Diary of a Mad Woman

(Photo from Boston.com)

Jorge Posada looks for some divine intervention.

Sometimes, I honestly think I'm bi-polar. This mostly happens during Sox/Yankees games - to the surprise of no one, I'm sure. But the range of emotions I go through during one of these interminable clashes (seriously, four hours? Keee-rist), is such that it's really a wonder I've not been formally committed to a mental institution yet. I stress the "yet."

Take, for instance, the flurry of text messages that flew between Annette and I during last night's game.

Me (as Matsuzaka has what is becoming his customary inning of control issues): ::vomits::

Annette: Motherfucker. Fucking hell. (No one said we were ladies.)

Me: I knew I hated baseball.

Annette: Fuck this game. Fucking bloody fucking thousand pitch inning.

Me: Also, while we're on the subject of things I hate: Julio Lugo.

Annette: I HAVE SO MUCH RAGE RIGHT NOW! THROW STRIKES, DAISUKE!

Me: FUCK JD DREW AND HIS NOT BEING TROT NIXON.

Annette: So much rage. I hate the Yankees with the fire of infinite suns.

Me: I'm giving it one more inning and then I'm turning it off if conditions don't improve. It's too damn early in the season to be this angry. (Pedroia comes to bat) Oh look, they let the bat boy hit. That's nice.

Annette: Does his mother know he's up this late?

Me: I am going to have a stern word with her about how to manage her child.

Annette: Ask her to talk to him about hitting singles and not long flyouts in pathetic home run attempts.

Me: I plan to.

Annette: Jeter misses! And the world rejoices!

Me (as JD Drew grounds out. AGAIN): He is so fired.

Annette: Mike Lowell is NOT fired though.

Me: Absolutely not.

Annette: And Tek's thighs make Pettitte throw a wild pitch.

Me: The man is only human. I enjoy when Pettitte forgets to throw strikes. That is fun and good times for us all.

Annette: I enjoy that we chased him after just 4.2 innings.

Me: As do I. Immensely. Bullpen-palooza!

Annette: This game? Not dull.

Me: No. But I like Red Sox track meets!

Annette (after Lugo hits his first Red Sox home run): Huh. Lugo.

Me: Exactly. I am happy for the scoring but unhappy it was Lugo. (What did I say about bi-polar?) Also (Mientkiwicz falls into the photographers' box): hee, Mientkiewicz.

Annette: I can still spell his name right too. Those were the days.

Me: I know, it's reflexive.

Annette: I love David Ortiz. It can't be said enough. He just makes me happy.

Me: That's what he does, baby!

Annette: Timlin. God help us.

Me: Someone hold me.

Annette: Keee-rist. There is gambling and then there is gambling addiction. Timlin in a two run game AT NY is a cry for help.

Me: Honestly. Tito needs a Gamblers Anonymous meeting pronto. (Jeter is called out on a close play at second) Ha! Doesn't quite work when you call yourself safe, Derek.

Annette: There will be a 47 page thread on nyyfans.com tomorrow about that call. There is a VAST umpiring conspiracy against them.

Me: Clearly. And totally warranted since they have NEVER been the beneficiaries of bullshit calls.

Annette: Never, ever, ever. Their suffering has been great these many years.

Me: And lo! The tears rained down from Mount Yankee!

Annette: And the Lord sayeth, I will give you these 26 rings but never shall a close call - like a phantom tag in a playoff game - go in your favor.

Me: And all gentlemen named Jeffrey shall fear death upon interference!

Annette: Lugo stole on a walk. Is that legal?

Me: Like that man concerns himself with legality.

Annette: True dat. This game is very wicked long.

Me: Doesn't help that the umpire talks half an hour to make every call.

Annette: How do you not get Giambi out on a comebacker to the mound? That violates the laws of physics.

Me: If you're gonna cheat by using the shift, it's gonna need to work.

Annette: No kidding. But if the batter is a cheating 'roid monkey, is the shift considered cheating or a mere leveling of the playing field?

Me: In that case, I think taking a Louisville Slugger to his patellas would be warranted.

Annette: If I were in charge, that would be an allowable event. Also, I'm starting to legitimately heart Okajima. We might have a legitimate setup man. MADNESS!

Me: Yes, he's the fun, new Japanese toy that no one's paying attention to.

Annette: Yay, Mikey Lowell extends his streak!

Me: You're starting to see the hot now, aren't you?

Annette: No, I still don't see the hot. But I love him as a person. Also, Papelbon calls him "Mikey Lowell" and that cracks me up.

Me: Everything Papelbon says cracks me up. Every. Single. Word.

Annette: Ha! Crisp steals second! He delighted in unnerving Mo!

Me: Dude, if I'm a Yankee fan, I'm having a heart attack about this whole Rivera situation.

Annette: Dude, no kidding. It's almost May and he's not recorded a save.

Me: This game is never ending.

Annette: No. It's not. That is true fact.

Me: We are going to die here. Bears are going to eat us.

Annette: Oh look, we won.

Me: How about that?

Annette then proceeded to send me the following email:

"View photo of the dude the Sox are interested in. AND!!! His name is Fukudome. Fuk. U. Do. Me."

Me: We must get him immediately. The potential for awesomeness is too great.

Annette: I know, right? I learned of this earlier today and immediately started dreaming of all the awesome t-shirts that could be made.

Me: He needs to bring his bear too. That must be in the contract.

Annette: Dude, we could put it in the vistors' bullpen. How awesome would that be? I think he's a corner outfielder. He could visit it during innings.

Me: Why don't we run baseball again? This is GENIUS.


So basically, this is all to serve notice that, sometime soon, I'm probably going to go COMPLETELY off the deep end. But at least I'm taking friends with me.

