Happy Jon Lester day, everybody! Sorry, just practicing. That’s right! The most Lesterish of all the lefties is primed to attack opening day.You’re watching, right? Because apparently Lester’s father won’t be. And that’s a shame, because Lester’s a special, special guy, and I’m sure he’s sorry about Soxplosion, 2011. I’m sure he’s sorry and that I’ll be getting my apology letter any day now.
I’m expecting one from you too, DOUBRONT. I hate to judge games I didn’t physically watch… but REALLY? REALLY, FELIX?
They were saying NICE things about you. Remember that? Remember THIS?
And you go Lackey on us against the fricking Twins?
And I didn’t forget about YOU, Melancon. I’m just… I can’t… I WILL GET TO YOU LATER. What really frightens me about you, Melancon? Is that Bobby V doesn’t seem to think you are horrible.
“Melancon outing? I thought he backed up the bases pretty well. He had that down,” said Valentine when asked about the reliever…
It absolutely fills me with a cold, hollow, trapped-in-a-well kind of fear when the managers think Lackey-esque performances back up bases “pretty well.” We saw it with Francona and Lackey. We saw it with Francona and Timlin. Need I remind anyone of a man named Lugo? Nearsightedness is a part of the aging process, Bobby V. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Just recognize it now and get some cool specs by April, k? They make prescription sunglasses and you could probably even get a fake nose and mustache for them.
Bobby V says he’s going to “sit down” and have a serious conversation about pitching. Um. Okay. Sure. I mean, I would have had that sit down, serious conversation about pitching while forming my rotation. You know. DURING THE OFFSEASON. But sure, with what, TWO FRICKING WEEKS to go before Opening Day? Sure. Let’s all just SIT DOWN now. You sure you don’t want to wait two weeks? Maybe discuss it over CHICKEN?
I’m okay. I’m okay. Totally over September. TOTALLY OVER IT.
I have said it before. I shall say it again. Right. Now. Aceves for rotation. Do it, Bobby V. DO IT. It’s not like we can…
Wait… what… wh… oh my God you guys… Could it… is it… DON’T TOY WITH ME, BOBBY. I have been hurt before. What’s that? Shining in the distance?
Oh hope, you calculating mistress… teasing us in the form of a…
This is exactly like that early 90s cult classic, “the X-Files,” available now on Netflix.
Allow me to explain.
See, for those of you who were like, seven when this came out with mean parents who didn’t let you watch the X-Files because of “graphic content” and nightmares and stuff (and you don’t have Netflix. Because, if you have Netflix, I’m sure you’re already a “believer”), the X-files is about these two FBI agents. There’s a skeptic. Her name is Scully. She’s not relevant to my rambly metaphor. But I like her hair. And then there’s Mulder. See, Mulder, really WANTS TO BELIEVE in things like extraterrestrials and scifi stuff and an afterlife, right, because it gives his life’s mission purpose. It means there’s something out there that means something, see? Oh, and that his sister isn’t dead. But you can get a full explanation on that sideplot from wikipedia.
“I want to believe that the dead are not lost to us…”
Dice-K, I WANT TO BELIEVE in you, because that gives the 80 katrillion dollars and 17 gallons of tears I have shed for you a purpose. But I need evidence.
Much in the same way that, in season 2 of X-Files, Mulder needs EVIDENCE to continue his quest.
Can you tell what I was doing before I made Raleigh friends?
So see, Dice-K. You’re the aliens. We want to believe in you. But you’ve got to stop abducting people and just have a nationally televised conversation. And. You know. Pitch.
What do you think, Soxies? Do you believe in Dice-K? Or do you think we’re alone in the universe?
In other news, the media is really sorry about all that chicken sh#$ (see what I did there?) they spread in September and they’re trying to apologize by over compensating Lavarnway style. I appreciate the attempt to keep my cries of “VARITEK! WHYYYYY” at a minimum. But, seriously, Boston Globe. You don’t have to pander to me. All I need is time.
Some encouraging words about Jose… I mean, we didn’t win. But, apparently, he caught a cool ball. So that’s nice.
Oh, and the media, so astute they are, have decided to tell us all that Bobby V is not Terry Francona. Thanks, Yahoo Sports. What would I do without you in my life? I get you mixed up too, media. Like, just the other day, I was like, Why, Hello, Anderson Cooper! What are YOU doing in the booth? And then I realized it was Jerry Remy. You make THAT much sense, Yahoo Sports.
In conclusion, today was a sucky Red Sox day. Except for the bit about Lesterness.
