Tag Archives: Red Sox

Hail Satan?

Photo from Yahoo! Sports

So I don’t know about you but I’m excited about the headlines in the morning. Endless puns on Miroslav Satan’s name are awesome. Not quite as awesome and Cam Neely prowling like a caged tiger in the fancy box and absolutely losing his shit like a frat boy at the goal but fewer things in life are cooler than Cam Neely.

HJ theorizes that Lindy Ruff will make the entire Sabres team file past Ryan Miller on their way onto the team bus and apologize. Just an endless parade of “Sorry, Ryan.” Because he kind of deserves it. Not that I am unhappy with the outcome, for sure. Just, you know, Ryan Miller probably now hates Canadians AND Czechs and if this keeps up, he’s going to run out of nationalities he finds palatable.

Too many men on the ice? Isn’t that our game?

Also, apparently earlier tonight JD Drew hit a grand slam so obviously, we are in the end times. The Sox are presently tied at 7 in the 12th inning and either they finish this up in the next five minutes or I’m going to pass out on my keyboard. Double overtime games take a lot out of a girl, you know?


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All apologies to the Captain.

Photo from Yahoo! Sports

Well someone sure wants back in the lineup. Can’t say I blame him. It’s not like the team has exactly been going great guns since he’s been riding the bench. Not that I have anything againt Victor Martinez. He seems a lovely man. Even myself, the biggest Tek apologist I know, has been saying that I understand the team’s moves with the catching situation because it’s not like Tek can hit his way out of a paper bag anymore and heaven knows we already have enough potential offensive holes in our lineup without a sentimental spot for the Captain.

So is now the time I say I’m sorry? Because I’ll say it. I’m sorry, Tek. I’m sorry I ever doubted you. First of all, if this is how you’re going to perform every fifth day, well, Doug Mirabelli is going to be holding press conferences left and right telling everyone who will listen that he taught you everything you know about being a backup catcher. But more importantly, it’ll be a bit of a wrinkle for Tito to deal with when setting his lineup. Honestly, there are worse problems to have.

Thankfully, one of those problems is not “what are we going to do now that Josh Beckett has been lobotomized by a comebacker” because Beckett’s cat-like reflexes managed to keep him just clear of some real damage. And I remember Matt Clement (I mean, sort of, I’ve mostly tried to block that unfortunate experience out), and I know what it feels like to see your starter lying prone on the mound because someone just brained him with a fastball. That said, perhaps no one was more worked up about it than Dennis Eckersley. Understandably, sure, as I’m certain Eck has been close to that position himself but admittedly, his PTSD was somewhat amusing only because everyone turned out fine and the thought of Eck’s pearl-clutching over some potential damage to his flowing locks amuses me.

Additionally, Boston Bullpen, I would like to have a word with you. I would like to discuss how, by and large, you’ve not been good at your job and you’re making the starters – who actually have been good at their jobs – angry and that way lies madness. I’m telling you, Josh Beckett hunts with large guns. I do not think you wish to anger that man. And Tim Wakefield seems nice and all but I’ve expressed my concerns before about what happens when the nice guy snaps. I really don’t think any of you wish to be on the receiving end. Mirabelli is busy terrorizing high schoolers in Michigan and is no longer available to hold Wakefield back, should he snap and attempt to run you all down with a vintage bullpen car he’s outfitted to look like Road Warrior.

I’m also slightly concerned with what I see as the overuse of Daniel Bard. Sebastian asked me if he was Tito’s go-to eighth inning guy and I told him that my personal theory is that he really wants Ramon Ramirez but he can’t remember which Ramon Ramirez he wants so instead of risking an embarrassing incident of mistaken identity, he just calls the bullpen and asks for Bard. Seems simpler. That is, of course, until he becomes the Scott Proctor to Francona’s Joe Torre and his arm falls off mid-pitch. Although if it ultimately ends with a Proctor-like episode of pyromania, at least we’ll all be amused.

So regarding last night’s game, all’s well that ends well and despite Kansas City’s best attempts to murder our pitcher and the Sox’s best attempts to keep Ol’ Captain down, the good guys emerged victorious in the end. Let’s hope they can carry that over into this afternoon’s game and Clay Buchholz has remembered his big boy pants.


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I don’t care if he did pitch well, Lackey still looks like a Monty Python character.

Nii! (Photo from Boston.com)

The thing about games like last night is that they are frustrating on several levels. There’s the loss, of course, which is just annoying. But really, I dislike the fact that I can’t blame the loss on the starter because, honestly, it’s usually easiest and I’m sort of lazy when spreading the blame around, classically-conditioned as I am to blame things on Julio Lugo. So if it’s all the same to you, I might just go ahead and blame this one on Lugo too.

