OOPS! Sorry! Wrong photo.
Here we go:
Thanks to THEO, we’re going to the principal’s office. Where, undoubtedly, we’ll all lose our ability to hold back laughter. Awkward, awkward laughter.
The compensation headache over Theo Epstein’s move from the Boston Red Sox to the Cubs is officially Bud Selig’s problem, turning a minor embarrassment for the Cubs into a potential precedent-setting action for Major League Baseball.
See. I know what you’re doing, Theo. You’re making all these jackass moves and throwing them in our faces so that we’ll hate you. You’ve been doing it allllllll offseason. So that we’ll cry, “Theo? Theo Epstein? Bah. Curse that Theo Epstein. We don’t need him or his big, big moves!” And then Bud Selig (who hears everything. Except needle injections) will say, “hark! You don’t need him? Then here is your $5. Epstein buy-out problem solved!”
You know what, Theo? It is not going to work. You are worth so so so so so much. INVALUABLE. Hear me, Selig? It’s like, you take alllllll the elephants in the world (they’re endangered, you know. And expensive) and add in Yu Darvish’s salary. And multiply it by how old Tim Wakefield is (he’s a hundred, apparently. I read it in a Yankees blog). And then you add in all the copper (it’s valuable. I saw it on the news) from allllll the street lights on U.S. 1 and then you add in a pot o’gold for every Papeljig in the history of Papeldom (curse you, Philadelphia! curse you all! um. Unless you’re a fan in Delaware. Then great tidings to you. Great indeed). And then you add your five dollars. And THAT is how much the Red Sox will accept for Theo Epstein.
Or. Um. Garza. Castro AND Jackson.
Don’t like it? SEND HIM BACK.
Oops! Did it again! Awkward…
Here you go- Sorry about that.
In other news, I landed in Philadelphia this morning and have been playing in Delaware all day. I love it here. There is Thai food and I feel appreciated. Oh. But the speed limits are ridiculously low. Which bothered me, until I realized no one has to follow them. And people really, really like stocking hats. And I don’t think you can talk on a cell phone and drive. Which is silly. Because I’m very popular and people call me a lot.
There is a place here called Tasti Thai. It is a restaurant. Not a… um. It’s a restaurant.
But there’s no Which Wich Sandwich Shop. Nowhere is perfect, I guess.
Could you call the state of Delaware and tell them to hire me? Thanks.
And Jonathan Papelbon didn’t even have the decency to meet me at the airport. After ALLLLLLLL the cheering I have done for him. I guess it really is over, guys.
Nick Cafardo and I agree on one thing today. And that is Tim Wakefield.
Who- as I’ve said before- we shouldn’t just write off- despite the imaginary walker.
Not sure it’s safe to assume that his tenure with Boston is over. Even if they don’t sign him right now, what prevents them from bringing him back in May or June or even after the All-Star break if they need a starter? He could always be one of those half-season veteran pitchers.
That’s what I see for Tim. Tim’s a utility guy and a hero. He’s not the guy you parade around the mound for a milestone. He can still serve a purpose.
And every time we write him out- he comes back as a weapon.
Well, you know. Except for that one time. Okay, that several times over the summer.
But that wasn’t his fault, see. It was the number.
Numbers are scary beasts.
So. Here’s the deal, folks. Benny C is playing it… safe? Is that even the word for this? He’s certainly playing it oppositeville. Maybe he was hanging out with Michael Hill… they were playing chess, see, when all of a sudden… the board, it got struck by lightning, right? And their hair frizzed up. Oh! And then, something magical happened like that one time on Gilligan’s Island. They switched brains!!!!!
Or, maybe Benny C doesn’t know we have money.
Maybe he doesn’t read all the disparaging comments people make about how we’re moneybaggers and buy our championships and have a bazillion dollars.
Or maybe he’s busy arguing salaries with our six unsigned arbitration-eligible players: RHP Alfredo Aceves, INF Mike Aviles, RHP Andrew Bailey, RHP Daniel Bard, OF Jacoby Ellsbury and DH David Ortiz.
Or maybe he’s still playing with the rolly chair in what used to be Theo Epstein’s office.
Are we REALLY too broke for Roy Oswalt?
