Photo from NBC Sports

What the hell was that? No, what the HELL was that? I am so very, very disappointed. You know why? Because it was always worse to have to face the disappointed coach or dad or what have you than to have someone yell and scream in your face and tell you that you suck. Because I’m assuming that you KNOW you suck.

And if you are not certain, last night’s score can surely provide some clarity for you on that point. Because if you gentlemen think I enjoy watching the Flyers score go exponentially upwards while I sit at Fenway and observe the Red Sox participate in a contest of ineptitude (luckily, the Blue Jays were just ever so slightly more inept), then you are MISTAKEN.

Because if you think you’re pulling that bait and switch, the ole’ “We’re not that good so no one expects too much from us oh wait a minute we’re in the second round up three games to none, hang on here maybe we’re good after all now people are starting to believe, oh that’s right, WE SUCK” then I have got some words for you, sirs. Those words being “Stop it.” Because I do not truck with that sort of behavior, gentlemen. And I will not stand for it.

So here’s what I have to say to you: you better straighten up and fly right and take care of business come tomorrow night because I have enough to worry about without you bozos futzing around on the ice and losing 4-0 to a backup goalie who is, in point of fact, NOT Ken Dryden or Patrick Roy or even Martin Brodeur.

Suffice it to say I am very disappointed in you, gentlemen. Get it together.

And you, Joshua Patrick Beckett? You and your ailing back or your avulsions or blisters or whatever else is bothering you? I’ve no patience for that either. Rub some dirt on it. Suck it up. I’m tired of all your lollygagging.

LOLLYGAGGERS, the whole lot of you.


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Photo from Boston.com

Now THAT’S what I like to see. That’s the way to reintroduce yourself to the playoffs.

Couldn’t have scripted it better, could ya?

Even if it wasn’t against Matt Cooke’s nefarious Penguins, it was still against that other Pennsylvania-based hockey team who previously employed Randy Jones, the player responsible for concussing Patrice Bergeron with a dirty hit in 2007. So I’m calling it a twisted sense of karma.

Perhaps the best part of the game – aside from the win, of course – was watching the tail end of the third period and the entirety of overtime at the Greek Corner restaurant in North Cambridge with the awesome staff whose concern over our service was secondary to yelling at the Bruins and dramatically pounding on the counter during the Bruins’ absolute onslaught of shots in overtime. Which is totally fine because I enjoy my local restaurant folk caring about the teams around here. And also, totally unsolicited plug for the Greek Corner restaurant but they serve the best avgolemono soup and lamb gyros I’ve ever had. You know, just in case you’re looking for a place for lunch. They’ll probably have the game on.

ANYWAY, the Bruins are doing a girl proud, no? And as often as I try to avoid being all mushy and girly about these things, look at Mark Savard’s face up there? How happy is that man? Don’t you just want to hug him? Perhaps after he showers and de-hockifies himself, but still. Maybe in this case you’d even forgo that sort of thing and just go right in for the hug like at the end of Rocky where Adrian totally doesn’t care that he’s all bloody and sweaty and snotty and what not and just goes right in for the hug because he finally went the distance? This is kind of like that, right? Except that Savard was fighting against Philadephia instead of being from there and he’s not Italian and there’s no Adrian and, okay, so really, it’s nothing like that. But Rocky IS my favorite movie and I haven’t seen it in a while and also I’ve got so much Mucinex and decongestant in my system, it might be making me imagine things. No matter. There will be a Game 2 and it will be exciting. And I suppose that’s what matters.

That and I hope someone buys Mark Savard a beer tonight. Maybe two.

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Round 1? Done.

Photo from Boston.com

I have a feeling we’re going to get along just fine, Miroslav Satan and I. He seems to have a vested interest in things that matter to me. You know, like winning. Like not being made a fool of. Like keeping me from throwing shit at the television. He cares, that Miroslav. He just wants me to be happy.

I’m also fond of David Krejci. He can stay. And Tuukka Rask. Primarily because “Tuukka” is really fun to say and always sort of makes you feel like you’re spouting nonsense. Plus he’s good at this hockey thing. Which is especially nice considering that he’s something insane like 12-years-old. Or 23, but still, a mere infant. I realize it’s not to do with his age that he looks like he has a tiny, tiny head when he takes his helmet off but rather its to do with the fact that hockey goalies wear an insane amount of padding and therefore, all kind of look like shrunken heads minus their helmets. But he’s just so…wee. I just hope they’re nice to him in the NHL.

