still out.

So we go to the Yankees Friday. So there’s that.


The TWO people yelling sure do like Aceves. Despite ANOTHER base hit. We’ve got one runner on first and a runner on second. But who’s counting? Not me!

And certainly not Tito. He’d have to pause the sunflower seed chewing to COUNT.

Tazawa’s in the pen too. Good.


Varitek. Yes. You have a heart to heart with Aceves. Yes. YOU DO THAT.

My couch feels like a boat. It won’t stop moving. You know a thing or two about movement, Aceves. Because now we have runners at first and THIRD. Why do we need 18 runs to be safe? WHY? Because of fricking people like YOU, Curt Young. I am glad your name is easy to say.

2-1 Yankees, at least. Because THEY are doing THEIR job, people.


Don’t you give me that look, Aceves. You asked for this. What the frick with the splitter, hmm? What the frick? There are better ways to sabotage yourself, senor. Angels are within like three of the wildcard. Did you know that, Aceves?

Oh look. Fenway is starting to care. I hear rally noises. Oh look.

Bheise- I don’t know. Clap your hands or something. It worked in PETER PAN. There were indians in Peter Pan. Like Tiger Lilly. Remember her? She almost DROWNED. YOU FIXED NOTHING.


Bheise, now be honest… do you think it’s because I cheered on the pinstripes yesterday? Is this spiritual revenge? Because I took a really long shower. And that was supposed to fix it.

I wish I hadn’t had that tequila. Well, that last bit of tequila. I needed the first bit. And no. I do not remember the 07 ALCS. Okay. That was a lie. You guys had these annoying rag things. And this annoying chant. And, well, you annoyed the wins out of us, quite frankly. I think YOU are swell. Did I tell you I applied for a job in Cleveland? But I think the city hates me. I don’t know why. Because I’m a nice person.

Strike out. Bottom of the 9th. We have to score two. We HAVE to. We WILL. Hopes and dreams. You are all out on the table. ALL OF YOU. Vulnerable. And writhing and. Sigh. You’re all going to die, aren’t you? You’re going to die and I’m going to cry and… oh… I found something other than Keystone. So there’s that.


The final stand. It comes down to this. Us. Versus. Well, us. That’s like all of our games in September. We’re really, really great at beating the poo out of a team. Really, really great at it. The problem? THAT TEAM IS US, DAMNIT. It’s like that video game with James Bond and Nintendo 64? The one where there’s a paintball mode? And when you shoot yourself, you get the Lemming Award? Well, congratu-fricking-lations, Boston. YOU GET THE LEMMING AWARD.


Damn. IT.

Crawford. He is a home run short of a cycle. And he leads us off. So maybe he will figure out that a home run will help EVERYONE

With this many hits, we should NOT be losing. We are a lesson in..  something.

Oh look. Youkilis close up. I’m sorry, baby.

Look at that. Out at first. LOOK. AT. THAT.

Kevin Youkilis looks pained. Like me. He wants to play. I want him to play. Everyone wants him to play. Except his fricking hernia.


Thank you, Tito, for not putting anyone we don’t recognize in. We do not need that stress.

Oh look. Scutaro is out at first.

Oh look.

Remember that bad ump call against Aviles? I do. I think, maybe, it matters now.

Lowrie. Fahfrickingfabbbbbulous. Jed Lowrie. Is going to WASTE MY TIME.

No. Optimism. I promised. Okay. Optimism.

You can hit the ball.

You WILL hit the ball.

Ground ball to Johnson. Throws to first. And you are out. And we lose. And this is crap. And I HATE you, Jed Lowrie. And. And. I don’t know. I DO NOT KNOW.

Explain this to me. PLEASE. Explain.


A very tough loss, Jerry? A very tough loss?

And New York is tied????


I hate this. This is a stupid game. Baseball is a stupid game.

When’s hockey?

Can someone explain football to me?


I am going to watch Felcity on Netflix because it is more relevant to my life.


I don’t know. I wish I was asleep.

I do not know.

I am a good person, damnit. I deserve…

Bruce, would you buy me a pony? Because I think if I had a pony… or a boat (a boat would require less maintenance), I could handle this.

Water. I am drinking water.

All hope is lost. This is the end of all.

“Nothing to be done.” That is from Samuel Beckett.


Categories: Drunken Live Blogging
  1. Jay
    September 21, 2011 at 5:56 pm

    Here’s hoping you’re right. I would like to see the turn around and right the ship but I’m not too optimistic down the stretch…

    • September 21, 2011 at 5:59 pm

      It will happen. You’ll see. Sigh. Come back 7ish and we can push through the frustration together.

  2. September 21, 2011 at 7:30 pm

    the refresh button on my browser is going to get a work out tonight haha

  3. September 21, 2011 at 9:48 pm

    solved your beer bottle problem. happy drinking!

  4. September 21, 2011 at 10:01 pm

    I’m from cleveland… what makes you think i’m in any way capable of stopping a collapse of monumental proportions. do you remember the ’07 alcs? the only thing i can tell you to make this better is the fact that it appears the Rays don’t really want to win the wild card either. then again, the yankees are probably trying to get you into the playoffs, redeem your faith in the sox, and then crush your hopes and dreams like they never have before in the alcs. did that help? did i fix it?

  5. September 21, 2011 at 10:25 pm

    i’d like to apologize for mentioning the yankees leading the rays. i feel like that tie game right now is my fault. the “cleveland stink” is a powerful… powerful force that can’t be controlled. but admit it. part of you missed the neurotic boston red sox brand of baseball from pre-2004. haha

  6. September 21, 2011 at 10:32 pm

    I am just sad.

  7. September 22, 2011 at 9:33 am

    Lauren, you don’t want a pony. You want more. You deserve more. At the very least…a unicorn. A MAGICAL pony, one who can with a nod of his head push the Red Sox into the playoffs…and beyond.

    I will check around and see if there are any unicorns for sale here…but I suspect supplies are limited.

    As for the boat…you don’t want to go down that road. A viewing of Shark Week will cure that desire.

  1. September 21, 2011 at 10:20 pm

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