The Professional, The Idiot, and The Tailback

The Acts And Bravery of Lord Daisuke Matsuzaka, and his Sidekick Sir Papelbon

2007-03-15T13:58:00.000-04:00

Scene: QUINCY HOUSE, HARVARD UNIVERSITY, SHIRE OF CAMBRIDGE

There is a tree. A DAMSEL is tied to that tree. The lights come up, we see it is PRINCESS EMMA, BLOGSTRESS OF THE CRIMSON SOX.

EMMA: Oh my! Oh dear! I have been tied to this tree, the TREE OF KNOWLEDGE, deprived of my pens, bound by the EVIL THESIS MONSTER! WHO WILL HELP ME!

*EVIL THESIS MONSTER ENTERS, STAGE RIGHT*

ETM:BWAHAHAHAHAHAAH! Your case is hopeless, my dear! Not only is that really strong rope, it is enchanted rope, ensorcelled so as not to break until the proper time, and the proper man comes to save you.

EMMA: Proper man? Screw that. *starts searching with foot for sharp objects*

ETM: That will do you no good, my dear! By your explorations into these wilds of Scotland-

EMMA: This is Metro Boston, dude.

ETM: Ahem. These wilds of Scotland, you have fallen into my trap.

EMMA: Only because you looked like William Wallace. The cool one, too, not Mel Gibson,

ETM: Oh will you just shush please. But, even if you manage to free yourself, you will be like Cassandra of old, plagued with all manner of thoughts about baseball, but unable to express them.

EMMA: OH HEAVENS! Wait. Why the hell am I talking like this? Fuck this noise.

*Monster cackles evilly, Emma struggles, and THEN!*
*Tall but oddly rotund figure enters stage left*

FIGURE: Domo arigato, my lady. I have come to assist you in your time of need. You are needed back in the kingdom of Sox, and I was deemed the most worthy and brave knight.

EMMA: BAD-ASS! It is Lord Daisuke of Matsuzaka! And who is that handsome but goofy manchild behind him?

GOOFY MANCHILD: Hey, y'all, it is me, Sir Papelbon. And I bring with me THE ALL POWERFUL VEGETABLE MOJO!

ETM: HAhahahaha! You shall never defeat me!

D and P: Wanna bet?

*They throw fastballs at the Evil Thesis Monster until it goes away*

P: Nicely done, Lord D.

D: Thank you, Jonathan.

P: But how are we to free Princess Emma?

D: Simple. We have my Sword of Awesomness to cut the rope. And it is now the fateful Ides of March, the time when it is prophesied that the Glorious One will come to return the Princess to the Land of Baseball. You must return that Mojo that is rightfully hers.

P:.....okay. That sounds good.

EMMA: WILL YOU TWO JUST GET ON WITH IT.

Both: Okay.

*POOF* *FLASH* *KAZAAM*

EMMA: Oh! I am free! How can I ever thank you?

D: By returning to your glorious kingdom, and continuing in the guardianship of your portion of the Sacred All Powerful Vegetable Mojo.

EMMA: I can do that.

*All three walk off into the sunset to glorious Spring Training*

THE END.

The Saner Morning After

2007-01-15T09:57:00.000-05:00

Some thoughts on the game that didn't quite fit in to the poetic mood I was in last night:

*Goddamnit, is Donnie Edwards annoying! Whatever defensive frustration the Chargers were able to put up last night, he seemed to be part of it. I mean, I guess that's what Mike Vrabel must have seemed like to Chargers fans: everpresent, and even when he didn't make the spectactular play, he made the necessary one, and apart from the end of the 2nd and 4th quarters, the Pats could not get any flow going, no big runs by Lomo or Corey. But, thing is, Edwards can't do everything, couldn't cover the CB's man for him, and that completion on 3rd and 10 to Reche was the beginning of the end.

*I guess luck really is too big a part to ignore in this game, isn't it? I mean, you have two potential interceptions, a game apart. McCree ( I guess) juggles one, and Rosie Colvin draws in the other like he's got velcro on his hands. And there's your game.

*And I would really like to thank the Defensive Corps of San Diego for their All New Adventures in DumbAssery. They could have won, they could have kept their cool, but those Personal Fouls at two key times, just acted as oxygen to a Pats team hanging on for dear life. Just behave like grown men. But I guess that's hard enough for normal men at the best of times.

*Once again, we see how frakking important special teams are. As someone said on the West Wing once, their successes are private, and their failiures are oh so very public. If they do their job, it's rare if they get the credit, like Osgood batting that ball in on the 1 yard line. But if they don't do their job, Katie bar the door, as with that punt-recovery-fumble-whatever the heck that was by Parker. So, ladies and gentlemen, go thank your special teams players today.

*As deemed by Amy of The Mendoza Line, New Kicker now gets his name back, for being so awesome, for doing nothing else but his job, he is now Stephen Gostkowski, Kicker. (And thank you, Matty Cassell, for holding ON to the ball; a praise that a week and two days ago, he wouldn't have gotten.)

And now we go on an Indy roadtrip. As opposed to other matchups in recent years past, I think the Colts and Pats are pretty well evenly matched. And as a 4-seed who knocked off a one-seed yesterday, in a victory that I believe outstrips the 3 seed Colts beating the 2 seed Ravens, the Pats are playing with house money now. Should be a hell of a game; I'll be on the Cape, but I may even convinced my dyed-in-the-wool baseball fan grandparents to watch it with me.

The Pain and the Pleasure

2007-01-14T23:46:00.000-05:00

24-21 Patriots doesn't even begin to cover it.

It would figure, really, that it would take a game like this to get me writing again.

I mean, I spend my last 7 months writing about passion and blood and nationalism and death, and the last months of the Sox season and the entirety of the Pats season might get to seem a little inadequate.

Tom Brady, I love to death in ways incomparable to other mortal men, but William Wallace dying on the block on Tower Hill always has a bit of an edge, don't it.

But then a game like this emerges, and I remember why I do this in the first place.

It really is one of those games which embodies everything in the spectrum of professional sports. How you can be so infuriated, so frustrated, so completely exhausted by such mortal endeavors, and then so enleavened, lifted up, and illuminated at the same time.

The same group of men, who make you scream when they combine to create an intecerption, make you sing with delight at something like Reche Caldwell's 49-yard completion in the fouth quarter.

Those same mortals, who make you bury your head in your hands, as LaDainian Tomlinson strides almost 50 yards to set up a touchdown, make you look towards the heaven, thanking the strangeness of fate on a play like the interception-fumble that set up the game-tying touchdown.

It makes more sense after several quantities of liquor, mostly because right now it's just too incredibly strange to believe.

It could end all next week. It really might, considering the weird luck which combine to carry them to victory. But fate's glass has been refilled, and we live in the weirdness of statistical improbibilty for 7 more days.

this is why I write. this reminds me why I like watching sports. see y'all next week.

Faith

2006-06-26T19:10:00.000-04:00

I am an unworthy creature. I am a Doubting Thomas. I let it hurt too much when I hope for the best and receive the worst, so more and more I recite the litany to myself. "They can't do this." "It's too much impossible." I would deserve a 7 game losing streak the way I think.

But they never blame me. They never punish me. And recently, more often than not, they come up bigger than my wildest dreams.

Saturday, sitting and watching with the Maternal Entity, we were both in that mindset. By the 7th inning, too much potential had been squandered, and it seemed like a fait accompli when the Phillies tied it up. And yet, arguing with our worse natures, was that little voice, born of 4 chilly October nights. "We're still in this. They can do it."

And even more than last year, that's true. Because we have the pitching complement to the clutchest hitter of all time. The Second Bearer of the Vegetable Mojo. (Which still resides a little bit with its former bearer, and no one is happier than me.)

It's like Jon-Boy has a secret identity that he puts on when he goes to the mound. Because the gulf between the boy lounging in the bullpen and the man glaring towards the hitter is miles, miles wide. "Don't make me bring out the Scrabble board...Don't MAKE me bring it out, man." It's adorable. It's endearing. And it's gone, ten feet on to the field.

There are several marks of a great pitcher, I think. He has shown many of them. And he showed yet another one in the tenth inning: he is man enough to clean up his own messes. He faltered, and yet caught that second wind.

And then there's the man of the 3rd, 4th and 5th winds. It's useless any more to ask, how many times can you go to that well. Because the answer is "David Ortiz". It is "How many damn times that he says he can."

I forget that sometimes. But he always reminds me. When my faith in my team is shaken by mere mortals like Rudy Seanez, his spirit catches me up and bears me onward.

It's so hard. Especially during games like today. Observing through the impersonal windows of the Internet and Gameday, it was like there was two games. The pitchers' duel from innings 1-6: the class that is Tim Wakefield, suffering through offensive futility, and than a shallow end of the bullpen (NAMED RUDY SEANEZ) which can't seem to find outs with a ten foot pole.

And then there was the second game, truly begun by an act which, this season, would be enough to shake the faith of any in the nation. The brief dimming of the All Powerful Vegetable Mojo, and Jon-Boy's first true blown-save. As befits it, in grand and shattering fashion off the Pesky Pole. Game tied.

I was about to leave work, to catch my bus. I thought, whatever happened, it would be over quickly.

But I was wrong. Oh was I glad to be wrong. On the bus, my mother and I made a absurd little portrait: me holding up my AM radio as far as I could, straining to hear and get whatever reception I could, her, head leaned over toward mine as I relayed balls, strikes, outs.

Manuelito came up so incredibly big, walking Abreu, but setting down Howard, Rowand, and Burrell in order. Yet, it couldn't last; the youth showed through, and though Craig Hansen tried his level best to pick his teammate up, we entered the bottom of the 12th, down 7-6.

The bus reached our stop; I nearly forgot my umbrella, I was so wrapped up in the game. Again, we thought it might be over quickly. But then Coco hits a ground rule double. Two blocks, two outs go by. As we come in view of our tiny little house, the strained tones of the Philly announcers came through my earphones: Youkilis slaps a double into center field. Game tied, again. We cross the street, fumbling for the keys: Mark works a walk, bringing you know who up to bat.

Finally, we reach the comfort of our porch, our couch, and the TV. And there he is. What was probably about 2 minutes seems like 30 seconds. Condrey sets; the pitch. And the ball goes up, up, up, and then down.....down......oh god let it fall......and my doubt is swallowed in the emanation of joy, both from my small family, and my bigger one, in Fenway and around the world. Jon Boy flying-tackle-hugs Papi, joined by Craig Hansen, joined by everybody.

I am an unworthy creature. But Big Papi doesn't care. He loves his closer. He loves his team. He loves his fans. He loves the game.
I love this game. This game can bring so much joy. I forget it at times.
But to quote Aaron Sorkin, "When I forget, something always reminds me."

Don't Trust Anyone Over Thirty

2006-06-14T10:12:00.000-04:00

TAVAREZ!!!!!!

Imagine the above said in the manner of William Shatner in Star Trek II: Wrath of Khan, and you have some idea of my state of mind last night.

After a pleasingly low-pressure ass-kicking of one of my adopted NL home teams by the other, the Maternal Unit and I noticed that the Schilling-Santana Match Up was still scoreless in the 7th. So we performed the sad and sacred rites of the Red Sox Fan, Sans Satellite in Exile: we Ticker-Watched.

Oh, did we. The Mets game ended; we watched. Schilling and Santana gave up mutual 8th inning homers; we rejoiced and groaned. And then....the extra innings. Oh, the extra innings. They lasted all the way through an hour and a half of Baseball Tonight, and ten minutes in to SportsCenter.

Relief was promised, in the top of the twelfth, when the ticker brought the joyous news of a run pushed across, and BBTN showed us the glorious results of Gonzo's hustle.

However, it was not to be. Because of that hobgoblin looking phone punching SOB.

*ahem*

A WALKOFF GRAND SLAM? WHAT! THE! FUCK!

I want the kids. I want them now. I don't care about money or contracts, but I don't want any member of our bullpen over 30, except Mike Timlin. You say they're not ready, or they're inconsistent? I say they can't be any worse than this. If our bullpen must suck, I want there to be a light at the end of the tunnel. Or it's gonna be a long, muggy summer with no relief in sight. And god help me, I'll become a full-time Mets fan.

I'm Still Alive.

2006-06-12T12:46:00.000-04:00

I promise I will update more substantially, soon. Real Life has intervened until now, in the form of Finals and having a really good summer job.

However, god bless ESPN, who's airing the third game of this next road trip, vs. the Twins on Thursday. But I'll try to find some highlights tonight. :)

Can We Come To Order Please?

2006-05-08T15:55:00.000-04:00

(Scene: A random conference room deep in the bowels of Fenway Park)
(KEVIN YOUKILIS, J.T SNOW, MARK LORETTA, ALEX CORA, and MIKE LOWELL sit around a plastic card table)

YOUKILIS: As chairman, I call this meeting of the Red Sox Infielders World Domination and Cooking Club Club to order.....(notes Cora waving insistently) Yes, Alex?

CORA: I forget, why exactly are you chairman again?

YOUKILIS: Because I have seniority, remember?

CORA: All four of us are older than you.

YOUKILIS: Red Sox seniority, Alexander...

LORETTA: And the fact that he's hitting the best out of all of us.

CORA: Oh, right.

YOUKILIS: Now, let's see how the Club Offiicial Plan for World Domination is coming. Mike, what's your report?

LOWELL: (in dulcet German tones; think Alan Rickman from Die Hard) Indeed, Mister Chairman. I am highly pleased with the success of Phases One and Two.

YOUKILIS: AKA " Operation Reduced Expectations", and the current phase, "Operation Double"?

LOWELL: Exactly. By first emphasizing my vulnerability, and then going on a hot streak, I have drawn in that pool of fans previously utilized by Herr Mueller, leaving them ripe for indoctrination in to our army of WORLD DOMINATION! BWAHAHAHAHAHA!

YOUKILIS: (bangs gavel) All right, Michael, calm down, calm down. And stop using that German accent, it's creeping me out.

LOWELL: (normal voice) Oh, you're no fun.

YOUKILIS: Watch it....now, J.T, how are we coming on the scientific side of it?

SNOW: It's going pretty well, I think. Tito has played right into our hands, giving me all that time on the bench. I have been repeatedly able to slip out to work on our Brainwashing Machine, under the Third Base Concourse. It's looking splendid.

YOUKILIS: Good, good. Now, time for Mark's report. (notices LORETTA is not paying attention) Mark? MARK!

LORETTA:(looks up and over his hornrim glasses) Aw shucks, what? I just saw a really pretty luna moth for my collection.

YOUKILIS: (sighs) This is the problem, Mark. You're not pulling your weight, you're off with your beetles, when you need to be working on your hitting, drawing in new fans for indoctrination. This cold streak you've been on could have seriously damaged The Plan.

LORETTA: Oh, Kevin, please, don't kick me out, I promise, I promise I'll be good.

YOUKILIS: Well, all right, you better be, but for now, you're moving on to Cora's project.

LORETTA: The Subway Infiltration? Aw, but it's dark down there.

CORA: You're telling me...

YOUKILIS: (angrily) ENOUGH! I am the Chairman here. And trust me, I know what is best. Do you want to go back to being a normal infield, or do you WANT TO TAKE OVER THE WORLD? Becuase, we can do it, we have the power, we can bend the fans to our will, and mold them to our nefarious puposes. ARE YOU WITH ME?

LORETTA: YES!

LOWELL: YES!

CORA: YES!

SNOW: YES!

YOUKILIS: ALL HAIL THE POWER OF THE RED SOX INFIELD!!!!!!!!

ALL: ALL HAIL THE POWER OF THE RED SOX INFIELD!!

(knock on the door) (everbody turns the lights off, runs and hides)

ALEX GONZALEZ: Hey, is anybody here? Yoooo-hoooo....Damnit.
There's something going on here, I just can't figure out what. (leaves)

(Nefarious chuckles emanate from the darkness.)

Hahahahaha....

TO BE CONTINUED

Sunday Morning Comin' Down

2006-05-07T14:50:00.000-04:00

In some ways, blogging about football is so much easier than blogging consistently about baseball. With football, you have one day, sixty minutes of information, and 6 times the time to process it. With baseball, it's information overload, and sometimes I feel I can't do justice to it.

Especially with this team. I feel like I have a handle on them one day, and the next they throw me a backdoor curve, (to use a football metaphor) give me a new look. And I'm flat on my ass again.

I mean, Wednesday, the offense went off the way we've all been hoping they would. Against Roy Halladay, what's more. With the way things have been going, you'd think we win that game hands down.

Nope. Because, whattaya know, the pitching staff chooses exactly that moment to hide under the bed. It was collective, the negative mojo extending even to our Boy Wonder, giving up his first ER of the year.

A game which you left cowering, shaken, unsure in what exactly this team was about.

And yet, going to Fenway the very next evening ( many many thanks to fellow blogger Twitch for the ticket), it looked like a whole new team. The offense again finally clicked, putting up 5 runs before we even knew what was going on. And, I can personally vouch, the rumors of Mike Lowell's demise have been greatly exaggerated. No one's Billy Mueller, but Mikey is doing his damnedest to quickly build up his own legend. My mother told me I would like him, and as usual, she was not far off from the truth.

And Youk.....ah, Youk. He does everything, and more. Best leadoff OBP in the league, and oh yeah, he can occasionally pop one out too.

My favorite part: personally experiencing the delicious tension of "Will or won't Manny make back out of the wall in time for the start of the inning?" Brilliant.

And while, the bullpen was again a little shaky, ( including the DEPRESSINGLY PREDICTABLE SUCK OF RUDY SEANEZ), Matty stepped up to the plate, taking a one-hitter into the 6th. The only truly scary moment was the trainers exiting the dugout en masse to check on Jon Boy, after a pitch to Vernon Wells. The people watching TV, and the people sitting in the field box seats, might have known what was going on, but to those of us back in the grandstand, it was a complete mystery, of the scariest kind.

We lost Wednesday, we won Thursday, and the same team looked so so different. Bipolar, even. And with Lenny the Other White Boy pitching this afternoon, there is an equal chance of briliance or darkness in this same team body. A highly stressful, highly enjoyable train ride, that's what this team has become. With all of us strapped into the seats.

******

Speaking of the collective "us", go visit Beth's for the Official Story of Iain's Visit to Boston( with Pictures!). Part of which was a supremely awesome Get-Together of the Sox Blogging/Grady Survival Peeps at Crossroads, in Kenmore Square, which I was lucky to be a part of. A bunch of crazy, hilarious and lovely people+ good food and beer= best Saturday afternoon ever.

Papi-Man and Rob-Bon Strike Again!

2006-05-02T13:20:00.000-04:00

Heh. Apparently the team listens to me when I yell and use profanity. This is quite a poser. I don't like to overuse aspects of writing or words. But mojo is mojo,so:

WIN, AGAIN, TONIGHT, BITCHES!

Okay. That's out of the way.

That game was beautiful. Moreso, it was doubly beautiful. Containing two of the most awesome things on God's green earth.

There was, of course, David Ortiz hitting a 3-run homer, AGAINST a 15-mile an hour wind, TO the deepest part of the park. Oh, yeah, and with his usual clutch timing. I was watching on the big screen downstairs, and we had been teased all night with homers, good and bad.
The Wily Mo almost-grandslam, especially, was painful. So we weren't going to be teased; it brought us to our feet immediately, but we were not going to cheer until it definitively left the field of play. Which, yeah, it did, and there was much screaming and jumping.

It left the field, immediately caught and cradled by the other godlike figure of the evening. The young god of fire, the Agni of the Bullpen, Newest Bearer of the All-Powerful Vegetable Mojo. The transference seems to have worked rather well, thank you very much.

Yes, it wasn't technically a save situation, but with the Yankees, every lead under around 7 is unofficially a save situation. And that was a thing of beauty, right there. There's an expression in my house, a call and response, if you will: "What are the 6 most beautiful words in the English Language?" "Alex Rodriguez Goes Down On Strikes." And the picture was just as beuatiful as the words. He made A-Rod look overmatched. And then he did it to Matsui and Posada, and the game was over like that. Strike three, game final, let's go get some beers.

Of course, this doesn't mean everything's okay. While Sweet Mark did have the go-ahead hit, he's still struggling. Coco's not back. We have to keep up last night's momentum, which is not easy. But last night was certainly a morale boost, if nothing else.

7 PM! BACK TO THE BATCAVE! (If it doesn't rain.)

Short Hits

2006-05-01T18:37:00.000-04:00

*This Red Sox offense makes the baby Jesus cry. (It makes me want to pull my hair out.)

*You see, Curt? This is why you LISTEN TO TITO about such things as pitch counts. He's a smart guy, nearly as smart as you.

* DOUGIE HAS RETURNED.
THANK GOD. Nothing against Josh Bard as a person, but THANK GOD.
This may not really do anything for the offense in the long run, but it'll definitely help out Timmy, which is always a good thing. It is also, at the very least, a spirtual boost. Because Dougie won't let the offensive futility go by without a kick in the ass to everybody else.

* I resent everyone who tells me I can't boo Johnny Damon. Yes, he did great things as a member of the Twenty Five. I cheered him last year for that. And I will cheer him when he goes to another team or retires and comes back for Old-Timers day. But right now, HE IS A YANKEE. That overrides everything else; you wear the pinstripes, and with very few exceptions, you get booed.

* WIN TONIGHT, BITCHES.

Heir Apparent

2006-04-30T13:35:00.000-04:00

The Mohawk is gone.
Yet the awesome remains.
STRIKING OUT THE FRICKING SIDE.
Jonathan Papelbon, Major League Record Holder.
I think that I may have finally found an heir to the All-Powerful Vegetable Mojo. While no one can really replace the Poor Beloved String Bean, the Mojo is a eternal and temperamental thing, demanding to be used.