So, comment, nation. Comment away. Doubront, or not to Doubront? Dice-K, or not to Dice-K? Aliens, or no aliens? Scully or Mulder?
No one enjoyed the break more than I did. No one. I was theoretically off work today (four phone calls, five articles later). Which means pool time. Sunshine. And work.
But hey, work with sunshine and pool time isn’t as bad as … um… work without pool time and sunshine….
Speaking of working, Theo Epstein’s hitting the grind, prepping for draft day, Monday in the “war room.” That’s how this writer describes team Red Sox…
It makes sense. After the past week, the past HORRIBLE week, we should definitely firm up our WAR plans…
Back on the ranch, surgery looks like it’s happening for Dice-K… which means decisions on the horizon: Timmy or Alfredo? While everyone will admit Alfredo has a fun name to say (and is a great pasta sauce), on my end, the decision is pretty clear.
KEEP LACKEY ON THE DL.
Okay. Then Wake it is.
Oh no… Lackey… back for the June 5 game. Oh no.
Okay… more reading.
Here’s an article where it’s doubted that Dice-K will ever play for us again…
That’s an expensive bout of bad news…
And here’s another one: Was Dice-K worth the $$$?
Thoughts? Could we have done 2007 without him?
Depressing news today.
You know what else is depressing? This whole fricking week.
Let’s just wipe the slate clean and start winning, k?
Bruins, I’m talking to you too…
I’m going back to the pool…
That’s what they’re calling last night. Not just a heartbreaker- ANOTHER heartbreaker.
The tear jerking, rip your heart from the platform and sacrifice it to the firegods kind of heartbreaker.
Okay. That may be my own interpretation. But Dan pretty much says that in THIS ARTICLE.
And the Sox won. Oh. Right. The WHITE Sox. WRONG COLOR, PEOPLE.
We lost Rich Hill. To a crap throw.
And gave Whitey an excuse to use the term “fearless” to describe one of their players.
‘‘Everybody dug in and [came] to play and get good at-bats all this week,’’ Guillen said.
See, Red Sox? CAME TO PLAY. That’s what you’re supposed to do. AND UMPIRES, COME TO UMP.
Add to the pressure of our leg shattering fall from the top of the ALE- Dice-K may really, really be done for. At least for 2011.
So Wakefield? Aceves? What to do? What to do? I am still with the – leave John Lackey on the DL and take a chance on Wakefield until he can’t hold the ball and the walker at the same time… but that’s just me.
And here’s an interesting article about the Yankee-Red Sox rivalry and how dead it is:
The bitter divide between the Yankees and the Red Sox seemed to fade when Red Sox fans watched in horror as Johnny Damon put on a Yankee pinstripe uniform in 2005. With a clean-shaven face, Damon wasn’t Damon anymore.
Really? Because the Damon thing was my last straw. It did the opposite of fade that line for me…
Rivalry dead? Thoughts? I don’t think so.
But what do I know? I spent last night with a punching bag and Keystone Light.
Oh, and cake.
You know, the trifecta of a healthy Wednesday evening.
3:56 p.m.: Ran into THIS interesting survey. Dice-K: Worth it or not? What do you think? Could we have done 2007 without him?
Thunder. Lightening. Allllllllll night.
New apartment: one wall of my bedroom is just a window. Vaulted ceiling with high windows on the other side. Beautiful. Mountain views. I can see poetic things like ponds and Canadian geese.
And in a thunderstorm, I get to see a mini-apocalypse of surging water, branches and lightening.
It’s cool to say that you like things like walks in the rain. That you like the flash of lightning. That you find it thrilling.
See… I hate lightning. I hate thunder. And I HATE being cold. Rainy walks=cold. And I’m not a fan of shuddering puppies who feel they must sleep ON you. All. Night.
Did I mention I got NO SLEEP? I hate being tired.
You know what else I hate?
Let’s get this party started, people. I have a phone interview with local rescue workers who’ve been dispatched to Missouri at 8 p.m. Give me something to be cheery about!
So, rainy day thoughts anyone? Who else hates walks in the rain?
Gooooooo Red Sox!
I’ll blog part of this thing. You know. If it happens.
8:51. 1-0. Sorry, Masterson. But, you know, not really to the sorry.
Clay, I would appreciate it if you didn’t walk people. Especially not in the third inning. Totally should have explained that.
In other news, I’m sure you’ve heard about Dice-K by now…
A definite possibility that he might not play again this season. Which is bum-worthy. Because I can just picture that sad Dice-K face in my head. You know the one. Here’s to hoping he’s okay…
2 outs! That’s right, Clay. Do it for Dice-K.