Speaking of "off the deep end" can someone in the know tell me if Joe Torre is actually TRYING to get fired? It's gotten to the point where the statement, "Torre's not a good bullpen manager" can be considered an irresponsible understatement, like akin to calling the Hundred Years' War a "kerfuffle." I mean, I might be remembering incorrectly but I'm fairly certain the point of having an elite closer is to, you know, close out games that you're actually winning. Not put him in for mop up duty in games you're already losing by four. And then yanking him when he can't get anyone out.

This also has the somewhat disturbing effect of making me feel something akin to sympathy for a member of the Yankees since Mariano Rivera is the ONLY Yankee who, if given the choice, I would take for my team, no questions asked. He appears to be a good guy and he's the real deal, baseball-wise. But I'm really not sure what Joe's doing with him now. Curious moves indeed.

That said, I remain a Sox fan so I'm going to enjoy the ride while it lasts.

Didn't See That One Coming

(An artist's rendering of Wily Mo Pena)

The thing is, Wily Mo just don't like people talking shit about him. You see, when I got off the T this morning in Government Center, the gentlemen in the beat-up Sox cap selling newspapers was sharing his opinion with everyone who cared to listen. "The Sox needa new centafieldah. Wily Mo just ain't gettin' it done. Guy's killin' me at the plate."

Wily Mo will thank you to keep your opinions to yourself, sir. But honestly, talk about unlikely heroes. Apparently, Wily Mo has suffered ten strikeouts in his previous sixteen at-bats prior to that grand slam. That is...not a healthy number. Anemic, actually. Consumptive, even. Most people, including Eck (and who's going to argue with Eck? Certainly not me), were wondering why the slumping Wily Mo was even hitting in that situation. And that? Is why we're going to Vegas and gambling with Tito.

But I mean, considering all that's happened in the past few days, we are clearly in the end times. So Wily Mo hitting a grand slam isn't really that surprising.

For instance, after yesterday's (faux) drama about Gary Thorne and Schilling and bloody sock, etc, etc, Doug Mirabelli was evidently giving press conferences in the Sox locker room before the game to definitively state that he never said that Schilling faked the ankle injury. I mean, Doug Mirabelli is holding press conferences? We're all gonna die.

And then there's the matter of Josh Beckett winning his fifth straight start and finding himself in the company of Pedro Martinez and Babe Ruth as the only Sox pitchers to win five games in the month of April. That's some lofty company there, brah. And I certainly hope that he realizes that, were it not for a brain fart on the part of Chris Ray, Beckett would be drowning the sorrow of his first loss of the season in half price PBR and Dave Matthews bootlegs.

I spent the third inning today coming up with new lyrics to Paul Simon's "Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard" except in my version, I beat up Julio under the monkey bars and steal his lunch money.

Given Terry Francona's penchant for snark, (i.e. his comments to Doug Mirabelli as reported by the Globe, "Can't you just play every five days and not talk?,") and Papelbon's...Papelbon-ness, I would trade in a semi-important organ to witness a live conversation between them. Because you just know that Tito would spend the entire time making smart ass comments and Paps would take them all at face value. I mean, you've seen what happens when the boy wins bets. I'm not completely sure he understands the concept of sarcasm.

In the future, I think perhaps I will abstain from watching Sox/Orioles games with an Orioles fan. Because, um, yeah, they don't find Wily Mo hitting an unlikely grand slam nearly as amusing as I do. It's the kind of situation when you don't really know what to say. I root for the Orioles 143 games out of the season. But the Sox are my boys. So I didn't say anything. I just handed Marianne my laptop so she could commiserate with fellow Orioles fans. (Most of whom appear to be contemplating suicide). Sometimes, I guess, there's just nothing to say.

The Yankees lost again with Phenom Philip Hughes on the mound. Isn't "phenom" part of his given name now? I thought we had to call him that. Apparently, he's the next Joe Montana. I realize it's baseball but isn't every highly touted prospect in every sport hyped as the next Joe Montana? I thought that was the rule. Anyway, the whole Hughes thing seem mildly desperate as the kid's like...twelve, but hey, if the Yankees are desperate, that can only mean good things for the Sox.

Now, can someone tell me why Mike Lowell always looks so damn worried and Manny spent the entirety of today's game looking like he smelled poo?

Mike Lowell: Pimp

(A pimp is as a pimp does)

I have learned one thing from this game. Mike Lowell is a big Nelly fan. More specifically, Mike Lowell's at-bat music for the rest of the season (or until he starts sucking) will be Nelly's "Pimp Juice."

Those of you who remember iTunes mojo will understand what I'm getting at. It wasn't iTunes this time, I was testing out ring tones for my new cell phone. And yes, I was listening to Nelly tunes and I'll thank you not to judge. (I ended up with Journey's "Don't Stop Believing" because, well, because I'm me, and it's sage advice), but apparently Mike Lowell responds to "Pimp Juice." Look, I don't make the rules. I just report the outcome.

As for outcomes, I enjoyed this one and will certainly take a win against the Orioles. Although, I must admit, the Orioles have become my second favorite team (this is entirely Marianne and Chris's fault, and owes something to my own personal love affair with Nick Markakis), and I don't wish them ill. I certainly enjoyed the "Fuck YOU, you're not in the box and I'm throwing strikes, bitch" business that went down with Lugo and Cabrera because, yeah, you might've heard but, um, not a fan of Lugo. But a win is a win is a win.

It's nice to see that Jerry Remy's man crush on Alex Cora has continued unabated. And with good reason. And then there's Schilling whose new haircut seems to be aiding him in the "pitching snappy" department. It would also be rather impossible for Schilling to look more like The Rick at this point which is mildly disturbing but the point remains.