I do not understand how moving around payroll works. I understand that it’s how we lost Alex Rodriguez (blessing in disguise). I understand that the internet understands it better than I do-
Can we unLackey ourselves or something? I mean, it’s not like he can play…
I am so confuzzled by our pseudo-poverty.
So, in other words- this could be as good as it gets- at least for now.
Provided we have Aceves in our rotation- how do we stack up- right now- as of Jan. 17? Because I’m not feeling the rotation strength. The real people we’ll be counting on- Lester, Beckett, Buccholz- they couldn’t pull us out of a Soxplosion. And now they’re starring in our comeback tour? I’m not feeling the pep today, folks.
In other news- it always hurts when someone moves on. You know the relationship is over. You say you’re fine. But it’s like that Gavin DeGraw song-
I think it’s pretty obvious who I’m talking about…
A bitter person wouldn’t have sat through regurgitated presser clips last night at the bar. No. A bitter person would have done a lot more muttering than I did after work last night. She probably would have thrown a salt shaker.
I’m not bitter. To be bitter, you have to care. A pitcher of Yuengling said I didn’t give a frick.
No, I don’t. I don’t care enough about you to throw salt, Jonathan Papelbon, or look up from my pitcher when your deer-eyed shapeless face is on the television screen.
There are big problems in this world. BIG problems. Like my friend Meg, for example. Thanks to Viking incompetence, she LOST her fantasy football game yesterday. Now that’s a problem.
Johnny Paps? I don’t even remember who you are anymore, Papel-prick.
Oh. Right. That guy.
So, Ben Cherington, aka: Keebler, we turn our bitter eyes to you. The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. And who better to get under than David Ortiz?
Yes, you’ve expressed interest…
But that’s not enough, Cherryo. It’s time to make a deal. The people, YOUR people, need good news. We need some good fricking news. It’s time to get over your anti-all-free-agents-lauren-likes attitude and get behind the beast. The Ortiz beast.
You make me nervous, Benny. NERVOUS.
It’s time to stroke the ego of a man who gave the nation hope when we didn’t deserve it.
Yeah. So he had a bit of a ‘tude this year. Yeah, so he stepped on some Tito-toes.
But Tito (sniff!) isn’t here anymore. Theo? He isn’t here any more. We are all we’ve got. And we need our mascot. We need him now more than ever.
Remember the slump year? The really bad one?
I do. I was living in Charlotte. And my new friend Eric (who I met at a dog park because he was wearing a Red Sox hat) called, and was like, let’s go watch a game.
And we met at Midtown Sundries on W.T. Harris Blvd (location is important) and David Ortiz hadn’t hit anything in like sixteen baseball decades. And the bar was full of people who are like, “he’s out. He’s old. Move on.” Damn Yankee hats.
And Eric and I were really quiet. And Ortiz stepped up to the plate. He stepped up and he did that palm clap that he does (you know the one) and that eyebrow scowl. And I said, “Eric, I swear to God, if he hits something, I will name my first born child after that man.”
And that’s how my puppy earned the name Elliot-May-Precious-Ortiz.
Because he knocked it out of the freaking park. He earned me seven dollars, a beer and a puppy name that night. And my life had been so ridiculous. Terrible job (in television. It was truly terrible. 4 a.m. shifts. Weekends. Try to have a social life in a new city with that schedule). Terrible boyfriend situation (NASTY, nasty break-up. Like, take what you’re thinking and add in this skanky girl from Baltimore). All alone in a city, really. Seriously, baseball. Pathetically, you were all I had. And in that moment, David Ortiz, I wasn’t some pathetic girl alone in Charlotte, North Carolina. I was part of a screaming, cheering, excited nation. I wasn’t the girl with the insane schedule who slept through dates. I was just a girl at a bar watching a great moment in a baseball game.
That’s how I made friends in Charlotte, see. We found each other, Red Sox hat by Red Sox hat. We found each other because of you, David Ortiz.
Yeah, World Series.
But David Ortiz, what I remember you the most for is that time everyone (announcers included) 100 percent counted you out, and you came busting through the wall of doubt with a firecracker of a home run, and how I felt that day.
That’s what you mean to me. And that’s why I will be absolutely, freaking, pathetically inconsolable if they do not re-sign you.
Some players are more than players. And you’re one of them. And I’d like you to retire in that damn jersey.
It’s scary, really, the personal connections we have to a sport about a stick and a ball…
But the internet tells me I’m not alone in this. There are other crazy people with crazy infatuations. Don’t believe me? You’re the one reading this rant.