Bow, Jonathan R. Papelbon, that ye may receive the gift and responsibility of the All Powerful Vegetable Mojo.

Use it well. May it help you assist Sir Schilling reach 5-0 today.

(P.S. Last week was concert week, and thus crazy. I promise to both watch more baseball and post more frequently this week.)

Tuesday's Game As Expressed Through Badly Adapted Popular Songs

2006-04-19T20:23:00.000-04:00

*to the tune of Barry Manilow's Mandy*

Oh Maaaaatty.....
Well you came and you pitched without whining....
But they didn't score runs, oh Matty....
You came out, for the seventh, and were shaky
But you still pitched real well oh Matty.....

*to the tune of "Lump" by Presidents of the USA*

Youk, he came to the plate down 1
His team needed runs, he knew in his heart
Mojo flowed throw him, down into his high socks
He totally confused all the pitching Devil Rays

He's Youk He's Youk
I love him so
He's YoukHe's YoukHe's Youk
Scored runs ahead we go...

* to the tune of the Beatles' "Get Back" ( props to my mother for the inspiration)*

SWEET LORETTA HITTING
RBIS ALL OVER
OH HE IS A LOVELY MAN
YESTERDAY A HOMER
NOW HE BATS IN YOUKIE
OHHHH HE DOES ALL HE CAN....

HE'S MARK
HE'S MARK
HE'S MARK AND OH HE DOES BELONG...

HE'S MARK
HE'S MARK
HE'S MARK AND OH HE DOES BELONG...

*to the tune of Dr. Dre's "Nuthin' But a G Thang"*
One, two, three and to the fo’
Jon Papelbon and Dr. Schill are at the do’
Ready to make an entrance, so back on up
[cuase you know we ’bout had to rip shit up]

Gimme the splitter first, so I can bust like a bubble
Louisiana and Alaska, now you know you in trouble

Ain’t nothin’ but a Sox thang, baaaaabay!
Two fastball geeks so we’re craaaaazay!
Theo Epstein is the Gangsta that paaaaays me!
Unfazable, so please don’t try to faze me [hell yeah]

*to the tune of "O Canada"*

OHHHHH ADAM STERN
YOU MADE A REAL COOL CATCH
OH ADAM STERN, YOU DID SAVE PAAAAAPELBON'S ASSS....

This season is some crazy shit, y'all.

"Hey Baby..."

2006-04-17T14:57:00.000-04:00

*Barry White Playing in the Background*

"It's Mark. I knew you were worried about today's game. Hoping we could come out of this series with a win. And I know we didn't do very well, keeping it cool. Back and forth, back and forth, Papi homers, Everett homers, V-Tek ties it, Seattle pushes across a run, down 6-5 in the bottom of the ninth.

So I decided, let's bust out with the dramatic, two-run, walkoff homer, bring my team the win. Because I can't have my baby girl spending the rest of this fine afternoon feelin' blue. Just ain't my style.

Happy Patriot's Day, sweetheart."

Up and Down, Up and Down

2006-04-16T11:34:00.000-04:00

( Yes, I know, I'm late and remiss in my posting duties. If you had to hand in a 23 page paper on the military in Jane Austen on Monday morning, you would be remiss too.)

Sigh. This seems to be our destiny as a team now, and as a fanbase, to be a roller coaster. When our pitching is on, we are on. When our pitching is off, we suck the big one.

I love pitching, so I should love this, right? I don't really know. Beating up people with slugging last year wasn't so great, because we had to, due to the suckage of the bullpen. However, we were always sure we could do it, "it" being "bust out with a 9 run game on the fly".

This year- it's very very good that our pitching has improved, because our offense has, at the very least, changed. Not by a huge percentage, we haven't become the Pirates or anything. But watching inning after inning go by on Thursday night, soaked in offensive futility, it was....at the very least, unsettling.

Friday, was what we hoped our new pitching would bring. Score just enough runs to support a fantastic pitching performance by THE CURT. ( Yes, he merits all caps now.) 2-1 games are stressful, but fun.

What was not fun? YESTERDAY'S LINEUP. *Comic Book Guy* WORST. RED SOX LINEUP. EVER. This is what happens when EVERYBODY takes an off-day at once. And poor Wake got the business end of the bull's horns.

Yes, that's not gonna be the longterm lineup. Maybe I'm just overreacting, and it would probably be a good idea to reserve judgement until Coco and Trot are simultaneously back. And I'm much more confident in the starting rotation than I was last year. ( Go ahead, take away my Bronson binky card.) It's great to know that we can break out with those 2-1 games more than we did last year.

However, what happens when Beckett, or Schill have an off-week, or an off-start? *shudders*

Ah well. At the very least, we've learned the season won't be boring.

Bonus Feature: " Random Notes Scrawled on My Score Card from Thursday Night's Trip To Fenway"

*Expert Opinion from The Right Field Boxes: WILY MO IS ONE BIG DUDE.
* "Silly Tek AB Music"- I have no idea what this means. It may just be my aversion to anything Three Doors Down.
* The Vernon Wells Grand Slam- Best example ever of the collective emotional state of a baseball crowd. Matty was going okay, had a few guys on, but seemed to be working. Pitch to Wells-the moment that ball came off the bat, we all knew. You could feel the air around you change.
* Me, One AB After That: "Oh, sure, NOW you get the ground ball. DISPLEASING, MATTHEW!"
*Note to Self: If you ever bring a 7-year old boy relative to ball park, bring other adult. Force other adult to sit next to boy, to absorb fidgeting.
* Further Note to Self: NEVER BUY 7-YEAR OLD A FOAM FINGER, UNLESS YOU WANT TO GET WAPPED IN THE FACE REPEATEDLY.
* DWIGHT EVANS: DEAD SEXY.
* I don't think I had ever been to a game where Youk started before. Because it's amazing how Zen-like the YOOOOOOUK chant is. Deep and low, like a herd of cows.
*Mark Loretta's AB Music: "Lowrider". Because Mark is one funky white boy.
* Yelled "Dusty" after great catch by Mr. Mohr, and started to sing "Son of A Preacher Man". Got really strange looks from surrounding people.
*The Crowd, despite the 8-1 score by the 7th inning, was really fun, really loose, one of the best I've been in. A bunch of people joined me in singing along with "Dream On" when it played on the Jumbotron, and Sweet Caroline was, as always, fun. The late-game homer by Papi helped too.
* I have to tell you, being in the crowd as we stood en masse, in the ninth inning to cheer on Wily Mo Pena? And the cheer for a walk as if it was a 400 foot homer? Almost made up for everything else. As did the immediate infusion of hope and excitement after Youk's RBI double to bring us within three. Sure, Papi flied out, as the tying run, to end it. But for that brief 2/3 inning, we were golden. It's amazing how a Fenway crowd can come together just like that. Just amazing.

About Last Night

2006-04-13T15:52:00.000-04:00

....it sucked.

Nothing was on; the Fat Man displayed none of the tendencies of say, control, or pitching, that made me not dislike him at certain points last year. Memo to David Wells: You may have pitched seventy bajillion years, in several World Series, and have a perfect game to your credit. BUT NO ONE IS ABOVE TAKING ANOTHER REHAB START IF THEY NEED IT. Fuck your incentive. That suck would have been better expunged down in Pawtucket, and with the arrangement of off days, we could have afforded it.

You were outpitched and outcooled last night by the Other White Boy, Lenny Dinardo. That should tell you something.

However, I am rational enough, and it's early enough in the season that I realize it wasn't compleeetely his fault. I was watching with a Cubs fan last night, and we were talking on what has been alleged to be the Cubs offensive problem the past few years. That they have had the power hitters, and the home runs, but NO ONE ON BASE WHEN THEY HIT THEM.

We had the home runs last night. Hell, we had a DUSTAN MOHR DINGER last night. However, the middle of our lineup was not the problem. Kevin? Mark? A combined 0-8 is not good, dearhearts. You were working Chacin, as you should, but nothing was coming of it. No table setting means the food stays cold. With table-setting, there could have been a lot more than 4 runs scored off Chacin.
(one happy note: I never though seeing a player take a walk could make me so, so happy. But Wily Mo managed to surprise me. :)

But it's April. And we're 6-2. So it's cool.
Tonight's another game. But you better win this time. Because if you don't, I will be watching 100 feets away. I will stomp down from the right field boxes, and teach you a lesson.
( Yes, all 5'4 of me. I'm feisty.)

Dispatches from the Home (Opener) Front

2006-04-11T19:56:00.000-04:00

Dear Papi,

I LOVE YOU. I LOVE THEO. I LOVE THE COLLECTIVE FRONT OFFICE BEING. BUT MOST OF ALL, I LOVE YOU .

P.S. Yaay homers! Yaay for saying Baise-Toi to the stupid Blue Jays shift at least once. ( It's something rude. In French. Because they're Canadian, you see.)

Dear Coco,

NO MORE HEAD FIRST SLIDING EVER. It annoys me no end, how cunning you are, that you work so hard to make me like you, and I submit, and than stupid shit like this finger fracture happens. ( I feel for you too, because jamming your index finger hurts like a bitch. I did in volleyball in sixth grade, so I should know, obviously. Although it only prevented me from playing the violin.)
I can't bear to blame you. So I will blame the base. And possibly, and collectively, the city of Baltimore. STUPID BALTIMORE WHERE IT IS 6:42.

Dear Mark ,

You know that you pretty much have the second base job locked up, don't you? I know we're pretty tough on second basemen, but I think you're sticking around for a while. We understand that people go 0-4 occasionally, we won't sneak in the middle of the night and put your stuff in the parking lot if you have an off game. Not that I am not incredibly turned on by all the big sexy defense you and Gonzo are playing, and would object if it continued. But dude. That "jump 10 feet in the air and deflect the ball with your body for the double play" play looked tiring. Pace yourself.

Dear Keith and Wily,

le sigh. That was not fun.

Dear Jonathan,

You are one bad-ass, ass-kicking, dead sexy mothafuckah.

Dear Josh,

Okay, yeah, you too.

Dear Red Sox,

Well played, boys. Hell yeah.

Leaving the Nest

2006-04-08T21:41:00.000-04:00

(From TSN)
Any other DC comics fans out there? If there are, they will remember that there came a time in the life of Dick Grayson, the first Robin, when he grew up, and went out into the world, and left the sheltering darkness of the Batcave. He was no longer a sidekick, he was his own superhero, Nightwing.

I feel like that's what we're watching right now, with our own pitching superhero. Only better. Because, while on his own, Nightwing was a pretty lame superhero, Jonathan is anything but lame. Tonight, for the second time in 4 days, I watched him go out there and scare the shit out of three major league hitters. He made the usually dignified Michael Young look silly. He gave Miguel Tejada, no slouch in the offensive department, fits, sending him back to the dugout shaking his head. Last year he was pretty unflappable, especially for rookie; this year he has iceblood running through those veins. Until he gets the job done, and then he lets loose with the passion that has endeared him to the rest of Red Sox Nation. It's like if Dick Grayson has grown up to become another Batman. (In the coolness factor alone.)

Last year, it was a rare and wonderful pleasure when we were on the good end of a 2-1 game. We've now won two of them within the space of the first week. Apart from Wake's awful Tuesday outing, we've had our starters give us a strong 7 innings in each of the first 5 games.( Yes, even with the shaky 7th, the rest of Matty's outing last night was highly pleasing.) Josh Beckett may indeed have a rather large head ( which I feel for, having a big melon myself), but he also has a pair of very large cojones, and seeing him pump his fist or playfully talk with Manny in the dugout, I like him already. And Wake will come around, as good knuckleballers inevitably do. Watching our rotation perform as it's capable of gives me warm fuzzies. It makes me ALMOST not miss String Bean. ( Almost.)

The only slightly worrying thing is that our bullpen still seems a little thin towards the end there, and Seanez just flatout sucked last night. However, Foulkie's looking better, Timlin looked like Timlin tonight, and we've got the closest thing to a sure thing in the ninth that we've had in a year or so. And there's Hansen and Lil' Manny percolating in the minors, if needed. So, in all, very optimistic.

Some fans say they like baseball for the hitting, and there's all that bullshit about "Chicks dig the long ball". I won't deny that watching Papi hit one out is one of the sweetest things in the world. But I'll tell you, there's nothing like the rush I got watching Jonathan mow down the middle of the Orioles lineup tonight without breaking a sweat. You don't last very long, I think, as a baseball fan, if you don't on some level enjoy watching good pitching. It gets you up on your feet, it gets your blood pumping, and when a pitcher is hitting his spots, you feel it viscerally like nothing else.

Which is what makes Papelbon's coming of age so incredibly satisfying. A very good, possibly great young pitcher coming into his own. Nothing like it.

Dr. Red Sox and Mr. Hyde

2006-04-05T16:52:00.000-04:00

Well, that was a pair of games to give you whiplash.

Monday, everything seemed to go right. While Millwood had the lineup pretty much solved for the first three innings, it didn't matter. Schill was holding up his end of the bargain, looking the best that I have seen him look in a year. He was doing what an ace was supposed to do, playing the guy holding the barbarians back with a fruit knife while the rest of the battalion suits up.

And suit up they did. I could seriously watch an entire game of Coco Crisp scoring from first. He runs so pretty. And his mate at the top of the order ain't bad either. Though I had a soft spot for Edgar last year, more than other people did, I have to admit it's so nice to see our number two hitter battle through at-bats again. NewMark is smart, tough, and wily at the plate, and is definitely doing his damnedest to escape the shadows of the Bell and the Graffer. I think he shall succeed, verily.

Papi......I was heading out to rehearsal at the beginning of the fifth, listening to the game, and stopped to button my coat. I heard a crack over the radio and the tell-tale excitement in Castig's voice, and I just knew. David Ortiz is one of the few people in existence who can make me whoop and do an actual honest to God happy dance in the middle of the Quincy Courtyard. ( God, I missed baseball.)

I did not miss what last night's game brought with it, though that's part of baseball too. To paraphrase Aaron Sorkin, "In baseball, oftentimes, other people win." Which is bloody annoying, But last night, it was not just that they lost, it was how they lost. If Monday was clicking on all cylinders, than Tuesday was the car blowing up in a fiery wreck. Nothing was "on" last night, with the possible exception of Coco. Wake just did not have it. When that happens , Katy bar the door, because there is rarely a middle ground with knuckleballers, it's all or nothing.

And while I was loath to say so last night, it was poor Josh Bard's bad luck that Wake's firestorm of suck coincided with his first start. I have faith, or at least have optimism, that the PB number will go down, and Bard will improve. However, I can't resist one little bit of snark... DOUG MIRABELLI WOULD HAVE REMEMBERED HOW MANY OUTS THERE WERE.
(It's seriously the little things, people.)

So, given the extremes demonstrated over the first two games, I have no idea what to expect tonight. With Becks taking the ball, I have hope the pitching will be substantially better, and the offense less futile. Really, I'd just be satisfied with a happy medium. I am patient. ( Well not really. But the excitement of having Beckett out there for the first time is a nice sedative.)

****
Even in Cincinnati, The All Powerful Vegetable Mojo Lives on.

Hell yeah.

I would write more about Opening Day yesterday

2006-04-04T20:35:00.000-04:00

(hat tip to Surviving Grady)
But Coco Crisp's cuteness is overwhelming my neurons.

Plus Wake just don't have it tonight. AND I MISS DOUG MIRABELLI SO DAMN MUCH.

(Yes it's only the second inning. But that first inning stunk. More later, maybe.)

Today, It's Not Tomorrow

2006-04-03T07:49:00.000-04:00

I look out my window, and the sun smiles back at me out of a blue and balmy Boston skyline. As if to frame the day for what's to come.

Sure, the team themselves is physically 1500 miles away. In Texas where it's a relatively sweltering 66 degress, perfect weather for baseball. But they're here alright. In my new hat sitting brightly blue upon the the top of the dresser. In the strains of "Dirty Water" and "Tessie" playing over my speakers. In my itchy pointer finger hardly able to wait to check the score from the Chi-Sox-Indians game last night.

Today, and not tomorrow, all questions, pitching or otherwise, briefly fade away.

Today, Keith Foulke is the badass he was two years ago, ready to show all comers why goddamnit, he's back.

Today, Coco Crisp is not just a replacement, not just a centerfielder, but THE centerfielder, ready to erase all memories of that loudmouth in pinstripes. He's ready to draw of all of Red Sox Nation in his fond embrace.

Today, Jonathan Papelbon is the youthful pitching superhero, ready to carry the Red Sox bullpen on his broad shoulders with his oh-so-sweet smile.

Today Kevin Youkilis is ready to finally take his rightful place in the sun, to hear those chants of "Youuuk" for more than a couple days in a row.

Today, Josh Beckett is the second ace, the fiery linchpin of a rotation which could take on all comers. Ready to put all that intensity to good use, and blow all doubters away.

Today, Manny is Manny, and nothing else matters.

Today, Curt Schilling is about to reclaim his mantle of ace and number one starter, to take one of the league's top offenses and make them an object lesson in pitching aplomb. The Big Schill, back in the saddle again.

Today, Papi smiles his magnificent smile again, and is awesome in the ancient mythological sense. Adored by his followers, striking fear in the hearts of the opposition.

Tomorrow, we come back down to Earth, worry about wins and losses and ERAs and AVGs and statistics, and those things are important to be sure.
But today it's Opening Day, and our team is back, alive with possibilities.
Play ball.

Data Not Processing

2006-03-21T23:24:00.000-05:00

No.

No. No. No. No. No.

Adam Vinatieri cannot not be the kicker for the Pats. He can't be kicking for the Football Spawn of Satan, Indianapolis Chapter.

I swear, when Beth emailed this morning about her clairvoyant dream predicting this, it was amusing. I mean, even if he ended up going anywhere ( which at the time was far in the future), it wouldn't be with the Colts. Right? RIGHT?

But it came true. If I wasn't so shocked, the sheer eerieness of that would blow my mind.

And I've been trying to process it here for 4 hours now. And it just won't. It's like in Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy (book, not movie), when Ford tells Arthur that Earth has been destroyed. His brain won't deal with it, because it's just too huge to process. So he starts with smaller things, like McDonald''s burgers.

Maybe that would help.

Adam's cluch right leg is gone to Indy....no, not working.

His shoes are gone to Indy....nope.

No more Papa Gino's commercials......OH MY FUCKING GOD.

Did Theo and Belichick just suddenly get together this week and decide "What can we do simultaneously, to ensure the greatest portion of our fanbases' heads collectively EXPLODE?"

I wish it was not a horribly bad idea to get drunk on Tuesday night during midterms. Stupid responsiblity.

The Thing With Feathers

2006-03-21T11:59:00.000-05:00

"Hope" is the thing with feathers-- That perches in the soul-- And sings the tune without the words-- And never stops--at all-- Emily Dickinson

So you had no guarantees, Bronson. You had no written confirmations of your eventual fate. All you had was simple blind hope that they wouldn't, somewhere down the road, find a deal for you which they could not, in good conscience turn down.

You stupid boy. You stupid, stupid, sweet idealistic boy. You should have learned by now, I should have learned by now, that hope has no place in baseball. Well, at least not in contract negotiations.

I knew that. I should have remembered that, but I didn't. I was too wrapped up in the joy of your new contract to care.

And the thing is, I have no one to be mad at for this. It's just free floating anger, with no object on which to pin it. I can't be mad at Wily Mo Pena; I don't want to be. From everything I've heard, this is the guy you trade a little bit of pitching for. The young bit of clay, the mass of talent waiting to molded into a slugging masterpiece. The power is there, the speed is there. The defense isn't, but it could be. The strikeouts are worrisome, and yet a worthy project for a masterful hitting instructor such as Papa Jack. Heck, even the chemistry is partially there a little bit, with the news that Wily idolizes Papi, and Papi reciprocates the warm fuzzies. Everything says, this is a player who could work his way into the hearts and minds of Red Sox Nation.

And thus I can't blame Theo either. I say, we say so much, that we want a GM who will make these types of tough choices, who will not flinch from getting the rotten produce thrown at him when it doesn't work, whose head will not be inflated by the excessive praise when it does. Hypocrisy is one of my most hated sins. So I cannot clamor for the steely-eye gun-slinger, yet change my tune when the crossfire takes down one of my own.

Who's left? Bronson? For what, having faith in human nature? For loving my town as much as I do, for appreciating the energy his fans bring everytime we come to the ball park? For being stupid in exactly the way we want our ballplayers to be, except when we don't?
It's so incredibly amusing to me, that all of this is going down, while only a couple hundred miles to the South, Alfonso Soriano embodies evrerything so completely.. opposite. He's paid several times what Bronson is, and has several times the talent. But he sits there like a goddamn toddler, "I won't go to the outfield, I won't", performing the grownup equivalent of sitting on the floor, threatening to hold his breath until he turns blue.
And here is Bronson, jerked around like a rag-doll, rotation, bullpen, rotation, bullpen, peanut vendor... Yet nothing could break his hope, nothing could kill that thing with feathers within his spirit, the tune went on. He put on his cleats and walked where they pointed him, head held high, like a man. So now he walks west, with that same dignity.

I can't explain, quite exactly, what drew and draws me to him. I have no delusions about him. He was a 5th starter at best, a swingman, with a occasionaly magnificent, usually good breaking ball, and an incredibly inconsistent fastball. He was never ace-level brilliant, though there would occasionally be flashes. The 7 innings of a no-hitter he pitched last May. The time I saw him in Fenway, taking a one hitter into the 8th. The steady hand and contributions he made in the late innings, as a member of the 25.
Maybe it was just something in his presence on the mound. The quiet strength. But he grabbed my fannish heart by the strings, and would not let go, as hard as I might try.
I root for the laundry, not the men. That's just how you survive emotionally being a fan, especially in Boston. But only to a point. There are guys who creep their way in, and it hits you harder than usual when they go. Bronson was one of those.