Honestly, when David Ortiz has those ten or eleven pitch at bats, don't you just feel like things are going to go his way? I think it all goes back to that ten pitch at bat against Esteban Loaiza in game five of the 2004 ALCS when Papi fouled off pitch after pitch before muscling one into short center for the game-winning RBI. It's just...what he does, apparently. And I hate to sound overconfident about things because I'm anything but. But it's Papi, man. If anyone's gonna do it, it's probably gonna be him.

Or Mike Lowell. Because: pimp juice.

Pfffft

(Meet the 2007 Red Sox bullpen)

Let's put it this way, long about the sixth inning, I started singing a rousing rendition of the song I just wrote that goes, "It's a grand old track meet at the old ball yard." I call it, "Clusterfuck (Tavarez Sonata)." Check for the single soon at Newbury Comics.

And speaking of music, I've taken to referring to the bullpen pitchers as "The Bullpen Boys" and have decided that one or all of them should enter any and all games to the tune of The Backstreet Boy's seminal hit, "Backstreet's Back" or perhaps NSYNC's "Bye, Bye, Bye." Because - and you can argue with me but you'll be wrong - there is no way the boys in that bullpen named Joel, JC and Brendan aren't choreographing dance routines and watching Justin Timberlake concerts on the bullpen TV. Aside from the last few games, they haven't had much to do so they've had to entertain themselves somehow. They're just lamenting the fact that Lenny Dinardo isn't around anymore since he really brought the boy band looks together. Of course, Dustin Pedroia is constantly trying to join by impressing them with his mad vertical leap and ability to carry a tune, barbershop quartet style, but the Boys have talked and they're a little concerned about how his premature balding and lack of stature will affect the image of the band. It's a tough life, this Bullpen Boy racket.

Also, Wily Mo reminds me of nothing so much as that puppy Marianne and I saw in Coolidge Corner earlier today who was brand new and clearly not in control of his big, gangly, puppy limbs. Like you can't really get mad at the puppy for playing with the ball instead of throwing it into second like a capable baseball player. And I suspect you couldn't really get mad at Wily Mo for getting nervous and peeing in the corner. But it's going to take a larger newspaper wack to the nose with that one. Additionally, the owner of the puppy had clearly obtained said animal for the exact reason that it garnered him much attention from twenty-something girls as he was extremely willing to allow us to pet the puppy and generally remark on its cuteness. So that begs the question: if Wily Mo is a puppy, who's wingdog is he?

Inquiring minds want to know. And on Julian Tavarez's postgame press conference, we had this to say:

Marianne: He looks like...

Me: Freddy Krueger?

Marianne: Yeah and some kind of...jungle creature. I forget what they're called.

Me: A lemur?

Marianne: YES.

So tomorrow we head to Baltimore for a bizarre two game series. Schilling vs. Cabrera. If the Sox play defense like they did today (or didn't, rather) and the Orioles continue to play Boots-a-Ball, Scores-a-Run, it's entirely possible that the whole series could be an exercise in futility.

Per Marianne, resident Orioles fan:

"But I thought...but you said...but don't you usually...? YOU SAID YOU WERE GOING TO BE THERE! Where's the ball?"

::four runs score, one batter realizes that the infielders are arguing with each other about who was supposed to cover second, Markakis is exchanging numbers with a sorority girl in right and the cast of thousands in left is distracted by the pretty patterns in the grass and the batter circles the bases again, scoring another run::

"Don't forget," Marianne reminded me, "Someone is contractually obligated to hit backup catcher Paul Bako in the face with something during the course of the game. It might be me."

Of course, the series does promise some Kevin Millar shenanigans who is, as Marianne remarked, "looking more and more like Sammy Hagar every day."

Don't you love baseball?

The Best and the Brightest

I don't really want to talk about the game. It seemed pretty anti-climatic after this past weekend's series. And with the Yankees and Orioles losing, things remain pretty much the same. But I did learn, while watching NESN, that author David Halberstam was killed this morning in a car crash.

It doesn't seem particularly sports-related but Halberstam actually wrote many books on sports and athletes including "The Teammates," "The Education of a Coach," and "Summer of '49." Halberstam was a great writer, one of my favorites.

I met him once. Several years ago, right after the publication of "The Teammates," Halberstam's telling of the close, lifelong friendship between Ted Williams, Dom DiMaggio, Bobby Doerr, and Johnny Pesky, he gave a reading in Harvard Square. I went and I met Halberstam, DiMaggio, and Pesky briefly after the reading. Halberstam had just given the commencement address at my friend's graduation from Tulane and I made sure to tell him how much she'd enjoyed it. He seemed genuinely touched and gracious. And then he laughed when Johnny Pesky told me I was cute.

Perhaps I am especially saddened because Halberstam, who won a Pulitzer before he turned 30, has always been someone I've admired. I read a collection of his essays "The Fifties" in high school and have enjoyed his work ever since. An unquestionable talent, I've always appreciated the way he turned sports journalism - often seen as frivolous - into something worthwhile and legitimate.

Halberstam was 73, a Pulitzer Prize winner and the author or more than 20 books. But he was also a sports fan.

I seem to have picked up a lot of new readers lately, (Hi! Glad you're here). I'm not sure where they came from or how they found me, but I'm glad they did. Now go read "The Teammates" and I'll see you tomorrow.

First-Hand Account

The following is an email sent to me by my former co-worker David. He was lucky enough to attend Friday night's game.

The account you're about to read is a real one.