So Ben Cherington, PLEASE. For me. Re-sign David Ortiz. And do it now.
Because he’s more than a DH. He’s our mascot.
What’s your Papi moment? Everyone has one.
PS- WHY haven’t you twittered me yet? Is it me?
Ben Cherington needs a nickname. Seriously. I can’t keep typing Ben Cherington. What about Cherry? Or BC? You know. Like the fix-it powder? Except (Lackey excluded), he’s really not fixing anything, is he?
It’s the first Monday without a Papelbon and I’m still Papel-grieving because he’s Papel-gone. And everyone on the internet has something to Papel-say about it. It’s at a point in my Papel-brain that I kind of want to stop hearing analytics. I don’t want anyone else to Papel-tell me that we’re Papel-screwed. I don’t want anyone else to Papel-tell me we’ll be Papel-okay. I kind of want you to just Papel-listen while I Papel-stand here in front of my Papel-mirror, Papel-sobbing and Papel-singing “Unbreak My Heart.”
Can you just Papel-do that for me?
What will you miss the most? Surviving Grady articulated my thoughts perfectly.
And Dale Sveum is going in for another interview. Whatever. Because THIS is the greatest idea I have ever heard:
Let’s do it.
I really should have your job, Ben Cherington (see how cumbersome that is without a nickname, Jup?). We’d have Paps (because he’d love us again). And a Tek-manager. And… and…
So. In other news, ORTIZ WATCH 2011.
This is that part where Ben Cherington (eh) teases us about Ortiz before finally signing him. Then he’s going to send me a personal apology post-it for stressing me out. Right? Right?
Soxies, what do you think about Ortiz?
So much to do and so little time.
Have you Twittered me yet?
Am I not Tweetable enough for you?
So. Brian Cashman of Stankees infamy does have a redeeming quality: His taste in players. When asked to identify his favorite player to watch from another club, he only said what everyone was thinking.
“Kevin Youkilis probably. He really grinds out an at-bat and just kills you. He is so determined,” said Cashman. “You can pitch him in. You can hit him. Whatever. He just gets back in there and it’s sheer determination. It’s never a comfortable at-bat when you’re watching this guy try to do damage against your pitchers. He just finds a way to do it. I appreciate watching how he goes about his business and just how tenacious he is. A lot of these guys are very controlled in this sport, unlike football. But he’s got a tenaciousness that just oozes right through his bat, right there at the plate, and it’s pretty special to watch.”
He IS pretty special, isn’t he?
And, before you totally blink out of oppositeville, guess who Sox scout Galen Car said: DEREK JETER.
In good news, Captain Obvious’s messages are finally hitting home, as Alfredo Aceves is being conditioned to start in the Sox rotation.
The “I-told-you-so” chorus would be louder, but it is currently Papelgrieving, so…
There are also rumors that Bard’s being looked at for rotation. But that’s a bad idea. Why?
Were you watching baseball this summer? Do we really have to relive the pain? He’s a short-term pitcher with not a lot of inning depth- and his eyes bug out in pressure games. Let’s work him in the bullpen until he’s unJenksed, k?
And rumors are circulating about Matt Cain.
The MANAGER Search
And Torey Lovullo (ex Paw-Sox manager) and Gene Lamont (Tigers) are adding their names to the dating pool for the management gig. And I have a TooSoxy endorsement that may not be the most popular.
Yes, I know he’s a Jay- but just hear me out. Not only has he ALREADY had to deal with Sox drama (Paw Sox, yep, Paw Sox) AND is familiar with the players- he’s currently the righthand of John Farrell. Something HAS to have rubbed off. Darkhorse? Yes. Popular? No. Sveum? No. My choice? YES.
To be fair, Lamont and Sveum have also worked with the Sox- but in a bigger capacity- so they could already be tainted by Front Office whimsy. It all makes sense in my head, see.
Besides, the killer is always the person you least suspect. And NO ONE suspects Lovullo.
And, since I know how much my opinion means to you, America- start reaquainting yourself to Clam Chowder, New England style, Lovullo. And the rest of you, start learning to spell his name. THREE Ls, people. Come on.
