Apparently, some of us are ready to just…
And, unless you’re James Cameron and have a neat submariney thing, it’s really not that fun down there, guys.
The following is an ACTUAL e-mail exchange from earlier today. The name has been changed to protect the identity of a “fan” who can only be described as a complete moron.
So, Lauren. What are you going to blog about now that the Red Sox are fudged*?
(*he didn’t say fudge)
Um. Hi. Well, considering it hasn’t even been a week of baseball… I think we’ve… um… still got a shot.
If you were a real fan and had watched baseball as long as I have, you would know there’s no coming back from this. Obviously you don’t really pay attention.
That REALLY happened.
I have started about eight e-mails to you, MORON, but I… I just can’t…
Okay. Hold on. Let me clear my throat. Shake out my shoulders.
So. In my other job (my, you know, actual job), I do this thing where I let numbers tell stories. Numbers are fantastic. My math geekiness aside, numbers are the COMPLETE opposite of people. They don’t lie to you. They don’t e-mail you ridiculousness. And they don’t make ridiculous assumptions. And they would never EVER make you watch a Nicholas Cage movie.
So let’s look at the numbers.
SIX days of baseball.
SIX games of baseball.
Let’s see… 6/162.
Let’s do iPhone math, shall we, MORON?
Not even FOUR percent.
My advice? Get out more.
No, seriously. Put on a belt (and pants. Try pants!). Slap on some sunscreen (because, let’s be honest, it doesn’t sound like you’ve seen Mr. Sun in a hot decade). Trek out of your mom’s basement (she’ll still be there, trivial pursuit and all when you get back) and hit the sidewalk. Take a walk. That’s what a sidewalk is for. If you’re feeling randy, invest in a scooter!
Because, clearly, baseball spectating is NOT for you.
Let me put it into perspective for you- throwing in the towel NOW is like-
Going ahead and investing in cats now because you’re fifteen and no one asked you to the sock hop.
Making the pudding switch at age 30 because you know you’ll likely lose your teeth at 95.
Never getting out of bed because you know you’ll be sleeping in 15 hours anyway.
Turning off a movie because Nicholas Cage is in the opening credits. Okay. That one is legitimate.
But you’d have to be a MORON not get my point, right?
Here’s something else that’s moronic- Blaming our rotation.
Go back a few years. Pre-Pedro. Perfect rotations? Wasn’t in the pre-season expectations. It was hitting, hitting, hitting. Am I wrong?
You can have the best rotation on the planet (and I am NOT saying we do), but if you can’t hit, you can’t get a run. You can’t get a run, you can’t win.
You can have the WORST pitching on the planet and still outhit another team.
Logic. Math. Numbers. See why I want to snuggle up with them? Math is so sexy, you guys.
I find it interesting that everyone blamed Santos for OUR win. No one said, hey, look, the Boston bats are back.
I find it interesting that everyone blamed Daniel Bard for OUR loss. No one said, hey, look, the Boston bats are paperweights.
I find it interesting that a TEAM sport is an individual sport when you lose…
And that individual is ALWAYS a pitcher.
It’s six games. SIX games. I’m hardly panicking. But I will tell you that my cloud of concern- it’s not hovering over the pitcher’s mound.
I mean, we managed to win Lackey games last year. Remember?
I am flummoxed.
But still planning to watch our boys come Soxtober. You heard me.
So. I can’t sleep. I have a biggggg interview tomorrow in Raleigh. And, you know. Have to get up early. So, obviously, it’s 1:43 and I’m as chipper as Pedroia during a double-header. Attempting to sleep on my sister’s couch. And there are all these noises, see… no telling what they could be…
So. To recap. Can’t sleep.
But I can soooooo answer your e-mails! Shoot them to me at firstname.lastname@example.org.
We begin today’s Ask Too Soxy with a guy who signs his e-mails “Brain,” but whose e-mail address starts with “Brian.”
It’s the end of days for Youkilis. I’m sorry to have to tell you that. But Nick Punto means the end for your love story.
