Down on the Farm

Quite a weekend planned, kids. Ignoring the big boy Sox who are playing like preschoolers lately, The Rick, Greta, Amy and I are taking off for parts, um, South? I’m bad at geography. To go watch the wee Sox play. Well, tonight it’s the Pawsox in Pawtucket where David Pauley will be pitching. Remember David Pauley? Got a spot start in Yankee Stadium? Managed not to cry? Yeah, that guy. Tomorrow, Jon Lester starts but tomorrow we’ll be in Portland, watching the even wee-er ones play as the Seadogs take on the New Hampshire Fisher Cats. But the most exciting part? This: “The first 1,000 fans to enter the ballpark will receive a Sea Dogs mini bat courtesy of Wendy’s.”

That’s going to end so very, very badly.

Then on Sunday evening, we finish up this minor league scouting report in Lowell with a game between the Spinners and the Tri-City Valley Cats. And that game is sold out. We are so getting arrested.

With all this traveling and scouting and what have you, you’d actually think I was getting paid for this shit. Not the case, I’m just insane.

I’m thinking the best part of the weekend will be Saturday because my mother, in a gross lapse in judgment, agreed to go with us to the game. Not that my mother doesn’t like baseball. She does. But I don’t remember the last time she actually attended a live baseball contest in the presence of not only myself and The Rick but also my friends. I’m wondering exactly how many innings it’ll take before she starts pretending that the girls teaching small children to swear and drawing obscene pictures on the scorecards are not there with her. I’m going with three. Maybe less if there’s a blowout and we get bored.

So, I know it’s last minute but if y’all have tickets to the game or are gonna be around any of those places and you see me, probably acting like a jackass, stop by and say hi.

I’ll report back, provided everyone signs a legal disclaimer indemnifying me against any future charges.

Additionally, I’ve added a new blog to the sidebar. Respect the Tek! These girls are good times, people, apparently fans of mine (I have fans?) and insanely funny. If you only knew the email exchanges that had already taken place, you’d be so very, very frightened.

Two Sides to Every Coin

Best thing I saw last night: Scott Proctor walk in the winning run for the Orioles in the bottom of the ninth inning at Camden Yards. And this AFTER he’d hit Hernandez on the arm but the umpire ruled it a foul ball or something because he was too busy being mesmerized by Derek Jeter’s calm eyes or some shit. But no, seriously, Scott Proctor is like my favorite. I want that guy to pitch all the time.

Worst thing I saw last night: Typo Gabbard doing his own impersonation of Scott Proctor and walking a cast of thousands, mixing in a hit by a pitch or two and just generally making a mess of things. ‘Course, the Sox, led by the Mighty Eric Hinske and Spyboy Lowell made a game out of it, and for that, I give them credit. But let’s not be digging these holes for ourselves in the first place, okay, gentlemen?

Afternoon game today. Matsuzaka brings his music to the mound and tries to salvage a game and avoid a sweep at the hands of the Seattle Sea-Faring Gentlemen. Ahoy!

(Still not sleeping…)

Denial

I don’t want to talk about the game. Not because the occasional Tavarez meltdown is so difficult to handle – I mean, dude’s a fifth starter, we knew what we were getting – but because the morphing of Mike Timlin into batting practice machine is just heartbreaking. And by “heartbreaking” I mean, actually kind of terrifying because if anyone is gonna snap after giving up a home run and tackle the hitter 2/3 of the way through his home run trot and hogtie him on the bases and threaten to remove his toenails with pliers, I’m pretty sure it’s Mike Timlin. And I’m not sure that Theo practiced that kind of law at Yale.

In related news; I’m still on drugs.

Drugs which are leading me to have fevered dreams, I’m afraid. Dreams in which Josh Beckett and Jonathan Papelbon have epic video game tournaments, constantly besting each other at old school Duck Hunt (Papelbon’s specialty) and Mario Kart (Beckett holds the high score.) I think these two have missed a team bus more than once because they’ve been so caught up in their video game duels. They probably refer to each other on the field as like “Luigi” and “Koopa” or something. Except for when Beckett needs Papelbon to save a game for him. Then Paps calls Beckett, “Princess Peach” because of that whiny princess that always needed to be rescued.

Yes, I did a Wikipedia search for “Super Mario Bros.” Why do you ask?

So I think the next time a game looks to be getting out of hand, instead of forcing us all to watch the Timlin meltdown turned episode of Dog the Bounty Hunter (I have watched a lot of bad TV these past few days, people), we are instead treated to the latest installment of Video Game Wars, starring Jonathan Papelbon and Josh Beckett. Wouldn’t we all prefer to see that? I thought so.

