Posts Tagged ‘New York Yankees’

200 or BUST.

August 3, 2011 4 comments

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 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.

Two outs.

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.

Home run.


Okay, Timmy.

Okay. Breathe. 200. 200. Just repeat that. You know. 200 times.

Hopefully this won’t take 200 tries.

Zeeeeerooooo outs.


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.

Pedroia catches.

2 outs.


Thank you. Sit down.

Papi walks.

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.


One out.




Marco Scutaro.


Strike 2.


Come on, Marco.

Come on, Marco. Stephen King is watching.

3-2 lead.

Okay. Okay.

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.

And crap.

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.




2 outs.

Papi. Papi.

And the fifth crashes. Like I am about to…


Hi, Timmy.

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.


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.


Nothing changes.

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.

Strike three.



This game is stressful. I know what will make us ALL feel better:

You’re welcome.


The 9th. An out.


Second out.

Crowd on its feet. Wish we were there.

Strike out.


Score. PLEASE.

Hi, Darnell McDonald.

FAIL, Darnell McDonald. Go. Sit. Down.

Oh, Marco.

Marco Scutaro.



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.


There’s just something wrong with Yankee fans.

July 30, 2011 5 comments

As a whole. I’m not talking about you. Why are you reading a Sox blog anyway?

Seriously. There is something wrong with them.

A new poll found that Derek Jeter is tied with Babe Ruth as the greatest Yankees player of all time, the New York Post reported Friday.

So. Um. I’m going to give you a minute to digest that.

I’ll be over here.


Bad news for baseball.

July 28, 2011 5 comments

Baseball lost another of its own today. Not my favorite player. Not my favorite team.

Former Yankees pitcher Hideki Irabu was found dead at his California home yesterday. 

But very, very sad.

Suicide suspected. Since “retiring” in 2002, it’s been a checkered life, with bar fights and ridicule. Remember Steinbrenner’s “Fat Toad” remark? Sad events like this remind us all that, despite our passions, it is just a game. And they are just people. And it’s sad that anyone ever felt this alone.

Rest in peace.


Oh, good, Roger. You’re back in the news.

July 6, 2011 5 comments

Everyone’s favorite turncoat Roger Clemens is back in the news! But it’s not for a weasley World Series victory. It’s not for a ring contest. Or even a who-has-the-veiniest-bicep competition… even though… um… that’s closer…

It’s for *drum roll please* LYING. Lying about juicing up in 1999, 2000.

And who turned him in? Who, oh who? Oh, that’s right. HIS BEST FRIEND. Andy Pettitte. Which seems to be the bigger story than Roger Clemens popping happy juice. HIS BEST FRIEND.

Roger, remember when I was your best friend? Remember that?

Yeah. Me neither.

It’s quite dramatic. All the major characters are there. The bastard best friend (Pettitte) the anxious butler turned gossip (Giambi). It’s like one of those mystery weekend novels by Agatha Christie.

Poooooooor Pettitte, the NYT says.

“I can’t imagine what he’s going through, knowing he will have to sit there and testify with his best friend right there at the defense table,” said the former Yankees slugger Jason Giambi, who testified about his own steroid use when he was a government witness in March at the federal perjury trial of the home run king Barry Bonds, who was convicted of obstruction of justice.

“I was close with Barry, but my testimony was all about me and my own use,” said Giambi, who played with Clemens and Pettitte for two years with the Yankees. “So I really feel for Andy. Knowing how he is, it’s going to be very, very hard for him.”

You know what wasn’t very, very hard? Pettitte’s veins, apparently, since he ADMITTED to using the human growth hormone too.

I like how this article seems mostly about poor Pettitte and not about jerk Clemens who LIED.

Though he never spoke much in the clubhouse about his religious convictions, Pettitte became known among the Yankees for his strait-laced life. Some of his former teammates, including catcher Jorge Posada, said Pettitte’s best quality was that he could be trusted.

Really, Posada? It wasn’t truth juice.

YOU should know.

And they were just buddies, Pettitte and Clemens. Like Milo and Otis? Like Fox and the Hound? Not so much. More like Bonnie and Clyde. You know. Except, instead of cash, it was a substance that gives you man-boobs.

“It was strange if you didn’t see them together in the clubhouse,” said John Flaherty, a former Yankees catcher. “You’d see them running, lifting or throwing a football before games, then they’d play golf on off days. It was always Andy following Roger around.”

How’d that work out for you, champ?

“Andy was always prepared to handle the pressure, but in court, he is not in his comfort zone,” Joe Girardi said. “It’s out of his realm, and it’s out of our realm, too. None of us want to see that.”

Read further, and you’ll see law experts telling the reporter that Pettitte has absolutely no reason to tell the jury any of this.

“In 1999 or 2000, I had a conversation with Roger Clemens in which Roger told me that he had taken human growth hormone,” Pettitte said in the affidavit, a potentially pivotal declaration if spoken before a jury.

And yet he testifies anyway. This means two things about Andy Pathetic.