::cue "Unsolved Mysteries" theme::

As it happens, I was at Friday night's Sox-Yankees game. The one scripted by a TV writer, apparently. Because goddamn was that a crazy game to be at. Celebration. Panic. JD Drew having a completely futile great night at the plate. Coco Crisp nearly dying, and then SPRINGING back up over the wall. The sixth inning and seventh inning, pure dread. People were actually leaving. As if they'd learned NOTHING about the Red Sox and late innings. It really felt like we were doomed, but you JUST DON'T LEAVE. You don't do that at Fenway. I don't care where you parked.

And then, at the beginning of the bottom of the eighth, I mention, "Hey, if they climb back into this thing, it could come down to Papelbon vs. A-Rod," not knowing that Papelbon wasn't available for the game. The INSANE series of hits off of Rivera, and the sight of that ball beyond Doug Meintkiewicz's reach, from the bat of OH MY GOD, Coco Crisp is a real professional baseball player all of the sudden. Alex Cora? I like him. I've always liked him, sort of the way I liked Dave McCarty. So this Alex Cora-driven game-winning RBI thing is a very nice thing. Like that Dave McCarty triple I'm so proud of, like he's my buddy or something. The right field roof deck, above us, was shaking in a scary sort of way. I'd never looked up in previous moments like that, and I never will again. Thoughts of your mortality don't mingle well with the excitement of the big inning.

And then Okajima. I was seated next to a Japanese man who was absolutely silent and calm through the whole game. He'd occasionally smile when a Yankees batter would strike out, but that was it. And then he heard me say, "That's not Papelbon. Is it Piniero? No... no, I think it's Okajima." The dude SWIVELED and jumped from his chair. Seriously. The camera came out, and his smile was enormous. He told me, "Boston doesn't know him. He's stingy. He'll be very good."

That last out, you'd think it was an ALCS game, the way everybody at Fenway was acting, including me. Seriously. That was some exciting stuff.

Much less exciting, at least on the face of it: I'm going to Tuesday's highly anticipated Tavarez/Halladay rematch. You know, America's greatest pitching rivalry?

Sweep!

So I woke up this morning furious with Manny. Completely furious. I think my first conscious thought was "Goddamn it, Manuel. I know you're not paid for your defense but Christ, man, just because you hit a bomb doesn't give you the right to hand out errors like they're bobbleheads on promotion night."

See, what had happened, near as I could figure, was that I went to bed, content in the Sox 3-game sweep of the Yankees and in the latest win against the one they call Chase Wright. But somewhere, in the not nearly enough hours of sleep I got, my brain twisted it around and I had a dream about the Sox hitting back-to-back-to-back-to-back home runs (talk about make believe), but that Manny also made a crucial late game error, misplayed a ball A-Rod hit into left and was responsible for the Sox losing the game and A-Rod being the hero and six more weeks of winter. But now, in the light of day, I see that didn't happen. Right? But apparently Tek got in on the hit parade as well?

Now I know I'm dreaming.

But seriously, talk about heady stuff. I don't know who this Chase Wright fellow is but I quite like him. He can stay. We might need another batting practice pitcher if Dougie's arm gets tired. And speaking of Dougie, he and Tek now have the same number of home runs and Tek has raised his average to a quite respectable .265. See? All he needed was a little tough love.

As for the Yankees, was it me or did Joe Torre look like he was having a Big Think in the dugout there? Every time the camera cut to him - and that was often for the game was on Fox and it's not a game on Fox without several shots of Joe Torre picking his nose - the man looked positively wracked with concentration. It's April, Joe. Might be a bit too late to get out of this circus this season but I'm not sure throwing your starter into a game in relief is completely necessary. And yes, I know it was Pettitte's throwing day and live batters are better and blah, blah, blah. I still think the move reeked of desperation.

Hey remember how when we got Josh Beckett everyone was annoyed that Mike Lowell came as part of the package deal? We envisioned him as some .180 hitting $9 million hole of black suck at third base? Years and years of "Buelly would've had it?" Yeah, I'd like to extend an official apology to Mike Lowell on behalf of Red Sox Nation. Our bad. You can stay. How's that "I *heart* the Green Monster" tattoo coming along?

Good times, people. Good times. Be they real or imagined.

A Picture is Worth...a Home Run Apparently

I should have been in bed ages ago. So until the morning, I'll let the following pictures from Boston.com tell the story:











































































Bad. Ass. Well played, gentlemen. Well played indeed.

Revisionist History

(Photo from Boston.com)

Jason Varitek to Mariano Rivera: "Bitch, please."

That was fun, wasn't it? Wasn't that good times? Wasn't it just a nice, lovely night at the ol' ballpark? Yeah, maybe in retrospect. But while it was happening, I'm fairly certain I said "I hate baseball" so many times that I started chanting it in my sleep. Yeah, those games are fun when you end up winning them. But when you find yourself down by four runs in the 8th inning after the Prancing Show Pony has already hit two homers, one of which nearly disemboweled your centerfielder, and you look to the pen and suddenly realize, if, by some miracle, you manage to enter the ninth either tied or, god forbid, up by a run, your personal baseball Jesus Jonathan Papelbon is unavailable...well, you're probably gonna mentally call it a night and start filling the bathtub with tequila for the ritualistic soak.

But then...something happens. The Yankee fan you're watching with breaks into his own tequila and starts freaking out - not quietly - about what the hell is wrong with Posada and why is Torre letting Vizcaino pitch and oh my god, not Mo in the eight. And you're sitting there going, "Dude, it's Rivera. He's um, he's pretty good, is the thing. I don't know if you've been paying attention but, uh, we're also down by four runs. With Rivera pitching. Just a status update." And then he starts telling you, "He's not Mo against the Sox. I don't know what it is. The Sox get in his head or something." And you reply, "Bill Mueller's not on the team anymore. Kevin Millar's not on the team anymore. I think you got this one." And then he argues with you some more as the runs begin to score and Rivera begins to look decidedly human and you wonder how the hell you found yourself in the position of arguing with a Yankee fan over whose team was going to blow the game first. And how it was that it ended up that he was the one draining the bottle of tequila.