Bronson, Guns' and Corn, Bron-Bron, Cornroyo. On good days, Bearer of the All Powerful Vegetable Mojo.

See you round, String Bean.

HOWL OF INDESCRIBABLE ANGUISH!

2006-03-20T13:49:00.000-05:00

String Bean traded to Reds for Wily Mo Pena

The Bearer of the Vegetable Mojo has gone into the West. ( Or really, the Central.) Namarie, my love.

I can't be as mad as I want to be, because at some superego, rational level, I understand the trade. It's too exhausting to be mad right now.
So for now I'll just be sad.

Jon-Boy, String Bean, and Tito

2006-03-18T09:50:00.000-05:00

I find it highly unfair:
(MLB.com)

.....that Jonathan Papelbon can both throw a fastball in the mid to high 90s AND look better in Kelly green than I do. Embarassment of worldly riches, is what I say.

I will manage to look past that though, since our boy seems to be finally getting his shit together, with that 5 innining shutout performance yesterday versus the Marlins. That he didn't get the win is immaterial. Well, not to him, since it probably would have been nice. But just the fact that he's improving and looking like the Jon-Boy from the middle of last season is enough for me. Makes this 3-something-1 Grapefruit League record a little harder to swallow.

The thing about Papelbon with me , it's something past the marvelous pitching and the adorablness. It's dare I say it, the fact that he's only 3 years older than me. I "get" partially the emotional state he must be channeling right now. He 's reacting how all of us youngens hope we can react to getting out into the real world. Even if that world of his is somewhat more fantastical.

It's gonna be really hard, when it comes down to it, to manage my established love for the String Bean, and my growing fascination with the Argyle Rockstar Pitcher (tm Sam), when it's time to throw one of them to the bullpen, or to AAA. The fact is, though Papelbon has loads more natural talent, they're very much similar birds in personality. Intense on the mound, but easy going, aw-shucks kinda guys in the clubhouse, who would cut off their left nut if it could help the team win. On a good day, the world as a whole is glad I'm not in Tito's position, but I especially would not want to have to make this decision.

But that's why there is Tito, and why FINALLY the Front Office gave him a much deserved raise while wrapping him up for the next three years. We all say sometime swe could manage better from our armchairs than he does. Truth is, would we want to? We'd love the glory after a win , but would we love the vitriol post-loss. Would our sanity last as long as Tito's has dealing with the agita of people like Pedro(godlovehim), Wells and Manny? Could we live with ourselves afterwards covering for the child-like behavior of highly-paid professional athletes? And would anyone put themselves in Tito's shoes having to make the roster decisions like he does?
Nope.
But he does it all, with his charecteristic smile and snark.
So, he's still here, and for now, all is reasonably right with the world.
*****
PS:
HAVE FINALLY GOTTEN EXCITED ABOUT THE WBC! Awesome stuff, even if the good old US of A screwed the pooch on Thursday. Who cares, when you have stuff like Cuba-Dominican Republic this afternoon? To see Papi like the rest of the world sees him: the scariest, the baaaaaadest motherfucker in town. (Oh, and a couple guys named Tejada and Pujols who ain't no slouches either.)
VIVA LOS DOMINICANOS!!!!!!!!!!

AUUUUUUUUUUUUUGH!

2006-03-15T18:02:00.000-05:00

Big Willie signs with the Browns.

I guess I was unclear on the plan. I thought the plan was to cut him, and then IMMMEDIATELY RESIGN HIM to a cheaper but still fair contract. Apparently I was wrong. The plan was to MAKE MY HEAD EXPLODE.

This is not an auspicious start to the offseason. Not at all.

*heads off to find a flamethrower and Mapquest the way to Foxboro*

The (Lack of ) All Powerful Vegetable Mojo

2006-03-11T11:02:00.000-05:00

First a brief shout out and digression for the entire one of you who both read this blog and watched the Battlestar Galactica finale (you know who you are, and props to your boy Gaeta):

"On behalf of the people of the Twelve Colonies, I surrender"?
In the words of Little John and Dave Chappelle: WHAT?! WHAAAT?! QUE?
Seriously, is how much I love this show. Such a mindfuck, but an enjoyable one.

*phew*

Now, on to the important stuff: The All Powerful Vegetable Mojo seems to have taken a vacation. It has left its avatar a broken 19.34 ERA shell of a man. First, that mediocre outing versus the Pirates, which, come on. He needed to bring some bubble gum and his asskicking shoes, given how much he has repaid with vengeance their nonfaith in him by his performance with the Sox. But then to lose to Red Sox East, to that man-slut D-Lowe? Inexecusable.
(And I would like to say, to the reports of him being sleep-deprived the night before?
I was in Cambridge all week, and nowhere near the scene. ;)

And I must confess, I have been remiss in my support of String Bean this week, and haven't had time to do the Mojo-raising chants and incense-burnings as diligently as I should have. However, no more. I predict a return of the All Powerful Mojo within the week. Or at least a mysterious voodoo illness striking David Wells.

A Passionate Celibacy

2006-03-09T15:56:00.000-05:00

Near the end of The Importance of Being Earnest, when it looks like no one will get to marry anybody, Jack comments that it "looks like a passionate celibacy is all that any of us can look forward to."
There is no sex in spring training, at least none involving me as far as I can tell. But a passionate celibacy is really what it feels like as of now.
So much information, so much baseball, yet none of it really matters. It's all foreplay, with the real thing a month away.
Which is really bloody annoying.
My frustration may also be at the fact that school work has conspired against me to give me no real leisure time in which to celebrate my newfound legality. It's been 3 days since my birthday, and no time for debauchery of any kind. I feel postively Puritanical.

***
Being neither a Twins fan nor old enough to remember him in his heyday, the passing of Kirby Puckett doesn't hit as hard as it might. However, as a fan of baseball history, I do mourn his too-early passing. My heart goes out to the Puckett family, his friends, and to Twinkies fans. I may mock them and their Hefty Bag outfield on occasion, but they are a really a sweet and lovely bunch.

***

May I respond to the recent sordid chapter of the Barry Bonds saga with a hearty "sdfjaskfpsasdfajkpfaspd."
At this point, I just wish it would go away.
Not in the manner of the ostrich, hiding his head in the sand.
The thing I hate most about this situation is being stuck in limbo like this, the hamster wheel spinning around and around.
Until the jackass out and out confesses. which he never will, there is no possibility of catharsis on the horizon. There is no way to exorcise this demon of our sport, there is no way to atone and move on. It's just this cloud hanging there, which we cannot disperse.
It will not go away. Barry Bonds refuses to just go away. There can be all the buildup and eveidence in the world, and yet nothing is really going to happen until it happens. That is the nature of the beast, and though Bud Selig is a weenie, it's not his beast, its creation is far and above this small little man.
And so I choose to read the articles, be angry for a while, and then be happy for the good things in baseball. Live my life as a fan without twisting in knots over the things that just have to work themselves out .

***
David Wells is staying. Hoo-freaking-ray.
Though it should provide some more entertainment for this year.

*****
Dear Team USA,
You got your ass beat nearly single handedly by Adam. STERN.
HAH!

Dear Adam Stern,
Where was THAT last year?

***
Dear Guys Masquerading Briefly As the Red Sox While The Captain's Away,

WE DO NOT GET BEAT BY THE FIRE SALE MARLINS 12-1.
NO, NOT EVEN IN SPRING TRAINING.
KEVIN YOUKILIS,I SEE YOU SNIGGERING IN THE BACK, THERE, DO NOT MOCK ME.
ASSES. IN GEAR. NOW!

Love,

Emma

Revenge, Taters and Imagination

2006-03-03T08:34:00.000-05:00

Dear Shannon Stewart...
We know you are still kinda pissed at us, because our wall broke Torii Hunter last year. But we too were very sad when the wall bit him. We said we were sorry then.
SO THAT IS NO FRAKKING REASON TO TRY TO BASH ONE OF OUR BEST YOUNG PITCHERS IN THE LEG WITH THE BALL.
We would very much appreciate NO ONE BREAKING JONATHAN PAPELBON. OKAY?
Go pull that shit with the Yankees and Jaret Wright, he's used to it by now.

Dear Rudy Seanez,
You are not my favorite Rudy right now. My favorite Rudy would be Sean Astin. My favorite coach Rudy would be Tomjanovich. But I don't even like you more than Rudy Giuliani. Yes, he may be a New Yorker. Yes, he's a Republican. BUT AT LEAST RUDY GIULANI DIDN'T GIVE UP TWO HOME RUNS IN ONE INNING TO THE GOLDURNED TWINS. I mean, it's the Twins. They would love to be even called "light-hitting". It would be the highlight of their week.

Dear Enrique Wilson,
QUE?
What?
A triple?
Well, okay.

Dear Joe and Jerry,
I love you. I love your voices. But I especially love the late innings of Spring Training games, when you have to send an intern to look up the name of whatever Single-A schlub is now playing right field for the Reds.
I like it even better when you give up on that and just unabashedly make names up.

Dear Coco,
1b. 2b. 3b.
Aw, hell yeah. Keep on keeping on just like that.
But you don't have to do that every game. At least not in Spring Training, or you'll use all the mojo up.
You got the first RBI of the Spring. Here's to you, you sexy, sexy man.

Things I've Learned This Week

2006-03-01T17:39:00.000-05:00

1) Grapefruit juice and vodka, though it should be, is not called a Phillips Head Screwdriver; instead, it is called a Greyhound.

2) The best way to open a pineapple, if you don't have a machete, is not to poke it with the pointy end of a spoon. It is also not bashing it against a wall. The best tactic? Bashing it against the edge of marble sink. ( You see, the thing is Harvard students really aren't smarter than everyone else. We're just occasionally weirder.)

3)(hat tip to Kristen)

Rookie Hazing is the best thing ever invented in the history of man. With Jonathan Papelbon running a close second.
(It's the near-unanimous High Socks which make it art.)

4) Johnny Damon?
When he calls this year's team boring? And implies that they hate fun?
He is completely full of crap.
(Because Beth, as always, can say it much better than I can. I'll just add, that while the 2004 team may have been Monty Python, this year's team seems like it will be the Muppet Show. A little tamer, less randomly absurd, but just as funny.)

5) We now know where Manny was for the past week:
(boston.com)

In the Star Trek Mirror Universe! ( With possibly a sidetrip to Jamaica.)

Welcome, Position Players, Pitchers...and Others

2006-02-23T16:30:00.001-05:00

It may be incredibly rainy and depressing outside. My university may be in a mini-chaos, with our President on his way out the door. (With more students actually caring about it than I expected.) But I remain calm, for two reasons.

*Brief Non-Sports Digression Ahead*
1) I view the President of Harvard,as a position, non-ideologically. This rule may have exceptions, for instance, when claims are made that women are, intellectually biologically inferior to men. But other than that. as long as someone reasonably competent fills it, who doesn't embezzle the endowment, or abolish my department, I couldn't care less who. It's like they said originally about Mussolini:"He makes the buses run on time." I reserve the right to be self-involved, focusing on the essentials, saving my political outrage for where it matters. Once I graduate, then maybe I will have time to care about the ideological direction of Harvard. Maybe then I will regret the departure of Larry Summers. Or even before, if the new prez does something drastic. But for now, I have my own shit to worry about.

2) BASEBALL!
Everyone's in town. Except for Manny. But as long as Papi or the Captain don't have their knickers in a bunch, I won't either. I am long past letting Manny push my emotional buttons, if he ever did. As long as he shows up in Texas on opening day, hits his usual, I won't care. I got new guys to warm my heart. Mmm, rookies. I love that sports is the only arena where I can call grown men who are three years my senior "kid". Although it does boggle my mind that Craig Hansen and Lebron James are exactly my age and in such a vastly different world. *Existential shudder*
Alright. TIME FOR MORE PICTURES!
(all from Boston.com)

Poor J.T Snow. He may be the best defensive 1B among them. But standing next to Papi and Youks, he looks like a Mormon who accidentally wandered into a Hell's Angels convention. Though it may be easier for him to survive unscathed than it would have been last year. By this time last year, he probably would have been hanging from the adjoining locker hook to Matty's. While Tek looked on diaspprovingly.
(I stick to my previous predicition about the puppy.)

The Cap'n, adding "flexibility" to his nearly infinite list of talents, further twisting the stake in the hearts of millions of New England women who wish he was single. Woof.

"Hey Beavis, look at that fat guy. He's lame."
"No goddamnit Butthead, that's David Wells, he's not lame, he rules."
"I thought he, like, wasn't coming, or something,"
"No, he rules, because I said so. I AM THE GREAT STRINGBEANHOLIO! YOU WILL BOW DOWN TO MY BREAKING BALL!"
"Heh. You said ball."
"BALLHOLIO!"
"Shut up Beavis."

A young Sox rookie looks on in amazement as Jim Rice explains how his secret talent for the lambada enabled him to befuddle and bewilder all those AL pitchers.

"Hey Coco."
"Hey Loretta."
"How long you figure it'll take Callahan and the Herald headline writers to dip into the obvious derogatory "girl" related possibilites for our names?"
"Hey, you listen to Johnny Cash, you realize it could be a whole lot worse."
"Maybe I'll start calling Buckley Sue..."

If Gabe ever leaves baseball, he's got a ready made career as a showroom model. Or on The Price is Right.
(Seriously, it's just nice to see him up and about again.)

"I know Mr. Varitek told me "Shake it off, Dustin". But if Wells calls me "Tiny" again,he's gonna get my cleat up his ass."

Nipper:"KEITH CHARLES FOULKE! Stop that! What have I told you?"
Foulkie: *sheepishly* "Never huck water bottles at people's heads."
"What else?"
"Not even if they're memebers of the media."
"What else?"
"grumblegrumble*
"What was that?"
"Not even if they are Dan Shaughnessy."
"Good boy."

Coco Crisp. An oak tree. And a baby. Ladies and gentlemen, we have found the Perfect Storm of Adorable.

Darn. Is it April yet?

Pitchers and Catchers and Youks, Oh My!

2006-02-19T10:34:00.000-05:00

It's that time of year again. February 18 has come and passed, and spring (training) has begun. You know what that means....

SPRING TRAINING PICTURES!
(Part the First: Pitchers and Catchers)

(Boston.com)

David Wells does his..... wait a minute. (squints) Hey, that's not Wells! That's newly shorn Kevin Youkilis, avec Millaresque mustache and goatee.
Apparently doing his best David Wells impression by kicking poor fourth outfielder invitee Dustan Mohr in the balls.
(Somewhere, Jedi Master Olerud is crying. "My apprentice has turned to the Dark Side....")

On the subject of Wells, Theo's response on that front yesterday cracked my shit up. Of course Theo was circumspect , as he is about everything. But the fact that what he basically said was "We know he is within the state lines of Florida, but past that we have no idea".....hilarious.

Speaking of Theo:

(Boston.com)

Apparently after that nasty breakup with Lucchino over the fall, Theo has found a new love of his life. Holding hands, puppy dog eyes, everything. However, I fear Theo will get his poor little heart broken. He may have gone to Baltimore, but Tito's heart will always belong to a certain slow- as- a -wildebeast first baseman...

(Boston.com)

Papelbon(off camera): Joooosh, can I go now? I don't really see how being your target in dodgeball is going to help my pitching arm....
Beckett: Shut it, rook. This helps you protect yourself on the field. If you can dodge a bowling ball, you can dodge a line drive.
Papelbon: I knew I should have snuck off with Hansen to get ice cream.

(Boston.com)

As his Sith Apprentice Darth Papelbon practices punching people with his mind from 20 feet away, Emperor Schilling cackles maniacally.

(Boston.com)

Wake: Damn it, Mike, did you kill someone with only your feet again?
Timlin: He was looking at me funny.
Schill: Now what are we gonna do for a fourth outfielder?

And so It Begins

2006-02-13T12:35:00.000-05:00

Hooray! Huzzah! Hallelujah! And hell yeah!

For it is Truck Day.

Wandering in The Desert

2006-02-09T20:26:00.000-05:00

This is the WORST part of the sports calendar.

I remember saying the exact same thing last February. And it is still true.

No football, no baseball, and basketball and hockey have not yet reached the point where I am required by the By-Laws of Knowledgable Sports Fans to pay attention to them. Not only that, but one of the few things I do know about hockey, that Wayne Gretzky is like, really good, and like, a really good guy, is reported to be less than true.

Only thing that's better compared to this time last year? Tedy Bruschi is healthy and intact. *knocks on copious amounts of every kind of available wood* But now Tommy has to go under the knife for of all things, a sports hernia. To whatever thoracic surgeon performs the surgery: BE VERY CAREFUL WITH THAT SCALPEL. You carry the fantasies of thousands of women, and probably a goodly number of gay men, with you.

Damnit , I need sports. I'm taking a course in the 19th century novel. I'm working intensely to get this Pops concert off. Things are getting way too stereotypically girly around here.
And obsessively watching Battlestar Galactica only gets me part of the way back. I mean, I'm an glorified English major who plays the violin and occasionally does theater. But who also loves science fiction and is an obsessive football and baseball fan. Both parts, coexisting at the same time. It's the second part which prevents me from falling to the mere ranks of the Ivy League elitist stereotype. It is the second part which makes me weird. And I like being weird.

Here endeth the navel gazing.
I know that many other sites are doing their preseason predictions. But not me. Firstly, because there are ones out there done much better than I ever could, secondly, because mine would suck, and thirdly, because it just ain't my style , dawg.
So, instead, pre-season odds!

That sometime in May, a game will be held up without its center fielder or starting pitcher, because Coco and String Bean lost track of time jamming and freestyling in the equipment room: 3-1

That J.T Snow will earn love and acclaim by simultaneously saving a puppy who has wandered out on to the field , while still getting the unassisted put-out: 5-1
That no one will exactly know how the puppy got there, but Manny will be involved somehow: 1-1

That the first Yankee game will start with Josh Beckett facing Johnnny Damon: 5-1
That Beckett will strike him out: 3-1
That Beckett will plunk him, Damon will charge the mound, and Mike Lowelll will beat him bloody with his bare hands: 72-1
(but it's nice to imagine.)

That Kevin Youkilis will snap around August, screaming "FOR ONCE CAN'T YOU JUST CHANT KEVIN?": 22-1

That Alex Gonzalez, after training with Jedi Master Belichick, will use the Force to field a hit heading for the outfield: 14-1
That he will use the Jedi Mind trick to pick a runner off second: "The Jedi use the Force, for knowledge and defense, never for attack."- Yoda

That Julian Tavarez will enter the Ultimate Fighting Championship: 3-1
That Trot Nixon, not to be upstaged, will join in too: 2-1

That Jason Varitek will have to go pick up Jonathan Papelbon, Manny Delcarmen and Craig Hansen in Tijuana after a late-night pizza run goes horribly, horribly awry: 11-1

How many days 'til Truck Day?

Obla-di, Obla-da....

2006-02-01T21:21:00.000-05:00

Officially 18 days till spring training, and less than that till TRUCK DAY. Hurrah, and huzzah, completely aware that these 2 and some odd weeks are going to pass like molasses in January ( or some similarly slow thing in February.) But every time "Dirty Water", "Sweet Caroline" or "Tessie" comes on iTunes, I get a little spiritual giddyup.

Let people try to tell me the 2006 Red Sox will suck, that they have no plan, that our offense has decreased too much and our pitching won't make up for it. Which, really, is not true in the first place, since I believe a) we will have a closer to 2004 form Schilling , and b) Joshua Josh Josh Beckett backing him up, and c) a much improved bullpen. That improvement in pitching will be able to compensate for the addition of Lowell and Alex Gonzalez in the infield, and Coco in the outfield. We will not have to bash people over the head to win games; we will have a team closer to the Midwestern Sox, which will be pretty cool.

And yes, I am aware the above can be easily proved to be full of crap, and this team could easily end up 81-81, people lined up on the Tobin. I won't be one of them. Not that I can promise not to go at times, completely bonkers.
But I vow to be guided, as always by the words of Danny Kaye: "They may be bums, but they're MY BUMS."
Love them through the good times, love them through the bad, love them through getting swept by the Devil Rays. (Though if that happens, there will be much wailing and gnashing of teeth.)

There'll be a lotta new faces to get used to , but there were last year too. And will be in the next. It's almost time for baseball again, and nothing will deter me from my optimism.

Some quick hits:
-You know that post a month or two ago about changing the blog's name? Yeah, I was pretty much full of crap. I couldn't think of a better name, and people seem to like the old one, so this way it shall remain.
-Completely on instinct, I call Steelers by a touchdown in Le Bowl Excellente Quarante.
-Shocking Confession: I have a Guilty Pleasure Crush on Ben Roethlisberger. And it is only increased by the beard. I have a thing for scruffy facial hair.(Except on Jake Plummer, who is a dirty, dirty hippie.) ( I may have been one of the few turned on by Tommy's Mountain Man phase last year.)
- *ahem*
JOHNNY DAMON?
THE FANS IN BOSTON HAVE NOT , REPEAT NOT, LIKE, UNDERSTOOD OR FORGIVEN YOU GOING TO THE YANKEES.
IF YOU REALLY THINK THAT, YOU ARE LIVING IN A FANTASY WORLD. SCREW YOU.
AND YOU ARE, AT BEST, SKETCHY LOOKING WITHOUT THE BEARD.
THAT IS ALL.
-Is it me, or does Coco Crisp look slightly elven, in the non-Lord of The Rings, Orlando Cabrera type way? And I am already in love with the Nomaresque Crazy Bat Fingers thing he has going.