I am not going to dignify that with a response.
Youk was the problem in the dugout. He’s going to be traded. And it’s going to be good riddance. And you’ll get over it and find a new love.
VOLDEMORT (okay, so his name was Mark. But look at that e-mail, people, and you tell me who REALLY wrote it)
Youk is not going anywhere. See, I know this for a fact. FOR A FACT. God and I had this conversation in October. It was a brief chat, coffee talk, really. But we worked something out. So you can shut your Harry Potter cursing face.
Why are people so jealous of my true love for Kevin Youkilis, Soxies? It’s pure and beautiful and magical and it should be respected, envied and sought after. Stop persecuting me for my beliefs!!!! I don’t criticize you for your denial jeans.
Can someone send me a REAL letter please?
Who is going to get Yu Darvish?
Thank you, Jay, for not being a complete jackass in your e-mail. It shows good upbringing. Clearly, you are from some place neat. Like Toronto. Or some small town in Connecticut. A suburb, probably. Did you ever see the opening credits of “Weeds?” I mean, I’m sure you don’t smoke up the Mary Jane (you probably spend your money on poetry books and Oprah magazine subscriptions), but you TOTALLY live in a house made of ticky-tack.
I was hoping it would be us, Jay. But, since we’ve made as many moves this season as a 16-year-old version of VOLDE-MARK, I can’t say I’m too surprised at our whopping bid of nothing. I mean, it’s not like we have a manager known for his dealings with the Japanese (oh wait). Or a significant need for an arm (oh wait). Or a bazillion dollars or anything (oh wait). I have this scary feeling that it’s going to be Theo. I have this scary, icky, unsettling feeling that he’s taking our mojo, smacking it together like ceramic clay, and making little winners. Could be the Blue Jays, but I’m kind of counting on sucky pitching from them this year to make up for not giving us John Farrell. It’s really the least they could do.
The biggest moves they’ve made this year haven’t been acquisitions. It’s been exports. Shipping out Jed Lowrie (have fun restocking that first aid kit every eleven minutes, Houston) and Kyle Weiland do not count as game changers, kiddies. And Punto and Melancon are welcome, but they’re not exciting enough for me to commemorate this week on a Christmas ornament.
The biggest move thus far has been David Ortiz. And, since, you know, we kind of already owned his soul, that makes our season about as exciting as unbleached flour.
Moves need to be made. And soon. At this point, just pay for it, Cherington. Spend the cash. Deal with the penalties. And read your finger for another World Series ring. May I recommend Bailey?
Because- let’s be honest- Melancon? Bullpen.
PS- I love ticky tack. Um. It’s like cement, right?
Toosocks (? Really ?),
I read what you wrote (Um. Like. A million years ago) and just wanted to tell you Jacoby Ellsbury in no way deserved MVP. Give it to a team that knows how to win. Jacoby is overrated. Verlander made the season. Don’t you think the Cy Young was deserved? Red Sox fans always think they should win everything.
Dear. Um. Juice,
Thank you so much for reading what I wrote. Your eyes eagerly scanning the page for things that I type out of boredom… well… it touches me. Right here. I’m touching my heart. I mean, not really. Okay. So I’m typing. But the thought exists, and it exists for you alone today, um… Juice.
Is Juice your real name? Is it short for Juicy Juice? Because I know this guy…
Sorry. How rude of me! Back to your question. Even though, I’m sure you’re used to people changing the subject. It’s probably how you developed that stutter.
Actually, contrary to your poorly organized opinion, Jacoby Ellsbury DID deserve the MVP. You know it stands for Most-Valuable-Player, right? The Most-Valuable-Pitcher award is the Cy Young.
Anywho. Jacoby Ellsbury did this crazy thing called playing. In fact, he was the ONLY one playing. It was kind of valuable. One might even say MOST VALUABLE. Oh. And he won America tacos this one time, so there’s that.
“Give it to a team that knows how to win.”
