Monthly Archives: July 2008

Hello, new friend!

(Photo from cnnsi)

Finally called his bluff. Finally putting an end to the endless Manny drama. This reminds me of the t-shirt that Colleen wants to make that says “Not your boyfriend. Not your problem.”

Manny Ramirez: Not your left fielder, not your problem.

He did always say he wanted to be reunited with Nomar. And, snerk, Joe Torre.

Whatever, I’m just excited about Jason Bay. Welcome, friendly Canadian! Here’s hoping he doesn’t expect to be doing much Baywatching here in Boston.


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Let’s play the quiet game.

(Photo from Yahoo! Sports)

Fine, Manny. You want it that way? Fine. Because this? Is exhausting. WE DO THIS EVERY YEAR. So go to Green Bay and buy a cheesehead and have a hell of a time. And we’ll discuss pressure when you have 400-lb linebackers jumping on you at the line of scrimmage. For the time being, let’s stop talking. Let’s play the quiet game where whoever stays quiet the longest wins. Doesn’t that sound like fun? Okay, you go first.

You know what this is like? This is like that relationship you have that goes on for way too long and you almost break up a hundred times but something keeps you in it. Whether it’s the fact that he always saves you the last Tater Tot and knows how you like your coffee or the 100+ RBIs and 40ish home runs. But eventually, that stuff no longer outweighs the fact that he doesn’t really like your friends and never remembers to buy toilet paper. So eventually, it ends. And when it does, the only thing you feel is relief. Because you can finally stop babysitting. Look, I don’t know if Manny Ramirez will still be a member of the Red Sox by this time tomorrow but at this point, I’m so exhausted with the yearly circus that I really don’t think I care. I just want a nap.

I swear, all anyone wants to talk about is Manny. Everyone. The guy at work who delivers our mail. The businessmen talking really loudly on the T yesterday. The not entirely in his right mind dreadlocked cab driver who drove Greta and I home from JP last night and might actually have BEEN Manny for all we know. It’s like we’re all goldfish and have no memory of the last time this happened.

Seriously. Every. Single. Year. The joke, she is old. Over it. So very, very over it. What makes sense for the team might be something else entirely but if last night’s game was any indication, they’re apparently done with the winning anyway so it might not matter. They got that out of their system early so I hope you all bottled up the good feelings and happy times and can take them out and look at how shiny and pretty they are in a month when we’re in a fistfight with the Orioles for last place.

I’m sorry. I’m tired. I don’t sleep much anymore and Red Bull is disgusting.

Also, of course the Yankees need a catcher to replace the injured Posada and of course they trade for, you know, the BEST CATCHER IN BASEBALL. Of course they do. They’re the Yankees. That’s what they do. Sam is probably devastated considering how much she loves (loved?) Pudge but at least she gets the eminently entertaining Farnsworth back in all his glory.

The whole matter is frustrating. All of it. There appears to be no easy answer and I sense that I’m about one more series sweep away from getting an MLBTV subscription just so I can ignore the Red Sox and make fun of Bronson Arroyo’s hair, stare at Matt Holliday’s pointy head, salivate over Nick Markakis, wonder how Prince Fielder’s vegetarian diet is going and decide, per Amy, that Hunter Pence lives in the leafy part of the tree and feeds on small woodland creatures. Point being, I’m going to have to start making my own fun where baseball is concerned. They are not doing it for me.

Or maybe, just maybe, I’ll turn my attentions down the road a bit to Patriots training camp which has just begun in earnest. Because Tom Brady is going to be all over my television soon. And that is NEVER a bad thing. Also, apparently Rodney Harrison is back and ready to kick ass and take names. Because you know who still can’t sleep at night due to the Super Bowl hangover? Rodney Harrison. I’m just saying, I’d be concerned if I were the Chiefs. Week one might be difficult for them. Luckily for Manny and Green Bay, the Pats don’t play the Packers this season.

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Status Quo

(Photo from Yahoo! Sports)

From the outcome of last night’s games featuring AL East teams, it’s almost as if…last night never happened at all.

Except this. That totally happened. As did the newest installment of Melky Cabrera: Adventures in Outfielding. It’s the little things, people. It’s the little things that get me through the day.

But as for the rest of it, nothing changed. That being said, can we all pretty much agree to look sternly at Matsuzaka and make it clear that such performances are unacceptable? Because you know what Matsuzaka loves more than full counts? Burning through the Sox suspect bullpen. Why does he love this? Who knows. Maybe he doesn’t want the bullpen pitchers to be bored? Maybe he really does think he gets candy the more pitches he throws. Maybe he wants to drive me slowly insane?

All possible. Whatever the case, I’d really like it to stop.