I would be remiss if I didn’t give credit to NESN reporter Naoko Funayama who, even when asking Partice Bergeron and David Krejci the tough questions, essentially, “You’re not really very good, this team, what does it feel like to be good?” never lets on how badly they smell. And as a girl who has a younger brother who spent his formative years in an ice rink and skating circle drills, let me tell you, nothing smells worse than a hockey player. Nothing. I will not hear arguments to the contrary. All this is by way of saying that Funayama better be given a case of Febreze after every game.

Poor Ryan Miller. He just can’t catch a break, can he? Not that I mind at all how this turned out but I still think he was robbed of a gold medal and I hope he gets some nice apologies in the form of fruit baskets or video game gift certificates this off-season. Though perhaps it’s best for everyone is he stays away from Blades of Steel.

So it’s either Canadiens or Capitals in the next round. Which means these Bruins have to face either the Canadiens of decades-long rivalry and hatred or Alexander Ovechkin and his endless band of syncophants which is just slightly less obnoxious than Sidney Crosby and his band of same. Though, on the whole, I’ve less of an issue with Washington because no one on their team took out Marc Savard for the season with a cheap hit, Matt Cooke. However, if I had a choice (and the NHL has still refused to ask me what I want, just an oversight, I’m sure), I’d pick the Canadiens. Because it’d be nice to get the chance to slay that beast again.

And since the Red Sox currently can’t decide whether they enjoy winning games or would rather be the kind of team that loses in extras to the Orioles, and the Patriots’ draft picks are failing drug tests (smacks forehead), I’m going to ignore them until they get their act straight in favor of the black and gold.

Say it with me now: Bruins, the Bruins what?

Edit: Dammit, apparently I have been given misinformation and now we have to play the Penguins? Matt Cooke, you are in the crosshairs, sir.


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Attention Addict

Photo from TSN.com

Apparently, Kevin Youkilis does not care for the Bruins getting all the attention around these parts. As such, he decided to put on his own show in extras with his 12th-inning 3-2 count, walk-off double. Which marks, in case we are counting, the second night in a row the Sox have had a walk-off. Which is promising insomuch as one cannot have a walk off if one doesn’t then go on to win the game. And we like winning games around here. Especially because the division competition is taking no-hit bids into the 8th and what have you. We shall take all the winning we can get.

I have chosen to believe that the Sox early season struggles have more to do with their desire to be the only act in town and have all eyes on them than it does with their inability to play consistent baseball. What I’m saying is, they’re acting out. With the Bruins and the Celtics in the playoffs, the Sox are feeling like they do not have everyone’s undivided attention and like only children everywhere who suddenly find themselves with a little brother or sister, they’re throwing a temper tantrum and want us all to pay attention and tell them that we love them the best and the mostest and they are the prettiest.

So yes, Red Sox, we’re paying attention. But now it’s time for the tough love. And so long as the Bruins keep winning hockey games in hyper-dramatic fashion and the Celtics keep mauling opponents – with or without Kevin Garnett – our attention will be a bit divided. And you, dear Red Sox, can deal with it because for nearly five months of the year, you are the only act in town. So I don’t think it’s too much to ask that you allow us to spread our attentions out for as long as it’ll last. Think of it this way, if we’re watching the Bruins or the Celtics, we’re less inclined to be making fun of Dustin Pedroia’s Napoleon complex or fully exploring what the deal is with David Ortiz. And I’m thinking the less time spent on that, the better.

So thank you, Sir Youkilis, for the win. More of that, please.

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Hail Satan?

Photo from Yahoo! Sports

So I don’t know about you but I’m excited about the headlines in the morning. Endless puns on Miroslav Satan’s name are awesome. Not quite as awesome and Cam Neely prowling like a caged tiger in the fancy box and absolutely losing his shit like a frat boy at the goal but fewer things in life are cooler than Cam Neely.