Because Lackey sure pitched well. And you never know about these new, high-priced guys and how they’re going to perform. Granted, he was more of a known quantity than someone coming from, say, Pittsburgh or one of those places where it’s cute that they try to field a professional baseball team (I kid, I’m not really that elititst, I just enjoy poking fun at Pittsburgh every chance I get), so the loss doesn’t get pinned on him. Which I suppose is a good thing because I don’t think I ever fully realized before looking at the roster in the program the other night how absolutely gigantic that man is. He’s listed at 6’6″, 245 lbs which is sizeable to say the least. Point being, I’m shifty and all and I’ve run a marathon so I have the endurance, but if he showed up at my door taking issue with some smack I’d talked about him, I might just cave and invite him in for coffee and some leftover Matzo toffee crunch. I mean, eventually, I’d totally get around to asking him what the hell is up with the Rally Monkey and does Papelbon demand lockers for his imaginary friends but, you know, at first, I’d be a bit scared.

I suppose we could blame this one on Papelbon and he seems to be willing to take it and I guess, logically, it is his fault. But it worries me when we have to start blaming closers this early in the season. I know things are just getting going and all that and we’re just happy to have baseball back but it’s bad enough that I have to worry about David Ortiz’s suddenly fragile ego, now I’m concerned about Papelbon taking his ball and going home too? Though with Paps, tough love has always seemed to work better. Perhaps I should remind him that he got the gajillions of dollars he was whining about so maybe it’s in his best interest to, you know, get bitches out. Else I will take away his bullpen train set.

Come on, you know he has a bullpen train set.

Additionally, I am annoyed that I now need to dislike Curtis Granderson. He’s all old-timey and high-sockey and I usually like that in my baseball players. Dammit, Curtis, you’re ruining baseball world in my head. It’s a lovely place. Y’all should come visit some time.


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Mark Teixeira’s Soggy Pretzel Piles is totally my new fantasy team name

I have a theory about Mark Teixeira. I theorize that homeboy loves him some salty snacks but he still thinks carbs are bad for you so he enjoys nothing better than licking the salt off pretzels and leaving the carby-bits lying around. As such, I’m betting that people hate being assigned the locker next to Teixeira because they’re forever finding bits of his saliva-softened pretzel detritus all over the place. Therefore, the locker next to Teixeira is probably where the Yankees put the rookie they’re wanting to haze.

This really has nothing to do with last night’s game other than it serves as an example of what kind of nonsense my brain gets up to when plunged full on into baseball season courtesy of Chrissy and some sweet bleacher seats.

Also, as evidenced by the blurry picture of my scorecard above, I’m not yet in mid-season form and sometimes I blame “benevolent elves” for an out made my Curtis Granderson or “black magic” as the reason Mike Cameron somehow ended up on second. And when Chrissy took over scoring when I left for an inning and a half to get a Fenway Frank (seriously, get it together, Fenway vendors. People are going to want hot dogs. Perhaps you should have some pre-made), she editorialized the scorekeeping with things like “YAY!” for Victor Martinez’s home run and made note of show-offy Jeterian plays. Of which there were entirely too many if you ask me.

Additionally, we are so starved for a competent shortstop around these parts that we’ve already developed a game involving part of the park chanting “Marco!” and another section following up with “Scutaro!” which beats the stupid wave any day. Because if you are not clear on my feelings regarding the wave, allow me to share. It is stupid. It is pretty much always stupid. The only exceptions or times when it doesn’t make me angry are when there’s a blowout going on and not a whole lot to hold your attention. Know when that doesn’t happen? During the eighth inning of a tie Red Sox/Yankees game. Which is why I will thank you to leave me alone, girl who spent at least $60 on beer and got all pissy with me because I wasn’t doing the wave and was instead, watching the baseball game, despite the fact that I did not smack her during any of the seventeen times she got up and forced the entire row to let her out so she could get MORE beer.

I mean really, people. It’s not even good beer.

Anyway, all that said, it was a glorious night because we did not freeze until near the very end and the fans, despite the opposition, were mostly well-behaved. Perhaps we’re just all so happy to have baseball back that we’re in a perpetual good mood. I predict that lasts until, you know, tonight, but it’s a start.

Oh, and I think I have the solution to the Patriots lack of coordinator issues. I don’t know why it’s taken me so long to think of it. But, you guys? Jason Varitek. The man probably already has a warehouse full of Trapper Keepers. You’re telling me he couldn’t start cataloging info on opposing running backs and safeties? Let’s do it. Let’s get Bill on board. Let’s make it happen.

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