1. Maybe he and Clemens had a fight on the jungle gym

2. Maybe he actually has some integrity

I hope it’s number 2. I’d like to be able to say something nice about Andy Pettitte. I’ve been on this soap box before. You all know how I feel about the ‘roid years. You saw how I snipped Manny like a bad habit. IF Pettitte is really testifying for the integrity of baseball, I give him props.

Before today, whenever I thought of Pettitte, I thought of THIS MOMENT. You know the one. Where Jacoby steals home and Pettitte looks like he’s going to cry? I even remember where I was. It was that pivotal to 2009. I was in an Irish pub near work in Charlotte with my friend Doug and I choked on a nacho.

If Pettitte really does this, I’ll get to remember him for two things. And shame on the misplaced focus on Pettitte, who didn’t do anything wrong (THIS TIME) instead of the juicing rock slinger himself.

But the honesty bug, it doesn’t make up for the Yankee tolerance of juicing. You know it’s true. Just look at the Mitchell Report. Look at testimonials. Look at the team. There’s a tolerance. That’s the crux of my rivalry. Well, that and Johnny Damon.

Clemens insisted he had told Pettitte that his wife, Debbie, not Clemens himself, had used the drug. In his Congressional testimony, Clemens said Pettitte “misheard” and “misremembers” what Clemens had said about growth hormone.


I think the law professor in the Times article sums this up nicely.

“So I think Clemens is in big trouble,” he added. “He probably wants to kick himself for picking the kid who was the Eagle Scout on the block to shoot off his mouth to.”

The trial begins today, and I’ll be paying attention.


So, I’ve been thinking… and I have a tip for the defense attorney, ’cause I’m so nice. Maybe you should ask potential juries if they are Red Sox fans…

CLICK HERE  and scroll down FOR MORE STEROID NEWS. Jesus Christ. What is wrong with today?

Hey, don’t blame the media. Blame Baloo.

June 10, 2011 3 comments

Looks like Big Papi blames more than C.C. Sabathia for the rock that hit him in the leg.

“You guys like to criticize us when we (screw) up?” he said. “Criticize yourselves now.”

Now, Papi. You know I love you. I’m going to blame this rant on your pain, k, and breeze over your logic.

Because ESPN didn’t hit you with that pitch, Papi.

Baloo did.

And… the media, see… the media capitalizes on what the AUDIENCE wants. The rating points. People complain about the media (stepping on a larger soap box now) and its divine influence, but it’s not the media. If media could dictate desire, Paris Hilton’s new show would be a success.


The rivalry gets media focus because it gets fan focus.

That’s how the chicken and egg works. Chicken (you) then egg (media).

Like Charlie Sheen. No one WANTS to write about Charlie Sheen. I don’t WANT to write about Charlie Sheen. But you can visibly tell when the anchor says the word Charlie Sheen- because the ratings points go up. Before. Your. Very. Eyes.

And, since the media relies on commercial dollars, and commercial advertisers rely on media people watch, we print Charlie Sheen. We light up the screen with Charlie Sheen. Ratings go up. We make money.

Not because of Charlie Sheen.

Because of you, America.

Because of you.

The media does not throw pitches.

CC Sabathia throws pitches.

You dig?

And, while I’m on this soapbox, THIS, ladies and gentlemen, is reason number 4 why we will ALWAYS need NPR. And why NPR is one of my dream jobs. Because I would love to work at a place where I didn’t have to Charlie Sheen my way through the day’s news.

And Charlie Sheen is just one example. Think about it.

So, dearest Papi, blame the bear. Not the beast.


And the nation is relieved

June 9, 2011 9 comments

While we wait on this dang-blasted rain (that’s what they say in North Carolina. I prefer downpour of torrential irritation), let’s reflect on the best news of the day:

Pedroia is A-Okay!

Quick, cue the parade!

And all is right with the world.

“I fully expect he’ll be hitting second tomorrow,” Francona said.

Pedroia took the train back (with Jenks, also on the DL! I have a much different reaction to that tidbit) and got all checked out. And he’s fine. Thanks be to Fisk. Because news earlier today said he could be out for a month. Pedroia says its his leg that has caused his hitting slump. What do you do to fix a bone bruise, anyway? Oh. Ouch.

“Bruised bones are extremely painful and, unfortunately, the pain lasts and lasts.”


“Scientists investigate the possibility that bone bruises are predecessors of future problems.”

Okay. Research is depressing.

So. Let’s cease.

Did you know Pedroia is afraid of flying? Me too. That means we’re soul-friends. (Soul-mate is still K-Youk. Ah… K-Youk…)

Another fun fact- did you know Joba’s out?

And, if you enjoy the Stankee rivalry, you’ll enjoy this article about what happens when a “Yankee cast-off” hits New York. Nice review of last night’s pounding if you missed it: “On Wednesday night, the Yankees got a taste of what they let go. “

“It doesn’t matter which team we play,” Aceves said on Thursday, in Spanish, when asked about facing his former team in the Bronx with the crowd yelling for the Yankees to rally.