HJ theorizes that Lindy Ruff will make the entire Sabres team file past Ryan Miller on their way onto the team bus and apologize. Just an endless parade of “Sorry, Ryan.” Because he kind of deserves it. Not that I am unhappy with the outcome, for sure. Just, you know, Ryan Miller probably now hates Canadians AND Czechs and if this keeps up, he’s going to run out of nationalities he finds palatable.

Too many men on the ice? Isn’t that our game?

Also, apparently earlier tonight JD Drew hit a grand slam so obviously, we are in the end times. The Sox are presently tied at 7 in the 12th inning and either they finish this up in the next five minutes or I’m going to pass out on my keyboard. Double overtime games take a lot out of a girl, you know?

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A math problem

So, um, I know we’re mostly for wild preditions and delerious flights of fancy around these parts but I do wonder if the Red Sox understand the underlying mathematical issues happening on this young season.

For instance, if there are five teams in the division, and, at most, two of said teams make the playoffs, and the Red Sox currently cannot beat two of the five teams, where does that leave them come playoff time?

I understand that with the currently robust 4-8 record, the “playoffs” are a far off land of legend and mystery but, I’m just saying, I don’t think it’s completely out of the question that they be attempting to, you know, WIN some games now. I try not to be unreasonable with my demands, I really do. But losing twice as many games as you win is just, well, that’s just poor baseball is what that is. That’s Pittsburgh Pirates shenanigans and unless the Sox are going to take to wearing painter’s hats and singing “We Are Family” between innings, the Pittsburgh Pirates they are not. And this being Major League Baseball and not the National Hockey League, one does not get points for trying real hard. There are no “good job” standings for losses in extra innings.

So my advice to you, dear Red Sox, is to straighten up and fly right, because, with the understanding that it’s only April, you are digging a mighty big hole for yourself, standings-wise and I do not have the resources to rent you guys an excavator large enough to set things straight. And before you know it, it’ll be August and we will all be faced with the possibility of a repeat Yankees World Championship and, frankly, I am not certain I can stomach that sort of thing.

Do it for the children, won’t you?

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Presumably both the Red Sox and Bruins were also distracted by the impending arrival of the world’s cutest baby

I mean, I know I was. As such, I’ve fallen down on the job and don’t have word one to say about yesterday’s losses. No wait, I do have one word. “No.” That’ll about cover it.

You see, I was busy waiting for news of, and then visiting Mr. Max, aka Nighthawk, aka, the Coolest Baby Ever. First Nefyoo for Basegirl, son of non-biological sister KK. (Look, when you’ve known the kid’s mom since her day of birth, there’s a cosmic significance to that sort of thing). Anyway, Red Sox Nation, despite the loss, can rest easy knowing that your numbers have increased by one. Max’s dad greeted his son’s entrance into the world wearing a Sox t-shirt and hat so the kid’s already been indoctrinated.

I promise to get back on the stick shortly and report on all things sporting.

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I consider myself a pacifist.

But there are a few notable exceptions.

To whit: Evander Kane of the Atlanta Thrashers absolutely leveling Matt Cooke (aka Public Enemy Number 1). Somewhere, Marc Savard – and anyone else who’s ever been cheap-shotted – is smiling.

Drinks are on us, Mr. Kane.

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All apologies to the Captain.

Photo from Yahoo! Sports

Well someone sure wants back in the lineup. Can’t say I blame him. It’s not like the team has exactly been going great guns since he’s been riding the bench. Not that I have anything againt Victor Martinez. He seems a lovely man. Even myself, the biggest Tek apologist I know, has been saying that I understand the team’s moves with the catching situation because it’s not like Tek can hit his way out of a paper bag anymore and heaven knows we already have enough potential offensive holes in our lineup without a sentimental spot for the Captain.

So is now the time I say I’m sorry? Because I’ll say it. I’m sorry, Tek. I’m sorry I ever doubted you. First of all, if this is how you’re going to perform every fifth day, well, Doug Mirabelli is going to be holding press conferences left and right telling everyone who will listen that he taught you everything you know about being a backup catcher. But more importantly, it’ll be a bit of a wrinkle for Tito to deal with when setting his lineup. Honestly, there are worse problems to have.