You know how I hate pointing out errors. Actually, the MVP award goes to a player. Not a team.
And Jacoby’s not overrated. He’s underrated. Because there’s still no Jacoby Day.
Verlander- Cy Young. Totally. Verlander- MVP, CRAP.
Do you remember Pedro Martinez? Offffffff course you don’t. Okay. When you were like negative two-years-old and your mother had jusssst started doing the nasty with the UPS driver that would become daddy candidate number one, there was this guy named Pedro Martinez, who pitched like you pitch fits. And he didn’t get the MVP. So Verlander? Not so much.
“Red Sox fans always think they should win everything.” Well. Yep.
Now, as far as TooSocks. I’m not sure what you were trying to do. I mean, did you mean two socks? Because I have two socks somewhere. But I’m trying to sleep, so I’m kind of doing the barefoot thing right now.
Oh. Shouldn’t have told you that. Now you’re going to have one of those icky dreams again.
See how I’m still awake? It is 2:18 a.m. These letters were a total sheep fail.
I am so fricking nervous, excited, exhausted, bubbly and irritable about the job interview tomorrow.
So. Going to try to do that sleep thing? Yep.
Keep the letters coming- email@example.com.
I am having a bad day.
No. You know what? Let me capitalize that.
I am having a BAD DAY.
So, I’m turning to the one thing guaranteed to put a smile on my face and a skip in my step (provided there are no more icy stairs. Skips in one’s steps leaves one vulnerable to really dramatic backflip falls, I hear): Your letters.
In today’s edition of Ask Too Soxy, we first hear from Ryan. Okay. So, that’s not his e-mail signature. But I’ve decided it’s less vulgar to just make up a nondescript name.
Dear Too Soxy (I added the “dear.” I always add the “dear.” Guys, when you e-mail me, could you add in your own “dear?” Thanks.)
How does it feel to vomit your season?
Sincerely (added that too),
Hi, “Ryan.” First of all, let me tell you I appreciate your twitteresque efficiency when it come to the written word. Most people must utilize several lines of text before revealing themselves as jackasses devoid of constructive thought, a feat you alone can accomplish in eight words. Bravo! And using the word “vomit” instead of its lesser urban descriptors (barf, puke, etc) definitely showcases your post-10th grade education. So kudos to you! No toothbrush toilet scrubbing for “Ryan!” I didn’t realize they had Internet access at your temporary-just-until-your-screenplay-about-frogs-takes-off job at the Mini-Mart. And your generalizations! I applaud you on your ability (one shared by several, mind you- a fact I must point out so that you don’t think I’m applauding any creativity) to lump an entire season into a one-month Soxsplosion. That must be very freeing. Like that time you were canned from Taco Bell for never showing up to work, yet thought it all had to do with jealousy over your screenplay’s recent near success at the local writer’s guild critique at Golden Corral. It must be very freeing to, instead of concentrating on your life as a whole (yikes) series of failures, be able to fixate on that last mini-failure. It probably helps keep the cold, cold despair from trickling out of your eyelids on those blind dates that have been less and less frequent lately. Now, to answer your question: Frankly, “Ryan,” it sucks.
Sincerely, (<- see what a positive punch that one little adverb can have, “Ryan?”)
Next, let’s cross over to the Midwest and hear from John. John says he’s from Michigan. See, I’m thrilled to hear from someone from Michigan. Thrilled. Because it’s 29 degrees outside. And I bet you’re colder, John. Thank you for that.
I am excited to have Daniel Bard start. I think it’s a good move, but I see you keep saying mistake. What other choice do we have, (I added the comma) really?
Dear John (hah! I feel like I’m in a bad Nicholas Sparks novel all of a sudden. I kind of don’t want to leave the parenthesis because then cruel, cruel reality will set in…),
Daniel Bard has done this starting thing before, remember? I believe an appropriate summation would be the following hyphenated term: Mega-fail. He wasn’t just inefficient. He was bad. He was like, Lackey-in-an-important-game bad.