So. Paps is out. But that doesn’t mean we have to lose the rest of our hopes and dreams. There’s Jason Varitek, and FireBrand says it’s time to let go:
Based on what you can expect from a 40-year old catcher, it might best to move on. It’s Lavarnway time but it’s always great to remember how important Varitek has been to the Boston Red Sox and how lucky we were to have him.
TooSoxy has a different opinion.
We’ll never let go, will we, Soxies? (Yes. I went there)
So he’s no spring chicken (Is it too soon for chicken jokes?). Tek needs to retire in a Sox uniform. He’s more than a glove. He’s a leader. I say slide him into Curt Young’s vacancy. He’s more than the catcher. He’s the captain. And after what we’ve been through, we need stability, continuity and JASON VARITEK.
David Ortiz. If Tek is the soul of the Sox, Ortiz is its heart. And he’s not going ANYWHERE. Right, Ben Cherington? Right?
“There’s some interesting guysout there that could factor into our right-field mix,” said Cherington. “A lot of that depends again on David. If David’s here, we’re going to go in a certain direction with the outfield. If he’s not here, it sort of opens it up a little bit. There’s alternatives, both in free agency and in a trade market for guys that can play right field.”
Is anyone else NOT comforted by that?
Theo Epstein is really gone. Really, really. And, even though HE CAN’T SEEM TO SHUT UP AND LET GO… we have to.
“How do you describe a death spiral?” he said. “We knew we had issues going into September (even though) we were on pace for 100 wins. We just couldn’t stop bleeding. A lot of things happened at the same time. We lost a few key guys to injury, a few guys had a significant downturn in their performance, and all of a sudden we looked up and we didn’t have enough pitching.”
“There weren’t players getting drunk during games. And it wasn’t widespread — it might have been one, two, three guys,” Epstein said.
Stop talking! You are making it worse!
I think this is alllllll part of the plan to steal our manager candidates.
And, in bizarrely horrific news, remember the Washington Nationals catcher kidnapped in Venezuela? (This really happened) He’s been rescued.
What is the world coming to?
So much news. Anyone else’s eyes rolling around in their heads?
TooSoxy has Twitter
And, in the most exciting news news of the weekend, we officially have a Twitter page. Tweet me. Tweet me like you’ve never Tweeted before.
So, thoughts people! Manager search! Ortiz! Tek! Who should stay? Who should go? Who should be kidnapped next in Venezuela (too soon, Lauren. Too soon)? Onward to the caffiene.
This means no more Papface.
No more Papjig.
No more PAPELBON.
He’s leaving us, see, for the SANDWICHES.
Seriously, Paps. I bet you could have found a sandwich in the dugout underneath all the KFC bags.
WHO WILL REMAIN AND WHAT WILL BE LEFT OF US?
I am never, ever, ever leaving town again.
NO MORE PAPELPUNS. OHNO.
I am most upset about this. I need some time to process my emotions. And… the candy at the office today is… CIRCUS PEANUTS??? What the frick?
PS- You know what hurts worse than watching your ex move on?
This is a TERRIBLE day in sports.
4:23. At work. Explaining to someone the tradition that is Tim Wakefield.
So, betting time. I’ve got all my imaginary money on a win. That’s approximately 127,450 imaginary dollars. Imaginary dollars that I was saving for my imaginary boat and my imaginary high-interest mutual fund. It’s all I have left after purchasing my imaginary island last week with my imaginary savings. If I lose it, I’ll be marooned.
What do you think, Soxies? Is today the day that Father Time… um… Father Tim will deliver double hundreds?
See you in a few hours!
6:15. Getting off work. Step closer to being able to watch entirety of actual game…
HILARIOUS story about Alex Rodriguez on Deadspin (thanks, Jeb!).
New York Yankees star Alex Rodriguez played in an underground, illegal poker game where cocaine was openly used, and even organized his own high-stakes game, which ended with thugs threatening players.
Check it out while you tailgate.
7:15. Okay. Carlos Carrasco. There’s something funky about the video on MLB.tv today… anyone else experiencing this? Checkerboards? No? Just me.
Jacoby chops to first. First out.
I wish they would stop spitting in public. It’s embarassing.
This is frustrating already. two outs. Sorry, Pedroia. I thought it was a homer too.
Gonz has an extremely dramatic single. Jacoby would have made that a triple. But whatever. The crowd goes silent as Youkie steps up to the plate. Okay. I may have assisted with the mute button on my computer…
Okay. They’re picking on Youkilis. The announcers say they’re picking on Youkilis. STOP PICKING ON YOUKILIS.