I mean, Jason Varitek, of all people, hitting home runs and getting RBIs when they mattered. Sure, now my tendency is to say, "Oh, Tek, reliable as a Volkswagon. Always there when we need you." But that's quite different from the tirades I was unleashing in his direction last night. Something to the effect of, "Jason, listen to me. You are hitting less than your weight. Which, yes, is probably less than last season because of the knee injury and all that business but, if I may, I'd like to bring something to your attention. David Ortiz - you may have heard the name in passing - is currently being paid a yearly salary less than yours. And that man isn't starved for hits. So, what I'm saying here is HIT THE GODDAMN BASEBALL FOR THE LOVE OF CHICKEN PARM SUBS AND MEATBALL CALZONES OR I WILL HAVE A WORD WITH TITO ABOUT SUBBING DOUGLAS IN FOR YOU IN CRUCIAL LATE GAME SITUATIONS AND FROM THERE IT'S A SLIPPERY SLOPE INTO EMOTIONAL EATING BETWEEN INNINGS AND POLISHING OFF PUPU PLATTERS FOR THREE FROM KOWLOON AND WHILE YOU'RE AT IT, CHRIST, MAN GET YOUR PANTS OUT OF YOUR ARMPITS WHAT ARE YOU, A NINETY-THREE YEAR-OLD RETIRE IN BOCA ON HIS WAY TO THE SHUFFLE BOARD COURT. I WILL TALK TO TITO, I WILL DO IT. DON'T THINK I WON'T DO IT BECAUSE I HAVE HAD IT WITH YOU, Jason Andrew."

Honestly, I didn't know what else to do.

But while we're discussing unlikely Big Damn Heroes, we should probably talk about Covelli, or Mr. Crisp, if you're nasty. Because in addition to laying out for that catch (which showed impressive effort and don't let anyone tell you we don't applaud effort around these parts), he also got that crucial hit in the eight that squirted away from Mientkiewicz (yup, still know how to spell it reflexively). Personally, I enjoyed watching it bounce around in right like a pinball machine but I'm not entirely sure Coco believed it himself. Homeboy looked kind of stunned. 'Course, that could have been the after effects of his spine nearly severing in two.

And then there's Okajima. Yeah. Exactly. I saw him warming and Papelbon sitting pretty on the bench and I said to Marianne, "Sometimes I think Tito is actually a masochist and he wants to see if he can make people cry."

"Who is he trying to make cry with this curious decision?" she asked.

"Either a) me, b) Okajima, c) the baby Jesus or d) all of the above."

"I'm going for 'd.'"

As Annette says, "One of these days I'm going to Vegas with Terry Francona. We're going to use his money but man, does that dude like to gamble."

Okajima trotted in from the pen and I turned to Marianne and said, "I'm sitting on nineteen. HIT ME!"

Tito must be really good at this gambling thing since apparently, the house doesn't always win.

However, the best part about the game, in addition to A-Rod's home runs not making a damn bit of difference, was seeing Matsuzaka and Tavarez in an animated discussion in the dugout while Okajima was going to work. I don't know what they were saying, but I would pay good money to find out.

"How long before Matsuzaka ends up in a do-rag with a Thug Life tattoo?" Marianne asked.

"Him and Youks are going together. They're gonna get a two-fer deal."

"So next week then?"

"I can't wait."

Get Your Game On

(Photo from Yahoo! Sports)

I just had to include that picture because the expression on the second basemen's face is pretty excellent. "I gonna die." Heh.

Anyway, sometimes I think that Jonathan Papelbon is a character that we all created with the combined power of our imagination. I look forward to every new Papelbon interview the way I look forward to new episodes of my favorite TV shows. I just can't wait to hear what he's going to say next. I mean, seriously, how long before he begins comparing sitting down opposing batters to duck hunting? And after that, how long before he admits honing his skills on the original Nintendo's Duck Hunt game that came with the system along with Super Mario Bros.?

"I hated that dang dog, man," he'll say. "Always laughin' and shit. I hated that dog. I done figured out how ta wire the gun so I could shoot the dog. He didn't laugh at me no more after that."

No way that didn't happen, right?

And Manny's gonna be fine. But you all knew that.

As for that team coming to town this weekend, yeah, them, apparently the Show Pony is still hitting home runs and such. Uh huh, lovely. I hope he comes back to earth soon for many reasons, not the least of which is because it's going to be exceptionally nauseating watching all those Yankee fans who claimed to hate the guy when he wasn't delivering, now jump on the bandwagon and champion him as the Savior of Baseball. Please. Also, what're the odds that he's singing "I Feel Pretty" while trotting around the bases here?

It all begins again tonight. Someone hold me.

Dougie's Goin' Deep Tonight: The Revenge

(Photo from Yahoo! Sports)

Okay, honestly, am I being punked here? When I casually mentioned yesterday that Doug Mirabelli might hit another home run in support of his catcher well, I was kidding. Apparently, Dougie doesn't like jokes. At least I'm not the only one who thinks it's somewhat absurd. In the postgame, Eck started to mention that at this pace, Dougie's on track to hit about 20 more home runs this season. But he didn't quite get the words out before he started laughing along with Tom Caron. I mean, sure, it's possible. It's also possible that Tampa Bay might stop playing on a miniature golf course or that A-Rod will continue to hit in October. But it doesn't seem likely.