Additionally, he has already shown that pressure gives him more than hives. It gives him the temporary title of “Crazy Pitch.”
We’re already shifting Alfredo Aceves- who, I might add, is the epitome of versatility. You take out Aceves AND Bard and you’re just asking for trouble. A bullpen without badassery is just… well… a fence.
I’m a fan of leaving Bard EXACTLY where he is. Bullpen super star. I think “Crazy Pitch” was flukey this fall and, while I am confident that flukes aren’t permanent- that doesn’t mean I trust him at something as crucial as closing, either. He needs a hot second to warm up to badassery and closers don’t have the hot second. They are the hot second. Bard is just not up to hot second snuff. Let’s pop him in the bullpen and watch what happens.
What other choice do we have? We have all the choices in the world, John. We have, right now, Clay. We have Beckett. We have Aceves. We have Lester. We have Miller- but I think he’s bullpenable too. We have the capability of snatching someone. It’s a long off-season. And don’t count out Doubrant, who is much more startable (look at Triple A) than Bard. I think Ben Cherington is making a big mistake by not making big moves. The more we stall, the more terrible the answer to the question- What other choice do we have?- becomes. Am I the only one holding out an ounce of Dice-K hope?
A girl that’s into sports. I never thought I would meet one. You are awesome.
A girl that’s into sports. You still haven’t met one. This is the Internet, Jason. I could be a Tibetan monk with an I-phone. Or a rebellious Amish blacksmith or something with a record-setting beard. You don’t know.
We both do, however, know that I am awesome. Thanks for further bringing my awesomeness to my attention. Sometimes I think I’ll forget.
Dear Too Soxy,
You talk smack about Manny, but he’s the Sox’s golden child. So when you talk smack about Manny, you’re talking smack about the Sox. Think about that.
I was extremely disappointed to find you’re not nearly as peppy as your name implies. Seriously. Sunny is a name that evokes positivity. Optimism. I have decided to call you Cloudy. Cloudy McManny. I think that’s more appropriate. And I like adding “mc” to things. Let me start this again:
Dear Cloudy McManny,
Thank you so much for reading. It’s wonderful to know that out of all the Sox sites in all the world, you’ve stumbled into mine.
As far as talking “smack” about Manny, while it’s true I have made some extremely spot-on observations, the “smack” is what Ramirez is injecting into those obnoxiously veiny arms of his. And, the truth is in the juice. He got caught post-Sox. Therefore, I’m talking shit (much better term than “smack” now that I’ve told you what “smack” really means, right?) about the post-Sox Manny.
At least as far as steroids are concerned.
Sox Manny was a jackass. A point I have been on the record about pre- and post- Sox ouster. I take extreme issue with players who simply don’t want to play. Manny wanted to prank. Manny wanted to pose. But Manny didn’t want to play. Good riddance.
And seriously- how many bridges does Manny have to burn before baseball says no?
And, with that beep, my day just got worse.
Think of me, Soxies.
PS- make your letters LONGER. Shoot them to firstname.lastname@example.org
I have had several e-mails lately. Mostly because I’m so popular. Partially because I’m so pretty. And thirdly ’cause I’m so ranty. Since I’m in such a sugary-sparkly mood, (and waiting on a meeting) I decided, on behalf of joviality, to address a few classy ones. Feel free to shoot me your OWN e-mails- email@example.com. Rants are always appreciated. Insults are treasured.
Dear Too Soxy (I added the dear part. I think it really makes you sound like less of a jackass, and I’m all about euphemisms),
U R such a joke. You’re team lost, but maybe U don’t remember that. I am sorry that your team is such a loser and that U find the need to complain about it to strangers on the internet. I am sorry for your sad life.
Sincerely, (I added the “sincerely,” too)
Yankster (Really? Well, okay)
I think I get it. That’s supposed to rhyme with Gangster? Or Prankster? Your cleverness will turn the world on its head.
