OH HOLY FUCKING HELL.

Theo go bye-bye.

I would yell at Theo. But it would just make me want to cry. So I'll yell at Lucchino instead.
hey,
Larrry Lucchino?

YOU STUPID ARROGANT NEGOTIATION LEAKING SOB, WHY DID YOU HAVE TO LET YOUR EGO FUCK UP THIS TEAM AND LET ONE OF THE BEST GMS IN BASEBALL WALK? I HATE YOU! YOU SUCK! I WILL CHOP YOU UP INTO LITTLE PIECES AND SET THEM ON FIRE AND FEED THEM TO RABID DOGS AND THEN PICK UP THE CRAP, AND SET IT ON FIRE AGAIN, AND THEN I WILL DO SOMETHING ELSE NASTY, THAT I HAVEN'T THOUGHT UP YET.

Plus, Manny wants out. He hates Boston. Or at least he does this week.

Fuck you goddamn stalking fanboys and WEEI whining pussies, screwing this up for the rest of us. YOU are the reason that the rest of us get a bad name.

fuck. fuck.
I wish this day didn't happen.
fuck.
I want to be simply happy that the Pats won last night. I want to be simply ecstatic that Tedy's back on the field playing. I want to go out trick-or-treating.( Which is frowned upon if performed college students.)
I want to be five again, and not understand all of this, and have my mother tell me it'll be alright. Which she probably will. Because she is much calmer and smarter then me.
But most of all, I want Theo to not quit. I want to lie on the floor and beat my arms and scream and make him come back.
But I won't. Because he won't.
And it's a long, cold winter ahead of us.

And There Was Much Rejoicing!

White Sox win their first Series since 1917?
Wooooo! And that's not a sarcastic woo, just a disappointed-in-the-complete-lack-of-offense-
by-the-Astros-and-thoroughly-impressed-by-how-good-the White-Sox-were woo.
Lil' Brandon "Not Arroyo" Backe was a complete badass on the pitching front. but it wasn't enough. I hope the rest of his teammates buy him a pony and a case of the beer of his choice to apologize.

And now?
Hot Stove.
Wooo....ooo?
Which will truly start in all it's terrifying glory when a certain management group GETS THEO SIGNED FOR THE LOVE OF PETE.

Also:
TEDY!
TEDY!
TEDY!
TEDY!
TEDY!

Whatever goes on in Sunday's game v. the Bills ( I have learned to expect absolutely NO-THING), Tedy is likely to be a part of it, and hell-yeah.

Y'all have something else to look forward to: next Tuesday, if I am able to find a digital camera, you will get to see me in the most absurdly homemade Jedi Knight costume ever. Oh yes. Fear it.

From The Way Back Machine

Thursday, October 21, 2004

AIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!


THE RED SOX WIN THE PENNANT!
THE RED SOX WIN THE PENNANT!
THE RED SOX WIN THE PENNANT!
THE RED SOX WIN THE PENNANT!
THE RED SOX WIN THE PENNANT!
THE RED SOX WIN THE PENNANT!
THE RED SOX WIN THE PENNANT!
THE RED SOX WIN THE PENNANT!
THE RED SOX WIN THE PENNANT!
THE RED SOX WIN THE PENNANT!
THE RED SOX WIN THE PENNANT!


posted by Emma at 1:45 AM

I can't believe it's been a year already.
My boys did good. And a few of them may be someplace that's else. But they are the Twenty-Five.
And they are responsible for 5 of the most action packed, emotionally wrenching, and completely beautiful days I've yet experienced.
Here's to you, men.

Thank You, Real Life

First of all, RIP Sairey "The Cat" Milburn (a former contributor to this site) who passed away last Thursday at the age of approx. 13. I love you very much kitty. I miss you very very much.

However, in other news, I guess all of my mojo, good luck, and generalized hoodoo that DID NOT WORK for the Red Sox seems to have carried over in my non-sporting world. Which is pretty nice.

I am caught up on all of my reading for all of my classes, my one on one Hist and Lit tutor likes me, and out of four classes I have ONE (count em) ONE midterm exam. Which I did not realize until I thought about it today. Also, the Harvard Pops Orchestra has not spontaneously imploded yet, and I feel I can take some small sliver of responsibility for that. (Shameless plug: all of you in the Boston area, come to my concert on Nov. 11th. Lowell Lecture Hall, Harvard campus, 8 pm. It's about pirates. And there's a fair to good chance I will be dressed up or otherwise humiliated during it, so you can't miss that.)

So life is pretty good.

Perhaps I should give some of this mojo to the Patriots. Perhaps I should actually manage to watch a game all the way through. Which I haven't managed to do yet.