To finish up, New Kitty Blogging!
Meet Matilda, newest member of the NJ Homestead:

In Excelsis Theo

2006-01-20T10:44:00.000-05:00

The title is from the subject line of an email from my mother this morning. And it is, as per usual with my mother, eerily appropriate.

He's back. Not quite sweeping into town on a white horse. It's too late for that, and too much has been screwed up.

I heard the news hanging out at my friend Katie's last night. I call her into the room, I tell her; she's looks at me with a mixture of sadness and anger, and storms into the other room. She refuses to be happy, but not because she doesn't like Theo. She loves Theo; she is pissed that it took this long. And really, I can't find the words to tell her she's wrong. Because she has a point. Stuff has passed under the bridge; we still don't have a shortstop or centerfielder, and the options are dwindling.

But he's back, and that's gonna be worth something. Even if it's not right now, even if it's hard to see. As much as part of me is pissed, part of me is jumping up and down with joy. I'm not thinking of 2006, because, apart from the pitching, that makes me want to hit things. But I'm thinking of 2007, and Jonathan Papelbon, and Dustin Pedroia, and Jacoby Ellsbury, and the many young and contending years after that. And that's what's making me smile.

And There Was Much Joyous Dancing and Clapping of Hands

2006-01-18T14:39:00.000-05:00

Sox, String Bean near to multi-year deal.

*cue happy music*
Wooooo. Yaaaay! Woooo! Huzzah! Hurrah! Huzzah!
To quote Blackadder, "Permission to shout BRAVO at an annoyingly loud volume!"

Not that it's done yet.
Or that he's not still vulnerable to getting traded.
But for now, THE ALL POWERFUL VEGETABLE MOJO LIVES ON.

Wind and Rain

2006-01-15T13:42:00.000-05:00

I could even feel it in the weather.

It had been so nice this past week; mid-50s, only partly cloudy. For those few days, it felt like spring.
But waiting out on Cambridge Street, across from the Allston Sports Depot for the 66 bus near midnight last night, it turned bone-chillingly cold. Not the kind of cold that can be managed with simply adding a scarf; cold down to the bone. The rain started slow, and then picked up, stinging my cheeks.

However it was only a coda, only a complementary sadness to the other end of the evening.
And I have to confess; I walked out before the end. With 4:30 left in the 4th quarter, and the Pats down 24-13, the longing for home and warmth became too strong.
It certainly wasn't the company; in fact, they probably made it more bearable than it might have been. Spending the evening with Beth, her fiance Steve, Marianne, and Kristen's roommate Colleen, had it not been for the circumstances, was pretty damn cool.

But for circumstance.
We certainly lost to the better team. But with some losses to a superior team, it's quick and painless. This game? Like repeatedly stabbing oneself in the stomach with a rusty fork.

I also can't help feeling a little like Cassandra, standing among the ruins of burning Troy right now. I wrote in this space last week, even if the defense performs to the same level, the offense must amp up their game significantly.
And the defense did their damnedest. ( Apart from a distressing lack of Jake Plummer being legally whacked upside the head.)
It was the offense who gradually, and painfully , gave the game away.
For the 1st quarter, and most of the second, it was simply the futility of last week. No one could get open, and when they did, Thomas always seemed to overthrow them.
Something clicked, with about 8 minutes left in the second, and not in a good way. The two late second half fumbles started the boulder down the hill.
And then, the pick. The INT. The ugliest play I have ever seen Tom Brady make.
At first, the crowd didn't know what was going on. But then, as Champ Bailey danced his way through the line of scrimmage, a wail went up, which only increased in volume and emotion as he made his way 100 yards towards the other end zone.
God bless Ben Watson, God bless his heart for following Bailey step for step, and using a last burst of energy to knock Bailey out of bounds at the one yard line.
Not that it did any good. But that, right there, is a football player.

Something died right there, though. Some fork in the road was taken from which there was no return. Most tellingly, the Pats lost their cool. The Pats never lose their cool, but here they were. Jawing at the refs and getting distressingly physical. Willie McGinest (!) shoving Larry Izzo. Adam Vinatieri missing a field goal.These were not the Pats who could come back from 17-6. These were unfamilar people.
The game officially ended an hour or so later. But something got lost in that interception return, which could not be regained.

And it feels like it outside today. It's windy, and it's gray, and it's cold. Patriots football is done for the season. And we enter the most depressing days of the year, the 20 days between football and spring training. If there are the dog days of summer, these are the bear days of winter, the days where you just curl up in your blanket and wait for spring.

Because it is cyclical. It'll start again. And so, we wait.

What Pats These Are I Think I Know

2006-01-08T10:34:00.000-05:00

At least during the second half of last night's eventual 28-3 shellacking of Jacksonville. The first half, not so much.

The first half was, how you say, interesting. Unlike nearly any half of football I've seen the Pats this year. Usually, it was the offense running on all cylinders, and the defense struggling to find the line of scrimmage with both hands.

But for 30 minutes last night, Gillette Stadium moved several inches to the right into Bizarro World.

Defense came out growling, raring to go, ready to play. The front 7 was all up in the grille of Byron Leftwich all night long. The secondary, well, they're still in a different universe from , say, the Buccaneer or Redskins secondary ( which by the way were pretty damn amazing). There was the occasional big play given up, but when it came to 3rd down or the red zone, they came through when it mattered.

For once, it was the offense, and particularly one THOMAS BRADY who could not seem to get it in gear. 3 straight penalties to start the game. And then, the weirdest pass play I have seen since Brady completing one from the seat of his pants against the Bengals last year. Brady throws the ball- and it BOUNCES OFF THE REF. Right off his nose. Something was off from the start.

*Imaginary Brady pokes Emma with a stick*
Yeah, yeah, I know, it wasn't totally your fault. Those Jacksonville DBs are no slouches, and were playing quality man-to-man for much of the first half. And Lil' Deion and Benji dropped a couple of balls. But you had several chances with open receivers where you just could not get your schwerve on.
*Brady sulks*
Okay, so you did get a TD pass in the first half. But that is because Troy Brown is awesome.
(Funny story: Watching the Monday Night game with the Jets, my mother watched a similarly awesome TD catch by the aforesaid Brown. I tell her the story of Troy Brown V.2004-wideout, d-back, punt returner.
Mom: "Can he play shortstop?")

*Imaginary Brady sits down and threatens to hold his breath till he turns blue*
Waitaminnit, I'm getting to the second half. Here's a cookie.

So, though the halftime lead is 7-3 ( and the Jags have those points by the grace of God and a lack of wind-Josh Scobee's wide eyed look of relief was comedy gold) I'm not sitting down with any composure or calm. With what I had seen out of the D this year, I was not anywhere sure that the D could continue to hold them of. If the offense continued to sputter, the Jags would continue to hang around, and bad things would happen.

Fortunately, the Pats V. 2004 ( or someone similar) made a return engagement. Starting on the unlikeliest play imaginable. And maybe a little divine intervention. Pass complete to Benji Watson-big hit by the Jags Mike Peterson...FUMBLE. OMG, FUMBLE. And then, who to my wandering eyes should appear, but Andre Frakkin' Davis, managing to recover said fumble.
I have to say, I'm not at all sure what would have happened had Jacksonville recovered. I don't ever want to know. But it all changed from there. It put a charge in the offense, starting with the ensuing TD pass to David "Wins at Life And Other Worthy Endeavors"(TM Amy) Givens.

While the Jags were still in shock, the D forces another punt, and though it looks at first like the offense has receded into futility, here comes the otherwordly intervention again. Pass complete (again ) to Ben Watson, and he redeems himself for the fumble, tenfold. After being tackled, and almost pulled to the ground, he breaks free, rips off 63 yards to the house, 21-3 Pats.

However, it ain't' over yet, oh no. The defense wants to get in on the fun. Ensuing Jags possession, into the red zone. Asante Samuel weaves the most beautiful pick I have seen in a long while on a deke coverage, and runs it all the way back home, putting the final nail in the coffin of the Jags. And the lasting image I'll take from that? Defensive stud Willie McGinest, haunter of the dreams of quarterbacks around the nation, with 4.5 SACKS(!), raising both arms to the heavens in praise of his teammate. Don't get any sweeter than that.

Sure, Michael Smith may be right when he points out that the Pats needed a whole, whole lot of luck to win that game. But luck is a part of the make-up of every championship team. Luck provides the oppurtunities; great teams capitalize on them.

That doesn't mean they won't need a whole lot more then they showed this week to beats the Broncos or the Colts.They can't afford the first half offensive futility. Hear that? *Whacks Imaginary Brady upside the head with a rolled magazine*. Because while the D has improved remarkably, and will further improve if Tedy comes back for next week's game, both of those offenses are better than the Jags; they will score their points. Both units need to bring their best game if they even want to hang around.

However, I have faith that they can. I saw flashes of the Champion Patriots last night. Welcome back, guys. Time to go to work.

That Within Which Passeth Show

2006-01-05T18:33:00.000-05:00

Seems, madam! Nay, it is; I know not 'seems'.
'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother,
Nor customary suits of solemn black,
Nor windy suspiration of forced breath,
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye,
Nor the dejected 'haviour of the visage,
Together with all forms, modes, shows of grief,
That can denote me truly; these indeed seem,
For they are actions that a man might play:
But I have that within which passeth show;
These but the trappings and the suits of woe.
-Hamlet, Act I, Scene II

Meh.
That's pretty much a summation of my current mental state regarding Johnny Damon.
He left. It sucked. I move on.
*The Muse pokes Emma with a sharp stick to remind her that more than that is required*
Not that it didn't severely piss me off when it happened. Especially 3 days before Christmas. I mean, last year Theo gave me and Red Sox Nation a lovely Christmas present called "The Resigning of Jason Varitek". So , this sort of paled in comparison.
Yet, my anger was about as fervent as my prose is right now. That is to say,not very. Indifferent, impersonal. Cold fury, rather than betrayal.
Johnny Damon the center fielder? I'll miss. ( Except the arm with the tensile strength of string cheese.)
Johnny Damon the productive leadoff hitter? Yup, miss that too.
Johnny Damon, the persona, the "personality"? Not a rutting bit.

It's exactly the opposite of the way it was with me with Kevin Millar. As numbers, as a body in the field, Millar left much to be desired. But as a person, beyond the laundry, I rooted for, and genuinely felt affection for the big lug.
With Johnny, it never really went beyond the laundry, past the surface. Which is seemingly all Red Sox Johnny was, given how easy it was for him to change into Yankee Johnny.
I mean, take David Wells. He admitted outright, that he had deep roots as a Yankee. It took effort to move the other way, and given his desire to be traded, he never totally got there. But whatever happened, Boomer was Boomer, and I respected that.
Johnny may have set himself as the "spirit" of the team. He may have gotten some national journalists to believe it.
I don't know if I ever really did. Billy Mueller was closer to that for me.. Hell, for being here all of a year, John Olerud was closer. They had something which Johnny never did.
Johnny was the trappings, the suits. He seemed, and he did it very well. But that's all it was. And as such, he will now seem for someone else, for more more money. More power to him. He and the Yankees deserve each other.

***

Playoffs. Gillette. 2 days. Aw yeah.

***
I have decided that this blog, of late, has sorely been lacking in the pretty. I now take steps to remedy that.

That is all.

PLAYOFFS BABY!

2005-12-17T16:33:00.000-05:00

Pats 28, Bucs 0.

28-0!

28 to Goddamn 0, mofos!

AFC EAST CHAMPIONS THREE YEARS IN A ROW.

HOT LIKE WASABI. STYLING LIKE SHAFT. ROLLING LIKE PORSCHE.

WE ARE THE TEAM NO ONE'S GONNA WANT TO FACE IN JANUARY.

OH HELL YEAH.

Centennial

2005-12-16T14:21:00.000-05:00

My hundreth- (hundred? hundredeth?)- post number 100.
Wow.
I feel like I need to pop a bottle of champagne, or set off fireworks, or something.
I really find it amazing that I've gotten to a hundred posts. Of variable quality.
Brava, Red Sox. You have been a constant in my life for a hundred posts.
Not always in a good way, of course. But always interesting. And always fodder for the muse.
Here's to post 200....

****
Billy Mueller is officially a Dodger now.
*sniff*
"How bout our former third baseman?"

****
The hot stove has died down at least a little bit, and all that's currently going on is in the rumor stage.
So I'll give them the depth they deserve.

Manny for Tejada? WOOOO.
I have had it up to here *makes accompanying gesture* with Manuel "I have the emotional maturity and committment of a 12 year old boy" Ramirez. I could really not give a flying frak if he left now, were it not for the production.Tejada would fit in well, both stat-wise and chemistry-wise.
But it's not gonna happen. Because while the Baltimore front office may apparently be run by a cadre of barely literate spider monkeys, even monkeys have some semblance of intelligence.

Matty for Jeremy Reed? Meh.
String Bean for Jeremy Reed?
*runs off to a gun store in Arlington*
*buys up cache of semi-automatics*
*takes T to Kenmore Square*
*committs Coup d'etat on Yawkey Way*
*barricades self in Jeddington's office*

Andy Marte and Guillermo Mota for Coco Crisp-
WHA?

****

And on the subject of the aforementioned two-headed General Managerial Monster?
I do not know. I honestly do not know. And probably won't know 'till March.

****
I go off for various Christmas debauchery Tuesday evening, so this will probably be my last post of the year. Unless something completely crazy and unexpected happens, which is not out of the question.

Happy Holidays Everybody.....

I Fear Confusion

2005-12-08T16:41:00.000-05:00

Edgar and Dougie out. Mark Loretta and Andy Marte in. No frickin' shortstop. THREE third basemen, and none of them are Billy Mueller. The possibility of an entirely new lineup next year, apart from the Cap'n and Papi-Man.

*hides under the bed*

I have to explain, my first reaction to all of these was not seething deadly hatred. It was a simple "What the fuck is going on here?" There is a plan, I mean, there must be, but I can't see it as of now. All I can see are the questions, all trees and no forest.
*How major league ready is Marte?
*Do we trade Youk for pitching, start Lowell in the bigs, Marte in AAA and go from there?
*WHO THE HELL IS GOING TO PLAY SHORTSTOP?
*Don't say Julio Lugo.
*No seriously, do NOT.
* Is there still a possibility of Wells for Roberts and Otsuka?
* How are we going to find a guy who can catch Wake as well as Dougie?
*Will this offseason be the death of the Vegetable Mojo?

I don't fear change. I mean, I started the year a Bellhorn Babe and ended it a Graffinino Groupie. I can handle change. What I sincerely, sincerely dislike is confusion. I have no idea, no concept in my head of what this team is going to look like in April. And it scares the hell out of me.

***
This was my initial reaction to John Olerud's retirement, and I can't find any other words:

"Sniff. Here, friends, was a baseball player. He may only have been here for one year, but I remember the young John Olerud, when he was a champion with the Blue Jays. He hasn't changed a bit. And that is the highest compliment I can give him. He is truly old school, in the best and highest sense."

John; here is that Viking ship I promised you, which still cannot begin to hold your awesomeness:

***
I think maybe I've given up on football writing, at least for now. Not football as a subject. It will show up occasionally. But weekly game recaps, if they ever were present, are things of the past now. Don't get me wrong , I dearly love football. However, baseball is my passion, and the bulk of my knowledge and this blog is baseball. I've found I cannot write about football as well as I want to. So at least for now, it must go dormant.

***
That, combined with the non-tendering of Buckethead, AKA the Idiot, and the imminent FA signing of the Professional, means real life, and this blog, have outgrown the title at the top of the page.
This is not something I take lightly, by any stretch of the imagination.
Reading Gordon Edes "The Cowboy rides into the sunset" in the Globe today, I got emotionally wobbly against my will.
God knows Millar scratched his cleats up an down my nerves this season. The fact that a water buffalo on a sunny day with a good headwind could beat him to first base. Whether he was playing it or running to it.
The stretches where he was sincerely godawful at the plate, and we screamed for Olerud.
But there were the good times; the Manny wrangling; his sense of his own absurdity; and the times when he did get hot at the plate, and it was beautiful to behold.
The Walk. Which started The Comeback.
And, I have him to thank for one of the baseball memories I will take with me always. It was my first game back at Fenway since my childhood. May 10th, 2005. Low-scoring pitcher's duel, bottom of the ninth Sox down by one. Papi walks. Millar at the plate, responsible for one of the the opposing runs through error. 2-1 count. Millar swings away, and as the ball lofts towards heaven to land on the Monster, a wave of human joy sweeps through the crowd, and lifts me off my feet. Sox win. Sox win.
I love you, Buckethead, ya big lug.
With Billy Mueller, there aren't really that many ups and downs to remember. Because that's what Billy is about:consistency. He is is the Professional, the Yankee Killer. He, like Johnny O, is a baseball player of the old, best school. Attached forever in New England consciousness to one particular home run, and one particular single.
And so I say of him, for the last time: "How 'bout our third baseman?"

The Red Sox are changing. So must this blog. Thus, I open up the comments section of this post for any and all suggestions of a new name, barring the obscene ones.Not that this is such a family blog to begin with. But my grandparents read it, so keep it clean.

***

Finally, in honor of our new Second Baseman ( another Mark, V.2.0)., from Monty Python's Life of Brian:
REG
Furthermore, it is the birthright of every man ...
STAN
Or woman.
REG
Why don't you shut up about women, Stan, you're putting us off.
STAN
Women have a perfect right to play a part in our movement, Reg.
FRANCIS
Why are you always on about women, Stan?
STAN
... I want to be one.
REG
... What?
STAN
I want to be a woman. From now on I want you all to call me Loretta.
REG
What!?
STAN
It's my right as a man.
JUDITH
Why do you want to be Loretta, Stan?
STAN
I want to have babies.

crawls out from under mountainous pile of schoolwork

2005-11-30T21:13:00.000-05:00

*reaches toward guiding hands attempting to help her*

*realizes it's the Patriots Secondary, stands up, runs screaming the other way*

Okay, so I didn't actually watch the Pats game on Sunday, and have no recent reason to do that. But still, I don't have to watch the games anymore. I can feel the shudders going through the Force any time a halfway decent QB uncorks a deep ball towards the sidelines.

And seriously, it's getting to the point with the O-Line where I'm gonna have to go buy some shoulder pads, tie Nick Kaczur to a pipe somwhere underneath Gillette, and protect No. 12 myself. He is the newest member of the The Closet. I may be pissed at Tommy for the 4 INTS on Sunday, but by God he will survive to lose our first round playoff game in January.

Thinking about it, offensive lineman might be the only position I could play. I got the upper arm strength. And believe it or not, the protective spurts of aggression. I would just imagine that Tommy was holding my little two-year old cousin Jasper, and you would not want to see what happened to the D-Line. ( I would have subbed the Brother, but the Brother is now taller than me, and thus can take care of himself.)

On a positive note, the Marauding Llamas are third in the Surviving Grady Fantasy Football Throwdown. Which is better then it sounds, because Meredith is so far ahead of the rest of us that I'm grading our league on a curve, meaning I'm really second. The fact that Eli Manning and the Giants managed to lose their game, but not before providing Elisha with 344 YDS, 2 TDs and no INTS, also makes me very happy.

79-ish days till the first day of Spring Training. With Josh Beckett (wooo!), He Who Shall Now Be Called Milo Until Proven Otherwise, and Guillermo Mota in the bullpen. Speaking of which, it seems that the All-Powerful Vegetable Mojo will now be known as the All-Powerful Bullpen Vegetable Mojo. Which I can deal with.

What I cannnot deal with? Lack of Manny. Lack of Manny's bat in the lineup.
*ahem*
nonononononono no take Manny I want Manny why are you going away Manny want Manny WAAAAH!*
Got that out of my system.
But seriously. Manny trade talk makes Emma's head explode.

I think I'm actually glad I haven't gotten in to the Celts or the Bruins. Because from what I hear tell of how much they are sucking, I don't think I could deal with the pile-on.

It's Over Before It Even Had A Chance To Begin

2005-11-21T20:58:00.000-05:00

Hanley gone.

This isn't the ghastly and drastic stupid move I was afraid of. Beckett has tremendous upside, and is 25. Lowell had some upside, not so long ago. And Hanley would have banged around the system while waiting for Edgar's contract to run its course. This could work out well for the Sox.

But it's still jarring nonetheless. Hanley was part of that group of prospects we thought were untouchable under Theo. Is this seraphims descending out of the clouds, or the 4 horsemen of the Apolcalypse? No one can know.

The days are growing darker. And Bart Giamatti was right; the game itself abandons you when you need it most.

Oh yeah, there was in fact a football game yesterday, and one on Saturday. which I promise to write about eventually. But right now, Thanksgiving can't come soon enough.

Fragments of A Fourth Quarter

2005-11-13T16:17:00.000-05:00

[Because of certain elements of real life, it was necessary for me to read Fragments of Ossianic Poetry instead of watching the 2nd and 3rd quarters. However, I tuned in right in time for the most stressful fourth quarter since.....well, since the Falcons game in October. Herein, I reproduce fragments from the oral tradition that is the SG Message board]

[Dolphins score a 4th quarter touchdown to take the lead with 5-ish minutes on the clock]

NOT AGAIN! MOTHERFUCKING DOLPHINS!

Tommy- You will fix this. And you will fix this now. Or I will assist Kristen in flicking your ears till you cry.

[Tommy and Timmy and Benji fix things with a 43 second 4/5 play touchdown drive]
DWIGHT!
WATSON!
AWESOME!

And now we rely on the Defense---- *hides head under pillow*

[McMichaels gets about 20 yards down the sideline]

AAAAAAAGH! STOP IT! MAKE THE GODDAMN TACKLE.

[Eugene Wilson somehow fucks up his hand; Dolphins enter the Red Zone]

God seriously hates the Pats Secondary.

WILL SOMEONE MAKE A STOP!

