Rats Rush to Sinking Ship!

Oh for crissakes…

Way to take all the fun out of releasing players from a championship team, Georgie. No, really, just dive right in. We didn’t say much about the lefty reliever because, well, he was kind of stinkin’ up the joint and we figure what better way to continue our long-awaited revenge than to send an embedded Red Sock your way? But now you’re snapping up our second baseman?

I mean…

Okay, look, it’s not like I was overly fond of The Bell myself. Ask my couch cushions, coffee table, living room walls, or just look into the terrified eyes of my poor roommate. The Bell was singlehandedly responsible for me uttering the words, “Is there more vodka left?” on more than one occasion and he may have something to do with the ulcer that formed sometime during the second half of last year. I’m certainly not one of those scary, scary Bellhorn fangirls who profess to love and cherish our middle infielder and offer him all manner of sexual favors, some legal, some not. I mean, we have a third baseman and a catcher for that sort of unsavory behavior.

I may, once or twice, have made a snide remark about Bellhorn getting to first only because Millar told him the first-baseman was hiding a bag of Cheetos in his pants. Just once or twice though. And, you know, now that I think of it, I’m pretty sure Sam and I had the following conversation whilst attending a game wherein Bellhorn quite uncharacteristically stole a base.

Sam: What the hell?
Me: Someone told him there were Funyuns at second.
Sam: This is probably what happened.
Me: Someone should tell him there are Pringles at home.
Sam: Nope, you’ve gotta go step by step. Say third. You tell him home and he’ll cut right across the middle of the diamond to partake of their potato-y goodness.

But, you know, it’s all in good fun.

That said, I want some sort of legislation put into place immediately that would forbid Red Sox and Yankee players from switching teams mid-season. Since we don’t trade with each other anymore because Theo knows damn well that he’ll be left holding a bag of used baseballs and a rubber chicken while Steinbrenner has Manny fitted for his bronze statue in Monument Park, waiver wire deals appear to be the only way to get things done. But to me, it feels like cheating. Like we’re not going to notice? C’mon.

Perhaps I’m suffering from a case of “If I can’t have it, neither can you.” But you know what? I’m fine with that when it comes to the Yankees. While I certainly don’t expect Bellhorn to kick Robinson Cano out of his job and start belting homers with the frequency of, oh, of anyone not Mark Bellhorn, there’s no telling what the mandatory Yankee injections of HGH and Andro will do for him. (Don’t you start with me, I want Giambi hooked up to a goddamn generator and powering New Orleans because there ain’t NO WAY he just “got better…again.”)

Don’t get me wrong, I love Tony Graffanino and everything he’s done. Probably not as much as Annette loves him but that’d be rather hard without committing a felony in 46 contiguous states. But I also don’t relish having to take turns on Steve Brady Suicide Watch. One of us is now accompanying Steve at all times and has replaced all his utensils with child-proof Fisher Price flatware. His outlets have been covered and all medications are being dispensed by a trained professional. At least he has his fantasy football team to look forward to. (*snerk*).

Let’s just all hope this is what it appears to be, a last-ditch attempt by a drowning and desperate man to right his very shiny and expensive ship. Let’s also hope it goes down faster than the Lusitania.

In the meantime, the Sox won against Tampa Bay, Ortiz continues to terrorize the sleeping hours of the Minnesota front office and Bill Mueller provokes unnatural and certainly not Christ-like thoughts in damn near everyone. Oh, and Schilling goes tonight. Someone hold me.

******

All kidding aside, yesterday’s hurricane in New Orleans was completely devastating and attention should be paid. Colleen, my roommate just moved to Boston after spending six years, including four undergrad, in New Orleans and she’s frantically trying to get in touch with people and make sure everyone is okay. I’m not sure what most of us can do to help but I only ask that we do what we can. Some people lost everything and at the very least, we need to offer our support. Thanks, guys.

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