That said, credit where credit's due, I guess. Doug Mirabelli: Stud who hits bombs.

Also, I would like to claim credit for breaking up Tomo Ohka's no-hitter in the making as, I saw it happening, decided this was not happening again to us this season and promptly sent Marianne a text message, "Tomo Ohka is pitching a no-hitter. A NO-HITTER!" Not fifteen seconds later, Lowell launched his bomb. So you're all very welcome.

I had a few more observations on last night's game that I feel compelled to share:

-Are Kevin Youkilis and Jerry Remy sharing hair dye? Because the general consensus is that Remy is dying his hair and Youkilis' facial hair has taken on a different color of late and I'm just not sure what's really going on there. Perhaps they've tapped into Mike Lowell's unused supply of "Just for Men." Not that I want him to use it, mind you. I think Lowell looks great as he is. I remember when Bill Mueller decided to dye his goatee to cover the gray and it just looked so very, very wrong. Like seeing pants on Donald Duck or something. Anyway...

-David Ortiz's facial hair is especially elaborate this season. Wily Mo, in an effort to be all things Ortiz, looks like he's trying to replicate it. Only without the benefit of a mirror. Or a light.

-What is it about playing for the Blue Jays that makes one morph into a lumberjack? I mean really, Gregg Zaun, Matt Stairs? And Troy Glaus looks like he's ready to be fitted for his plaid hunting jacket any day now.

-Is Matsuzaka the only person on the team that Schilling isn't driving completely insane with his constant yammering? Has to be, right? Must be a language barrier thing.

-"Dougie looks like Spiderman on a high sodium diet with that red and blue catcher's gear." - Marianne

-I want a wind machine and possibly a smoke machine, Steve Perry style, on Eck at all times. I think it would really add something to the broadcast.

-Jerry Remy: Matchmaker. By far, the best part of this whole Sox Appeal nonsense is Remy promoting it all season.
Remy: "I think the men are scared, Don, they're scared of rejection."
Orsillo: "Could be."
Remy: "Why don't you sign up? Oh, you're married."
Orsillo: "There's that."

And finally, I still think the shift is cheating.

Goggled

(Photo from Yahoo! Sports)

I did everything I could. When Matsuzaka inexplicably lost his control for an inning and walked in a run, I did the only thing I could think of to counteract the badness: I ordered sushi. It worked, kind of. He got out of the inning and proceeded to go all Strikeout King on the rest of the batters he faced but it proved to be too little, too late.

I mean honestly, I feel like I say this to the Sox more than any human being should but YOU LOST TO A GOOFY LOOKING GUY WEARING GOGGLES WHO HAS A COLOGNE NAMED AFTER HIM. No, not "Driven." The other goofy looking guy with a cologne named after him.

It's bad enough that when the Sox play in Skydo-, Rodg-, er, Toronto, that they supersaturate the colors so that it almost hurts to watch due to the vibrating of the television screen, but then they've gotta go and lose to freakin' Gustavo Chacin?

Maybe Matsuzaka really is the new Tim Wakefield. Pitches well enough to win but gets no run support. Although, personally, I'm placing last night's loss squarely on the shoulders of Julio Lugo. Because I know in the rules of baseball, you can never assume a double play but in the rules of Kristen Decides How This Goes, I can assume that Alex Gonzalez would have made that play. And you all know it too. He just might end up being the Red Sox from seasons past that I end up missing the most.

It was nice to see Wily Mo and Mr. Crisp get in on the hitting action, even if it was all for naught. And, as Marianne said when my roommate asked her where Wily Mo hit the home run, "Let's just say if they weren't in a dome, it'd probably be in this living room." I'm telling you, one of these days, Floor 37 of the Prudential Center, BAM!

For now, we wait for tonight's matchup. Timmy vs. Ohka. Let's see if Dougie can catch lightning in a bottle twice.

Credit Where Credit's Due

(Photo from Boston.com)

Dear Dude Beckett,

All right, you earned it.

::fist bumps::

Now keep it up.

Kthnx,
-Kristen

A Word with the Big Man

Are you there, God? It's me, Kristen.

Quick question: are we ever going to play baseball again? It's just, I miss it, is all. Especially since the last time the Sox played, Schill threw an eight inning, four hitter, Donnelly pitched a scoreless ninth, Ortiz hit another bomb and the Sox won 8-0. And then...nothing. I'd just like to see some baseball again before I die. Which, come to think of it, might be on my way to work this morning if the flood waters keep rising and the Green Line finally submits to the tides that have been threatening to flood Kenmore station nigh on three days now.

Sorry, all this rain has me thinking biblically.

While I admit the snow-outs in Cleveland were amusing for novelty's sake, all this rain has gotten a bit tiresome. The whole point of Patriots Day is for people to stand on the street and imbibe alcoholic beverages while cheering wildly for those crazy freaks that run 26.2 miles instead of taking a cab like a normal person. And for those of us who have to work to spew bile in their general direction. But all of this rain kind of takes the fun out of things. I end up feeling worse for the runners than I normally do (I mean, because, that's a long damn way to run), and no one wants to stand in the rain and the cold to cheer them on.

Not to mention the baseball game that likely won't happen. How can the city cause mass congestion in Kenmore Square by planning for the Sox game to let out just as the runners head into the square if there is no Sox game? How indeed. All those years of top notch city planning washed right down the drain. Tragic.