So…more drugs?

Mind Eraser

Now which one would Keanu take?

A series of things I would like to forget:

-The Red Sox have evidently reverted to their whole not scoring runs for Tim Wakefield thing.

-I have pneumonia. Because I like to come down with shit like that in freakin’ June and render myself under house arrest. I’m unpredictable like that.

-My new apartment, in which I am imprisoned, apparently has mice. The good news is that Rocky the cat is on it. The bad news is that he finds it amusing and thinks he’s found new playthings rather than evil creatures to attack and destroy.

– Julio Lugo hasn’t had a hit since June 14th which was, as Annette pointed out, approximately three years ago. Unacceptable performance for someone who considers himself a Major League baseball player. I mean, shit, I had a hit yesterday and I have fucking pneumonia.

-Jordan’s is holding my furniture hostage. I will continue to have nothing to sit on for at least another month. Stellar.

-Curt Schilling is on the DL with old man shoulder-itis. Or something.

On the positive side:

-The Yankees appear to have lost again. To the Giants. Who had lost eight games in a row.

– Annette and I are hard at work on a plan for the Sox to sign D’Angelo Ortiz to replace Julio Lugo in the lineup.

-Codeine.

Buy! This! Now!

Your favorite batshit pitcher and mine was quoted in the Globe today saying the following:

“I wasn’t even in the mood to be here today,” said Tavarez after allowing just three hits in an 11-0 rout of the Atlanta Braves. “There’s nothing wrong, it’s just how it is. I’ve been in the major leagues for 12 years, and if a major league ballplayer tells you they want to be in the ballpark every day they’re lying to you because it’s not true. Sometimes you come to the park because you have to.”

So I said to Annette, “We need a t-shirt with Tavarez’s name and number on the back. And the front says, ‘I’d rather be bowling.'”

Which prompted me to email Sam, resident designer and artist extraordinnaire and request the following shirt:

Which you should go buy. Like, RIGHT NOW! Go here and look at all the other fantastical things Sam has designed. First person I see wearing one of these gets…probably a big hug, actually. Which is really quite something because I’m not much of a hugger.

No Way That Just Happened

Moments ago, right before the start of the game, did NESN just have a shot of the Sox dugout where Youks took hold of Manny’s braids and mimed riding him like a pony? I mean, did that happen or have the Sox finally broken my brain? I haven’t been feeling too well these last couple of days. Kind of feverish and weak. It’s entirely possible I made that up.

Oh, wait, JD Drew just hit a leadoff home run. I get it. I’m in Make Believe World. It sure is nice here. Pretty colors…

What We Talk About When We Talk About Baseball*

The following are all conversations I’ve participated in recently that relate in some way to the game of baseball. Your honor, I’d like to enter this as Exhibit A in the “Sane People vs. Basegirl” trial.

******
An email exchange with Red from Surviving Grady re: Julio Lugo wherein I proposed a trade of Lugo for a one-armed orangutan or a “slightly-used” bucket of baseballs.

Me: Furthermore, can you even imagine the Sox with a one-armed orangutan? Timlin would totally adopt it and it’d turn into “Any Which Way But Loose” Red Sox-style. That’d be amazing.

In related news, I really should stop smoking so much crack.”

Red: Any e-mail the includes the words “Timlin”, “orangutan” and “crack” is immediately the greatest e-mail in the history of e-mail.

******

A discussion with Greta re: the unfunniness of ESPN’s Page 2.

Greta: Seriously, I am sick of them all. Well, I don’t actually read them anymore because they suck.

Me: I think I didn’t realize how much they suck until I started reading FJM. But seriously, most sports journalists suck. And when they’re trying to be funny, they’re funny in the Catskills comedian way. Which is to say, not funny at all.

Someone should pay us to write a book about stupid shit we make up about baseball. Seriously, that’s our pitch.

“We’re writing a book, comprised largely of our emails to each other when we should be working, about stupid shit that we make up about baseball, including but not limited to nicknames for players, imagined scenarios involving 1950s sock hops, Mike Timlin’s firearm collection, and the black hole of suck that is Julio Lugo/Danys Baez/the Devil Rays. Bidding starts at $1 million.”

Greta: If Stephen King and Stewart O’Nan can do it, so can we.

******

A chat with Annette re: JD Drew batting leadoff

Annette: DREW IS BATTING LEADOFF TONIGHT

Me: So probably we should pray for a rainout.