And what is the deal with the Angels? And especially Jered Weaver. Look, it might be elitist of me but I’m vaguely uncomfortable with a guy who’s MLB headshot looks like he’s angling for a spot in Bronson Arroyo’s band but was rejected as being too “meth-y and NASCAR-ish.” Call me crazy but I think there’s a problem when someone can look at you and say, “Too Kid Rock. Not enough Nickelback.”

Yeah, I’m picking on Jered Weaver’s hair. Because I’m petty like that. Because I’m tired. And also because I wish not to lose to the Angels anymore. Especially at Fenway. Especially when Manny decides to hit home runs.

See what they’ve done? They’ve made me cranky. Maybe we really should just all go back to sleep and pretend that last night never happened. Good plan.

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Salvage Job

(Photo from Yahoo! Sports)

Thank goodness for Sidney Ponson’s awfulness and Jon Lester’s awesomeness. Else that would have been embarrassing. This series with the Yankees seemed to encapsulate every kind of game possible. That being Friday’s excruciating 1-0 loss (honestly, what more can you ask from Josh Beckett?), Saturday’s smackdown (oh, Timmy, it happens to everyone), and last night’s ass kicking. Granted, I’d have liked the Sox to come out on the up side of more than one of these games but Jon Lester apparently had no intention of handing over a sweep.

Is it just me, or has Lester been getting more and more badass of late? Not just with the pitching – though that surely hasn’t suffered – but his demeanor seems different. He’ll begin the inning with a base hit or two and it’s almost as if he doesn’t even notice it, as he stands there, absolutely unflinching and strikes the next guy (or two) out. Maybe it’s Varitek, maybe it’s the knowledge that after a World Series and a no-hitter and, you know, cancer, a few base runners doesn’t seem like that big a deal. Or maybe it’s what Varitek keeps telling us, Lester has transformed from a boy into a man. (Tek would surely give us some cringe-worthy biology lesson as explanation that’s like listening to your dad stumble over an explanation of sex but let’s just leave it at that.)

Whatever it is, I am glad of it.

Of course, because the Yankees are the Yankees, they’re doing that thing they do every year where they’re all “Hey! Remember us? You thought we sucked and, to be fair, we totally kinda did. But yeah, we’re back. Ready to make our annual second half playoff push. So that’s gonna be fun for you.”

Sean, a Pirates fan (I know, right?) had this to say re: the trade of Xavier Nady and Demaso Marte: I apologize on behalf of the Pittsburgh Pirates for our annual farm system contribution to the Yankees pennant push.

Me: I appreciate that. But at least we can all go on hating the Yankees together and the world is as it should be.

Sean: Correct. And man, I can’t wait until one or two of those four pitching prospects get good so we can deal them right back to the Yanks or Braves or Mets in late July 2010.

But it’s not like it was a surprise, right?

Though I suppose the Red Sox would do well to focus on their own issues here at home. Those being winning games and, apparently, (again, some more) muzzling Manny. Because, seriously? Again? Are we entirely 100% sure that Manny doesn’t have an “Annual Bitching and Disgruntled” clause in his contract? Like maybe someone slipped that in to ensure that, just in case the team was fairly drama free around the trading deadline, Manny could be counted on to speak up and send the talking heads at ESPN into a frenzy? Does he get paid in Sweet Tarts every time he says something stupid? Because we put up with a lot from Manny over the years. He’s a great hitter. He clearly loves playing baseball. He’s fun to watch and, let’s face it, he’s entertaining. But enough is enough is enough. I think I speak for a fair number of Red Sox fans when I say, Manny? Shut up. Love you, mean it. But for real? Shut up.

Times like this are when I really miss Kevin Millar as he would surely don a tutu during batting practice or something to pull focus. Maybe he’d still be willing.

On the flip side of the sports coin, guess what happened this weekend? Training camp! Patriots training camp! Real, live footballs! You guys? Tommy and Randy and the rest of ’em are back. I missed them, I really did. Granted I’ve still not really accepted that whole Super Bowl thing but you know what’ll cure that? Football. I can’t wait. Plus, my brother tells me that Vrabes and Tedy took the stage at the Kenny Chesney concert at Gillette on Saturday and did some “singing” of their own which ensures that one of my very favoritest sports bro-mances is alive and well. Patriots football! Coming soon.

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There’s no place like Seattle

(Photo from Yahoo! Sports)


Problem with games in Seattle is that they are in direct conflict with my need to sleep and not stay up for 48 straight hours and turn myself into even more of a raving lunatic than I normally am. (Trust me, it’s possible). Because when I do that, sometimes I also drink tequila and then I start saying things like “Didn’t Nintendo used to own the Mariners? Do they still? I want to play Super Mario Bros. Or Duck Hunt. OH MY GOD Duck Hunt! I’ll bet Papelbon loved Duck Hunt. Paps totally pretends like the batters are ducks. Shoot ’em, Paps! Shoot ’em like the stupid ducks! Zzzzzzzzzzzz…”

(It’s worth noting that a second party is not necessary for me to be having this conversation).