*Does Dance Of Shame*

Or possibly, give some mojo to the Astros. Apparently it is not only the Red Sox who DO NOT LISTEN TO ME, it is all baseball teams. After Lidge gave up that single to Eckstein, I distinctly told him to "fix this now". See what happens when people don't listen? Anyway. As they say, "Momentum's only as good as your next day's starting pitcher." And I am not really trusting Mulder vs. Oswalt in this spot.

To end this post on a high note...



BEHOLD THE SHIRTLESS VEGETABLE MOJO! BOW DOWN TO THE MOJO!

Well. That Happened.

No more Red Sox baseball 'till February. Except of the depressing "letting The Professional walk somewhere else" kind.

The sad funny thing? When it ended on Friday, I was pretty calm about it. I mean, when it really ended, with Edagr grounding out. When Johnny half-swung at that goddamn El Duque slider? Had to retreat to my grandparents' laundry room and curse out the furnace and several unsuspecting boxes.

But when the game actually ended, apart from some therapeautic laughing-so-I-wouldn't cry, I was uncannily calm. We went out, partook of Chinese food, and life went on.

It was only late at night, watching the player interviews on Sportsdesk, that I started sniffling a little bit. Watching Mike Timlin praise all his teammates, watching a scarily somber Buckethead. And especially watching a clearly sad Jonathan Papelbon be this team's own Brave Little Toaster, all stoic and strong, I realized something.

Yes, I'm disappointed it ended so soon. But more than that, I am so fucking proud of these guys for getting as far as they did.
Whereas last year was about the coming together of talent we all knew was there, this year was the year of the Overachievers. Not individually, but as a team, scratching and clawing our way into the playoffs.

Looking back over the entries for the past six months, that is the theme I keep coming back to:
I am proud of them. Every last one. And those who will move on, go their separate ways, I will miss, dearly.

***

Not only personally, however. I love Kevin Youkilis, but his possible ascension to third, and the changes sure to come at first base, means that two-thirds of this blog's name is fucked up.
I shall hold a contest to rename the blog. That would be pretty cool.

It would certainly help for blog material. Rest of the playoffs? Nice to watch, bad to write about.
Pats? That's at best 2-3 days a week. Hot Stove, hasn't really started yet.
Maybe I need to start watching hockey. But first I need to figure out how the hell hockey works. I mean, past "You hit the puck with the stick and it goes in the net."

Greatest Hits

So, since we got the sincere and painful ass-whupping over with on Tuesday, I guess the Sox decided to move on to track 2 on 50 Ways To Emotionally Fuck Over Your Fanbase. Namely, the "Start off Strong, Give Up The Lead In One Heartbreaking Inning, and then Completely Give Up On Scoring Any More Runs", Game.

Yes, I saw the error. And no, I will not bring myself to badmouth Mr. Anthony Graffinino in this space. I refuse. He's done so much for this team, fit in seamlessly, and done good with the bat. And he did not hold a gun to the Fat Man's head and force him to throw that second curveball. Call Tony my binky, fine. I don't care. There were also three more innings left to play. And the tying run in scoring position in the form of Tony when his infield compatriot grounded out to short to end the game. This loss is hung on the whole team, or hung on no one at all.

Wake will fix it. He'll come back rested, come back from last Saturday with a chip on his shoulder, or as much of one as Wake is capable of. Because he is Wake. God help me, I'm quoting Buckethead, but don't let us win tomorrow: Schilling in Game 4, and then everybody going game 5. Possibly even the Vegetable Mojo itself. They can still win this thing; may not be likely, but they can.

Or at least I really hope they do. Because if the Pats keep playing like last Sunday, I don't want to be left alone in the Sports Room with them. It'll just be awkward.

Red-Faced

Ew.

If Sunday was sending the raiding party out to pillage, that was the 100 man raiding party getting sent back with 10 guys , one cart with a squeaky wheel , and a lame baggage donkey.

And Matty is the guy with no pants, covered in dung, and his foot stuck in a turnip.

What that makes the rest of the bullpen, I have no idea.

But it's not good.

Hopefully, we have used up our assigned quantity of Suck for this postseason.
If not, when my six months till legal drinking is up, I will have a lot of time to make up for.

HELL YEAH!!!!!!!!!!!!

Postseason bound, third year in a row. Suhweeeeet.



The Battle of The Hose starts Tuesday.

On to pillage, men.

WIN.

Am I disappointed that the Yankees celebrated on our turf, in our house? Yes, I am.

Have I given up? That would be a hearty HELL NO.

Boys-Win today, you're in. Simple as that. Win today, you play for at least another week.

Being the wild card may be annoying, but it is not dishonorable. Look what you did with the wild card last year.

But you have to win today. And then everything goes from there. Anything is possible. Because, despite last week, despite yesterday, I believe.

We believe.

Bugger.