Look! Look! Look! Hurry! Click here before the bullpen gets another chicken delivery!
There! Didn’t that make you feel better? Unless your name is Kevin Costner.
We all need a good laugh…
If your name IS Kevin Costner, shoot me an e-mail at firstname.lastname@example.org. Your website is… um… very professional. And not at all… um… you know what? Just e-mail me and we’ll talk. I’m better at bullshitting over the phone.
Oh. The Cards won.
It’s like a drought, really. That’s what North Carolina is like. I mean, not literally. There’s like, flooding and stuff. But you know. Metaphorically.
You know that feeling when you are absolutely parched? You’ve been running. It’s hot out. It’s been awhile. And then the waiter brings you cold water with the crushed ice pellets and a straw and it’s gone in thirty seconds? And you’re ready for more and you just drink and drink and drink and think you’ll be drinking forever? Oh, and the waiter gives you that quirky look?
It’s like that when I meet an actual Red Sox fan. I have so much to say. So much to say. It’s like I’ve taken a vow of silence my whole life and can suddenly talk again. The words, the Lackeyisms. The statistics. The projections. The past. It just pours out of me. Word vomit of my soul. It’s a bit much.
It’s like, in the first five minutes of meeting someone who is clearly a Soxie (clearly), some wire in my brains says, “Lauren, you have two minutes to expell all the Sox feelings you have been holding inside for the past 27 years. Two minutes. And… GO.”
And I go.
Oh, do I go.
Alienating everyone around me.
Even the coversation I am trying to have.
It was like that yesterday. While covering a paragliding competition (I get to go up the paraglider sometimes. Yeah. That’s MY job), I met three people from western Mass. And they might all think I’m crazy.
I’m not sure…
But I believe… I went from talking about the “thrill of flying” to John Lackey’s slackjaw and Bedard and Buchholz’ injury and Lowrie at Pawtuckett and Jacoby’s rise in cred and Pedroia and Youkilis and how Crawford was so-so in my brain and Adrian Gonz walks to first. Oh, and how Marco Scutaro has been messing with my head. Oh. And I might have recited the rotation schedule for the next week. And talked about Asdrublablahblahbel and how irritating his is for my soul. In one breath.
So. Um. Paragliders, I am sorry. Especially to you, Lorenzo. Because I really liked (like) your tattoos.
So. That was me YESTERDAY. Can you imagine how I’m going to be this week? Seriously. The week without a computer starts today folks.
Yeah, the Yankees won today. Whatev.
The real tragedy is you’ll be mostly TooSoxyless for a whole week.
You can delight in knowing that I am on a beach stewing up so much Sox vomit for you all. In the form of witty, witty (and hopefully margarita-drunken) prose.
If I were in Boone today, I would have gone back to the landing zone. Man, paragliders are cool.
As a whole. I’m not talking about you. Why are you reading a Sox blog anyway?
Seriously. There is something wrong with them.
So. Um. I’m going to give you a minute to digest that.
I’ll be over here.
CLICK HERE. I can’t figure how to imbed it- but you’ll be glad you did.
Do what I did if country music makes you cringe. Fast forward to the 2 minute mark.
And baseball without beer? Seriously, that’s like dill pickles that aren’t kosher.
An inner tube without a river. Ahhhhh, a river. That’s how I plan to spend my weekend.
You know. If this nasty, icky only-when-I’m-not-working rain would dissipate.
But seriously. Baseball. Beer. They go together like peanut butter and jelly. Cagney and Lacy. Kevin Youkilis and yours truly. Beer is part of that baseball ritual. Pop open a cold one, get semi-comatose on the couch, and wait for the bad calls to get your riled up.
So, as we await another Fenway stomping, I ask you..
What’s your baseball must have?
My mother said a remote control. Please be more interesting than that.
PS- Another crazy list on a blog today- the 20 Biggest Douchebags? I get (but wholeheartedly disagree) why a not-fan might put Beckett and Paps on the list. They can be scary. I’m sure Josh Beckett can make a not-fan dribble with tears, what with his unapologetic bad-assery. Paps as number one? Kind of a hilarious choice. Clearly we in the not-fan ranks are shaking in our high tops over the Paps face.
But guess who else ranks? David Ortiz. What is the world coming to, people? Clearly we need more outreach education. Because the ignorant masses are creeping.
WHATEVER, New York. ‘We never liked your paper anyway,’ said other people. But not Lauren. Lauren LOVES NYT. LOVES.
So, New York Times sold most of its holdings where Fenway Sports Group is concerned. SEE?
Sold for $117 million. Thanks to some… you know… World Series victories… which were… you know… AWESOME, that’s a good return on NYT investment of $75 mill for its 17 percent stake in 2002.
Fenway Sports Group also owns NESN (80 percent), Liverpool Football Club, the English soccer team and Roush Fenway Racing (50 percent). Fun facts to know and tell your friends at parties.
WHATEVER, NYT. Who reads newspapers ANYWAY?
Oh. Right. Um.
But seriously, 3 buyers. I am curious. The possibilities are ENDLESS! We could be owned by like… um… Barbara Streisand or something. Oh-oh-oh! Or Prince. Or the Kennedys!
Who do you think would be a kickass buyer?
[Note: The post should, in no way reflect a negative viewpoint of NYT (a company Lauren is IN LOVE WITH, dear human resources, IN LOVE WITH) or its subsidiaries. She was attempting to be hilarious. And, if they (NYT and company) would like to hire her, she would be thrilled. She would be more than thrilled. Ecstatic, actually. She would make you a thank you card. A handmade thank you card. And wear a t-shirt swearing her allegiance to you, oh New York Times Company. Particularly so if the hire would happen at a location that has a beach and the possibility of umbrellas in drinks. Or. Um. Boston. She would like to point out that a Boston job would be fine too. And she wouldn’t turn down New York. Lauren comes with enthusiasm, a masochistic, loyal and efficient work ethic and references. Thanks.]
I interrupt sandwich series bemoaning to bring you an important news bulletin. This just in- the latest athlete (and I use that term liberally) to admit to the steroid smack dance is…
TMZ says everyone’s most exhausted soundbite juiced up for “Major League.”
I would also like to point out that Sheen is…
A YANKEES FAN.
“I know this: There were a lot of teams that tampered and tried to get him to do the opt-out, including the New York Yankees. A lot of teams wanted him to opt out on Wednesday. Because of his trust for the Red Sox and how much they’ve invested in him — not in terms of money but in terms of effort to just get his delivery back and be patient with him, he stayed. In some ways, they’re fortunate. Because I think he could have gotten twice as much money if he had left.”
Talking about Andrew Miller, rumored to be starting as early as Monday.
With Clay up for possible DL due to “back stiffness” (mm-hmmm, okay, Blister Boy, as you shall forever be known), might be good timing…
Okay, Andrew Miller. Okay. I am going to like you. But until I know Wake’s safe, I’m not going to like liking you. You dig?
Oh god. I just thought of something.
With David Price on my Joba List, TWO of my current least favorite players are in Tampa.
Currently (it changes on occasion), we’ve got:
1. David Price
2. Johnny Damon
3. Curtis Granderson
4. Joba- Who was moved down from number 1 because he got operated on and I was being nice.
5. Nick Swisher
6. Bobby Abreu
7. Jorge Posada
8. Matsui. Wherever you are.
9. Asdrubal Cabrera
10. Alex Rodriguez
And that’s just the top ten. I have them ranked through a bazillion. Or a bazillion and one or something.