What a ridiculous news day.
In a move that has this song in my head all day-
-Ben Cherington adopted a child for us. His name is Daniel McGrath and he’s 17. And now the Red Sox are his daddy.
Daniel McGrath. Hmmm. It’s the 5th highest $$$ signing out of the 435 Aussies signed to play. Don’t worry. He’ll “complete year 12” before Soxing it to spring training next year. And, hey, maybe the beer store will start carding. So, there’s that.
Maybe that’s Benny’s plan. Import people who CAN’T buy beer for the clubhouse.
It doesn’t say how he got his super powers… but I think we all know where that 150 km/hr fastball pitch REALLY came from.
Do you think he’ll introduce us to Gary Busey?
In other news, Trot Nixon is heading this Hall of Fame class… but the REAL news is that he went to New Hanover High School in Wilmington. Did YOU know that? I’ve been there like, a bazillion times. It’s the high school that every movie/tv show uses when they film in North Carolina- a high school I became acquainted with during my actor days. And, apparently, Trot Nixon could have been in the same town. You’d think that someone would have told me.
Oh! Oh! Oh! But there’s more news!
Giving us yet another reason to roll our eyes at New York, Mayor Bloomberg called Boston “Loserville.” Really. Mr. Bloomberg, do you know what comeuppins are? Because they’re comeuppining in April. Loserville? Really? Tim Thomas? Are you going to stand for that? I’ll be checking Facebok later for your statement.
I will remember this, Mr. Bloomberg, and I will rub your snotty little New York nose in it on behalf of all New England (just don’t cry again, Tom Brady) in April. Seriously, footballians, stop crying. How many rings does New England have? Honestly. You’d think you were Michelle Kwan. And a silver medal isn’t THAT bad.
And stop. STOP. Pulling baseball fans into your web of depression with whiny reminders like:
If only Wes Welker caught the ball. If he had, the city of Boston would still be sweeping up the confetti and Tom Brady would be resting comfortably in the pantheon of football greats. We’d still think Giselle Bundchen was charming and we’d be practicing dance moves to imitate Rob Gronkowski’s postgame partying. Eric Wilbur would be living a peaceful life.
Sound familiar? Sure does. In fact, it sounds a lot like last September.
SHUT. UP. Seriously, New England. You WON the Sandwich Monday Contest. Who NEEDS the Super Bowl?
Arbitration has been scheduled for Papi. Here’s to hoping it’s quick and painless!
I’m not the only one, btw, who rolled my eyes at Dan Shaughnessy yesterday. Our friends at Fenway West also voiced their whatevers at ya, Dan.
Speaking of rolling our eyes, the Roy Oswalt drama continues. And my eyes? They’re still rolling. You’d think they’d get tired.
So, kiddies, what do you think? Teenagers. Papi. Roy Oswalt. I’d like to hear your thoughts of the whole mess that is the Red Sox offseason.
Roy Oswalt and the Sox have no “traction.” That’s what’s being reported today. Again. I care about this… oh… as much as I did LAST week when a similar report surfaced. Oh. And the week before. And the week before. And… tell me, was this Oswalt crap going on THE WEEK BEFORE THAT?
You know what’s more interesting than ANYTHING you have to say, Roy Oswalt? This morning’s Bleacher Report on the five players under the most pressure.
Got me thinking. The five- the Beckster, A-Gonz, Carl Crawfail, Papi and Bardlebutt. And, since I’m a Sox fan, a cynic and in an irritated mood today, obviously, my thought is the following question:
WHICH ONE OF THE FIVE WILL CAVE FIRST? My guess is Daniel Bard.
What do you think?
And what do you think our most controversial offseason move has been thus far? I’m going to go with Marco Scutaro…
In other news, the Patsies are still sobbing Giant tears. So, this morning, Shaughnessy tries to make us feel better by telling us the Red Sox failures are worse. Gee, thanks, Danny.
Speaking of the Patsies, I know I haven’t done an ASK TOO SOXY in awhile, but I got a super cute e-mail yesterday. Ahem:
I can’t believe you John Denvered (Hah. I did that, didn’t I? Oh, the cleverness of me… I like that. I hope that catches on. John Denvered! Oh, classic) the Super Bowl. Do you know that most of your readers are Patriots fans? (I have readers?!) And you get really off topic. Reading your blog is ALREADY annoying (So is your face). Maybe you shouldn’t alienate the fan base you have left. If the Sox had lost to the Giants (um) you’d have a sappy, dramatic One Tree Hill song for us (you do read me! you do!), not John Denver. Maybe you owe your readers an apology.