Annette: Yes. Although what we should’ve done is joined Tito for the crack party he had in his office earlier today because apparently it was a heck of a good time.

Me: That man knows how to party, I’ll give him that.

******

An email exchange initiated by Sebastian, Resident Yankee Fan (RYF):

RYF: MARK IT, BITCHES!

Me: What are you telling us here, Seb? That we should quake in fear of the two-armed wonder?

RYF: I hadn’t thought it through that far, but sure, that works. START QUAKING.

Me: K, in five years when he’s major league-ready, I’ll start getting scared.

RYF: //feverishly stars and archives email string

Me: Also, other things I would like to point out.

“45th round” – so like 8 billionth overall. My cat was actually drafted by the Rockies in the 42nd round.

“You try to find people who are unique and special, like a left-handed-hitting catcher or a switch-hitting third baseman.” These people actually exist, you know. They’re called Jason Varitek (who’s technically a switch hitter but still) and Bill Mueller.

“Their scout responsible for evaluating Venditte, Steve Lemke, said that he would probably not rate him as a prospect from either side, but the two arms together made him too intriguing to pass up.” – Because the Yankees need circus freaks to sell tickets now?

Greta: To be fair, Kristen – your cat is at least a 4 tool player. I’m actually surprised that he went as low in the draft as he did.

******
An email exchange with Amy, some weeks ago:

Me: I hate Julio Lugo. Again. Some more. I don’t deal with numbers but I have broken it down. Alex Gonzalez is better and like twelve drillion dollars (that number I made up) cheaper. And I don’t understand why he’s not on our team still.

Amy: Extending Coco while his finger broken and before we realized he couldn’t actually hit was also not a prudent choice. No seriously. 3 huge expensive black holes in the lineup is fantastic. And if Cora is getting playing time, it should NOT be at Pedroia’s expense. Since Cora has realized that he is not, in fact, David Ortiz, and is, in fact, Alex Cora.

Me: Here is who gets to play where.

C: Tek (except for Wake’s starts)

1B: Youks
2B: Pedroia
3B: Lowell
SS: Cora
RF: Hinske
CF: Coco
LF: Manny

HOW HARD IS THAT I JUST FIXED BASEBALL!

Amy: I respectfully disagree. That lineup is curiously devoid of Wily Mo.

Me: That is by design. Because his defense makes me try to eat my face.

Amy: It’s very interpretive, okay? And it comes from a place of love. And he will not get any better if he doesn’t practice. He’s just little.

Me: I understand, I’m just very impatient with them in general this year. But I would, however, like Eric Hinske to give more shirtless interviews. And he can’t do that if he never plays and doesn’t ever have anything to talk about.

Amy: Maybe he and Wily Mo can platoon and then solve crime without their shirts on.

Me: I think that’s a genius idea. The first crime they can solve is “how to get rid of JD Drew.”

Amy: I think all Wily Mo has to do is trip and fall on him. Has anyone but me noticed that JD Drew has missed the same couple games at the start of the month for two months in a row? If he does it in July, I think this all the proof we need that he is menstruating.

*If anyone (or anyone who isn’t my tenth grade English teacher) manages to get the reference in that post title, well, you’ll have my undying admiration.

Mood Swings

Okay, I don’t understand Curt Schilling. He’s got more mood swings than a 13-year-old girl. Just what, exactly, is going on there?

Ignoring for a second that I truly believed that last night would be my last night on earth – since two home runs by Coco and one by the very expensive paperweight we’ve got to play right field is clearly a sign of the apocalypse – can someone please tell me what Curt’s damage is? Because the man can pitch a one-hitter and look for all the world like he’s been eating motor oil and drywall nails for breakfast (or, you know, just dining with Team Timlin), and then he goes out and looks fragile and weak and unable to get out of the fifth inning against the Braves. Has someone been letting him talk to Matt Clement? Didn’t we discuss this? Clement is to be sequestered until such time as he can prove that he’s wearing his big boy pants and/or his contract runs out and the suck won’t rub off on anyone. I thought we’d sent him “hunting” with Timlin.

Regardless, that is not the way to justify your next contract there, Schill-Dog. Although I do give him bonus points for getting a hit and running the bases because that is just the highest of high comedy. Curt Schilling with the batting helmet tamped down over his hair, throwing eye-rolls left and right because pitchers hitting is just ridiculous. You can practically see him thinking, “This is such bullshit. I need to be studying! Not wasting time up here with this stupid bat! Oh great, now I’ve got a hit. Now I’m got to stand on base and look like a goofy asshole until someone grounds into a double play. Can someone bring me my Trapper Keeper? Stupid National League.”