End of the third! K-Youk is up! Love.
Oh, Masterson! You look so little up there. All by yourself. Our little boy is all grown up…
Jup (check out her blog. It’s swell) has this nickname for you, Masterson: Fetus. I think it works admirably.
I regret to interrupt this broadcast with a DIRE WARNING. Jenks could return. And soon. The walls themselves, they tremble.
Okay. Back to your regularly scheduled Indian-beat-down.
It’s okay, K-Youk. I love you. And Ortiz, swell single, baby.
3 outs. Crap.
Masterson! *fist shake*
Is anyone else kind of… um… proud?
Cabrera homers. 1-1.
Shin-Soo Choo. I remember making fun of your name… now I’m going to make fun of your lame ground out. And your name. Who am I kidding? I love your name. It rhymes. I love rhyming.
End of the fourth. 3-2 hits… still 1-1.
2-1! BEAUTIFUL left field homer by Crawford. Earnin’ his keep.
End of the 5th. 9:38. Gonz up. Which is good news for everyone. You know. Except FETUS.
And Gonz walks. I am not arguing… really, I’m not… but two of those looked like strikes to me…
I’m going to ignore that double play. I am not even going to comment on it. Nope.
Asdrubal. I love your name.
Really, Cleveland. You have some great names.
End of 6. Still 2-1 us…
Do you think Drew Carey is watching this?
Start of the 8. Salty up. I am reading a magazine. It’s that type of game. At least I am not working.
Pedroia on first. A walk. Two outs. And Gonz at the plate. Exactly what we want…
And he’s walking too!
Pitching change? But why? We love Masterson…
And Gonz was almost at first…
And Gonz singles. Which is… um… kind of the same thing, when you think about it. Man on first and second. Come on, Youkie-poo. Don’t leave them stranded… Poor baby. Was hit by a pitch earlier. AGAIN.
I looked away. Is Cleveland changing pitchers again? Really? What’s wrong, Drew Carey? Problems in your bull pen?
And I was complimenting Cleveland names. Shin-Soo. Abrudabababael. (well, it was kind of like that). Joe Smith? Really?!
Grounded INTO DP? Oh.
So much waiting in this game. Anyone have any good knock knock jokes?
Daniel Bard. Remember the other day when Matt Albers pitched? It was supposed to be you. Don’t let us down.
DAMN IT, BARD. 2-2.
CABRERA? Stupid, stupid Bard.
Rich Hill. Do you see what Bard is doing to us? Fix it. Fix it good. Annnnnnnnnnnnnnd I’m getting Albers flashbacks. You better fix this, Richie.
Cabrera, you are pissing me off.
Two on base. This is the part where I start to hope before being terribly, terribly crushed.
Damn it. See?
Blame it on the rain.
Rain, I blame THIS on you too. Pedroia better be okay.
But the Bruins won. So that’s happy.
As 2007 Beckett and 2007 Dice-K did before him, vintage Wake heard our cries from through the time space continuum and broke into the time machine (I think they keep it in the Green Monster, but I’m not sure). He kidnapped new, spastic Wake and sent him to Bahia Honda (that’s in Florida) and came in from some old school knuckle action.
And the rest… well, that will be history.
How’s about the rock wars last night? When people hit my players, I get angry. Byrd: clearly an accident, people. No one purposely pegs someone in the face. Right, WOOD?
“I’m [ticked] off, I just got hit with a 97-mph fastball,” Lowrie said of his thoughts walking to first base. “I mean, I understand the situation, but I’m [ticked] off.”
What do you think he really said?
And my husband is extending his hit streak! 10 games! And, the humble saint, he didn’t even know. How’s that for humility? (ahem-ahem, FDA)
Youkilis said he didn’t know he had a hitting streak, “But now I guess I do.”
Speaking of records, hit 72 times, Youk! Poor baby.
“I understand the whole thing,” he said. “But you throw it once and you miss, and then you throw it again. I don’t know. I guess they felt like they needed to get one in.
“The other day they were upset, because they didn’t like the warning when I got hit. They were saying two guys got hit to one. So I guess now we’re even until 100 years from now when we play again.”
“It seems like I’m always the one getting hit,” said Youkilis.
.5, people! And it’s off to Carey town we go… Drew Carey town…
Daisuke joins Lackey on the DL.
And… in exchange… we get…
Why this is good for me: I can say, hi, Michael Bowden, and somewhere out there, he might actually know who I am. Of course, he doesn’t know me as Lauren, the dazzlingly beautiful blogger with a sparkling personality and genius wit, you know, like you guys know me.