Brian Cashman, are you an inner New England fan?! I never knew! See, the usual me would mock you for your mixed sports similes and ponder at why you, a good speller, has so much fricking free time. I’d thank you over and over again for your clearly obsessive fanship of my blog and probably send you a commemorative silver star in my mind. But you’re right. The new me should be more sensitive. Should humor you. After all. I am 28-years-old today. Much more mature than yesterday’s 27. So. No John Denver. Here you go. This is me humoring you. And your humiliating, humiliating, excruciating Brady (that’s my new word for LOSS. It’s a verb AND a noun) yesterday. I mean, I did expect you guys to Brady to the Giants. But maybe I should have been more sensitive when you Bradyed. So. It’s just one Brady, after all. I mean, it’s a pretty super Brady. And Madonna was watching. But really, she slept with A-Rod. Her credibility is shot. But I loved her outfit. Did you love her outfit? Life is a mystery… Sing it, blondie. Sing it. Right. Back to you. And your team’s humiliating, nationally televised Brady. Let’s all sway to Joseph Arthur. Who was NOT in an episode of One Tree Hill.
Here. Stare at this while that song is playing for the full effect, k?
So, Soxies, happy my birthday to you. I hope it’s filled with sunshine and wins. You know. And not Bradys.
You heard me.
Happy Super Bowl Sunday, suckas.
If you haven’t sent in your score for the Super Bowl pool… well… I’ll think of a lame comment for you tomorrow.
Now. To teach myself the rules of football before kickoff…
Derek Jeter and Kobe Bryant are among Brady’s favorite athletes, according to reports.
It’s all starting to make sense. So THAT’s how you finagled starting rotation… rotation for… soul?
I didn’t mean that (I did a little bit).
Speaking of dastardly things, Josh Beckett has FINALLY broken his silence! Finally? Really, media?
“If we would have pitched better, none of that stuff would have even been an issue. And it shouldn’t be an issue anyway because what goes on in the clubhouse should stay in the clubhouse. I don’t care who says that or whatever, I’m not saying we don’t make mistakes in the clubhouse . . . it’s just what goes on in the clubhouse, it’s supposed to stay in the clubhouse.’’
So. Um. Let’s stop talking about it?
Ahem. More news.
Curt Schilling has been so loud lately that even the YANKEES are catching on.
And leave Youkie alone, Boston Dirt Dogs!
Happy day-before-Super Bowl, ladies and gents! And, if you haven’t participated in my Super Bowl pool (um, all but like, three of you), get on that ASAP.
PS- You’re welcome for the Roy Oswalt-free article.
This one’s for you, Bard!
Today, I will be in Raleigh looking at apartments. Hopefully, by this time tomorrow, I will be the proud, yet naive renter of TWO dwellings.
I am such a sell out. I bet this is how Jonathan Papelbon feels. Except with less hair mousse. And a better house…
Speaking of decisions, Roy Oswalt still hasn’t made one. He is, however, letting other clubs in the “I’m just stringing you along” society. Welcome, Rangers. I saved you a seat. And the internet still cares, see. I think it’s because the 37,000 people that read this blog are not spreading my message adequately. Get on that, k?
A new report came out that says we almost got Curtis Grandersnot. You know what that is? Less interesting than my apartment search.
So. I’m trying to be footbally. It’s a thing. I’m trying to feign adequate interest in Sunday. You guys know how I feel about the Pats, right? Miami girl, and all that. So I’m kind of just cheering AGAINST you guys. Which works out, because my super bowl date is a Giants fan.
So, in a good faith effort to care (and inspired by Jere– whoa. That rhymes!) I’m going to start a Super Bowl pool too. Guess the score in the comments. Whoever is the closest to the Sunday total, will win an amazing Paint creation by yours truly. It’s amazing. And you can print it out and put it on your fridge. Get crackin’.
What a beautiful day in Boone, North Carolina! The sun, Soxies, is shining. The temperature is NOT freezing. The mood? Chipper. That’s right. CHIPPER. All, my dears, is right with the world.
And the internet is complimenting my day. The internet NEVER does that.
See, in honor of the Super Bowl, Time Magazine recreated great New York vs Boston moments…
Like the 2004 ALCS!
It’s like Time Magazine said to itself, “how can we make Lauren’s already spectacular morning even more spectacular? Why, with a double dose of 2004 miraculousness.”
The Sox didn’t need extra-innings to win game six but rather starting pitcher Curt Schilling bravely playing through the pain of a torn tendon sheath to pitch the Sox to victory (it would forever be known as the bloody sock game). By now the Yankees were reeling and with Johnny Damon hitting a grand slam early on in the winner-take-all game seven, New York couldn’t recover and arguably the greatest choke in sports history was complete. The Sox became the first team in MLB history to lose the first three games and win a seven-match series. They didn’t lose another game, sweeping the St. Louis Cardinals in the World Series to finally end the 86 year-long curse.
So, see, Oswalt, I no longer give a frick what you do. Go ahead and meet with the fricking Rangers. It is of little consequence today.
And Delcarmen, I LOVE that you’re the Stank’s problem now. Good for you. Have fun.
And sure, Ben Cherington. Tell the world that our rotation is game ready. Go ahead.
Not even your extreme denial can bring me down today.
Because there are birds today, people. Birds. And they are singing and not shitting all over metaphorical cars. You know. Like hopes and dreams.
The shithawks? Not hovering around MY head.
Life is good.
PS- Are you my Twitter friend yet? Because you should be.