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

Monday, July 10, 2006


Look at me returning just in time for the All-Star Break. Excellent timing! I've been taking a break from baseball for a week and perfecting my groupie skills by following around rock stars. (Note to my parents: I totally mean "planting trees and helping sick children." No groupie behavior here). And I think this break was probably good for the soul. Especially since those bozos saw fit to lose 3 of 4 to freakin' Tampa Bay. Or, you know, so I heard since I wasn't paying attention. No, really, I totally wasn't.

And then we damn near swept the White Sox. Which doesn't suck. What does suck is that we all knew that Rudy Seanez was going to be the reason we lost yesterday's game. I mean, didn't we? If you tell me you honestly believed it was going to be someone else's fault then I will call you a dirty, dirty liar and I will attempt to douse your pants which will most certainly be on fire. So, considering that we all knew how this was going to end, I don't understand why Seanez felt the need to drag it out for three innings. Really, he could have shown some mercy and just gotten it over with in his first inning of relief. The Rick even called me sometime in the 18th inning to tell me that his hand was on the "Send" button and he was ready to call me as soon as the inevitable Seanez-proffered three-run bomb landed in the outfield seats. But it didn't happen. The bleeding was just slower and more painful.

Of course, my weekend of acting like a hormonal 14-year-old with a Bedazzled tour t-shirt must have made me zen or something because I choose to look at the positives from yesterday's game. Those being that Tito only resorted to the Gas Can Twins when he absolutely had to. There were no other choices. Well, technically that's not true. Doug Mirabelli was bench-bound and I might have given a semi-important limb to watch him pitch in relief. But it never came to that. Maybe Tito has finally figured it out. Maybe.

As for the other one behind the plate there, I'm taking the Steinbrenner approach and referring to him solely as "the catcher" until he deigns to hit above .250 again. I mean honestly, what is that shit about? Unacceptable, sir. Most unacceptable. And speaking of "the catcher," please read Amy's genius post. That girl. Sometimes, I don't even know.

So here we are again, three games up in the standings with half a season played and half left to go. I'd say that's a pretty fair showing. Especially considering that our fifth starter is officially named "TBA" and our bullpen is held together with airplane glue and Lincoln Logs. Not to mention that various members of the team spend most of their time dodging peach pit missiles and Timlin's crossbow. I'm looking at you, Clement and Wells. Honestly, were it not for the previous mention of Lincoln Logs and the obvious tonsorial similarities between their namesake and the ertswhile pitcher, I would probably have forgotten that Matt Clement even existed. Which, you know, might not be a bad thing.

So tonight marks the official start of the All-Star festivities with the Home Run Derby. Or, based on last year's Tejada/Ortiz antics, Marianne has dubbed it the "Dominican Power Hour of Fun." Here's hoping Ortiz hits a few into the stratosphere. You know, again.