"Hell may have no fury like a woman scorned but heaven hath no sweetness like a sports fan vindicated." - Samcat

Wednesday, June 15, 2005


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(photo from Yahoo! Sports)

If there's a picture of David Wells on my blog, you know he did something pretty damn good.

Okey dokey, I’ll take it! It almost pains me to admit it but damn, that was, um, pretty freakin’ impressive on the part of a one Mr. David Wells. A one-hitter (thanks also to Messrs. Timlin and Foulke) will do a lot to curry a girl’s favor. And Mr. Wells, after his last two outings, has made it pretty damn clear that he very much wants me to like him. So, grudgingly, I will.

I will also admit to being criminally jealous of Beth, who was at the game, and a twinge envious of Katherine who, in a hell of an indoctrination, got her first taste of Fenway Park. Except for that “twinge” part. Color me Green Monster green, actually. Katherine called me, post game. Times like these, I do not stand on ceremony.

“I can’t fucking believe you got to see that goddamned game!” I shrieked, eschewing the usual “Hello?”

“I know!” she said, “That was pretty cool.”

“Dude, no,” I replied, “That was a fucking one-hitter. That hasn’t happened in 15 years!”

“Wow,” she breathed.

Wow indeed.

So David Wells has been given a respite. I will not require a pony, giraffe, monkey or other exotic animal for at least, oh, let’s say his next three starts. This does not mean he’s allowed to Hoover-up the joint from here on out. It simply means that if he does, I won’t complain. Right, that’ll happen.

And again, for the third day in a row I say: Manny? With the bat! Now that was a Manny shot. Monster-seat grabbing and all. Seriously, I don’t know what’s happened to him but I like it. I like it a great deal. Perhaps he realized that as wonderful as Varitek is, he should not be rivaling the Great Manny Ramirez for yearly home run total. Because while this was reflecting well on Varitek, it was doing quite the opposite for Manuelito. Perhaps Millar really did kick him the ass and tell him to suck it up and be happy to be playing baseball for a living. Perhaps he saw what happens when we boo Edgah and he just couldn’t stand the thought of being booed himself (Manny strikes me as the very sensitive type). Or perhaps he just…felt like hitting. He’s Manny. We’ll never know. But as long as he has truly found his swing and he continues to give us heartswelling moments of adorable manlove and childlike glee in the dugout, I’m not sure I care.

And speaking of the dugout? MLB and NESN need to get on a Dugout Cam immediately if not sooner. Tell me you would not watch this. I would venture a guess that most people would not only watch this, they would pay to watch this. And by “most people” I mean “Red Sox fans.” This is the reason picture-in-picture was invented, folks. It doesn’t need to happen for every team. I doubt anyone much cares about seeing the Rockies’ dugout, sitting stoically and occasionally punctuating the suck by spitting sunflower seeds. But for the Sox, this would be better than any Must See TV that NBC or any of the other major networks are spewing out right now. Come on, can’t you picture it? Bellhorn turns his head away from the camera every few minutes and a telltale puff of smoke rises towards the field. Damon walks over to get a cup of Gatorade and, naturally, bangs his head on Dougie’s butt, sitting on the cooler. Trotter, steely eyes of intensity, places his hat underneath his feet and slowly and methodically grinds rosin, sunflower seed husks and pine tar into it with his heels. Matty edges farther and farther away from David Wells. Manny tries to build a Stretch Armstrong doll out of his Big League Chew. You just know it would be the greatest thing ever televised. Let’s start a petition to get this to happen. Who’s with me?

In semi-related baseball news, Amy and I will be departing for points slightly farther South as we leave tomorrow morning for Brooklyn to attend the Tomato Nation Baseball Con. We are set to meet the illustrious Sars of the very same Tomato Nation (which, if you’re not reading it, what the hell is wrong with you?) and talk some baseball. She’s a Yankee fan and this is going down in Brooklyn but, because we are ostensibly nice, polite girls, we shall try to keep the shit-talking to a minimum. Besides, it’s for charity and small children getting baseball equipment and the like. Plus, talking baseball is fun. Especially with knowledgeable people. However, I must admit to being absolutely fascinated to experience the New York attitude on the current state of the Yankees from inside the belly of the beast. Call it a covert operation, if you will. Will report back with findings.

As for the Sox, we turn to Bronson “BE the Saturn Balls, man, BE the Saturn Balls!” Arroyo who looks to both continue the Sox’ current domination and right his own self. Obviously, we know he can do this. Because he is Saturn Balls Arroyo. And no man with balls the size of Saturn is going to lose a game to the freakin’ Cincinnati Reds. Right, Bronson? Right.