As for Timlin, maybe instead of actual baseball playing, he can just be the official team ass-kicker. You know, the dude who rides in from the bullpen when there’s a donnybrook or somesuch and lays the smack down. The guy who puts Tanyon Sturtze in a headlock (now that Kapler isn’t around to do it). The guy who knocks out opposing pitchers with strategically aimed sunflower seeds. I’m just saying, I love me some Timlin and all, but we can get Joel Piniero to give up home runs (or JC Romero? I still don’t believe they’re different people). We need Timlin for the ass-kicking. We need him to get up in the umpire’s faces on behalf of his teammates so Papi doesn’t get thrown out of games. We need him to loom over Chipper Jones all, “You eyeballin’ me, boy?” and make him even more upset about playing the Red Sox. If there’s anyone who can transition seamlessly from pitcher to grizzled baseball man, it’s Mike Timlin.

Now tonight, Joshua will get back on his horse and pitch like a big boy. Because I said so.

Thank you, Dave.

Feelin’ the love.

Okay that up there? That’s what it was about. Which is why I’d like to take issue with Boston.com’s coverage of last night’s game. You go on the site and it’s all “BONDSBONDSBONDS.” Give it a rest. I’m totally fine with the reference to Pedroia as a “little giant” because hee! But come on, how about a little coverage of the person most of us came to see?

I suspect that Dave Roberts probably drives his current San Francisco teammates crazy with stories of his days in Boston. I expect they’re all, “Dude, we know, you stole a base. Got it.” But the thing is, I love that. And I love that someone tells him “thank you” every single day.

I took a picture last night of a small child holding a base on which was written, “We’ll never forget.” I’d put it on here but technology hates me so you’ll just have to take my word for it. But the standing ovation that Dave Roberts got was fantastic. That was the reason I wanted to be there. This was the only game I REALLY wanted to see this season because I wanted to say thanks as well.

Some people have said that they think it’s ridiculous for Red Sox fans to hold one single play in such high esteem and to revere one player, who was on the team for less than three months, so much. But Dave Roberts understands. Every single interview I’ve ever seen or read from him, he absolutely gets how important the stolen base was and is to Red Sox Nation. But he’s so humble, he almost seems to think that his involvement was secondary. But Dave Roberts knows what baseball means to the people in this city. He knows what it’s like to be a Red Sock, however brief. Per the Globe, “Barry asked me, ‘Is it always like this?’ ” Roberts said. “I said, ‘Well, when we play the Yankees, it’s like that.'” Note the use of the present tense.

Don’t get me wrong, I would have loved to have been at Pedro’s return. But that wasn’t so much thanking him for one season or one great game or one specific thing he did. That was thanking him for being the best pitcher in baseball for so many years and for doing it in Boston. And Trotter’s return would have been amazing too but that was more about welcoming back one of our prodigal sons. The return of Dave Roberts was about saying thank you to one man for one moment. For something he did for us. And for telling him, “We’re glad it was you.”

So thanks, Dave, for everything.

As for the actual game, can someone explain to me how Dustin Pedroia’s at-bat music is NOT “Against All Odds?” Because if the little woodland creature can go 5-for-5 with a home run and 5 RBIs, that’s about as inspirational a story as there is. I feel bad that Pedroia’s crazy night was overshadowed by the endless coverage of Senor Fathead but something tells me he’s not done yet.

And for the final word on Bonds, I think I’ll let Julian Tavarez, everyone’s favorite nutcase say it: “We’re going to talk about baseball, right, not Barry Bonds,” said Tavarez. “I’m sick and tired of hearing about Barry Bonds.”Me too, Julian, me too.

2632 in Da House!

Believing happy things were in store for both our teams.

Listne up, y’all. Marianne, (also known as Greta, or 2632 on the internets), is blogging again.

Link’s on the sidebar, same as always.

Yours truly shows up every now and then to help create a list of Things You Can Tell About Paul Bako Just By Looking At Him and to slobber all over Nick Markakis. (I’m totally cheating on the Sox with Nick. But homeboy’s a hottie and the Sox are not helping me out in that regard as relates to their outfield).

Anyway, it’s good for the Sox-centric parts of our brains to get out every now and then and read about what’s going down with some of the other teams. Plus, Greta lives in Boston. She’s got your snark right here.

So go. Read. Live a better life. You’ll thank me later.