Usually I only respond to QUESTIONS. But, with your limited knowledge of grammar, I was so excited that you were able to communicate a thought that I wanted to reward you with reciprocation (sound it out. It’s okay. REEEE-SIP-PRO-CAY-SHUN. There. Now, run upstairs and ask mommy what it means!).
So, Yank (Can I call you Yank?), I’ll start by sincerely (see what a great, non-jack-assy word that is?) thanking you for taking the time out of your busy schedule of paper clip organizing and cheeto-eating to peruse my blog. It’s sincerely, sincerely appreciated. You probably had to wipe your fingers on a napkin and everything.
I am particularly flattered by the compliment in your first sentence. As an extraordinary example of unearthly beauty, sometimes I think it’s my aesthetic charm and not my sense of humor that attracts these swarms of readers. It’s a terrible responsibility, being this pretty. You and your mother are so lucky that you will never have to deal with the burden, but I am sorry that you had to spend so much of daddy’s child support money on braces before you arrived at that inevitability. Count yourself lucky, Yankster. LUCKY.
Pretty people, see, often we are not appreciated for our personalities. All people see is my shimmery hair (Oh, hush. Your plugs aren’t THAT noticeable, surely) and my glistening eyes. But you, Yankster, you see through all of that, to my hilarious core. Thank you for the compliment about how good I am at joke telling. It really made my day. Because sometimes I doubt my funniness. But not you. Oh no. Not you.
And how you were sweetly trying to get me to forget September in the next sentence. That’s most kind of you. You’re right. It is forgettable. And we should just move on. Apparently lack of grammar doesn’t mean a lack of wisdom. Apparently people who didn’t complete the apostrophe chapter of second grade CAN communicate an intelligent message. A truth that, if it hadn’t been for this e-mail, I never would have known. Thank you for that.
And your apology. It’s so very sweet. But, dear, it’s not your fault. Don’t blame yourself for OUR Soxsplosion. After all, you who were number one came crashing down so quickly, so painfully. So very… is karmically a word? Of course YOU think it is, but could you run upstairs and ask mommy for me?
In conclusion, thank you for your e-mail, sweet as it was, and I hope you have the very best of days. Don’t forget to write!
PS- Don’t tell my readers they’re strange. I really don’t think they know that. It might come as a shock.
Dear Too Soxy,
Your Youkilis obsession is a bit much. And I think you are going to have to get over that. Because, darling, he’s trade fodder.
If that’s really your REAL name. That is the MEANEST e-mail I have ever received. HOW COULD YOU? I am a person, DJ. A HUMAN BEING. And I have feelings. We could have had it all. Rolling in the deep. But you played it to the beat, “DJ.” The beat.
I’m going to tell you what I told Ben Cherington in my dream last night:
Okay, Ben Cherington. I think I’ve been a pretty good sport up until today. I’ve been charming. I’ve been affable. I’ve been welcoming. I have been my sugary, sugary sweet-tastic self. If you were real and not just some elf on the internet nodding when Luchhino nods, I would have sent you a crumb cake by now (and have in my mind) but let’s get something straight, Keebler. I will bring down so much fury that you’ll need a Tommy John time out for a cry break if you TOUCH Kevin Youkilis. Ask John Lackey.
I am sick and tired of Kevin Youkilis, aka: only-person-other-than-Jacoby-that-always-remembers-how-to-play, being tossed all over the internet as trade fodder.
So as Cherington tackles the leftover remains, will he show a little less aggression in that area and perhaps lean more toward the trade market? Will somebody like Kevin Youkilis (injury-plagued as he might be, at present) or Marco Scutaro be considered a movable piece in the search for pitching repairs?
(I can send people links in dreams)
I think I’ve handled change well. I was suuuuuccchhhhh a good sport with Jonathan Papelbon. That was my nice face. And those blogs that TempaTampa74 called “ranty examples of why Sux fans suk” in an e-mail? Those were my NICE thoughts. If you breathe the words TRADE and YOUKILIS in the same sentence, I will tell John Henry you sneak onto his yacht every time he brunches with Lebron.