He knows me as “that girl with the sign(s).”
See, when I lived in Charlotte… still no Red Sox. So I compensated with Knights (White Sox affil). See, for most of the year, I faked White Soxism. I even saw Peavy pitch. I wore the hat. I drank the beer. I meshed. I had to, see. I needed baseball.
But… once a year… when the PawSox were in town… to Knight horror, I ditched all my bandwagon gear for my Red Sox hat and got loud. Oh. And I got signs.
Remember that time Aaron Bates got a homer with the Red Sox? I did. So, when I saw his name in the PawSox lineup, I got a little delirious and that’s how it started. When you’re Fenway deprived as long I’ve been, you take what you can get, and you RUN with it.
Well, according to Bates, I’m the first person to make a sign. Well, multiple signs. You know, with things like, “Bates is great.” Really witty stuff like that.
He remembered me when they came back the next year.
And I, feeling it was my duty as a good little Knights turncoat, would make multiple signs. Tons of signs. And I would pass them out to people with Red Sox hats on.
Bowden, you got a sign. Remember that time you pointed and laughed at me? I do. It was one of those good-natured laughs. A good counter to the glare from all my Knights-faithful friends.
Did you know that NO ONE makes signs in Fort Mill? NO ONE?
They needed me. It’s sad, really. I wonder how they’re dealing with my absence…
A rainout and now it’s back to the grind. Clay, darling, don’t suck.
With John Lackey out of the lineup, nothing can stop us now. We’re mediocre+ and bigger news than Jorge Posada’s strained ego.
Yesterday was old school. The kind of game that has us throwing forks against drywall (I know I’m not the only one). The kind of game that has us out of leftover moving bubble wrap in thirty seconds. The kind of game that scares your puppy so badly she hides in the bathtub. Again.
It was that kind of game. The kind where just as you’ve ripped the leftover plastic pieces into shreds, just when you’re about to pull a Hulk on some cardboard boxes, they rally and stomp.
There was some major rally-stomp action, thanks to the best investment we’ve made since that Marlins trade years ago: Adrian Gonzalez.
See, Adrian Gonzalez isn’t just a hero. You know, like Jason Bay. The kind of hero that sweeps in, makes the save, and leaves you to clean up the glass and file the damages with your insurance company.
Adrian Gonzalez is a guardian. He’s in it for the long haul, not just to catch you that one time when you find yourself falling off the empire state building.
Biggest comeback since 2009 Yankee stadium, they tell me. But it feels like the biggest comeback of all time. It’s probably because of our subpar trend with mediocrity. Maybe it’s because we’re all just so damn sick and tired of coming to work and finding a broom waiting for us in our cubicle. There’s just something about this season that’s been taxing. It’s not losing. We’ve lost before. It’s this groaning, agonizing BARELY losing crap. This playing against ourselves and LOSING to ourselves crap. It’s JOHN LACKEY (who, saints be praised, is on the DL list and can’t bother us again… for… you know… at least a week).
We needed this.
We got this.
And we’re over .500, baby.
But Dice-K, dear, this does NOT mean we’re okay. You need to work on your issues and your fear of going over that .500 hurdle. I get it. Because, see, once we’re mediocre+, there’s no going back to Lackey-esque obscurity. It’s up, up, up, and that’s a lot of pressure.
But Dice-K, dear, if you do not suck it up and start channeling old you, we are going to have a problem.
Okay. Now go celebrate with your little friends.
See, this feels good, but as I have said (at least twice), the ORIOLES are the WORST team in the ALE. They just are. So, enjoy the feeling. A victory is a victory, but just keep in mind that it’s a victory against the WORST team.
And Jorge Po-drama? (Thanks, Jup)
Who gives a frick?
And Boston Globe started a debate today: Should we resign Papi? Um. Yes. Yes, Tito. Don’t listen to them. YES.
You know, the Stankees are .513.
We are THREE games out of Tampa. Do you know who else is THREE games out of Tampa? Well, Toronto, but also NEW YORK. Stick that in your pipe and smoke it.
And, I don’t care what statistics say. Tampa is the other WORST team. They are rising out of the dust because the rest of us are killing each other. I give it a month.
PS- So, I was just doing some reading. I read, you know. Apparently, Joe Girardi banned ICE CREAM from the Yankees dugout. No WONDER Posada wants out.
Apparently, the ice cream ban isn’t a recent development. He banned soda too. And this was years ago. But I’m sure the ice cream deprivation adds up. You know.
Banning ice cream is like… it’s like… banning ICE CREAM.