West Coast Badness

Seriously, y’all? Tim Wakefield is gonna choke a bitch. The Sox offense is maddeningly inconsistent when it comes to scoring runs for Wake. This cannot continue. I simply will not allow it.

But this morning, when I woke up at 3:12am, the first thing I thought (after, “gotta pee gotta pee gotta pee”) was, “I wonder if the Sox managed to get their heads outta their asses.” And so I checked, on my fancy schmancy spyphone that does nothing so much as provide me with the capability for checking scores and Gmail anywhere (horrible for my productivity, that), and I saw that they had, in fact, kept their heads lodged firmly up their asses and steadfastly refused to score any freakin’ runs. Again. I just do not much like the West Coast is what.

So I tried to go back to bed but was instead reminded of that line from the Shawshank Redemption. You know the one, the famous one. The one about hope. About it never dying. And I realized that some second and third and fourth place teams might soon take that up as a rallying cry. And that is most assuredly not okay. Because what the Sox should be doing right now is crushing the hopes of other teams. Crushing, I say! And the whole losing thing is not exactly helping in that capacity.

I realize that it seems relatively insane for me to start freaking out and worrying about the state of things now considering the 9.5 game lead the Sox still hold in the division. But every single Sox fan I know has been watching this season on tenterhooks, just waiting for it to all come crashing down around our ears. And every loss, we’re convinced, is the one where things start spiraling out of control. Yes, madness, I am aware. But I’m the kind of person that checks scores at 3:12 in the morning and can’t go to sleep because she’s worried about the Yankees using a line from a Frank Darabont movie as a rallying cry. So really, madness is par for the course around here.

Today’s game – since we’re apparently stuck in a time warp and are NEVER LEAVING OAKLAND – is a late afternoon game. Which is, fine, I guess. I suppose that means I’ll be sneaking glances at Gameday at work and finishing the game at the gym. Unless, of course, things spin wildly out of control, I simply can’t handle it and yelling at Julio Lugo while on a treadmill causes me permanent injury. Which, if I’m being honest, would not be the first time.

So…go Sox! Please?

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