(photo from Yahoo Sports)
Yeah, like I’m going to post a picture of David Wells if there’s a legitimate reason to toss up a pic of the Captain and his Thighs of Freedom. You people don’t know me at all, do you?
Now, my Dear Red Sox, that is more like it. This is what I like to see. A blowout of the “they really shouldn’t scare me because they don’t have good pitching but why do they always give us fits” Baltimore Orioles. This is good things. These are good times. See how much happier we all are now? Don’t we like being happy? I thought so.
Bill Mueller: Thank you for rediscovering the high socks/tight pants combination. I wasn’t sure what I had done wrong to make you opt for the shoetop covering, somewhat baggy pajama look but it was doing you no favors. I’m glad you’ve come to your senses. Also, don’t beat up the water cooler in the dugout, Dougie’s sitting there. And I hope your mysterious “flu-like symptoms” have gone away. (Confidential to Bill Mueller: I won’t tell everyone how you got the flu if you don’t. Best to just keep this between our dual-red noses.)
Mark Bellhorn: I hope you had a lovely Mark Bellhorn Day (tm Amy). (Look at the date, people.) For going 1 for 4 with an RBI and only one strikeout, you get a tasty bag of Funyuns, some crunchy Cheetos and some Bagel Bites. Mmmm, snack foods.
David Wells: Now you listen here. You’re making it really quite difficult for me to continue my irrational (or not so irrational) hatred of you when you pitch like that. I’m clinging to what Adam said when I asked him if I had to start liking you now. “No you don’t want to go that far. The Red Sox won last night, not Wells. Arroyo lost the win the other day though. See these are the subtle differences.” So we like Bro-Yo but the jury is still out on you. So here’s what; I’m going to give you a pass on buying me a pony for now. Give me a few more starts like that and I might rescind the request altogether. However, if you wouldn’t mind pitching in for a new refrigerator for Amy, Deb and Emily, it’d be much appreciated. You can keep your beer there where Millar won’t find it.
Blaine Neal: Why are you still on the roster?
Jason Varitek: Oh Jason Varitek! I continue to love you to little gooey bits and will prostrate myself at your feet every chance I get. A 3-run homer? Yes, please. Papi thinks you’ll hit 30 this year. Please do. That would be wondrous and spectacular and the epitome of all that is good and right with the world. It would also put to rest this argument that Jason insists on needling me with that you’re not worth $10 million a year and Gregg Zaun would have come cheaper and been just as effective. Obviously Jason has gotten into Bellhorn’s stash to even utter such heresy but it would be nice to just whip out a stats sheet and say “read it and weep.” Also, Gregg Zaun wears one of those stupid hockey style masks because he is a Communist. Or maybe because he plays for a Canadian team and they only really care about hockey in Toronto. Although that doesn’t explain why other players on non-Canadian teams wear them. Anyhow, they are stupid. You wear the correct type of mask. And the high socks. Because you are awesome. Anyway, I do go on, but the point is, I love you very, very much and you continue to rock my socks off.
All of you need to send healthful wishes to Nomar who went down hard yesterday with an apparently serious groin injury. That is not good. That is, in fact, quite bad. Especially because Todd Walker will also be out for a while with knee issues. The Former Red Sox contingent of the Cubs’ infield is not looking so hot. Bad times in Chi-Town, we must spread the love. Let’s not be like some of the deplorable people on the Sox boards who are crowing about Nomar’s injury. Let’s not be mean. We’ll all say it together, “Get Well, Nomar!” As Adam says, “I hate to say it, but maybe Nomar is the new Griffey. Can you be the new Griffey when the old one is still around getting hurt?” Sadness and woe. Feel better, Nomar.
Thank you, boys, I’m glad to see you’ve learned how to straighten up and fly right. It falls to you tonight, Matty. Be the man. Be Balls of Steel. Cookies await.