“We just want to win against every team. There isn’t a particular enemy.”

Oh, Alfredo. You are fricking adorable.

Now if only Salty would get better

Papi, I love you.

Okay, rain. You done yet? We’ve got some Stankees to sweep.

LOL Sox puts out its most hilarious image yet!


PS- New York, thanks for your hospitality. In honor of you, I am including a YouTube video of NYC from Annie. In my imagination, it’s being performed by Derek Jeter and Nick Swisher. But you’re not in my imagination. I still think you’ll see the resemblance.

PSS- If you’re looking for a good live blog- I found one that’s just as annoyed by the rain as I am. That blog will be fun to read if we complete the sweep…


10:48. Okay. It is too late. The governor is coming tomorrow. I have to tour a new ASU facility. I have to finalize Sunday centerpiece. I have things to do.

I am not going to watch this whole game.

I am not.

But damnit, Josh Beckett! Did you not hear the GREAT THINGS I said about you? Don’t, don’t, don’t let me down.

Do you want to SHARE the top with the Stanks, Josh? Because it gets awfully crowded up there.


11:05. Did you know the guitar strings on today’s version of Google make noise? Seriously. Go to right now. FDA showed me this and now I can’t stop. I can play Silent Night. And part of the Beauty and the Beast theme song. Angela Lansbury would be so pleased.

Right. The game.

I’m watching. I’m watching. Geez.


11 p.m. So, found a live pro-Yank blog. Would be more fun to read if, you know, we were winning. Pro-Yank blog hopes A-Gonz gets hit with a pitch.

I hope Derek Jeter swings so hard his arm falls off.



11:08. Does C.C. remind anyone else of Baloo from the Jungle Book?

You know, but evil?

And stoned?



11:13. Fading fast.

I have reeeeaaalllly got to go to sleep. Think you kids can handle this? You know, without the Carolina cheerleader? Because I have to get up so early…

FDA, I’m leaving you in charge. Don’t let them lose. I mean it, FDA.


11:15. Someone seems to have a litttttle problem defining the STRIKE ZONE.

Damnit, FDA. Part of being in charge is yelling at the Umpire. Loudly. Do it.


11:17. You know. Life is a lot like a Disney movie.

11:18. I am really glad I found my airport bottle stash. That will keep me awake. For at least a hot minute.


11:19. “I know Varitek has never really been a threat…”

The things people blog about!

Go Posada yourself.


11:22. This is going to be a looooooooooong game. Google string thingy is so much more fun than this game.


11:23. Yeah. Sleep. Now.

Win. Please?

Do it for the Bruins. They need your inspiration.

11:25. Cervelli, your name sounds like a bacterium.

11:27. Okay. NOW I’m asleep.

11:28. Well, clearly not NOW. One can’t be asleep when one is saying that one is asleep.

11:29. You get my point, right? I can sleep now?

11:30. I canNOT sleep when Curtis Grandersnot is at the plate. Blah.

J-Beck. Please do not let Grandersnot on a base. Please?

Or walk him. Sure. Yeah. Okay.

Time to get mad, Beckster. Time to get mad. Let’s see anger-face. No. Not that. That is NOT anger.


11:35. Okay. I want to hit Alex Rodriguez with a pitch as much as you do, Beckett, but loading the bases… that’s a bit much, don’t you think? Is this one of your show-off moments were you load them up then slam them down?

11:37. Oh, thank you. You really had me going, Beckett. I never doubted you. Never. You know. Except that one time in the first inning when you handed Curtis Grandersnot a homerun on a silver fricking platter. You know, that time.

11:41. The. God. Of. Walks.

You know. And awesomeness.

11:44. You hit Papi with a pitch and it is on. Remember this, Stanks. You have been warned.

Bottom of the fourth. Really sleeping. So. Um. When I wake up. This will be fixed. Better. Yes.

Oh, Google…

8:05 a.m. And THAT, ladies and gents, is how I like to start my day.

PS- That live Yankees blog is a dead link this morning… shame…


June 8, 2011 8 comments

Okay. Okay. Okay. Let me see if I can hold a straight face while I type this. Joe Girardi. Joe GIRARDI and the New York Yankees “don’t appreciate” Ortiz “pimping” his homer last night.

The NEW YORK YANKEES are criticizing US for egotism.

Let me retype that.

The NEW YORK YANKEES think WE have a bad attitude.

Specifically, DAVID ORTIZ.

“He kind of rubbed it in our face,” Russell Martin said.

Should I continue to analyze that or can you get the funny by yourself? Having trouble? Here you go.

Nope. Couldn’t do it with a straight face.

And, BY THE WAY, sports pundits. I used to be a dancer and THIS is not a pirouette.

THIS is a pirouette.

And, while going over the news of the day, when was the DH NOT COOL?

PS- I HATE Tony Randazzo.

Now. Bruins. I sincerely hope that David Ortiz has inspired you.

Please don’t Canuck yourself today.