Thankfully, one of those problems is not “what are we going to do now that Josh Beckett has been lobotomized by a comebacker” because Beckett’s cat-like reflexes managed to keep him just clear of some real damage. And I remember Matt Clement (I mean, sort of, I’ve mostly tried to block that unfortunate experience out), and I know what it feels like to see your starter lying prone on the mound because someone just brained him with a fastball. That said, perhaps no one was more worked up about it than Dennis Eckersley. Understandably, sure, as I’m certain Eck has been close to that position himself but admittedly, his PTSD was somewhat amusing only because everyone turned out fine and the thought of Eck’s pearl-clutching over some potential damage to his flowing locks amuses me.

Additionally, Boston Bullpen, I would like to have a word with you. I would like to discuss how, by and large, you’ve not been good at your job and you’re making the starters – who actually have been good at their jobs – angry and that way lies madness. I’m telling you, Josh Beckett hunts with large guns. I do not think you wish to anger that man. And Tim Wakefield seems nice and all but I’ve expressed my concerns before about what happens when the nice guy snaps. I really don’t think any of you wish to be on the receiving end. Mirabelli is busy terrorizing high schoolers in Michigan and is no longer available to hold Wakefield back, should he snap and attempt to run you all down with a vintage bullpen car he’s outfitted to look like Road Warrior.

I’m also slightly concerned with what I see as the overuse of Daniel Bard. Sebastian asked me if he was Tito’s go-to eighth inning guy and I told him that my personal theory is that he really wants Ramon Ramirez but he can’t remember which Ramon Ramirez he wants so instead of risking an embarrassing incident of mistaken identity, he just calls the bullpen and asks for Bard. Seems simpler. That is, of course, until he becomes the Scott Proctor to Francona’s Joe Torre and his arm falls off mid-pitch. Although if it ultimately ends with a Proctor-like episode of pyromania, at least we’ll all be amused.

So regarding last night’s game, all’s well that ends well and despite Kansas City’s best attempts to murder our pitcher and the Sox’s best attempts to keep Ol’ Captain down, the good guys emerged victorious in the end. Let’s hope they can carry that over into this afternoon’s game and Clay Buchholz has remembered his big boy pants.


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I don’t care if he did pitch well, Lackey still looks like a Monty Python character.

Nii! (Photo from Boston.com)

The thing about games like last night is that they are frustrating on several levels. There’s the loss, of course, which is just annoying. But really, I dislike the fact that I can’t blame the loss on the starter because, honestly, it’s usually easiest and I’m sort of lazy when spreading the blame around, classically-conditioned as I am to blame things on Julio Lugo. So if it’s all the same to you, I might just go ahead and blame this one on Lugo too.

Because Lackey sure pitched well. And you never know about these new, high-priced guys and how they’re going to perform. Granted, he was more of a known quantity than someone coming from, say, Pittsburgh or one of those places where it’s cute that they try to field a professional baseball team (I kid, I’m not really that elititst, I just enjoy poking fun at Pittsburgh every chance I get), so the loss doesn’t get pinned on him. Which I suppose is a good thing because I don’t think I ever fully realized before looking at the roster in the program the other night how absolutely gigantic that man is. He’s listed at 6’6″, 245 lbs which is sizeable to say the least. Point being, I’m shifty and all and I’ve run a marathon so I have the endurance, but if he showed up at my door taking issue with some smack I’d talked about him, I might just cave and invite him in for coffee and some leftover Matzo toffee crunch. I mean, eventually, I’d totally get around to asking him what the hell is up with the Rally Monkey and does Papelbon demand lockers for his imaginary friends but, you know, at first, I’d be a bit scared.

I suppose we could blame this one on Papelbon and he seems to be willing to take it and I guess, logically, it is his fault. But it worries me when we have to start blaming closers this early in the season. I know things are just getting going and all that and we’re just happy to have baseball back but it’s bad enough that I have to worry about David Ortiz’s suddenly fragile ego, now I’m concerned about Papelbon taking his ball and going home too? Though with Paps, tough love has always seemed to work better. Perhaps I should remind him that he got the gajillions of dollars he was whining about so maybe it’s in his best interest to, you know, get bitches out. Else I will take away his bullpen train set.

Come on, you know he has a bullpen train set.

Additionally, I am annoyed that I now need to dislike Curtis Granderson. He’s all old-timey and high-sockey and I usually like that in my baseball players. Dammit, Curtis, you’re ruining baseball world in my head. It’s a lovely place. Y’all should come visit some time.


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