What did I JUST say? Did I not JUST YESTERDAY comment on how Tavarez is not the guy you want in the game, maybe ever? Pretty sure I did. Pretty sure I knew what was coming there.
Look, it’s only the first game after the All-Star Break. It’s entirely too early for me to be sitting in my apartment and uttering the phrase, “Where’s the rest of that bottle of vodka?” before being forced to mute the TV and dance around the apartment to Kelly Clarkson in a semi-drunken state to make myself feel better. Not that I did any such thing, mind you. Oh no, of course not. I, um, did my taxes. And then, um, raised some money for charity. And I am most assuredly NOT EVEN A LITTLE BIT HUNGOVER THIS MORNING.
/takes life-affirming sip of coffee.
But if I were, (which I am not, thank you very much), I would place the blame squarely on the shoulders of Julian Tavarez. Because why not? Why not indeed. He should be expecting my bill for a case of Ketel One any day now.
Mark Loretta, well, he’s still in his grace period. He’s an All-Star and while I did let out an audible, whiny, “Maaarrrrrrrk!” when he brain-cramped on the field, I’m not blaming the entire thing on him. Just…don’t let it happen again.
Theo, for serious, can you fix this? Because I cannot take many more extra inning games that do not end well for the Sox. Because it’s not like I’ll be content to just go to bed after the regulation nine innings, figuring I’ll check the score in the morning. Oh no. You know full well I’m going to stay up for the whole gruesome affair. But really, it’s totally cool. I like stabbing myself in the eye with toothpicks too so this was almost as much fun.
Tonight, Fat Head faces of against the Emo-est Emo that ever Emo’ed (aka: Barry Zito). C’mon, you look at that guy and tell me he doesn’t write poetry about “dark nights of the soul” and all that rot. I would like to think that Mr. Beckett can step it up and deliver a win. In fact, I’m going to need that to happen. I’m all out of vodka.