Message Received

(got it)

Okay, Red Sox, I get the message. Loud and clear. You don't want me in the park. This point, made rather well on your part by the continued sucking you see fit to undertake whenever I'm within a 300-yard radius of your field of play was further underscored by the no less than seven people telling me to get the hell out of dodge. "Leave NOW!" one text message read. "It's only the fourth inning," read another, "if you leave now they still have a chance." This in addition to the constant pain of having to watch you Hoover up the joint. I mean really, boys, what did I do? And so to all of you, Red Sox and smartass friends included I have one thing to say: screw you all. I'm taking my ball and going home. At least until June 27th, at which time I will be in attendance again. No, don't you give me any lip about it, I have to go. It's the company game and I planned the thing. People would think the world had tilted off its axis if I didn't attend. Also, I sort of like baseball maybe a little bit and, you know, kind of like going to games. But rest assured, until then, I will undergo a very thorough weeding out process wherein I will attempt to identify the source of the bad mojo. Current culprits are the Tek jersey which has never seen a win and the Tom Brady hat which, while lucky for football season, may be running interference with the baseball gods. Perhaps I should just start telling people it's a #12 Bellhorn hat?

Not everything sucked about yesterday though. I did get to attend the game with the lovely and talented Annette who is great fun to watch a game with. We became a two-women Jay Payton cheering section because, turns out, Sam was right, people just clap politely for this guy and don't give him any real love. He's wearing Cabby's number, kids. Give it up for him. I know he's not Dave Roberts but come now, who is? In lieu of the actual Dave Roberts, I am more than willing to accept Jay Payton as his heir apparent. This man has hit both a grand slam and a home run off Randy Johnson for our ungrateful asses. Surely that deserves some love.

Colleen, my soon to be roomie called during a mid-inning break and observed the following: "I can't believe you're really like at the park with the Red Sox. I mean, they're all big celebrities now and you're like hanging out with them." "Yeah," I laughed, "We're totally buds. Except that they hate me right now. Bastards." Then Edgah made a fantastic catch and I hung up with my old friend so that I could better cheer my new one.

I finally met the illustrious, hilarious and talented Sam! Who is wonderful and charming and fantastically snarky in person. Her friend Jason was a good sport about the whole "these are my friends from the internet" bit and about us all collectively deciding to blame him for the loss. Also, look how bloody cute we are!

The Yankees lost. To the Royals. With Randy Johnson pitching. Oh yes, indeedy. The Big Eunich took a loss at the hands of the lowly, basement-dwelling, "We suck so badly that our happy-go-lucky manager quit on our sorry asses" Royals. At least the Red Sox lost to a first place team, even if it is Baltimore. So to review: Yankees losing a series to the Royals = teh funny.

Also, this apparently happened. How can you stay mad at them when they make you laugh so hard?

Only tangentially related to baseball but...I have moved! (insomuch as an air mattress and a suitcase full of mismatched clothes constitutes "moving") into my new apartment. And? It is greatness. It's that much closer to Fenway which is really in everyone's best interest. And lemme tell you, last night's sleep on a half-deflated Aerobed was still the best night's sleep I've gotten in a long, long time.

Today's a day game, a makeup of the postponed April 27th rainout. Matty "Neptune Nuts" Clement looks to even the series. He's been a stud of late so let's hope he can keep it up. Emancipation!