This is no way to spend a Marathon Monday. No way at all. I understand that after a relatively mild winter, snow-wise, you might feel the need to make up for the lack of precipitation in a different way but can't you space it out a little? Major League Baseball has lost an awful lot of games due to rain this season and I don't relish the day, late in July when the Sox have to make up three games in a day and are forced to play a game at 7am, fly to Cleveland, play the second game at 2pm and then fly backwards around the sun to reverse time so they can be in Oakland for a 7pm start. Unless you want to stop this rain thing sometime soon, they're going to have no choice but to bend the rules of time and space to meet their needs. And that way lies madness.

I mean, you rained out Jackie Robinson Day, dude. That just ain't cool. Although, while we're on the subject, Rachel Robinson is one cool chick and I would like to extend an invitation to hang out with her anytime. In addition to looking completely amazing (she would look completely amazing for someone thirty years her junior, not to mention being 85), she is also a fantastic storyteller and a very, very brave woman. Drinks are on me, Rachel, we'll have a time. Bring Vin Scully too and I will beg y'all to never stop telling stories.

But for serious? I'll give you one more day of this and then I'm beginning construction on my Rain-A-Way tarp made of flattened Diet Coke bottles and Saran Wrap because I've had enough.

One more day. But if I see animals marching down the street, two by two, we're gonna have words.

Dougie's Goin' Deep Tonight!

(Photo from Yahoo! Sports)

And it appears the Red Sox Catcher Blood Feud will live on.

I haven't heard from my brother yet, but I'm certain I will. It's only a matter of time. Just when I'll start feeling good about Tek's output or telling myself that he doesn't have to hit .400 to be valuable, my brother will call and say, "Hmmm, who hit a home run first, anyway? Was that Tek or Dougie?" He's a smartass, my brother.

But honestly, is Doug Mirabelli the only player who doesn't steadfastly refuse to score runs when Tim Wakefield is pitching? Yes, eventually others got in on the act but that wasn't until Dougie had done his damage with his two RBIs and all hope anyone else might've had of fucking things up for Wake had vanished. Plus, you know, JD Drew and Julio Lugo and Dustin Pedroia are all new guys. They might not yet have gotten the memo.

To: All Red Sox Hitters
From: Red Sox Front Office
Re: No Run Support for Wakefield

As you all know, we have decided to continue in our quest to garner no run support for Tim Wakefield's starts. We feel this benefits the team in that it gives the offense a night off and allows the bullpen a rest as extensive tests have concluded that Wakefield, being a knuckleball pitcher, is capable of throwing roughly 4,973 pitches per game without tiring. Additionally, he's signed what amounts to a lifetime contract with the team so screw that guy.

We also feel this continuing storyline takes attention away from whatever Manny's gotten up to and how JD Drew continues to not be Trot Nixon.

Thank you for your continued support in this matter.

Sincerely,
Red Sox Front Office

cc: Red Sox Management

Maybe Drew and Lugo don't read memos. And Pedroia's only six. Maybe he can't read big words yet.

Whatever the case, Dougie doesn't really seem like a "following orders" type of guy. Of course, normally he doesn't really seem like a "hitting baseballs" type of guy either. But every now and then, he gets lucky.

Of course, Dougie had some nice postgame things to say about Wake as well. "We just have to grind it out together," he said to Tina Cervasio. "Grind it out" being one of Tek's favorite phrases so evidently, the team was issued a Catcher Phrase Book this season.

But watching the Tim and Dougie show (as well as Wakefield's postgame press conference in which he was sporting a plaid shirt and slicked back hair that made him look like an extra from O, Brother, Where Art Thou?), I 've decided that it would be in NESN's best interest to give us a Wake and 'Belli reality show. Would you not watch that?

Amy and I discussed the possibilities last night when I called her to make sure she was seeing the shirt travesty Wakefield was perpetrating.

Me: I mean, honestly, it'd be the best reality show ever. It'd have a bit of an "Odd Couple" feel to it.

Amy: It could air after the "Jonathan Papelon Talks About Shit For an Hour" show.

Me: The episode where they go grocery shopping is my favorite.

Amy: Oh yeah, there's all these arguments about what they can buy because Wakefield has a very specific list and Dougie's an impulse buyer.

Me: Always wanting the gum and the candy at the register, that one.

Amy: And trying to sneak more items into the express lane.

Me: Which Tim does not appreciate at all.

Amy: No, ma'am. There are rules for a reason.

Me: And Dougie loves the salad bar but he hates that it's so expensive.

Amy: It's only salad, salad should be free!

Me: Well, those pickled eggs he insists on getting really add to the weight.

Amy: Exactly. And Tim keeps telling him that but Dougie just won't listen.

Me: God, I love Imaginary Dougie and Wake world.

Amy: Who doesn't?

Someone get NESN on the phone. This needs to happen. Wait until I tell them about the episode where they try to assemble a race car bed for Wakefield's son. Emmy, people, Emmy.

How Do You Say "Upstaged" in Japanese?

(Photo from Yahoo! Sports)

Okay, so JD Drew is just getting desperate now with the whole "please like me" thing. Getting the sole hit in the game and all. Does he think we don't have him figured out? Does he think we can't see what he's doing? Pshaw, we are wise people, sir. We know your endgame.

I have really got to stop watching so many spy shows.

As for Matsuzaka, despite Tom Caron and The Eck soft-pedaling the postgame, I think it actually was a respectable start. Because, they're right, normally on a day when your starting pitcher goes seven innings and lets up three runs, you're going to win that game with the lineup the Sox boast. Because normally, the Sox don't get one-hit and can scrape together more than three runs. Of course, Matsuzaka might want to stay as far away from Tim Wakefield as possible if that whole "no run support" thing is catching.

Although I imagine there's a Tim Wakefield Zone in the dugout and only Tim Wakefield is allowed in there. Doug Mirabelli may visit but other players are only allowed in by appointment.

