(Meet the 2007 Red Sox bullpen)
Let’s put it this way, long about the sixth inning, I started singing a rousing rendition of the song I just wrote that goes, “It’s a grand old track meet at the old ball yard.” I call it, “Clusterfuck (Tavarez Sonata).” Check for the single soon at Newbury Comics.
And speaking of music, I’ve taken to referring to the bullpen pitchers as “The Bullpen Boys” and have decided that one or all of them should enter any and all games to the tune of The Backstreet Boy’s seminal hit, “Backstreet’s Back” or perhaps NSYNC’s “Bye, Bye, Bye.” Because – and you can argue with me but you’ll be wrong – there is no way the boys in that bullpen named Joel, JC and Brendan aren’t choreographing dance routines and watching Justin Timberlake concerts on the bullpen TV. Aside from the last few games, they haven’t had much to do so they’ve had to entertain themselves somehow. They’re just lamenting the fact that Lenny Dinardo isn’t around anymore since he really brought the boy band looks together. Of course, Dustin Pedroia is constantly trying to join by impressing them with his mad vertical leap and ability to carry a tune, barbershop quartet style, but the Boys have talked and they’re a little concerned about how his premature balding and lack of stature will affect the image of the band. It’s a tough life, this Bullpen Boy racket.
Also, Wily Mo reminds me of nothing so much as that puppy Marianne and I saw in Coolidge Corner earlier today who was brand new and clearly not in control of his big, gangly, puppy limbs. Like you can’t really get mad at the puppy for playing with the ball instead of throwing it into second like a capable baseball player. And I suspect you couldn’t really get mad at Wily Mo for getting nervous and peeing in the corner. But it’s going to take a larger newspaper wack to the nose with that one. Additionally, the owner of the puppy had clearly obtained said animal for the exact reason that it garnered him much attention from twenty-something girls as he was extremely willing to allow us to pet the puppy and generally remark on its cuteness. So that begs the question: if Wily Mo is a puppy, who’s wingdog is he?
Inquiring minds want to know. And on Julian Tavarez’s postgame press conference, we had this to say:
Marianne: He looks like…
Me: Freddy Krueger?
Marianne: Yeah and some kind of…jungle creature. I forget what they’re called.
Me: A lemur?
So tomorrow we head to Baltimore for a bizarre two game series. Schilling vs. Cabrera. If the Sox play defense like they did today (or didn’t, rather) and the Orioles continue to play Boots-a-Ball, Scores-a-Run, it’s entirely possible that the whole series could be an exercise in futility.
Per Marianne, resident Orioles fan:
“But I thought…but you said…but don’t you usually…? YOU SAID YOU WERE GOING TO BE THERE! Where’s the ball?”
::four runs score, one batter realizes that the infielders are arguing with each other about who was supposed to cover second, Markakis is exchanging numbers with a sorority girl in right and the cast of thousands in left is distracted by the pretty patterns in the grass and the batter circles the bases again, scoring another run::
“Don’t forget,” Marianne reminded me, “Someone is contractually obligated to hit backup catcher Paul Bako in the face with something during the course of the game. It might be me.”
Of course, the series does promise some Kevin Millar shenanigans who is, as Marianne remarked, “looking more and more like Sammy Hagar every day.”
Don’t you love baseball?