Gus Frerotte: 355 yards passing. WHAT IS WRONG WITH THIS SENTENCE.

God bless you Ellis Hobbs.

[Asante Samuel and company make a stop on 4th and Goal; Pats win the game somehow]

*faints to the floor in a swoon*

Bob Lobel just compared the Pats D this year, to the 2005 Red Sox Bullpen. I would like to submit, at least as regards the secondary, that they might possibly be worse. Not by much mind you, but worse. It may be the smaller scale (16 games vs. 162). But I go into games like this having no faith that if pressed, the secondary can make the plays. At least with Timlin and later Papelbon, I always had someone to count on to make that pitch and get that out. With this secondary, I don't even have that.

Well, at least we're back to a winning record; and in this division, that may be all it takes.

Can I Challenge Shaughnessy To A Lightsaber Duel?

2005-11-03T19:08:00.000-05:00

It's high time to lift the atmosphere of somber that has hung over the Sox blogosphere. And nothing does that like self-deprecation plus costumes. Without more ado, the most cheap-ass Jedi costume ever:

Theo's got his gorilla suit; I've got my lavender bathrobe.

Oh, and *finger-bone waggling* for actual postive Sox news: we will be hearing "Black Betty" regularly over the Fenway PA for at least another year. Mike "The Bullpen Badass" Timlin has officially re-upped . Which is good, since if he hadn't, on top of everything else, there may well have been a people's revolution focused on Yawkey Way, deposing Lucchino, and installing a populist junta. I feel confident in saying that it would have fallen under Michael Walzer's theoretical group of justified interventions. ( I will cite page numbers, goddamnit.)

OH HOLY FUCKING HELL.

2005-10-31T19:41:00.000-05:00

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!

2005-10-27T11:41:00.000-04:00

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

2005-10-20T23:54:00.000-04:00

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

2005-10-19T16:07:00.000-04:00

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.

2005-10-13T11:29:00.000-04:00

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

2005-10-06T18:21:00.000-04:00

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

2005-10-04T21:22:00.000-04:00

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!!!!!!!!!!!!

2005-10-02T19:56:00.000-04:00

Postseason bound, third year in a row. Suhweeeeet.

The Battle of The Hose starts Tuesday.

On to pillage, men.

WIN.

2005-10-02T11:38:00.000-04:00

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.

2005-10-01T17:18:00.000-04:00

speechless

2005-09-30T15:07:00.000-04:00

So We're Going To Die, Then?

2005-09-29T11:40:00.000-04:00

"So we're going to die, then?
"Yes, we....wait, no, what's this (fiddles with switch) what's this?
"Yes?!?"
"This, this.....is nothing, yeah, we're going to die."
-Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galazy, Douglas Adams

Ford and Arthur got rescued, highly highly improbably, by Zaphod, Trillian and the Heart of Gold.

Right now, though, we are Ford and Arthur waiting to be blown out of the Vogon airlock. And I'm increasingly less sure that there will an Improbibility Drive ship waiting to rescue us.

We have used up our finite quantities of Improbibility. And are just cruising along on blind fucking luck.

Excuse me a moment.

GODDAMNIT BRONSON WHY DID YOU HAVE TO SUCK SO HARD I HATE YOU SO VERY VERY MUCH EXCEPT I DON'T I'M JUST VERY VERY DISAPPOINTED.

Phew. Got that out of my system.

1 game back. Tied for the Wild Card. 4 left to play, 3 with the Yankees . And Matty on the mound tonight. All adds up to me very much in need of a Pan-Galactic Gargleblaster. (Or at least some Jack Daniels.)

*buries her head in a towel*

Willies, Be They Wordsworth Or McGinest

2005-09-26T08:17:00.000-04:00

I confess. I was yet again a bad Pats fan this week. I meant to watch the entire game, really I did. But school got in the way. And while Willie McGinest might be really disappointed with me for only watching a few minutes of the first quarter and 90% of the 4th, not reading and writing about "Willie Wordsworth" will get me in trouble with She Who Must Be Obeyed ( AKA my Hist and Lit tutor.)

Anyway, thanks to an initially rocky but then solid defense, and a mostly stillborn but then-clutch offense during the rest of the game, watching the 4th quarter was almost like watching a whole game. A lot more than I wanted to be. Watching the Steelers work their way down the field with 2 minutes and change left, wearing down our defense, was uncomfortably like watching the Sox bullpen work in the 8th and 9th these days. Waiting for something to happen. Namely, the bullshit PI call at about the 5 yard line. Once that happened, you know the Steelers were scoring, no doubt about it.

But when they kicked the PAT, and there was still 1:21 left on the clock, it was like seeing David Ortiz come up with the basese loaded with 2 outs in the 9th inning of a tie ballgame. Though Tommy had a not-so great game up to that point, this is where he works, this is his place of business.
And then there was Adam. And that is all that needs to be said.
Except that someone needs to find a way to let Adam Vinatieri and David Ortiz produce a child together. Because it would be the most clutch baby in the entire span of human history.

****

SWEEEEEEEEP.

Thank you, Starting Pitching. This is a very nice time to have this kind of stretch. Keep it up.

Tomorrow: GOING TO THE GAME! Back when I bought this ticket, I assumed the race would be close. I had no idea. But Wake's pitching, and our offense seems to have gotten it together again. So I go in a with a certain measure of optimism.
*****

RODNEY HARRISON! I take my eye off you for one second.....This is what happens when I let people out of the closet. NEVER AGAIN.

God Help Me, I Love "Tessie"

2005-09-25T10:27:00.000-04:00

There, I've said it. It's out. I know it's fashionable on the local airwaves to bash it, call it stupid, sappy, whatever.
But my heart beats a little faster and I smile a litttle wider when I hear it.
I loved it last year, listening to it after every win, and I love it this year.
Maybe it's because I'm a college student, and of the target age group for fight songs. And Harvard doesn't really have any good ones. (Except Tom Lehrer's "Fight Fiercely Harvard", and that doesn't count.)
Because that's what it is. A fight song. It's a unifying battle cry. And the perfect final chorus for this town and this team and this Nation:

"Don't blame us if we ever doubt ya
You know we couldn't live without ya
Red Sox you are the only
Only only......"

And it's true. I'll hit the walls, I'll jump around, scream, threaten shame and violence to the Red Sox' maternal ancestors. But they won't let me go. And I won't really let go, no matter how much I say I will. They are my only.

They make it even harder to leave when they play like they've played the last two games against the Orioles. Granted the pitching has not been spectacular. But it has been SOLID. Which is what counts. And the offense will leave its small villages of men on base. But they have come through in the clutch. Prime example?

Edgar Renteria. Though he's frustrated me no end, the guy won me over way back in June with that series against the Yankees. He may have mental stuff. He may be playing hurt. But last night, bases loaded, 1 out, he came through. Someone I was watching with said "Eh, it was a bloop broken bat single...."
I will quote to him, and to all of you, the great Wee Willie Keeler:
"Hit 'em where they aint."
And that's what Edgar did. And it won us the game, so I'm cool with that.

They grinded it out. They fought and they kicked and they scratched and they won these last two games. And they finally looked, for the the first time in a week, like the team I fell for.

It's 8 games left. Yankees 90-64. Red Sox 90-64. Everyone check for where your towel is, and hang on to your butts.

"They May Be Bums, But They're Our Bums"

2005-09-23T16:30:00.000-04:00

Whenever a week like this goes by, Danny Kaye's words, though they be about another team and another time, always ring true.

Would it blow your mind, if I told you all the times this week that I've sat down to write this post, numbered in the double digits? Because I have. But the Red Sox have gotten in the way. Every time I thought I had a handle, thought I had a grasp on the character of this week, they threw me a knuckler.

Last week, baseball helped carry me through all the usual unusual changes of going back to school. If I got homesick, I turned on Joe and Jerry and, instant calm.

One would think it would be the same this week, that baseball might provide a respite for the tangible and financial crazy that is the first week of classes. As it turned out, class was a refuge from the Red Sox.

I've gone from angry to elated to sad to numb to hopeful to rationalizing to hopeful again all over the space of four days. And am not ruling out a similar journey in the next 48 hours.

It is something that only a few other sports cities can understand, like (from personal experience) Philadelphia. That somehow this team metamorphoses into something like a person. And if not a person, maybe at least a sentient being. Or at least we feel like it does. One that's capable of manipulation, love and betrayal, and everything in between.

For example A, see the Surviving Grady Message Board on the Monday night game. At about the 8th inning, things had gotten so bad, there was a mass threat to move to France. (Do not ask. We had our reasons, and they were good.) But the moment, Papi hit a two-out homer in the top of the ninth, hope flowed back into the words being written. Yet just as quickly, that hope dissipated with Manny's game-ending strikeout. But the fact that it was there says something very important.

One of the reasons that Boston is a complicated and difficult place to play, is that Red Sox Nation feels things so incredibly deeply. It's also a reason why it can be a great place to play, and why it alternates between the two so quickly.

But most importantly, it's why we stay. It's why we are so freaked out at falling a game back of first place.
It's also why we'll tell anybody who'll listen that when the dust clears on October 3rd, we'll be the last team standing.
We may not believe it as strongly as we did, but damn if we're going to let anyone else deny it.

String Bean v. Cabrera, 7:35. This would be a hell of a time for a little bit of that All-Powerful Vegetable Mojo, baby boy.

To Those People in Patriot Uniforms...

2005-09-19T12:48:00.000-04:00

Who are you?

And what have you done with my football team?

Due to librarianism, I only got to see the first half of the game yesterday, but reading and listening the day after, I'm almost glad I had to leave.

Hearing the end total of 12 penalties for 86 yards was mind-boggling, but not all that surprising. It was sloppy, sloppy play, and very un-Patriot-like. And that 1st quarter touchdown, I attribute to the initially slack Carolina defense, more than any talent on Tommy's part. Oh, he has talent. But it just wasn't on display yesterday. No zip, no fire.

Boys, you play like this in Pittsburgh come next Sunday, it won't be 27-17. It'll be 42-3. So get back on the horse, gents. You have time to fix this.

As for the Sox. Well.

*BLEAH*

All I'm gonna say about that game. Oh, except this:

MATTHEW PAUL CLEMENT! WHAT IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT'S HOLY WAS THAT?

Aiee.

I'm Wet! I'm Hysterical and I'm Wet!

2005-09-16T15:52:00.000-04:00

Well, actually, I didn't end being as wet as I thought, but last night's game certainly had more than enough to make me hysterical.

Okay, rewind: at this time Thursday afternoon, I was ecstatic and eager and all those other E words that mean happy. Why? Because due to unforeseen circumstances, JenGal from the SG Message Board ( that repository of all things Sox) had two extra tickets for the first game of the A's series., and I was going to the game with her and fellow messsage-boarder Deb. And Schill was pitching. And it was raining, but other then that, all was right with the world. I had my umbrella, and my large pink poncho which makes me look like either a Mario Bros. character or a fey Jedi Knight, and I was prepared.

Which, apparently, was more than could be said for Schilling. Or our OFFENSE.

So, Schill was schakey, our hitters sucked, we lost, and I'm not going to talk about it. Instead, you get a selection of Bleacher Bon Mots, courtesy of the warped minds of me, Jen and Deb. (Or at least those that I remember. Since there were three hours of them.)

(watching Edgar and Manny do the backwards running drill simultaneously)
Deb: Wow. They almost morphed into one person there.
Jen: I expected them to break into a Broadway dance number at any moment.

(staring at the bullpen waiting for the game to start)
Emma: Is it possible that Schill's new dye job looks even stranger in person?
Jen: It's even shinier when it's combined with the green of the field.

(listening to the rest of the crowd)
Emma: It's interesting comparing the relative levels of booing for ex-Red Sox.
Deb: Yeah, there's intense booing for Payton, while the booing for Hatteberg is more half-hearted.

(watching an ungodly amount of beach balls emerge from the bleachers around us)
(well, there really aren't any words for that)

(watching a proposal on the Hancock scoreboard)
(Papi comes up to bat)
Deb: Come on, Papi, hit a homerun for them. I mean, she just said yes, you have to. You can't have "i said yes, but then Papi struck out..."
(Papi pops up)
All of Us: Oh man.

(Having a Wave spring up in the bleachers, die in a certain section of the grandstand repeatedly, and the bleacher creatures boo the grandstand)
Emma: Oh, just do it once please, so they will SHUT THE HELL UP! (Pause) Waves are really annoying when we're losing.

(reading that one of the As has the second most homers ever hit by a player from North Dakota)
Jen: They've really started scraping the bottom of the barrel up in the info booth.
Emma: Yeah.
Deb: Next it'll be "which Libra has the most HRs with Venus ascending".
(lull)
Jen: Well, somone somewhere must have crunched those numbers.
Emma: Maybe one night when Bill James was really really drunk...

(when we're losing wretchedly in the bottom of the ninth, and the umpires rule Billy's home run a double)
Emma: HEY CHRIS GUCCIONE, YOU SUCK!
(everyone around us looks at me)
Jen: (pause) Way to remember the umpire's name.

So I ended up not too soggy, unhappy with my baseball team, but having enjoyed the company thoroughly. 2 out of 3 ain't bad.

But, Red Sox: Doesn't mean I've let you off the hook though. 1.5 is too slim a lead.
WIN TONIGHT. WIN TOMORROW. AND GET YOUR ASSES IN GEAR.

To the Papi-Mobile!

2005-09-13T09:45:00.000-04:00

We find our heroes in a tight spot, once again. They must save their defenseless teammates from the evil depredations of the evil Canadian gang known as the Blue Jays.

"Bwahaha! Bow down to my evil power powers. Bwahahahaha!"

"Holy high heater Papi-Man! A squandered 5 run lead! Extra innings on the road! We've got to do something."

"Indeed we must, Rob-Bon. They have Commissioner Timlin tied up on the mound and will *dramatic pause* stick him with the loss if we don't do something."

"HAAAALP!!!"

"What can we do, Papi-Man?"

"I know what I must do."

Papi-Man uses every bit of his strength and cunning.....

*KAPOWIE*

"Holy mango salsa, Papi-Man! A extra-inning homer! Amazing!"

*pants and collapses* "That took all of my strength, Rob-Bon. I can do no more; it's up to you to save Commissioner Timlin and all of Red Sox Nation."

"Papi-Man, I can't do this without you!"

"Yes, you can, my youthful ward. You have more strength than you know. You....."

(Papi-Man passes out)

"Papi-Man? PAPI-MAAAAAAAN! "

Rob-Bon stands tall, and strides to the mound.

"For Red Sox Nation, and for Papi-Man, I will win this fight."

*ZOOM*
*BANG*
*KAPOW*
*BOING_OING-OING-OING*

As the dust clears, we see 3 outs upon the scoreboard, a 6-5 final score, and a lone figure striding off the field.

"My young apprentice, this day, you have become a man. Now let's go home, and I'll cook you some rice and beans."

"Aw shucks, Papi-Man..."

"Uh, could someone untie me? Please? "

Tune in tomorrow, same Sox time, same Sox channel......

head explody

2005-09-12T16:19:00.000-04:00

The above may refer to:

*The sheer number of intense sportage that went on this weekend.

*The REAPPEARANCE OF THE ALL POWERFUL VEGETABLE MOJO on Wednesday night. May it continue on its path of glory tonight.

*The Raiders scoring a TD in the first MINUTE of the FIRST FOOTBALL GAME OF THE YEAR (wooo!) Though the Pats pulled it out, the former act is something that should never happen again. In any football game. Unless the Pats are doing it against someone else.

*My joy at the first Rodney Harrison hit of the year. And of course, the first Brady TD pass of the year. And they now shine beatifically down on me from my Wall of Sports.

*Friday night's game. I feel betrayed, Boomer. I offered you beer. Not just beer. Newcastle Brown Ale. And we drank beer in your honor. And then I guess you decided you were not worthy of beer. So you proceeded to suck more than anything that has ever sucked before. (No one gets beer for that night.

*Saturday, and the return of The Curt. Not just Curt. He gets the use of the definite article for that performance. And while his pitcher got his groove on, Olerud channeled his inner Leif Ericsson, and went all Viking on the asses of the Yankees.
Ah, Olerud, I would make you a dragon ship, in which to hold your awesomeness, had I any skill at carpentry.

*How big and private and nice my new room is.

*How much our offense sucked on Sunday. I managed to miss it, thankfully, but reading the box score was bad enough. To paraphrase the great Harry Doyle from Major League: Zero runs on.....3 hits. That's all we got, three goddamn hits?!

Timmy, I love you, you're beautiful. Offense, I would not blame him one bit, if he took a weedwacker to you all. If you do that to String Bean tonight, I just might take one to you. Just when our starting pitching is finally getting its shit together is NOT the time to turn into limp noodles.

The Battle of The Flora, tonight, 7;07, due to Canadian weirdness. Be there, or be legumes.

Boys of September

2005-09-04T11:51:00.000-04:00

Wait.

Have I had seasonal amnesia or something?
Wasn't it just yesterday that we were tussling with the Devil Rays? And freaking out over Tito in the hospital?
And worrying about Curt's ineffective return? ( Oh, wait....)
And who are all these new people? Embree? And Bellhorn? YANKEES?

Summer has gone by really, rilly fast.
And suddenly it's the stretch run. And by some freak of God, luck and nature, or perhaps all three, we've been in first place almost continuously since June.
However it still doesn't feel real.
I go back to the PROC in less than a week, and the return of college means the return of freaking out over every single game. (Well, more than usual.)
And yet this season has an air of surreality to it.
Well, if that's what it takes, hook me up. Hook me up to this strange combo of hit or miss pitching, and freakishly strong offense, except against rookie pitchers that we've never seen before.
September baseball. Better than any artificial high one could ask for.

***

And whenever the above ends, there's always football.
Unfortunately, living in the Tri-State Area,inundated by TO tomfoolery, Pats preseason football has been going on in a remote, disconnected world. The passion has been slightly dormant.
But I knew it was back this morning when I got the year's first Pang of Righteous Indignation That Someone Is Disrespecting The Patriots.
Trenton Times writer Mark Eckel has the Pats going out in the first round of the playoffs. Beaten by Buffalo. BUFFALO! That cannot stand. It must not stand. The Patriots must make Mark Eckel look like an idiot.
(Though he did pick The Most Awesome Safety in All The Universe, Mr. Rodney Harrison, for his all AFC team. So he can't be all bad.)

***

Also, sad to say, I've been unfaithful to the Sox. Not with any major league team, mind you. Oh no, I'm robbing the cradle, and with the enemy, as well.
The Trenton Thunder may be the Yankees farm team. But they are my home team, my link to NJ sports, the local baseball team I grew up with. And by god, they have NOMAR's retired number on the facade of Waterfront Park.
Also, minor league baseball is just plain fun.
La Familia went to see them take on the Binghamton Mets last weekend. And apart from a wicked painful sunburn, acquired due to tank-top wearage, it was so cool.
The Maternal Entity manage to get field level sets, seven rows back, even with the visiting dugout. Eye-level view with the pitchers. We nearly could have caught a couple foul balls, if we weren't cowering under our programs. Good view of nearly everything. This included the sheer terrible spectacle of Waterfront Park's version of Sweet Caroline: public performance of the Cotton Eye Joe Dance. *shudders* Fortunately, that was outweighed by my introduction to He who is Now My Second Favorite Bronson: 2B Bronson Sardinha. Offensive sparkplug, defensively solid. And yummy.
For most of it, Jeff Karstens of the Thunder was cruising, and the Thunder offense was backing him up well,putting up a 5 spot. It got interesting in the 7th, when Karstens gave up 3 straight singles, and then Russ Triplett hit the quietest grand slam I have ever seen. It looked like a lazy high fly to left, but it kept going, and going, and BANG, off the left field wall over the yellow line. And it was 5 to 4. However, the Thunder did not let it get to them, giving Karstens and the bullpen some insurance runs, and then little Justin Pope came out with his zipping fast ball, and got 'er done.
We're going back tomorrow for the Labor Day season finale. The Thunder may have clinched an EL playoff spot by then. But it
won't matter. Nothing like live baseball, whatever form it may take.
(Plus 1 DOLLAR HOT DOGS! Whooo!)

***
I have a high opinion of you readers, so you probably don't need to be told this, but whether you're American, or not, the victims of Hurricane Katrina are your people. They need you. Go to the Red Cross, the Salvation Army, any charity you want, but go donate.

My Mom's Computer is A Yankee Fan

2005-08-29T08:18:00.000-04:00

Obviously. Because it chose to stop working right at the time that the Yankees pulled close, so that I could not exhort my team to do better.

I am writing this from the Reading Room at Firestone Library, so it will be short.

Red Sox:
STOP LOSING TO TEAMS AT .500 OR BELOW!I know you won the Tigers series, but losing a series to the Royals is just sad.

String Bean:
What happened to the All-Mighty Vegetable Mojo?! Squandering a 6 run lead is not worthy of the Mojo.

Boomer:
Thank you for fixing things yesterday. I, for one, will never mess with your cake.

Red Sox:
SWEEP! DEVIL RAYS! NOW!

Love,
Emma

PS: When we get our compy back, I will be able to tell all of you of our family forays into Trenton, for MINOR! LEAGUE! BASEBALL! Including funny errors, kamikaze foul balls, and the quietest grand slam I have ever seen in my life. Also, the sheer terror of the Cotton Eye Joe Dance.

Off to make some money....