What was I saying? Oh, right, DJ. See, DJ, Kevin Youkilis is a power bat. Sure, he’s injured. But we’re not horses, DJ. We don’t shoot someone and send them to Philadelphia because they’ve broken a leg. He’ll race again. You just see. And all will fear his glory and his might.
This is the offseason of the worst Soxsplosion since… um… since… um… ever, really. EVER. We can’t turn on each other now, DJ. We have to support each other. We have to be there for each other. We’ve got to get the band back together. Not rip it apart! HAVEN’T YOU SEEN SPINAL TAP?
Don’t call me darling.
Dear (I have to keep adding the dears. People are just so uncouth these days…) Too Soxy,
I like your blog. You are hilarious. Do you think we should re-sign Tim Wakefield?
Suzi (last name redacted)
Thanks for the compliments. Tim Wakefield is an institution. But his manager is a jackass.
That puts us in a sticky situation, see. Because, we like institutions (David Ortiz), but we hate jackasses (Manny Ramirez). If Timmy will accept the fact that he’s our favorite song on the “Greatest Hits Album,” concert nostalgia but not exactly the constant on our radio dial, then sure. Accept a little less dough. A little less playing time. And win those fifteen games, listen to the angel chorus and share the fairy dust with the rest of the class.
But if you’re going to follow the jackass and look for the most money, you’re not going to find it with us, and you just need to leave quietly so that we can still love you when you come back in a few years to throw the first pitch.
Dear Too Soxy,
Does your real boyfriend look like Kevin Youkilis?
Jake (Last name redacted)
Wow. Hmmm. You know, I have never really thought about this. Hmm. Well, Youk’s got like a thousand pounds on him. And Youk has facial hair. And scary baseball muscles. And J is lean, shaven (ish) and kind of anti-trucker vibe. So… um… Yes. Sure. They are exactly alike.
No, a few months ago (this is kind of personal. Please don’t read this, J), J said “of course” he knew who Kevin Youkilis was. He said he Googled him so he would know who I…
Yeah. That’s too personal.
They are exactly alike in spirit, Jake. But not really alike in anything else, other than their mutual adoration for me.
Dear Too Soxy, (okay, this guy had no headliner on his letter. But I think adding a “dear too soxy” helps so much with class)
You sound like a cool chick. Move to Boston and I’ll date you.
Carson (last name redacted)
I AM a cool chick. Boston is cold and has no jobs for me. What’s your annual salary? Oh, and do you pay taxes?
I think Nomar should manage the Red Sox.
Andrew (last name redacted)
Sure. Okay. Why not? At least it’s a decision.
Looks like that’s all I have time for today. Keep them coming. firstname.lastname@example.org.
PS- Before you get back to your Tuesday, check this out– a good theory on Amnesty from the folks at the Outside Corner. Might be our only out where Lackey’s concerned.
Ask Too Soxy: Why I’m not pitching. Oh, and I almost set my house on fire today. But I didn’t. So that’s a sign, right?
So, I think I’m going to make this “Ask Too Soxy” column a regular part of your Friday. So e-mail me! email@example.com.
Oh, and yes. I have now heard of Russell Martin. He’s that guy talking smack about the Sox. Apparently, he’s also a baseball player. And I could go on my own diatribe, but I don’t think I could put it any better than this.
But, back to relevance- today, you get a special treat! Rambles. Lots and lots of rambles. Because it’s not even 10 a.m. yet, and I’ve already managed to set my kitchen on fire. But I’ll get to that in a minute. Ahem.
In today’s “Ask Too Soxy,” Andrew is having a crisis of faith (edited*) :
In today’s Ask Too Soxy, we hear from Conor, who operates Sox Rox, a valiant soul who would probably take the bats to the plate himself if he could.
I feel like I’m the only person who’s really not scared of Detroit right now. In fact, I’m exhilarated that we are set to face them instead of the Rangers. The Rangers have destroyed us this year, and we’re 5-1 against the Tigers. So, they have Verlander and Fister, but I’m just not scared. Help me out here!