So suffice it to say “Yay, JD Drew. Hooray for Matsuzaka and his 7.1 IP. And also for Okajima who refrained from doing his Timlin impression last night. And, you know, also for Papelbon.” That cover everyone?

Good. Now please come back home, boys. I’m nearly out of tequila.

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If the Red Sox win a game and no one is awake to see it, does it still count?

(Photo from Yahoo! Sports)

Or is this that crazy fever dream thing again except instead of JD Drew being the hero and winning the All-Star Game MVP, it’s Jason Varitek and Jed Lowrie providing all the offense and driving in all the runs?

Because if it is, I suppose I could get used to this.

Look, no one is a bigger Jason Varitek apologist than me but even I’ve been wondering what, exactly was eating that poor man recently. Amy and I had a theory:

Amy: There is going to be a Papelspawn.

Me: This still terrifies me to my very soul.

Amy: I worry. I do.

Me: That child is going to run wild since Papelbon will think it’s perfectly acceptable to use Manny, Jr. as a babysitter. Or Manny, Sr.

Amy: Jason Varitek is probably going to have to help raise it. OH MY GOD YOU CAN TRACE HIS BATTING SLUMP TO THE PAPELFETUS’S APPROXIMATE CONCEPTION. Clearly he is concerned about having to raise another child.

Me: YOU ARE SO SMART. For his sake, I hope it’s a boy.

Amy: Papelbon probably only shoots “y”s.

Me: He’s already picked out the camo onesie.

Amy: It’s name is going to be Kaydyn. I’m resigned.

Me: Sigh. It totally is.

Amy: Maybe Tek will shake that off.

Me: HEE!

Amy: He’s putting down the sign for a nice, normal name.

Seriously, how smart are we to have figured it out? I know is telling me that Tek’s been stoically battling an eye infection this whole time but clearly, we know the real truth.

Additionally, Jon Lester can stay.

And Jed Lowrie! Little Jedders! Stepping up to fill the, well, actually, he’s filling a mediocre at best hole left by Julio Lugo and his Aptly Timed Exploding Quad. But still, he’s filling it which is much better than having to resort to the ever-popular cardboard cutouts with oven mitts for hands. I know Seattle is terrible and they’re already on their second manager of the season but they’re still – allegedly – a major league baseball team. And wins are wins are wins.

More, please?

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Brain Dump

(Photo originally from, I believe)*

Hi, me again. How’s it going? Just a few more things:

You may have noticed – bright, attractive readers that you are – that I’ve made some changes to the sidebar. I’ve reorganized a few things, deleted some links to sites that never get updated and added a few new ones.

Of note:

The Adventures of Capewind and Akimbo. Apparently, this running thing is for real. As such, I’ve expanded my vast blogging empire to dedicate another blog entirely to running and the process of training for a half-marathon, marathon, etc. Amy joins me (she being the Capewind to my Akimbo). I knew you’d all get tired of reading my running details over here so I gave that crap it’s own site. It’s also a different kind of writing for me since it’s less about snark and commentary than it is about introspection and observation. So, you know, navel-gazing. Just what blogs were invented for!

Jezebel. Because those bitches manage to be funny, insightful, thought-provoking and topical ALL AT THE SAME TIME. Plus sometimes they post pictures of baby pandas and stuff.

Postcards from Yo Momma
. People send in emails from their mothers. Because, let’s face it, sometimes emails from your mom are funny. Yeah, I said your mom. What of it?

These Bastards. Sean from Winking in the Sincere Light and his writing partner Matthew have teamed up to create an Onion-y (mmmmm), Deadspin-ish, satirical, you know, site…thingie. (I iz writur?) Just go read it. Provided you have the time. They are annoyingly prolific and I’ve already accused Sean of being on speed or farming out his writing duties to a team of shackled monkeys with typewriters. Monkeys who sometimes use big words. C’mon, check it out. It’s not like you’re working.

Wonkette. Same media network as Jezebel but more politic-y. Tasty, tasty politics. Hope and optimism with a side order of cynical skepticism. Just how I like it.

Oh, right…sports? How’s this for an exchange:

Me: I’m still trying to come up with the perfect poetic description for Julio Lugo’s aptly timed exploding quad.

Sean: “Julio Lugo’s Aptly Timed Exploding Quad” should be turned into a logo, stickered on thousands of brown bottles, and peddled across the country by door-to-door salesmen in ill-fitting suits.

You’ll read his stuff now, won’t you?

*There is no reason for that picture. I just figured I’d get you to pay attention by posting a picture of David Ortiz with a puppy. Worked, didn’t it? I’m shameless.

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