Farewell the Bell

2005-08-20T13:46:00.000-04:00

Dude.
I was joking. At least a little.
I mean, I have become intensely fond of Tony G. His glove is smooth, and he bats the body electric.
But it never managed to connect in the weird little synapses of my brain,that baseball rosters are a zero sum equation.
That because of the 'Nino's consistent and solid performance, there would be no space for the Bell.
Over the last months, his bat may have induced violence against furniture more than once.
And the routine of "walk-strikeout-strikout -double-strikeout-HOMERUN!" was mostly reduced to "walk -strikeout"
However, that doesn't mean I won't miss the Bell.
I still stand by what I said in one of the first posts on this blog, many moons ago:

Mark is an aquired taste, like...well, like Indian food. (Yes, that's a really bad analogy, I know.) But once he's won you over, you never really get over him. He's like a stray puppy dog that just sort of shows up one day, you start feeding it, it hangs around and before you know it, you can't imagine life without him.

It hasn't sunk in yet, and it probably won't for a while. But whether he's in Pawtucket, or somewhere else, I wish him well. I'll hear the clang of his Game 1 homer off the foul pole for the rest of my life, and I'll always be grateful.
***
As for the rest of the week, especially our bullpen, it can be dispensed with in one word:
AAAAAAAAAARGH!
I would indeed rather have Craig Hansen on the mound then Mike Remlinger. I would rather have a moldy stalk of asparagus on the mound then Mike Remlinger.

***
String Bean vs. Anti-Magic at 4:00 today. May the Vegetable Mojo continue to ride tall in the saddle.

The Vegetable Mojo Rides Again

2005-08-11T16:13:00.000-04:00

Well, for 7 innings at least, besides a little bit of an implosion in the 8th. And can it be any coincidence that it comes with another reappearance of the cornrows? I think not.

Even though the final score belies it, it seemed, briefly, that last night's game would be a pitchers duel. String Bean and Rogers were dealing, everyone was paying attention to their hotdogs.

Gabey put a stop to that, though.
This was, I swear to God, my phone conversation around the 3rd inning:
*Gabe hits ball very very hard*
*ball bounces of TOP of Green Monster*
*umpires rule it a double*
*ring*
Mom(in MA): "Hi sweetie."
Emma:"The umpires need to be cut up in little pieces and fed to wolves."
Mom:"I know, dear."
(What can I say? I have a vivid imagination.)

One thing however, has blocked out much of my memory of this game:
ESPN, in a lull in the action, decides to show Keith Foulke in the bullpen,
with three of the managing staff watching him.
Me: "Oh, that's nice, Foulkie's moving well, throwing hard......hey, that guy's without a shirt....it must have been hot...
OH MY GOD, THAT'S SHIRTLESS TITO!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Fortunately, the shirtlessness of our manager almost, ALMOST glosses over the sheer suckiness of our bullpen, minus Manuelito. I look forward to seeing Little Manny for years to come.

The offense apparently intended to block out the memory of the top of the eigth, too. By the end of it, after Kevin Gryboski both HBP'ed and walked in a run, I pitied the Rangers. A little.

But not when the 'Nino hit a bases' clearing double. And the Campaign rumbles on towards fruition.....

El 'Nino And The Buckethead, Plus Other Interesting Creatures

2005-08-09T00:01:00.000-04:00

Bwahaha.
The "Tony Graffanino for Starting Second Baseman" Campaign has proceeded according to plan.
3 for 3, 3 Run Homer, 3 R, SB
Apparently my boy has a sense of timing.
Along with a talent for kicking a little ass and taking a few names.
Yes, I know it was only 6 months ago I was extolling the virtues of the Bell in this space.
I am officially a Second Base Skank.
And loving it.

****
Apparently tonight the quantum state of Fenway's atoms moved slightly to the right, into Bizarro World.
Because you know it's Bizarro Night when El Cabesa De Bucket gets a Web Gem.
But there it was.
Though it was more "Trip and Fall Under The Ball" than "Swan Dive To The Grass", I must give him the proper cookies and praise.
God knows I ride him hard enough the rest of the time, I gotta shout it to the rooftops when he does something like that.

***
To the "Classy" Fans of The New York Yankees:
You remember the "Chris House Incident"?
You remember the subsequent "Yankee fans are naturally classier, Sox fans are cretins , blah de freakin blah" that came from the general direction of NYC?
Yeah, no more of that, ever.
Why not, you ask?
Well, one of your "classy" fans, tonight, WHACKED SCOTT PODSEDENIK UPSIDE THE HEAD WITH A CLOSED FIST.
Living here, I know enough Yankee fans that I respect that I won't paint the fandom with one brush. But this incident surely implodes any claim of innate superiority that more idiotic fans may have.
Chris House may have been an irretrievable moron. But when one of your "fans" does something like that, Yankee fans have no tenable position from which to talk about natural "class".

***
Mmmmmmm.....football. Only three weeks away.
I'm getting antsy for drafting my FIRST EVER fantasy team. The Marauding Llamas.
*wait for it*
"CUIDADO!!!!! LLLLLLAAAAMAAAS!"
I got warm fuzzies watching the Battle of Mediocrity billed as the Hall of Fame Game tonight.
Watching the decent Bears running back made me heartsick for the Tailback himself.
And most importantly, I have released Mr. Harrison from his closet condo in time for training camp.
Wouldn't want to interfere with preparations.
Preparations for what, you ask?
KNOCKING RANDY MOSS ON HIS ARROGANT ASS.
Delicious.

Hey You

2005-08-07T09:10:00.000-04:00

Red Sox-

Because of my new job ( wooo!) I feel I have been remiss in my fanly duties this past week.

That ends now.

Praise and Cookies

The 8 Game Winning Streak - Very well done, boys, well done. The pitching was mostly there, and even when it wasn't, you guys were hitting crazy good, so it didn't matter.

Matty- You got back on the mound, said "Give me the ball", and that is all you had to do and say to please me. ( And apparently for Tek, too. Go buy him some nice gardening tools for Christmas.)

Tek- Well done man, well done. Now only 19 to go to catch Manny.

'Nino- I start, right here, right now, the "Graffanino for Starting Second Baseman" Campaign. 2 for 4's in every home and sparkling defense.
( And now I'll have to look out for Steve Brady's pro-Bellhorn guerillas.)

Rolled Up Newspapers of Shame

String Bean- You. Friday night. WHAT THE HECK WAS THAT? ( That also goes for the rest of you. 12-5 would have been nice.)

The Rest of The Team Besides David Wells Last Night- I know it was Santana. I know you feel guilty about breaking Torii Hunter. But you did this two Mondays ago in Tampa Bay, and it was just as annoying then. Boomer is a bad ass. Boomer could pitch the ears off a gundark. But Boomer needs RUN SUPPORT. And more than that, Boomer needs PEOPLE TO CATCH THE GODDAMN BALL AT FIRST, ROBERTO PETAGINE!!!!!!!! ( Well, actually, Mike Timlin needed that, but I'm speaking metaphorically.)

*sigh*I miss John Olerud.

Randy Johnson screwed up last night, and you did not take advantage of that. This is unacceptable. When the Yankees screw up, you should always be there, driving the knife in deeper.
Gameplan? Salvage this series, and then get on the proverbial horse again.

The Mojo Lives On

2005-08-02T18:56:00.000-04:00

Kristen pointed out yesterday:

When all was said and done, when the smoke had cleared, everyone who started the day on the roster, remained there. Everyone went to sleep last night secure – for the first time in weeks – that the 2005 Red Sox roster still boasted Bronson Arroyo, Kevin Youkilis, Bill Mueller and Manny Ramirez. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I slept pretty well last night.

Amen to dat.
My mother and I might look like reasonably sane people on the outside.
But that would not be clear to anyone listening to us on the Amtrak train back from the Cape on Sunday.
Listening intently, nee, desparately, to the sports updates on WFAN to make sure that Billy Mueller had not been traded.
We put off grocery shopping until the trade deadline had passed. For we were not to be denied. Billy Mueller was to remain our third basemen, goddamnit.
(I really think my mother might have done something violent to Theo had it gone the other way.)

And though most of the String Bean/Burnett trade talk had died down by the weekend, there was the evil little voice in the back of my head.
Fortunately, my favorite t-shirt is not vintage, not yet.
My boy is present and accounted for.

I love all the Red Sox, but my love for Bronson is a step above. I can't quite explain it . It happened earlier this season, when he was the rock of the rotation, turning out start after quality start. Looking like the unlikeliest person to do so, with those golden curls, and the legume thin frame. That is when the Vegetable Mojo was born.
And then there was the near no-hitter in May. It has reached mythical status, if only in my own mind. If he could do that, he could do anything.
For he is my Bronson, my B, my String Bean.
And he's starting at Fenway tomorrow, and all is right with the world.

Now, it is time to start it up. All distractions, eliminated.
It's time to get down to business.

Wrath of The Vegetable Mojo

2005-07-30T12:40:00.000-04:00

Dear Minnesota Twins:

We are very sorry for breaking Torii Hunter. We like him too, especially when he beats the Yankees, and we apologize on behalf of the center field wall.(Bad Center Field Triangle, bad! No more breaking anybody's center fielders.)

However, we are not sorry that String Bean made the rest of your team his abject slaves. With a little help from The Legion of Infield Superheroes,including its new member, Tony "Batman" Graffanino*.

Bwahaha,
The Boston Red Sox

*Obviously mortal, but with a utility belt of tools such as infield defense, strike zone patience and a strong arm.

Matty

2005-07-27T11:51:00.000-04:00

When he got here, I wasn't so sure about him. He was our contingency plan, the guy we went to after losing Pavano and Radke. 9-13 the previous year.

Even after the first couple games, I was wary to let this guy into my heart. He had great stuff, but seemed to go wild all to often, not lasting past the 5th.

But somewhere along the line, this tall gangly redhead with a beard like a Tribble became our ace. And more than that, he became the grown-up little brother of all of Red Sox Nation. The guy who could obviously take care of business on the field, yet seemed oddly vulnerable. The guy who, should word one be said against him, would have thousands defending his honor.

And with the flight of a baseball, the unintentional line drive of Carl Crawford, our ace, our darling boy, crumpled to the ground.

There was a play afterwards, but no one paid attention to it. Baseball was secondary, baseball, for the moment, was unimportant.

"No,no, no, no, no, no." Like if I said it enough, refused it it would undo what had happened. He was breathing, that much was certain, but he was frighteningly stone-still as they carried him off the field. And the lasting image for me, as it seems to have been for many, was Kevin Millar crouched over Matty, stone-faced.

Thankfully, Matty was apparently conscious the whole time. He was "awake and alert", and is in a Tampa hospital with negative CT scans.

I thought seeing Johnny Damon and Damian Jackson collide two years ago would be the most frightening thing I ever saw in a baseball game. That has surpassed it.

I thought July 24th would be the most emotional, rollercoaster ride game I would ever see. I was wrong.

Frankly, I would not have blamed the Red Sox if they had just sleepwalked through the entire game. And it seemed for a while they were going to.

However, thank god for rookies. And one rookie in particular. "Manuelito", is translated directly as "Little Manny". Manny Delcarmen, rather than Manny Ramirez, should rightfully be called "Manuelito".

His 95 mph heater, and his energetic 1-2-3 inning seemed to spark something in the Sox. And now that they knew that Matty was conscious and being taken care of, they could get to the business of winning the game. "For Matty" ringing as the unsaid battle cry.

And as most good comeback do, this one involved everybody. Captain Caveman, with the glove and the bat. Olerud, redeeming his slowness with his defensive range. Buelly, proving once again that he is the most clutch player EVER. And Tek, starting it off, hitting one out for his wounded comrade.

Matty's said enough times that it is Tek who has sparked his Renaissance this year. Last night, Tek repaid the compliment.

Last night certainly had enough similarities to July 24th. Let's just hope the result is as positive and that Matty can be a part of it.

Make this game matter.

I heart One-Run Games

2005-07-22T10:32:00.000-04:00

But mostly only when they go the way they did last night, with the Mannylito winning one for us, and Vladi Guerrero pinning a one-run loss on the Yankees.

As I get from the box score, Matty (again) did not have a very good night. Not horrible, but not vintage May-June Matty. Snap out of it! Or Tek will not give you any more cookies. ( Healthy oatmeal raisin cookies, of course.)

However, as I did not even dare hope, the lineup gave a good pitcher, in the shape of Mark "Dead-Eyed Russian Bond Movie Assassin" Buehrle, fits. I like when they do that. Gives them an air of badassity. ( Yes, I know that's not a word.) Especially when Edgah is in on the fun, going 3 for 4 with a walk.
Sidebar-Wouldn't it be fun to have a fight, and see Edgar get in there? Given how big he is, I bet he would be damned intimidating. Of course, even holding someone else back, he could be intimidating.

It's also getting a little less surreal to check the game in the 8th or 9th and see "C. Schilling pitching to..." Although there seemed to be two separate Curts last night; the one who blew the save in the 8th, and the one who sacked up and pitched a scoreless ninth. The two-inning experiment worked-sort of.

And then there was the Mannylito. ( I am very proud of my Celtic heritage, which is why I add extra articles to their names. Just as there can only be one head of clan, "the Bruce", there is only one Manny, or one Curt. So there.) I won't repeat what all have said about the foolishness of giving Manny an extra swing, but I will say this: wOOt!!!!

I also have only one thing to say about A-Rod, Matsui, and Giambi( twice) going yahd, and the Yankees losing anyway: ha-HA! That is what happens when you run into the force of nature known as Vladimir Guerrero. Ah, the suckiness of the front end of the Yankee bullpen.

To widening that 1.5 game division lead.... *Celtic battle cry*

****
Football is starting soon, but it will, sadly, be starting without a fixture and leader of the Pat's defensive unit, as Tedy Bruschi will sit out the 2005-2006 season.
And good for him.
His kids deserve to have him more than we do.
We'll miss you, Tedy.

The Vegetable Mojo Strikes Back

2005-07-20T09:48:00.000-04:00

The sweetest abbreviations in the world for me?

"Arroyo: 7 IP, 2 ER, 5 H".

Mmmmmm. All hail to the String Bean.

And also all hail to the Curt, who since the Inning That Shall Not Be Named, has done pretty well for himself.

And weirdly enough, I have a sense of security going into today, knowing Boomer is on the mound. He has worked his way into my black, shriveled little heart.

Finally, welcome back, The Outifelder Formerly Known As Kristen's Chew Toy (AKA Hyyyyyyyyyzzzzzduuuuuuu), bienvenue to Tony Graffanino and his .298 BA, and *sniff* farewell to Alan Embree. Your name might well have turned into Alan "Uh-Oh" Embree in my house, but that doesn't mean l won't miss you. ( I will not, however, miss the two-run homers.)

Psychology

2005-07-18T13:23:00.000-04:00

I swear, I'm really not as bipolar as I may seem on this blog.
I just really have to learn to delay posting until about a day post-game.
Or else I get really maudlin and melodramatic.

The Sox may be hanging on by their fingernails like Timmy to a knuckler, but they are still up there.

And apart from Saturday, which unless proven otherwise I insist on taking as a fluke bad start by Matty, and the Inning Which Shall Not Be Named on Thursday, the starting pitching wasn't too bad.

For once, ( apart from Friday) it was the offense that stalled and sputtered. And that will not last for long.

The schedule reads six games with the Devil Rays over the next week and a half. ( Granted, there's the White Sox in the middle, but I'll ignore that for now.) Things have a every chance in the world to get going again. And after Curt's inning on Saturday afternoon, and Chadford's solid performance, I am more optimistic about our bullpen then I have ever been.

Boys, last time I yelled at you, twas back in May, before the Yankee series. And not soon after, you started playing like the Sox again.
So: Play Like I Know You Can. Are you gonna just take those defeats lying down? I don't usually go for this, but use the Dark Side. Channel your anger and frustration. Go beat up on the Devil Rays, and then show those upstart Sox from Chi-Town who the original Sox are.

A week and half's sleep is long enough. Get your asses back on track.

Win. Win. Win.

First They Toy With You, THEN They Rip Your Heart Out

2005-07-18T00:18:00.000-04:00

Of course Manny had to hit a ninth inning homer.

Of course Buckethead had to draw a walk.

Of course Cano had to boot a DP grounder.

Of course The Cap'n had to load the bases, with the score 5-3.

Because this is baseball, and the defeat wouldn't be enough without the theater, the Greek tragedy of it. Because this is Red Sox-Yankees. They couldn't let the game end and let us numbly walk off into the mist. Oh no. There had to be one last ember of hope, so they could stomp more deeply into the ground.

This stupid game. This wonderful game. It's like a drug, and I am its junkie. And the thing is, I don't want to ever kick the habit. Even with the lows like tonight, because I know the highs can be even sweeter.

It's just really hard to see right now.

To Whom It May Concern

2005-07-15T09:30:00.000-04:00

To The Strange Beings Known as Red Sox:
I am writing this on behalf of my pets, the one known as Emma, and the one known as Mommy. They cannot , or will not, at the present point, write it for themselves, due to the emotional effect of last night's game. So I must take the initiative, on behalf of all the residents of this house, and on my own behalf. I must say something.

Stop it. Stop it now. Noo. No! Bad Red Sox. Baaaaad.

You are making my pets very sad. And that is not good for anybody. When they are sad they do not pet me and stroke me. Instead, they yell, and scream loudly at one of you named Curt, and another of you named Mark.( Although one of you seems to be a cat, the one called Trotter, because they told him he was good a lot.) And the one named Emma tends to hit the couch a lot. I do not know what kind of a creature a bullpen is, but it sounds very evil.

They have explained to me that Red Sox are a lot like kitties, and that you are fighting beings called Yan-kees, who are a lot like the hated canine foe. Well, all I can say, is that if the dogs beat us like that, they would never let us live it down. But, maybe, like kitties, you beings have nine lives, and can give the Yankees a good scratching tonight.

Please. I beg of you.
Beat these hated Yankees tonight.
Make my pets smile again.

Sincerely,
Sairey The Cat

Seemingly Random Thingees*, All-Star Game Edition

2005-07-13T14:40:00.000-04:00

* To the guy who yelled "Hail, Britannia" right after the moment of silence ended? Well played. That was kind of adorable.

* Does Mark Buehrle remind anyone else of that type of ruthless dead-eyed Russian assassin from the Bond movies? Albeit with a wicked changeup.

* Brian Roberts has such wide, dark eyes. You could stare into them forever and get lost. Maybe that's why he has "Hypnotize" as his at-bat music. He's really an alien come to take over the world, spending the first few seasons fitting in, and then putting his evil mind control plan into motion.

* Miguel Tejada is really fun to have when he's on my team.

* Said around 9:30 EDT: "Damnit! For tonight, I cannot despise A-Rod's girly batting stance. I can't wait until it's Thursday and I can properly hate him again."

* Vladimir Guerrero's plate coverage is simply not human.

*Neither is Ichiro's.

* And Bobby Abreu is just plain alien.

* Tito, around the top of the 5th, responding to Buck's question about late inning plans: "Well, I thought I'd bring Mariano out to pitch the 6th, 7th, 8th and 9th. You don't think Joe'll have a problem with that, do ya?"
My love for Terry Francona grows with each passing day.

*What I like: Kenny Rogers being booed out of the bullpen.
What I don't: Kenny Rogers giving up a two-run homer to Andruw Jones, breaking the shutout.

* You know what I want for Christmas? Brad Lidge and his nasty slider. Hell, I want him right now.

* And Mark Teixeira for my early birthday present. Theo, I expect you to get this done.

* WHY COULDN'T BJ RYAN HAVE BEEN THAT SLOPPY ON SUNDAY?!!?

* I would have Joe Nathan's children.

* For once, I can cheer for Mariano Rivera and not feel guilty. And be impressed with a 4 pitch game ending strikeout.

* Our boys made us proud: The starters went 4 for 8, with several RBI and runs scored, and though it wouldn't be a Matty Clement outing without at least one walk, I am very proud of him, and I'm pretty sure Tek is too.

Now bring that All-Star mojo home, and BEAT UP ON THE YANKEES!

*TM Television Without Pity/Glarkware

And Now, The News

2005-07-10T01:30:00.000-04:00

Good News: Matty Clement has been deservedly added to the All-Star Roster.

Uneasy News: The immediate cause of said addition is Roy Halladay getting whacked on the leg with a line drive, resulting in broken bones. Though he may be one of those pesky Blue Jays, he's a hell of a pitcher, and that shouldn't happen to anyone.

Shitty News: My employers at Generic Ice Cream and Candy Store fired me on Friday. Halfway through the summer. When no one is gonna hire me now since I have to leave in September. And the guy who fired me couldn't even tell me why, though I suspect they overhired for the summer. Because they suck and are evil.

I wish David Wells would beat them up for me.

Awesome News: String Bean pitched nails against the O's on Friday, 7.2 IP, 2 ER, obviously attempting to make me feel better. And it did. Because my boy loves me.

Sucktastic News: Miguel Tejada made Red Sox Pitching his bitches, Raffi Palmeiro beat up Wade, and the Sox offense more or less sleepwalked through a 9-1 pounding by the O's this afternoon.

Fantastic News, Part The First: The Indians hung on and beat the Yankees, on Old-Timers Day, pushing them back into third place.

Fantastic News, Part The Second: Ioan Gruffudd is still a sweet and sensitive hottie, Michael Chiklis is awesome, and Julian McMahon is very good at being evil. Oh, and and Fantastic Four rocked.

Split tomorrow? Please?

"....And pray for rain"

2005-07-08T00:23:00.000-04:00

If I ever see Trey Wingo in the middle of my baseball game again, my head may just spontaneously explode.

Seriously.

And it's not even his fault.

It started out as such a good night too. ESPN was showing the opener of the Orioles series. I had made pie.( I'll just occasionally do that .) Hot subs had been ordered. Life was good.

Even having our B-Team lineup, lead off by Alex Cora (!) (more on that later) could not faze me.

Than the weather gods decided to intervene. As did Sutcliffe and O'Brien, who were intent on continously mentionining the 5-inning official game rule. Over and over and over again.