Thank you. With that complete and utter fail, Cleveland, you stopped. And helped my husband have one hell of a double. Okay, sound. You can come back again.
Papi at the plate. This MLB feed is really going to annoy me. I can tell. Base hit! Youkie! Gonz! 2-0 lead. 2-0. I like how this is going. Yes. Go team 200. That’s what I will call you all today. Team 200. Do it for Wake. Do it.
Carl Crawford, buddy, pal, friend, let’s widen the cushion, shall we? Let’s spread out that cushion like a picnic blanket. Like throat coating cough syrup. Like… like a home run.
Out. Okay. Um. First inning. Two runs. Okay.
Top of the second. 7:29. Travis Hafner. at the plate. Strike two.
Youkie in the shortstop spot (????) throws him out.
Carlos Santana who has shifted from catcher to first base? What a weird game.
Okay, announcers. I don’t want to know how well the batters hit against Timmy. This is not helpful information for my pro-200 mindset. You will go on mute again. Mute, I say.
Steeeerike. First K of the night.
Knucklin’. Knucklin’ your way to 200. Knuckleballs look so silly. I wonder how they look coming at your face. Judging from the confuzzled expression on Konerko’s face, not pleasant.
Throws it in the dirt again.
Um. Let’s not do that.
Tim turned 45 yesterday? Why didn’t I know that? I would have thrown a party.
A-Gonz shoves in the out.
7:35. I am so tired, guys.
Bottom of the second.
Not. A. Good. Sign for my awakeness…
Cleveland, I’m sorry your pitcher lost his last five starts. Really. And I’m sorry that tomorrow it will be six. Heidi Watney, I really don’t care about this. Thanks.
Reddick. Base hit. At the wall. Dramatic single. One out. But Joshy on first.
That ball almost hit Baltimore… wayyyyyy on the bottom of the wall list.
Marco Scutaro kind of looks like this guy I went out with this this one time. Not sure why I’ve never noticed that… my, what an awkward memory.
Good swing by Marco Scutaro? Um, Remy, a good swing is going to be when it’s out of the park and we’re two runs scarier.
Full count for Scut. See, I’m not worried- because Jacoby’s up next.
Fly to center… catch. Out.
Whatever, let’s see you, Jacoby.
Ball one. Okay. We can walk there. That’s fine. My computer keeps freezing on ridiculous expressions in the audience. Like this guy in a pink plaid shirt with his mouth open. He is clearly a Cleveland fan.
No offense, Bheise. You would NEVER wear that shirt.
In the air to right. Makes the catch. Ends the second. Okay. That’s fine.
0-2. Top of the third. Tim Wakefield is about to be a badass. You’ll see.
Any minute now.
Pop out. Jacoby’s all over it.
Any minute now.
He just smirked. Was that a badass smirk?
Yes. Yes it was. Second strike out for Tim Wakefield.
That’s KK, for those of you paying attention at home.
Ground ball. Easy out.
And then Scutaro kicks it.
Scutaro kicks it?
Scutaro kicks it.
Bunt. Out at first.
Okay. Scut… you better go shake Gonz’ hand.
Up the middle, base hit for Pedroia… our 5th hit of the night, by the by… on a new 5 game hit streak… Okay.
25 game streak broken by the White Sox. That one hurt.
Gonz tries the bunt. Not so much with the success.
Pedroia tagged out. Pedroia!
“That’s a helpless feeling for a baserunner, when you take off too soon,” announcer said.
Caught stealing. Bah.
Gonz grounds into the shift. Obvious out- but he runs for THAT one, notice.
Shut up, Heidi! Youkilis is batting.
Ball and a strike. I just love the Youk chant. It’s like a moan, really. Ball and two strikes. Two outs. Come on, baby. I believe in you. Want me to clap? I’ll clap. I can do that. Hell, it worked in Peter Pan.
Clearly, you are not Peter Pan. End of inning.
39 pitches for you, Timmy. 40th… a strike. And a fast ball.
Okay. Breathe. 200. 200. Just repeat that. You know. 200 times.
Hopefully this won’t take 200 tries.
Ball bounces. Ridiculously.
Clearly witchcraft. 2-2. Tie game.