Oh, Conor. There are lots of people who aren’t scared of Detroit. Like people with short-term memory loss. People who don’t watch ESPN. Amish people. Oh, and my mother…
No, in all seriousness, I am with you. I am not scared of Detroit. Not really even a little bit. It’s probably because of my hostile work environment. I sit across the office from a Tigers’ fan. Every day. I get to hear about him tout Justin Verlander this. Justin Verlander that. So they’re GRRRRRREAAT. In the post season, there’s a lot more to it than being Grrrrreeeaat, Jeff. But seriously, I get Tiger spam, Tiger talking points, Tiger facebook posts…
Here’s a quote for you: “Lauren, I’m going to come in and leave a stuffed tiger on your desk and it’s going to have a red sock in its mouth.”
Yeah? Well Verlander will be ONE game, Jeff. ONE GAME.
And once we start winning, we’ll have ALL the games. Or. Um. MOST OF THE GAMES.
And Tigers? I mean, really. How creative is that team name? And when was the last time you saw a tiger in Detroit? Is there a Detroit zoo? There might be a Detroit zoo. For the sake of intellectual discourse, let’s say there’s a zoo in Detroit. Okay. So you want to name your team after a caged animal? An animal limited by bars and glass? An animal that, may want to swallow that child with the snot and the binoculars, but instead gets to munch on frozen antelope? Which everyone knows is much less Tiger satisfying than kids with snot and binoculars. A far cry from Siberia, eh, Frisky?
Oh, I read here that Tigers may have gotten their name from striped socks. Oh. Um. I guess that’s cool… to be named after… um… socks…
At this point, at this particular point in my week, I just want to get there. I don’t care if we play a Chipper Jones mash-up of baseball’s greatest hits with a chorus line in the dugout (best musical idea ever!). I just want a fricking chance.
You’re right, Conor. It’s about the numbers. The numbers tell us the Tigers are just cats in sneakers (the new Puss n’ Boots movie preview is out!) as far as the Red Sox are concerned. Our set with Detroit earlier this year didn’t exactly put the fear of Fisk in our cerebrums, and this is no different.
What is different? Injuries. Rotation. Snap, pizzazz. What I AM afraid of, doesn’t come with metaphorical claws and cereal box covers. What I AM afraid of are the Red Sox.
We are much more likely to implode on ourselves right now than the Tigers are to excel over us. Sure, we reigned victorious yesterday. But I watched that game, teeth gritted. Missed opportunities. Bullpen risks. It’s not the Tigers who are going to keep us from the Series. And no, it’s not the Stanks either. It’s our own bullpen. Fear Daniel Bard. Not Verlander.
But, on a happier note, we won yesterday and, despite those missed opportunities I mentioned, it was a tooth and nail, fingers in the grit, claw yourself out of the coffin kind of fight. I saw a hint of the snap we’ve been missing, and it had nothing to do with runs scored or balls caught. It was that spark, the one that shows it’s more of a job. That they want the win more than a fricking paycheck. I saw that yesterday and, I’ll be honest- I haven’t seen that in some of our other recent wins.
That spark gives me hope and, in my heart of hearts, I think we’ll beat the big bad Tigers in the end.
IF WE CAN GET THERE.
So chin up, my friend, and help me come up with creative things to do to my coworker during this time of great struggle. So far, I’ve got to beat stuffed tiger with sock in mouth, taunting and squinty glares. I think I can handle squinty glares. I’m putting a $5 limit on this because I’m poor. Best idea gets a winning smile.
How about you, soxies? Why should Conor and Red Sox Nation NOT fear the fricking tigers?
Oh, and here’s another thing:
“The Detroit Tigers are looking more and more like a team of destiny.”
That quote from Bleacher Report should make you feel great. Because everyone knows the universe has got a beef with destiny.