Which wasn't so bad. Until Boomer decided to give up two homers in the same inning. Along with our offense spontaneously and simultaneously wilting.

Now step inside my head. And hear the ticking clock.

Top of the fifth. Raining pretty hard now. Maternal Entity answers the phone.Cabrera, who had given up his only run on 3 walks and a wild pitch earlier, seems to be calming down. Until he gives up a single to Papi. Then a double to Trotter. 2 outs. Men on 2nd and 3rd. Sox down 2-1. Buckethead, who has looked horrible tonight, up to the plate. He's quickly down 0-2, but battles back, throws Cabrera off his rhythm, to the tune of a 3-2 count. Cabrera sets.

AND THE SCREEN GOES BLACK.
AS IN NO BASEBALL.
AT ALL.
A SINCERE LACK OF BASEBALL.

And Trey Wingo calmly comes on my screen, telling me about technical difficulties.

Which doesn't really get through, because I am screeching my fool head off. Beating the heck out of the couch pillows. And yelling at poor Trey Wingo, "BRING BACK MY BASEBALL NOW NOW NOW NOW NOW!" For 7 solid minutes. (I think I traumatized the cat.)

When they finally switch to the NESN feed, it is the bottom of the 5th. And they will. not. tell. me. WHY.

Although in retrospect, I might have been better off not knowing. Because while Buckethead, saints be praised, worked a walk, the inning ended on Trotter getting picked off second .

No, not Millar picked off first. Trotter. Picked off second.

Yeah, I know.

Which unfortunately turned out to be the deciding play of the game, though he did his best to redeem himself with a nice catch in the next frame. The Trotter giveth, the Trotter taketh away.

And to switch from Bible to T.S. Eliot, this game ended not with a bang but with a whimper, delayed in the seventh, finally called a half-hour later. Orioles 3 Sox 1.

But I can deal. We just win the next three, 'kay?

Miscellany:
-Good-bye Jay-Bird. And 'Quez. We hardly knew ye. I will miss your highlights, 'Quez.

-I wonder if Matty and Alex Cora have met in the clubhouse yet, and Cora's like, "Hey, about that whole '18 pitch-2-run-homer AB...thing', we're cool right?", and Matty's like, "Yeah.", but it brings back bad memories and Tek has to give him a hug and a cookie.

-Hello, Mr. Stern. Though you are without your first major league hit, getting your first ML stolen base makes a very good impression.

-I'm torn between being glad that what's physically wrong with Foulkie is getting fixed, and being mightily pissed off that something was not done about it before now.

-Schilling, Relief Ace?
Whoa.
/Keanu.
(More on that later.)

What a long strange week it's been. At least I have Fantastic Four to look forward to on Saturday.
Yes. It's true.

Forced to choose between Wade Miller and Ioan Gruffudd, poor Wade will be banished to the bullpen. ( Or really just the VCR.)
(Sometimes one just needs to be very, very girly.)

Heartbreak

2005-07-05T00:10:00.000-04:00

There are almost no words. No ways to express that game. "Rangers win over Red Sox 6-5" doesn't seem to cut it.

You know how after Game 2 last year, Pedro said, approximately, "They beat my team, not me"? How he kept them in the game, but they couldn't back him up? This is the opposite. The Rangers did not beat the Red Sox tonight. They beat Keith Foulke, plain and simple.

However shaky and nervewracking it may have been, that was in fact a quality start from Wade Miller. 6 IP, 3 ER, 5 K. And it took them a while, but the offense woke up eventuallly too. They provided a 2 run lead going into the 8th. Last year, that's all it took. That's all it should have taken tonight.

But it wasn't enough.

After a hopeful pop-up, Foulke screwed up every conceivable way a closer can screw up. He even mixed a hit batsman in there for good measure. By the time Mench hit the actual game-winning single, the mourning process had begun. There was a sick, sad inevitability to the hit. I suppose we should perhaps be grateful that we were not subjected to extra innings before the fall of the ax.

My mother, as always, made the apt comment: "It's really just more tragic than anything else, how far and how fast he's falling." And it is. I've joked. I've yelled. I've beaten the hell out of our sofa. But always with the hope, the expectation that he'd come out of it, that he'd be Foulkie again. I found myself on the verge of tears tonight, hit full-on with the possibility that he's not gonna come out the other side of this.

And the possibility of Curt's return does nothing. Because he can't pitch complete games on end, and neither can everbody else. Because he will not change Keith Foulke. That only comes from Foulkie himself.

I try to be loyal. I don't want to be one of those fickle boobirds. But I find myself, like some sort of spurned lover, straying."What if we got Billy Wagner?" Because the bullpen can't keep on like this, and Theo knows it.

I remember during the doldrums of last year's July preparing myself, lowering my expectations . Thus the late run to the postseason was a nice, and eventually brilliant surprise.

Now we face it from a different position. Where as by July we had almost been dulled to the losing, the division lead casts a different pall over games like this. Each blown save, each loss hurts more acutely. Especially on a day like today, where winning would have increased the cushion between us and the Orioles, a cushion it is increasingly clear we are going to need.

It is, as my mother said, tragic. And not just for Foulke, but for the team. The team could be so easily, the classic tragic hero: quality in so many ways, but brought down by this inevitable tragic flaw.

Let's hope I'm just full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. I really hope I am.

Mike Timlin is Da Man

2005-06-30T17:06:00.000-04:00

Why? His first save of the year yesterday. Along with his bitching goatee. He alone can pull that particular configuration off. ( Do you hear me Kevin Millar?)

*Also on the Goatee Front: I approve of the embryonic goatee-gote on the Big Schill. It bodes well for future facial hair. Maybe one day soon it will meet the Blue Fairy and become a real boy.

*DING DONG! DING DONG!
That? That was a double ringing for the dual homer success of the Bells, Dougie and Mark. Hearing Gary Thorne yell "Look out, Pesky Pole!" for Mark's brought back WS Game One Warm Fuzzies.

* Heard recently around the homestead : "Oh, I like it when John Olerud smiles, it's nice." And, "I had good feelings the moment I heard they signed him." My mother officially has a crush on John Olerud.

* Retraction from Last Week: Victor Martinez is from Venezuela, not the Dominican.

* There were a couple Indians and Phillies who had rather scruffy looking hats. But none shall ever achieve the level of the Trotter's Fielding Hat. That thing looks like it's sentient.

I know we're all kittens and candy about the win yesterday. But now: DO IT AGAIN!

Aw, heck.

2005-06-29T00:41:00.000-04:00

*despairing look toward Keith Foulke and the Red Sox bullpen*

A Medium To Large Size Can of Whoop-Ass

2005-06-27T10:42:00.000-04:00

Swept road trip.
12 of 13.
MARK BELLHORN as player of the game.
John Kruk calling us the "class of the AL East".
On one hand I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop. On the other, of the two teams likely to wield said shoe, one just got swept by the Braves, the beat-up Braves who are being carried by the suddenly Troy Brown-esque Andruw Jones and nobody else. And the other dropped three of four to the Devil Rays, and would have been swept by their crosstown rivals if not for the extreme suckage of the Mets bullpen. DAMMNIT, Mets! If the frickin' Devil Rays bullpen can hold a 2 run lead against the Yankees, why can't you?

So I don't really have any confidence in the potential shoe-wielders. Especially since we're going right now like Deputy Jones on Reno 911, all "I will beat your ass with your own shoe!!"

Speaking of, how great was Tito's Philly homecomeing?
S'all, " Who's "You Suck Franconya" now? WHAT"S MY NAME, BITCHES? SAY MY MOTHERFUCKING NAME!"

But not really because Tito's nicer then that. And also more subtle.

I think I will actually miss Interleague, not for pitchers batting, but for Papi starting sweeeeet 3-6-1 double plays. Maybe pitchers batting too, if only for loving the spectacle of Padilla walking Matty Clement to load the bases after INTENTIONALLY PASSING BELLHORN.

And I am not my mother. I LIKED winning like we did on Friday and Saturday. Though they are my semi-hometown Phillies, I am glad we swept their asses.
I would have preferred NOT BLOWING A SEVEN RUN LEAD. Screw letting them making a good showing. I would have preferred foot to the throat throttling.
Hear that BOOMER?
You got me this mad, better be a fucking no hitter next time. Basehit, my ass.
Bullpen- You best go out and buy your offense several large bottles of scotch, or, in the case of Mr. Bellhorn, well, I'll leave that to you.

Homecoming tonight. String Bean, back in Fenway, against the Indians team he slapped around last week. Going for 8 straight wins. Life don't get no better than this. Or maybe it does. Let's see.

Legion of Infield Superheroes

2005-06-22T23:51:00.000-04:00

Charter Members

Edgar "Green Lantern" Renteria- Beaming homers to left , RBI singles to center, and double play balls to first like he's got a magic ring.

John "Mr. Fantastic" Olerud- Is stretchy enough to Hoover up nearly anything thrown in the vicinity of first. Then he coils himself up again to hit homers.

Billy "Captain Marvel" Mueller- May look like a ten year old boy sans beard, but put a bat in his hand, and two outs on the board? SHAZAAM.

Mark "The Martian Manhunter" Bellhorn- Unemotional, occasionally frustrating, but when needed reveals powers beyond those of mortal men.

Kevin "Robin" Millar-Mostly stands around making inane comments and needing to be rescued, but then does something amazing and endearing to remind you why you loved him in the first place.

Honorary Member, Outfield Auxillary

Jay "The Flash" Payton- Turns ordinary doubles into triples within the blink of an eye.

SWEEP!

Summer Mom-Blogging V.2.0

2005-06-21T10:18:00.000-04:00

Game Time: T-Minus 1hr 30 min

Am returning home on the bus from work, with sore, nearly sprained wrist. (If you wonder how in the world you can nearly sprain a wrist scooping ice cream, you're not alone.) Wonder idly if there's televised baseball tonight. Am told by Maternal Entity that there will actually be SOX on TV tonight, versus the Indians. Dance of Joy results.

Bottom 1st
For the first time, it is the Maternal Entity who's freaking out over David Wells in a first inning two out jam, and me who is calm. I feel especially superior. Even when he gives up a run. Because I am calm, and superior.

Top 2nd
Buckethead SWINGS AND FLYS OUT ON THE GODDAMN FIRST PITCH. My new found calm superiority is gone.

Bottom 2nd
Maternal Entity notices resemblance of Indian catcher Victor Martinez to Pedro, and wonders if he is related, as they are both Domincan. She then proceeds to order me to find out. Brief bickering over whether she can actually do that. Result: He is NOT Pedro's cousin.

Top 3rd
Jay Payton is so good as to get a leadoff double. He is then stranded there. I restrain myself from throwing things. Poor JP.

Bottom 3rd
Boomer manages a 1-2-3 inning. Much rejoicing.

Top 4th
Edgah whacks a leadoff double. There is universal prayer that we do not yet again waste said leadoff double. Papi seems to hear. Mannylito answers said prayer with a pretty pretty 3-run homer to left. Manny gets a cookie.

Bottom 4th
Boomer is seemingly jealous of Manny's cookie, as he proceeds to erase the homer and the 2 run lead with 3 ER of his own. Bad Boomer. Go sit in the corner.

Top 5th
The 8-9-1 guys continue the beating up of Sabathia. Bellhorn lays down some baserunning knowledge on our poor asses, sliding beautifullly around home plate to score a run and extend the inning.
Me: "Respect The BELL!"
Mom: "Ding,Dong!"
Me: "What the hell was that?"
And then when I did again , she did it again. My mother is crazy, y'all.
Tek honors the Bell, by putting up a Game 6 style homer to center field. Just gets over the wall, originally thought a double, then ruled a homer. Go umps.

Bottom 6th
Myers in for Boomer. Almost immediately gets the grounder which should be the first out. It is, however, BOOTED by Bellhorn. Bellhorn then starts a double play on the next grounder. The Bell giveth, the Bell taketh away.

Myers seems to have caught Boomer's pathogical inability to get the third out. Timlin comes in, allows one runner to score, but gets the third out, finally.

Bottom 7th
Meanwhile, Jacobs Field has become filled with gnats. Leading to the following conversation:
Mom: "Look at the creatures in the bullpen."
Me: "What, Timlin and Foulke?"
Mom: *pause* "Nice comeback."
Me: "Thank you."

Top 8th
ESPN2 shows Johnny leaning with his head on Manny's shoulder. Awwwww.

Bottom 8th
Embree comes in. "Uh-oh." He does not prove me wrong, unfortunately, giving up a two-run homer to Travis Hafner, and making this game much to close for comfort at 9-7. Foulke comes in, and shows again his aversion to one run leads, giving up another homer, this time to Victor"Not Pedro's Cousin" Martinez. Then, and only then, comes the third out. Sox, 9-8.

Top 9th
Unfrozen Caveman Baseball Player hits a homer. There is much rejoicing. Manny hits a solid single, but gets thrown out by a mile trying to stretch it to a double, ending the inning. There is much gnashing of teeth, especially when Manny is shown smiling.

Bottom 9th
A walk and a couple singles have made it 10-9, and Foulkie continues unimpeded on his quest to drive me insane. My mother has one of the pillows pressed in front of her face. I have put a blanket over my head.
FINALLY: Johnny makes a running catch. The game ends.

Well, at least it wasn't boring...

Return of The Vegetable Mojo

2005-06-16T00:35:00.000-04:00

What did I say? What else can I say? Nothin' but a little HELL YEAH.

The pitching line speeding across the bottom of my screen tonight:
Arroyo: 7 IP, ER, 8 SO

And then, seeing that inside fastball and beautiful breaking ball in the ESPN highlights?

My boy is back.

WIN STREAK!

2005-06-15T15:28:00.000-04:00

Well, three games ain't exactly white hot. But I will take what I can get. Since it's the first of its kind in about three weeks.

Especially when the three games are the Sox at their best. Hitting, fielding, and most of all pitching on all cylinders.

Me, a week ago:
What baseball god hates us so much that he timed Wake and String Bean's slumps simultaneously?

And then Wake goes out on Sunday and makes me look stupid. However, 7 IP, 1 ER is the type of humiliation I'll gladly take.

Also, how cute is Wake running the bases and all avoidy with the tag? He runs the bases like Phoebe in that episode of Friends. Arms akimbo, flapping in the wind. So adorable. He's all cheered up with his boyfriend back behind the plate. Even when that boyfriend messes up his first hit of the night.

Matty? Back to being Matty. Pitching like they're going to fire him if he has a single screw-up. I hope they tell him they love him enough. I would.

And David Wells continues on his great quest to make me fond of him, this time taking a no-no in the 6th. I think my relationship with him is like Kristen's with Johnny. The more I try to dislike him, the better he does. So hey, Cabbage Head, I still dislike you. You think I'm satisfied with almost no-nos?

The Mannylito has returned. Three homers in three games? Oh, he's back all right.

So, String Bean? Your turn. You are to go out tonight and disprove my statement of a week ago. You are to pitch the way we know you can. Remember May 3rd? At Detroit? No-no into the 7th? That is the Bronson I fell for. And I know he's still in there somewhere.

Delayed Reaction Revenge

2005-06-07T09:15:00.000-04:00

Right now, there are a million or so people in St. Louis and its metropolitan area saying "WHY COULDN'T THEY HAVE DONE THAT LAST OCTOBER?" And also, "WHERE WAS THAT MATT MORRIS IN GAME TWO?"

And as annoying as last night's game was to watch, I guess the Cards deserved to get a little revenge back. I just wish that the game could have been actually, y'know, competitive.

Because of the stupidity of media areas, I did not get to see ANY of Lando's return to the Fens, but I'm glad we at least took two of three. And it's very interesting to compare the respective returns of Lando and Edgah to their former stomping grounds. Lando's was, of course, ecstatic and enthusiastic. However, Edgar's was not totally negative. I think he provided some cognitive dissonance for Redbird Nation. They booed, but then they cheered, and then came the standing O. They resent him for leaving, especially for more money, but they can't dissociate themselves from the love they had for him for 6 years. Gosh, that sounds familiar.

Fast forward to whenever the Mets next come to Fenway for Interleague.....

Moving on,

-What baseball god hates us so much that he timed Wake and String Bean's slumps simultaneously? Sigh. Although, had the bats had any spark in them WHATSOEVER, that game could have turned out differently. Poor Edgar reverted to early season form, GIDP, errors and all.

-By the end of that game, I wanted to give Tek a hug and tell him repeatedly, "You are a good catcher, you are a good catcher..." However, I miss Dougie.

-Meet Mark Bellhorn....LEADOFF HITTER! Steve Brady's More CowBellhorn! campaign seems to have worked.... at least for a day.

-I like Matt Morris's beard very much. I dislike getting a complete game pitched against up. Especially letting him out of innings on 7 FREAKING PITCHES.

-Even when Trotter misses the catches, he is entertaining, with the tumbling and the rolling and the cap.

- Kristen is right. Jay Payton needs to be cheered for early and often.

-"CUIDADO.....MANTEI!!!!!" just doesn't have the same ring to it.

-Stupid hustle-y David Eckstein.

-I can spell Grudzielanek from memory. I am inordinately proud of this fact.

- I MISS THE BUELLYBEARD.

They're not showing Game 2 down here, but that's okay, because tonight we get REALITY RED SOX ! Millar in a bathrobe! Tek with facial cream! Mirabelli in pinstriped Italian suits! And then ESPN is being so good as to show Game 3 on Wednesday night. And then, off to Wrigley.

So it should be an interesting week.

Why Yesterday Was Completely Awesome

2005-06-03T08:19:00.000-04:00

1) David "Just Rename The Walkoff The Papi Right Now" Ortiz hit a walkoff into the centerfield black, meaning the Red Sox took two of four from the Orioles.

2) The Kansas City Royals ( the Kansas City Royals, people) made the Yankees their bitches, sweeping them, and handing the Yankees their 5 straight loss in a row. And were closed out yesterday, after loading the bases, by a guy named Ambiorix.

3) THE CORNROWS HAVE RETURNED.
(And have combined with the sunglasses to make Bronson look like the badass he so clearly is.)

Preemptively,why this weekend will be awesome: The O.C's return to the 6-1-7. Gon' be off the hook, y'all.

Ow.

2005-06-01T09:56:00.000-04:00

JD sees something, another teammate, a wall, an otherwise stationary object, and he thinks "I wonder if I can move this with my head."
-Kristen, 5/17/05

Seeing Johnny Damon run full speed into the outfield triangle wall is bad. Seeing it several more thousand times over the course of the evening was worse. Especially when the Maternal Entity gets a good look at it for the first time, and makes an exclamation that I've only heard previously when I or the Sibling whacked ourself on something.

So you hear that, Red Sox? Y'all have an extra mother out there; right here in the Tri-State Area. Just something to remember before the next Yankees series at the Stadium. She might even make you some mashed potatoes, if you ask nicely.

And she likes it when you win, by the way. And we both like it when you smile and hit, Edgar. So good job on last night.

I, however, am torn. I love Kevin Millar; hell, part of this blog is named after him. But John Olerud has done his damnedest in his past two starts to make me love him. And he has almost succeeded. What am I supposed to do?

A Weekend In Baseball, or Summer Mom-Blogging, Edition One

2005-05-31T08:26:00.000-04:00

Friday: Loss To Yankees, 6-3

EST: 7 pm.
Location: Amtrak Train 175, Somewhere Outside New York City

*Began listening to Sterling/Waldman on WCBS, and immediately go into Castiglione withdrawal. However, the conclusion is soon reached that though Sterling is a homer, he is nowhere near as bad as Michael Kay.

*Listened to several innings of Sox getting on base against Johnson, and then squandering. Freaked out seatmate rather badly with hitting of head against Plexiglass window. (Note: Mine, not his.)

*Cursed the maternal ancestors of the inventor of the AM radio for it's complete inadequacy in listening underground, resulting in sitting in Penn Station for an hour without baseball.

*8pm: Seatmate asleep. Woke him up again with Boisterous Dance of Joy as result of Jason Varitek's homerun. Apologized unsincerely.

*Spent cab ride home from Trenton Station angling insufficent radio so as to reach reception.

*Reached home domicile. Greeted by Maternal Entity with hugs, promises of pizza and a Sox lead. Reciprocated with the Yastrzemski number tee obtained at Fenway a week ago.

*NEWCASTLE BROWN ALE!!!!!!

*Reproached Wake for being un-Wake-like; expressed extreme displeasure with Alan Embree for continued suckage, as evidenced by 3-run homer to Sheffield.

*Maternal Entity exclaims "Cuidado! HALAMA!!!" at appropriate time. Excellent.

*Had sincere discussion with Maternal Entity on subject of hating Yankees and hating Yankees. Agrees with me in regards to Matsui. However:
E:Sheffield. Especially with that GODDAMN BAT WAGGLE.
ME: But Millar does it too.
E: Well, I don't hate him, so it's okay.
ME: *look*

Saturday: Sox, 17-1

* Maternal Entity out grocery shopping. Brief loss of mental function, resulting in the watching of 10 unforced minutes of YES. Remembered that it was actually on Fox today.....prospect of BucCarver did not incite one to turn channel very fast.

* Run has been scored by time of tune-in. Matty strikes out side in top of the first. Moreover, makes Sheffield look silly. (Always important.)

*Pavano does not look as good. Only lasts until the 3rd inning. Score: 5-0. The Maternal Entity returns with groceries.

* Explanation to Maternal Entity of trade machinations resulting in return of Mike Stanton to Yankees. Subsequent debate on how much Felix Heredia must have sucked to be traded for this guy.

*Edgar hits a GRAND SLAM. Much dancing and scaring of the cat ensues. Score 9-0.

