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.
My Dad and I watching the Dolphins spank the Panthers in Charlotte. That was a good day. And one of the best birthday presents I ever bought him… Definitely the only one that he remembers.
The hateful anarchist in me loathes the fact that the NFL lockout is ending.
There. I said it.
I’ll admit it. What? What are you going to do about it? Think you can take me on, punk?
Yes, I have friends and family who work directly with NFL. Yes, I care about the economies of cities like Charlotte. Yes, I do want to ensure that my old friend, Armanti Edwards has a job. And yes, I’m glad my father has another opportunity to hope and believe in those Dolphins. However masochistic that hope might be.
But I would be lying if I didn’t say a tiny sliver of evil within my soul is slightly disappointed.
And I’m treating you, Soxies, as my confessional. Because you won’t tell my father. And he doesn’t read the internet.
See, without football, perhaps people would appreciate understated American gems. Gems like HOCKEY. Just think. Without Tom Brady wrestling against the Ronnie Browns of this world, how much time would we have to prepare and appreciate hockey and baseball? And the news stories that would come out of a lockdown. I’ll admit it. I selfishly want to see a press conference with a teary-eyed Tom Brady talking about how he’ll just have to move on. Oh, what to do with only bazillions of dollars instead of bazillions and bazillions of dollars! How will they all survive? Oh how?!
And how cool would it be to have a rebel crew come forward. Of mismatched and older football players with a dream. Scrambling together to do the impossible. Bring a nation hope again with turf wrestling. It would be like a movie. Is that a movie? I don’t know. It should be a movie. I’ll be in it. I could be the linebacker. See, I was a linebacker in high school powderpuff. I got slapped in the face. True story.
AND without football, people will be forced to talk to each other at Thanksgiving. Just think! Real conversations. With real adults. About things like the weather. And life. And dreams and goals and stuff. Maybe without football, some people in my Dolphins-obsessed-clan would actually have dreams and goals and stuff. And time. Glorious time!
Please don’t read this, Aunt Sally. I love you. 🙂
Experts, experts here, experts everywhere, really, have never been worried. Our sports director hasn’t taken this lockout talk seriously from the get-go (what does get-go mean, anyway?). I have been cautiously indifferent.
But now that it’s come to fruition, this complete and utter lack of revolution, it’s kind of boring, right? I mean, the same thing is going to happen this fall that happens every fall. The same pig skin smell. The same, the same, the same.
I tried football. And, undoubtedly, I’ll try it again. I will. I lived in Charlotte. And I tried so, so, so hard to like the Panthers. But they kept losing! I have never seen them win a game. And I was so bandwagony. I mean, I grew up with the Dolphins. I felt like I was… cheating? Using my new location as a convenient excuse. It felt… wrong. And seriously, I’m like the Panthers’ kiss of death. Even that season when they were good? Every time I watched a game: They lost. My friends in Charlotte stopped inviting me to games. Really.
And Jake Delhomme is such a nice guy. I met him a few times through my job and he is so nice. So, when people start talking about how terrible he is, when he gets ousted, I kind of get depressed, thinking about how this nice guy has no job. I’m not supposed to feel that way. I’m supposed to be okay with it. Like how okay I would be if John Lackey were deported to Anaheim. But, it was different, see. I think it’s because… um… I like the players as people more than I like football? Yuck! What’s wrong with me?????
And the team of my people, the Dolphins. I’ve been trying for 27 years. I like going to games. But I get confused. And football people do NOT like answering questions. Especially when they know you’ve been watching for 27 years and should know what a red zone is. It gets confusing, Nick! It gets confusing! And it’s hard to pay attention when there are so many neat coffee table books at Grandma’s house!!!!
When ASU beat Michigan and I worked in radio, I got a crash course. I was forced to blog about it, all through another National Championship. I produced specials. I was on the radio talking about football. Yes. I was. Someone actually paid me money to do that. I was told I was hilarious. But I was under the impression I was being factual. Apparently my “appearance of naivete is hilarious” and it’s just so witty how I “dumb it down.” Your face is dumbed down. Apparently I was good at it. The hilarious thing. See, but I was not trying to be hilarious. Not. At. All.
Anyway, once again, I’ll try to keep up. I’ll try to be part of the football club. And I will fail. Ohsoohso miserably. And, since I have this sportserrific blog, the failure will likely be public.
That’s what kills me, really. I try. I try soooooooooo hard to like football. Because I like sports. I love sports. I love the idea of watching football. I try and I try and I try and I try. And I fail. Every. Single. Time.
But, yay, Armanti. I’m glad you have a job. I hope you are better at it this year. I’m not sure why you weren’t good at it last year. I thought you ran remarkably well. Just like I told you in that e-mail. I thought you looked like a superstar.
And Anthony, I’m glad you still have a job in marketing. I don’t want you to be homeless and living on my couch.
And Dad, I’m glad that the Miami Dolphins have… um… a chance. They have a chance, right?
And Sally, I’m glad you will be able to utilize those tickets. And I know I always say I will come down and go to a game with you. And I know I always don’t because when I do come down there’s that beach. And the Keys. And the beach naps. But I will. Maybe. This year.
And America, I’m glad that your favorite sport isn’t in dire straights (<- that’s a band!).
And football, I will try to understand you better.
But I’m sorry, America. I will never, ever, ever accept Tom Brady’s hair. And you can’t make me. The Dolphins may confuse me. They may make up rules as they go along to try to confuse me further. But they are, and always will be my home team. And I know I’m not supposed to like you, Tom Brady.
Football is kind of funny. Because my family is divided into two factions. There’s the Miami branch. And there’s the New England branch.
Makes for some interesting dinners. Let me tell you.
Will you guys still like me if I ever get savvy enough to intellectually like the Dolphins and not just like them because I’m supposed to?
Okay, seriously, guys. If my family reads this, I will be murdered. Hey… this will be a good test of my nobody in my family reads my blog theory…