Yeah, Salty. I think you SHOULD talk to Tim Wakefield. Maybe you should talk to him longer. NO outs. 2-2. 8:05 p.m.
Wild crazy pitch puts the guy to third.
Okay. Wakey. Okay. Let’s just calm down.
This inning is gross. Let’s start over. Or. Um. End it. Or something. Wake?
52 pitches. Tonight a year ago collision at the plate with Santana? Yeah. Let’s not repeat that. I’d rather Wake just strike you the frick out.
Like he just did. Making it KKK.
55 pitches. Okay. Let’s give that lonely out some friends. Two, to be specific.
Thank you. Sit down.
And, in the announcer booth, we’re talking about Tito bobbleheads. I really, really want one. Is that wrong? Will you buy me one?
“Where’s his finger so I can dislocate it again?”
That’s a bit much, announcer. A bit much.
A bobblehead night?
Doesn’t make the catch- Ortiz stopped at third, double for Crawford. Lovely. Kismet.
Second. Third. ZERO outs. ZERO.
BASES LOADED! BASES LOADED!
But BASES LOADED!
Come on, Marco.
Come on, Marco. Stephen King is watching.
I mean, it’s not a grand slam… but… at least we avoided a double play.
2 outs. Carl at third. Marco at first. Jacoby at the plate. Scut steals.
Anddddd we start the bottom of the 6th with an out.
And about fifteen yawns from me.
And two outs. Blast.
That was a dramatic fail… and we’re on first.
Of course, it may be moot, because Marco’s up.
Out. That was fast.
Top of the 5h. 8:30 p.m., but it feels like midnight. Wake… can you do this quickly? Thanks.
Thanks. 1 out.
Crap. And one on first.
2 outs. Okay. Okay. Guy on second. Whatever, guy on second. Wake promised this would be fast.
First and second. Okay. And Asdrubal is up to the plate.
3 outs. Thanks be to Fisk. I’m so sleepy, guys. So sleepy…
Gonz and Pedroia are trying to wake me up. It’s sweet. Thanks, guys. But it’s not working. Youk is going to load up the bases. He will.
And the fifth crashes. Like I am about to…
Tim Wakefield. Please?
Oh no. Alfredo Aceves is warming up.
Oh no. Wakey, you can do it. I believe in you…
200. 200. 200. 200. 200.
Tim. 200. Tim.
He is stressing me out. Are you watching this? Is anyone watching this?
Tito looks stressed out. And Salty, I hope that’s stress, because you are causing some plate scariness with your not catching.
Okay, One on first. One on second. two outs.
Oh. AND IT IS TIED AT THREE-THREE now.
Tim is gone. And I have this sinking sleepy feeling that this is only the beginning of our journey to 200.
Top of the 7th. I am too tired to yell at you, Randy Williams.
It looked fair to me too, Jacoby. It is 9:20.
3-3. top. 8.
This game will clearly last forever.
Youkie. Fix it.
Ball four. Leadoff WALK.
Tony Sipp. Whatever.
Mike Avilles pinching. This is the first time I’ll really see you in action, Mike. Can I call you Mike? Papi. Oh, Papi. Swing and a miss. ‘Course.
Zero outs, Aviles on first.
Aviles steals second. This Aviles, he’s alright.
Pop out. Papi.
Carl. Can I call you Carl?
Seriously. Ties cause me to lose sleep. Fix this, Carl. Be a buddy.
Out on strikes.
Okay. Um. Aviles is still in scoring position. One out left. So. Um. Salty?
Oh no. Justin Masterson tomorrow. Oh no. I am so conflicted. I loved him so.
Right. Back to the actual game.
13-1 Yankees? Really, White Sox? REALLY?
Salty. Yes. Salty.
This game is stressful. I know what will make us ALL feel better:
The 9th. An out.
Crowd on its feet. Wish we were there.
Hi, Darnell McDonald.
FAIL, Darnell McDonald. Go. Sit. Down.
One out left.
ONE OUT or extra innings. And I can’t stay awake, people.
Jacoby, if you CARE about me at all…
OHMYGOD. You… you love me… you… you really love me…
I love you too, Jacoby. I love you too.
“Just want to try to drive the ball.”
You did, Jacoby. You did.
I love Paps’ victory face. I love it.
“We’re going to compete until the last out,” Jacoby said.