*Quantrill stays in. Gives up subsequent 3-run dinger to Trot Nixon. Stays in. Gives up subsequent 2-Run dinger to Jay Payton. Maternal Entity: "Is Quantrill being punished, or something?"

* WOTS is finally put in. Russ Johnson at third. Rey Sanchez at short. Scrub time. Does not stop Yanks from giving up 4 more runs. Final score 17-1. Am exhausted with glee, along with Maternal Entity.

*Decide to savor today's joy, as tomorrow looks to be awful.

Sunday: Sox Win, 7-3.

*Return from 2nd viewing (me) and 3rd viewing (ME and The Sibling) of Revenge of The Sith. Is as wicked awesome as remembered.

*Debate upon how Mike Mussina is the least Moose-like pitcher in American League.

*Mental preparation for the David Wells awfulness.

* Much ecstasy over the continued awesomeness of Edgar Renteria. Papi, with Edgar on base, hits into Yankee Stadium upper deck. Because Papi is hot like Mango Salsa. 2-0.

* Vitriol and hatred spewed at television as result of TWO FIRST INNING NEARLY BACK TO BACK SOLO HOMERS DAVID WELLS!!!! 2-2.

* Edgar homers into left field porch. Papi homers into black centerfield seats.
Result: Tuneless rendition of "Anything You Can Do We Can Do BETTER!" directed from living room towards Yankee dugout.
4-2

* David Wells's bacon saved by 1) awesome Johnny Damon catch ( without crashing into anything), and 2) two straight inning-ending double plays.
E: "He should go out and buy his infield a bottle of scotch."
ME: "Each".
E: "Because they just saved his butt."
ME: "Which was large and needed considerable saving."

*Scoring of 3 more runs off reliever CM Wang.
E: "How is he in the bullpen? He's in the rotation for Wright, right?"
ME: "Wang."
(Note: Due to off-days, Wang is IN FACT still in the rotation, ME's feeble attempt at puns not-withstanding.)

* Dicussion upon the merits of Kelly Shoppach's thighs vs. those of Jason Varitek.

*Expressed displeasure with Millar and his continued NOT HITTING. Also possibly said: "I miss Olerud already."

* Many plays which were met with the reaction:
"How about our third baseman, huh?"

*Contrite apologies to David Wells after a quality 8 and 1/3 inning outing. No promises to not re-hate him if he sucks next time.

Monday: Orioles Win, 8-1.

I choose not to write about this game, because
a) They lost
and
b) String Bean is my guy, and he'll get over it
and
c) CUIDADO! HALAMA! ( Who did well.)
but mostly
d) IT WAS THE MOST BORING GAME IN THE HISTORY OF EVER.

Dis-A-POINTED!!!!

2005-05-27T09:15:00.000-04:00

Imagine the above said in the manner of Kevin Kline in A Fish Called Wanda, and you will get a small hint of the frustration I felt last night.

(Note: the following is written from the computer in the Quincy House Lobby. And thus no longer with ANY pretense of not taking it personally. Because taking it personally is more fun.)

What did I say, boys? DO WE NOT LISTEN AT ALL ANYMORE APPARENTLY?

Wade.....Wade. I write you and Matty that glowing post. And then you go out and do.....that.

Where did Saturday's Wade go? Has he been sucked into one of those Canadian bogs? Was there some sort of Canadian mind control which meant you could not control your fastball? 6 first inning runs? I guess you felt we needed to even out our stats in that department.

However, the pitching was not all bad....well it wasn't great, but Jeremi Gonzalez did as well in long relief as could be expected, 4 IP, 1 ER. Yaaay Jeremi!

And Jeremi might even have gotten a win. But that apparently, like the last two games, was not to be. As most of our lineup seems determined to do its best impression of marble statuary.

Except, and especially except, Edgar "Formerly Known As The Demure Middle Infield Chauncey" Renteria. 3 hits, 3 palpable hits last night. And like everything else for the poor guy this season, happening at exactly the wrong time, since no one else seems terribly interested in driving him in. Even when he steals a base. A GODDAMN STOLEN BASE. Which we never do. Edgar gets a cookie and a hug.

Maybe I'm setting my expectations too high? Should I just hope, pray and ask that we take at least one game of this Yankee series? That we avoid the sweep and keep at least a little of our dignity? I really think we could take 2 of 3, since Wake seems to always do the best against the Yankees, and get in their heads, and is our best match up for now against Johnson. And with the groove that Matty has been in, I would seriously take him against Pavano. Wells.......I will concede that game right off the bat. I make no pretense against not liking the guy. If we were going to pay a person to suck, I wish it would have been D-Lowe. And right now, D-Lowe's actually having a pretty damn good season.

I know we should get our heads out of last season. But if there was one mental tactic that the team should take, it's one that we need to use this weekend.
Win tonight. Don't worry about tomorrow, don't worry about the next AB. Focus on this batter, this AB. Win tonight, and worry about tomorrow tomorrow.

Play Like You Mean It

2005-05-26T10:59:00.000-04:00

Dear Red Sox,

The past two days?
Not acceptable.

It's not even that you lost.
It's how you lost.
And who you lost to.
I could have taken a gritty, hardily fought pair of games. But that was not what occured.

The pitching? The pitching was at best, mediocre, and at worst, well, Alan Embree.
String Bean was back, but last night, he was not the String Bean we know and love.
Well, he was, but version 2004, completely with hit batsmen.

But the bats were worse. We could have survived the past two days, if it were not for the
LACK OF TIMELY HITTING.

Edgar's gonna start thinking he's part of some grand practical joke, what with him starting to hit, and just then nearly the entire rest of the lineup going cold. Don't play a practical joke on Edgar boys; he's got enough to worry about.

I am not mad. Well, I am. But what I am more of is disappointed. Because you can do better. And you have done better.
Boys, you're making a trip to the Tri-State Area this weekend, and so am I, though I am going home, and you don't get to go home till next week. It will the First Family Baseball Watching of 2005. It will have beer, and it will be a wondrous and glorious thing. You will have the hopes of not only me going for you, but the Maternal Entity and The Sibling.

And by then, you are to get your heads out of your collective asses, and play like you are damn well capable. You will play like the talented, well-balanced team that you are. Because you are better than this. You are not a bunch of overpaid underachievers. You are the goddamn Red Sox. So act like it.

Our Boys

2005-05-23T13:45:00.000-04:00

Edgar got the most money. David Wells got the most attention.

But so far, of the Red Sox Freshman Class of 2005, those two guys have earned the most love. And this weekend was their coming out party.

Wade Miller, at the beginning, was almost an afterthought. He was hurt. He had immense talent, but he was hurt. He was stuck in Houston financial limbo and snapped up by the Boy Wonder when he was non-tendered.

A million a year, for two years.

Compared to the financial drama accompanying Pedro's exit, we got Wade for a bucket of baseballs.

Of course, as much as he was an upside contract, there was a very real chance we might not get to see said upside.
They were not, come hell, high water, or plantar fasciitis, gonna rush him back. And even when Hell and High Water arrived, they did not rush him back.

But so far? He has been worth the wait. More than worth the wait.

My personal nickname, since seeing a couple pictures of him in spring training, had been Zen Master. Whenever he's working in front of the media, but especially on the mound, there is this preternatural calm about him. Nothing will break him out of his tunnel vision. Bronson has this same quality, but with Wade, it's different. With String Bean, there's a benevolent quality to it, often expressed in a smirk.

There is nothing benevolent in Wade Miller's mound presence.

You can see it on TV, obviously; but you can even see it from the second to last row of the third base grandstand. Where I experienced it on Friday.( Where I also met SAM!!! Eeeeeee.)

Even from Row 17, you can feel Wade's aggression, his composed fury, in the immediacy of his snap to the mound.
And the crowd knew it, and fed upon it, as he, I think fed upon the energy of the crowd. Because that's what competitors like him do. When he allowed his first hit in the top of the fifth, he got a round of Fenway applause, not sarcastic, but respectful.
Because we knew he could have done it. Because despite the verdict of No Decision in his previous starts, we feel that potential, that immense talent that he's working back to. It's what was behind the standing O he got when he left in the 7th, since we knew, whatever the pitching line was, how much of a victory it was that he got to the 7th.

When Theo signed him. the media and fans realized how much a victory it would be if the Sox got even a small percentage of what he gave Houston. But Wade Miller didn't want a small percentage. The man will not rest until he is back a 100%, until he can provide a solid argument to why he should be considered the team's number one starter. Because the Zen Master does not settle for second best.

And you know what? Neither does Matty Clement.
And he had a whole lot more walls to break down than Wade.

In his whole spring training, and his first few starts, Matty was battling against not only the other team, but a decent amount of ghosts as well. There were the ghosts of Pedro and D-Lowe: "You'll never be as good as us. You can't replace either of us in the heart of Red Sox Nation." There were the ghosts of Carl Pavano and Brad Radke: "You're a second choice. You wouldn't even be here if we hadn't chosen to sign elsewhere." There was even the ghost of Matty himself, of the Padres pitching phenom who had never quite lived up to his potential.

To look at Matt, you wouldn't think he had the strength to fight off all those spirits. He looked quite frankly, like the nerdy kid pushed into the frat house.That's why I started calling him Matty in the first place; I've known a lot of little kids named Matty, and he looked like an overgrown little boy at first. He's not all that intimidating on the mound, either. He doesn't have the physical presence of Wells or Schilling. He doesn't have the channeled fury of Wade, or the smirking insouciance of Bronson, or the deceiving calm of Wake and the knuckler. He crouches, and curls, and hunches over.

But that pitching stance belies the real Matt Clement. It disguises the strength, and guile, and sheer nasty pitching talent that he has. He will have his baserunners, he will occasionally go a little wild. But that is when he gets better. He displays his best pitching bravado when he's getting himself out of jams.

The difference on Sunday? That bravado which we saw in those pressure situation was there for NINE. WHOLE. INNINGS.
Which in this day and age of pitch counts and high class bullpens, is incredible.
He was in control. He did not let the brief issues of the 4th inning, or the initial impotence of his offense, knock him off his feet. 7 strikeouts. No walks. Nine full. And "Matty", which started out as a slightly mocking, but loving, term of endearment, turned into a magic word. I repeated it over and over at the TV, as if it would conjure 2 more outs for my darling boy.
And he did.

Both Matty and Wade came into this year, and this team, fighting against the ghosts, the expectations of last year. And they sent those ghosts a message this weekend:
"Screw you. This is our house. These are our fans, and we will win them over, and make them love us. We are their guys now."
And so they are. They are our boys, and we are as proud of them as any parents could be.

Zen Pitching Master of Doom

2005-05-20T11:51:00.000-04:00

Hey Atlanta Braves. You come in here? With your new ace, all cocky and "Oh we're leading the NL East."?

You think , "Hey, these Sox, they've been kicked around, they're down, we can come in here, TO THEIR HOUSE, and beat them around."

You may think that. But you think that without reckoning with something very important.

This?This here is Wade Miller. This is the face of an ass-kicking. This is the face you see smirking at you in the rear-view mirror of the truck that just run you over.

That roadtrip may have knocked us around a little. We may be down. But we are sure as hell not out.

Know why? 'Cause we're coming home. And if there's one thing that nothing can quell, that is the mojo of the Fenway crowd. Especially a Fenway crowd spiked with members of the motherfuckin' SG Message Board.. ( Which, by the grace of The Maternal Entity, will include me.)

Let me lay a little something on you, from that poet of the New England gridiron, the Tailback himself, Mr. Corey Motherfuckin' Dillon:

Not. In Our. House. NOT IN OUR HOUSE.

A Descent into Madness and Violence

2005-05-17T00:58:00.000-04:00

When they find me off Route 16, making nonverbal whimperings, with Edgar Renteria's button thread in my teeth, you may use this as exhibit A.

****
Kristen: (11:04:51 PM): Annette will yell at us all for having secret conversations. Heh, we're all planning to overthrow some monarchy.
Emma(11:05:02 PM): heh.
E (11:05:38 PM): If we do that, can we send Edgar as point man on our first suicide mission?
K (11:06:48 PM): yes, and we will cover him in honey and use him as a decoy for killer bears
K (11:07:02 PM): that doesn't even make sense, i am just frustrated with him
E (11:07:18 PM): And then give him a really loud cell phone..and call him in the evil lair.....
K (11:08:00 PM): ARGH
E (11:08:51 PM): Okay, Chavez isn' t cute anymore. I hereby give him the evil eye, and boils or something.
K (11:09:17 PM): also, papercuts
E (11:10:23 PM): And Durazo doesn't get to be named after a seraphim. He gets rennamed Azrael.

*******
Though there were bright spots:

E (11:14:35 PM): They should make a superhero series starring Billy. With Youk as his youthful ward.
K (11:15:08 PM): Only if they wear capes and tights
E (11:15:52 PM): and tuxedos. Must not forget the formal wear.
K(11:16:05 PM): naturally

******

And moments of ratonality:

E(11:17:20 PM): The name Ginter always sounds sort of serial-killer-ish.
K (11:17:34 PM): I would buy that.
E (11:18:23 PM): *starts constructing a Eric Chavez voodoo doll*
K (11:18:54 PM): don't forget the bamboo shoots
E (11:19:14 PM): Ginter is one of those too unassuming, too normal Midwestern names, attached to people who end up having skin suits in their basements.
K (11:19:35 PM): yeah, he has a lotion basket, that's for sure

*****

Along with moments that were downright pornagraphic:
E (11:23:40 PM): AGAIN WITH THE FALLING DOWN? DAMNIT!
E (11:24:54 PM): They need to make outfield walls made of jello, just for Johnny.
K (11:25:08 PM): JD sees something, another teammate, a wall, an otherwise stationary object, and he thinks "I wonder if I can move this with my head."
E (11:26:33 PM): I just had a very dirty but funny though involving Mrs. Damon and that sentence. In two separate ways.
K (11:27:16 PM): heee

****

Then came the audiovisual hallucinations:
E (11:39:49 PM): I think I have a ghost in my room. And he's pissed at the Sox.
E (11:40:24 PM): There's been random noises after pivotal at-bats.
K (11:41:04 PM): I have one of those too! Except it's in my ceiling.
E(11:41:54 PM): Actually, I think it may be Rodney. Because one just came from my closet.
E (11:42:39 PM): RODNEY HARRISON SAYS "YOU BACK UP YOUR PITCHER OR SEY, VRABEL AND I WILL COME BEAT YOU UP!"
K (11:43:24 PM): And Big Willie Style. he's in on it too
E (11:43:39 PM): Must not Forget Willie.

******
Punctuated by moments of self-awareness and reflection:
E (11:44:09 PM): Why do the Sox make me so violent?
E (11:44:25 PM): I'm normally a good Quaker.
K (11:46:03 PM): I was wondering that myself. I was having an existential crisi because they'd made me so tired with all the rage that I couldn't work up enough energy to be angry enough to throw things
E (11:47:00 PM): I forgot to close my window, so I probably freaked out any random person wandering in the courtyard. Fortunately, my roommate is not here, so I don't have to worry about that.

*******
Around the 7th, there was a moment of hope, a moment of light:
K (11:54:46 PM): Now THAT is what we do with the bases loaded
E (11:54:47 PM): PAPI!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
K (11:56:03 PM): you know what? b's not gonna lose this game. no matter what.
E(11:56:28 PM): That gives me the warm fuzzies.
E (11:58:28 PM): Ooooh....IBB for Trotter.....
Disrespecting the Captain....know what that means....
K (11:58:45 PM): They are disprespecting the Tek.
K (11:58:58 PM): Such bullshit. JASON VARITEK, MAKE ME CALL MY BROTHER!
E (11:59:18 PM): MAKE THEM PAY!!!!
K (12:00:01 AM): the jersey is on
K (12:00:05 AM): and i'm not even kidding
E (12:00:06 AM): YOU ARE THE MOTHERFUCKING CAPTAIN!!!! SEND THIS BABY HOME TO HIS MOTHER!!!
E (12:00:41 AM): SHOW THEM YOU ARE NOT TO BE INTENTIONALLY WALKED IN FRONT OF!
E (12:00:54 AM): bleah.

******
But then, the final pitiful descent into insanity:
E (12:01:56 AM): AGGGGGGH.
K (12:02:00 AM): I hate this team.
E (12:02:04 AM): YOU IMPOTENT BASTARDS.
E (12:02:59 AM): If I were the Red Sox girlfriend, I would be arrested for domestic violence.
K (12:04:17 AM): i would beat all of them. each and every one
K (12:04:31 AM): oh wait, b's still in
K (12:05:04 AM): they have officially made me stupid
E(12:05:35 AM): b would not get beaten. because he's my Red Sox baby daddy. I decree it. He has replaced Mantei.

.....

E (12:19:31 AM): JOHNNY DAMON, YOU FUCKING SUCK! NOW DO SOMETHING, PLEASE!
E (12:20:45 AM): okay. walks are good. baserunners are good.
K (12:21:22 AM): edgah will hit into a triple play. just for shits and giggles
E (12:21:43 AM): because he hates me and wants to make me cry.
K (12:22:11 AM): EDGAH! DO NOT MAKE EMMA CRY!
E (12:22:51 AM): *shrieks*
E (12:23:01 AM): *does not cry*
K (12:23:20 AM): argh
E (12:24:19 AM): *on verge of pulling hair out*
E (12:25:03 AM): I am making noises not known to humans.
K (12:26:22 AM): what bloody inning is it?
E (12:27:26 AM): Bottom 8th. And BRONSON WILL GET YET ANOTHER FUCKING NO_DECISION!
K (12:28:02 AM): urhg

.....

K (12:38:18 AM): someone will die soon
K (12:38:20 AM): by my hand
E(12:38:37 AM): and i will help.
E (12:38:52 AM): sharp and pointy and metallic.
K (12:38:59 AM): and dipped in poison
E (12:39:04 AM): plus bludgeoning.
K (12:39:21 AM): with something blunt
E (12:39:22 AM): with my textbooks.
E (12:40:44 AM): and don't forget the flamethrowers.
E (12:42:59 AM): crank up the lighter fluid.....
K (12:43:16 AM): hatey, hate, hateration
E (12:43:22 AM): manny's on the list.
E(12:43:41 AM): they are all on the list.

You see what West Coast Roadtrips do? The combination of late nights and FRUSTRATING BASEBALL TEAMS is not a good one.

Blown Saves Bad, Walkoff Homers Pretty

2005-05-11T17:05:00.000-04:00

I can't take these kind of games on consecutive days. Like Buffy, the above is basically what my brain can process right now.

And you know what? I have come to the conclusion, that it is mentally impossible for the Red Sox to win in calm, non-stressful fashion.

For instance, Matt Clement. On his worse days, he will walk and hit people, and then reach back somewhere and pull that strikeout of his pocket. He works better under stress.

Even the blowout on Monday? Made stressful by the inclusion of relief-ace-someday-but-not-quite-now Cla Meredith. Insurance runs are called insurance runs because YOU HOPE YOU WON'T HAVE TO USE THEM.

Yet, however they did it, the Sox ended up with the sweep. They are the definition of winning ugly. A trait that they seem to have acquired from the Patriots. Which my mental stability does not appreciate.

I did, appreciate, however, seeing THIS, IN PERSON:

(AP/Elise Amendola)

Amazing, amazing game. The fact that I finally got to see my beloved String Bean pitch in person, was amplified by the fact that by the start of the 7th inning, he was pitching a fucking one-hitter. The boy really does have nuts the size Saturn.

The bats were not handling things nearly as well. I tried to encourage them, and got strange looks for my calls of "Let's go, Buckethead." "Knock some of those vowels out of his name."

Those defensive plays? Which you cringe at watching on television? Even worse in person, KEVIN.

However, like the consummate literary hero, Buckethead redeemed himself at the eleventh hour. With a crowd of 35, 00 urging him on. As much as a walkoff is cool by itself, it is amplified a million times by actually BEING THERE. It's like no experience I've ever had before. There is really nothing like being part of a a Fenway crowd when, as Joe says, we're trying to "will" a walkoff homer, or a inning ending strikeout. Because that's what it is: a physical and aural attempt to change the course of fate, a pooling of 35,000 people's love, hope and enthusiasm. Some people went off to their cars after the eighth, but most stayed. At first we didn't know quite whether it was a homer or not. There was a pause,. And then there was the opening chords of Dirty Water, and the realization came. It was deafening. 35,000 people's euphoria, joined in one.

That walkoff euphoria could have held me for quite a while.

But that didn't seem to be the Red Sox's plan.
Or more specifically, not Keith "I will send each and every member of RSN into gibbering dementia" Foulke's plan.

We would have been perfectly happy with Manny's two-run homer in the 4th.
We would have been ecstatic with Matty Clement's 4th quality game in as many starts, 1 ER over 7 innings, only one walk.
It was 4-1 in the ninth. WE DIDN'T WANT A SITUATION IN WHICH A WALK-OFF WAS NECESSARY.

And yet there we were, in shock from Eric "Smugger Prodigal Love Child of Tony La Russa"Byrne's two-run homer, which made it 5-4.

And like Tuesday night, Papi again drew an Octavio Dotel walk. Millar walking to the plate.Did we dare, asked RSN? Could we ask this much of the man, two nights in a row.

No, no we couldn't. Easy flyout to left. One down.

And then, bestriding the batter's box, like the deck of a battle cruiser, comes our catcher, father, confessor, our captain, Jason Varitek.
One of the earliest Jasons went off to find the Golden Fleece. Well, Tek has a touch of the mythical about him too.
With Fenway as his Argo, and his teammates as the Argonauts, this Jason brought home the Golden Fleece.

Sure, it's only May. But that's what's great about baseball. The whole season may be something more akin to the Iliad, a grinding war of attrition.But that doesn't mean that there can't be small moments of myth and wonder along the way. We just happened to get two in a row.