Speaking of destiny, I’m proud to be able to confirm to you that a terrible, horrible, no-good, icky era is over. Without no-neck Jorge Posada in the Stank lineup, how will my “You’re Posada-ed” phrase (meaning “you’re screwed”) EVERY catch on with the general public? Quick! Use it a lot this week before it’s too late!
And yes, we won yesterday. And yes, I cried irrationally. And yes, I’ll get to that. I just need a moment for that win to settle. Maybe ten moments.
That was fun! Ask me more questions! firstname.lastname@example.org.
I get SO excited when people send me mail (email@example.com) that is at a vulgarity that is publishable. DamonDemon, take note, that’s why your note with the subject heading “Why JD should ******* whale on you” was not republished.
But I did appreciate the Lucky Charms references. And the Samuel Beckett (you pay attention!) and I do hope you’ll keep writing. I am making a collage of you on my refrigerator. It’s a great conversation piece for when my plumber visits.
But anywho, In this addition of “Ask Too Soxy,” we hear from “Jon,” a self-proclaimed Tampa Fan.
Dear Too Soxy (okay, I added the dear),
Just coz ur old man finally got 200 means he can go 2 a resthome and avoid what’s comin bc we r comin at u. I just read ur dramatic blog and i rolled my eyes. we’re coming. r u ready? bc you’re sox aren’t.
Okay. So you didn’t say sincerely either. But I didn’t want to portray you as a complete jackass. You did, after all, write me. And I LOVE letters. And questions that I can answer.
“R U ready?” I am assuming you were having severe keyboard troubles. Like, you lost certain letters in a coffee accident (they happen)… oh! Or fingers in a tragic car crash. I’m sure you were saving puppies from the pound and not high tailing it down U.S. 1 with a doobie in your ash tray and a fifth in your arm crook. Because you sound like a classy puppy saver.
The editor in me would love to correct your spelling and grammar. (Note the difference between YOUR and YOU’RE. Improved grammar would probably increase the success rate of those late night booty calls. As would moving out of Tampa. Because if those empty seats are any indication, it’s slim pickin’s out by the swamp) But the girl that is still bouncing up and down on her rolly chair that you took five seconds out of your day to send me an e-mail is going to refrain from condescension. Actually, Tim Wakefield’s not the person time forgot. Nor is he rest home bound. Unless, by rest home, you mean a leather upholstered bar stool (leather’s used for more than a whippin’, see) at a nice pub. A nice pub. Not the ash-smeared stables you meet your buddies Tater and Big John at to swap hygiene tips, fish stories and PBR swigs. I see how the unfamiliar territory might instigate negativity, and can therefore forgive your subtle crack (the joke, not the candy mine in your nostrils). Or maybe you meant “old man,” the term for a father. And, while I’m flattered you think our genetics could be linked paternally, I regret to inform you that is not the case. Even though I have often hoped he would adopt me and rescue me from this horrible mountain. You know. Like Daddy Warbucks in Annie except without the frizzy hair and orphans and stuff?
I’m so glad your eyes got exercise reading my dramatic blog. Exercise is important. Especially for you. I mean, unless that impression on your couch is conceptual art, there are better things you could be doing with your time. Like noodling (the fish, not the pasta) or etch-a-sketching. I am so glad you can read! I am just so glad for you and the education system of Florida. It’s people like YOU that instigate that pause when I tell people my family’s from Florida. You’re the reason I have to add a quick “Miami” to that statement. Which has really helped me with my focus in making introductions, so thanks for your accurate stereotype depiction. You have given me something rise above. An angle for my memoir. A reason to be on whatever comes after Oprah.
Now, as for the answer to your question: Yes.
Thank you so much for your time, and e-mail me ANY time with “Ask Too Soxy” in the subject line. You have a great day. Don’t fall in! And an old people joke coming OUT of FLORIDA? Seriously. I don’t need free material, Jonny.
Remember. firstname.lastname@example.org. I would love to answer your questions. And they don’t have to be about the Red Sox. They could be about life. Or space junk. Or great white sharks. Or. Um. Sandwiches or something.