"I think there's a Tim Wakefield ass groove in the bench," Marianne said. "There is absolutely no way that isn't true."

So I'm fairly certain that Wake watched last night's game from the safety of his designated zone in the dugout and thought, "At least I'm not the only one." I guess we'll find out tonight.

As for Matsuzaka, mountains...molehills, etc. He pitched well. He's going to be fine. And that Nike commercial? LOVE IT. Welcome to the major leagues, kid. And good luck. You're gonna need it. No pressure or anything,

And I Shall Dub Him "Lord Beckett"

(Photo from Boston.com)

...at least until his next start.

That's right, kids, you heard it here first. Josh Beckett, usually known around these parts as "Fathead" has surpassed even "dude" status today with his fine work against the Mariners and has earned himself a reprieve from the "Fathead" label. For now. I am not easily swayed, is the thing, so I'm gonna need to see these kind of performances continue if I'm to refer to him as "Joshua" for good. But for now, you done good, sir, you done real good indeed.

But people? Enough of these bloody afternoon games. I cannot be expected to keep up with this. I have missed fully 3/4 of the games the Sox have played during this young season simply because they happen to be taking place when the rest of the world is at work. And as much as I'd like to take three hour Sox breaks, I understand the world does not work that way. So I'm left with MLB.com updates and Boston.com refreshing scores that, you know, never refresh so I am left mistakenly thinking that the 4th inning has lasted for thirty-nine years or some such. So please, 7:05pm games soon? Yes? Good.

Now, as for JD Drew...look, this is hard. I know it's not the guy's fault that he's not Trot Nixon. He didn't not re-sign Trot. He didn't force Trot to go to Cleveland. He wasn't the one pulling the strings behind the scenes. So it's probably a little unfair to view him through the shitkicker-colored glasses of a one Mr. Christopher Trotman Nixon. But thems the breaks. Trotter was part of the Sox fabric for a good, long time and it doesn't help that Drew is patrolling right field at Fenway and wearing Trotter's number. (Because #7 will always be Trotter's number. Much like #5 will always belong to Nomar). It's not necessarily his fault, but it has become his lot to deal with. And if he's smart, he's already learned that Boston is nothing if not in touch with it's history. And we're not likely to forget about the dude who was in right field before him. Personally, some friends and I are debating whether or not to tell Marianne that Trot's not on the Sox anymore. Right now we're just pretending he's on the DL. According to Annette, it's very believable and hurts far less than the truth. I tend to agree.

Also, can someone confirm or deny for me? Wasn't there some sort of bench-clearing hoo hah during last year's Opening Day at Fenway? Am I completely making that up? (It certainly wouldn't be the first time I've fabricated something on this here blog.) Amy sent me the following report from Boston.com regarding the "incident":

//But after striking out Jose Guillen swinging, reliever Brendan Donnelly and Guillen started jawing at each other. Guillen pointed toward the mound, then took off his helmet. Donnelly started walking toward Guillen, who was on the third base line, and removed his glasses. They got close, though no punches were thrown.//

Me: "...and removed his glasses." AWESOME.

Amy: "Good sir, I remove my glasses because your visage offends me."

I mean really, that's what it's come down to? Removing one's glasses? It's all very Shakespearean, "Do you bite your thumb at me, sir?" "I do bite my thumb, sir, but not at you."

I'm sorry, did I just slip into English major dorkitude there? Many apologies.

Anyway, what else can you say about a 14-3 shellacking? I'm glad to see that Jason Varitek seems to be taking my plea seriously and as of right now, I like the way our pitching staff is going. Of course, I reserve the right to change my mind in about, oh, fourteen seconds. Or anytime thereafter.

And just for fun, Kevin Millar doing the Ray Lewis dance. My love for Millar continues to grow by leaps and bounds. And you just know that he's the ONLY person on the planet that Ray-Ray won't shiv for that.

Comeback, er Kid?

(Photo from Yahoo! Sports)

Jon Miller speaking to Terry Francona, in-game: "So how many innings do you expect to get out of Schilling tonight?"

Tito: "Oh, about twelve or thirteen."

Heh. But that's the thing about Schilling, whatever we may say about him and his personality and however much we wish he'd keep his blustering and political opinions to himself, we admire his tenacity where baseball is concerned. At least, I do. I respect the fact that no one appears harder on Schilling than Schilling himself and I like it when he kicks his own ass and rights the ship as he did last night when he bounced back from a disappointing Opening Day start against the Royals and dominated the Rangers in Texas. Of course, David Ortiz and Jonathan Papelbon had something to say about the win too. But isn't that always the way?

It just seems that no matter how many times I hear the story - Papi belts home runs, Paps mows people down - it doesn't get old. There are new bit players, sure, but the key guys seem to come through. I'm serious, NESN, where's the promo for "Hangin' with Paps and Papi?" The people want to see it.

On that note, allow me to address a small plea to David Ortiz.

Dear Papi:

DON'T EVER LEAVE US!

Kthnx,
Red Sox Nation

Honestly, what would we do without that man? I can't even think about it without breaking out in hives and ending up in the fetal position on the floor rocking back and forth and muttering something about Jeremy Giambi.

I'm still skeptical of the new guys, particularly JD Drew because, come on, he has to be held together with bailing wire and newspaper twine. And if, miracle of miracles, he somehow makes it through this season without a major injury AND contributes in a meaningful way (because for that money I'm not going to be happy with "finished the season in possession of all his original limbs"), then I'll admit to being unfairly skeptical. But until then, I've got my eye on him.

::gives JD Drew the hairy eyeball::

And as for A-Rod...CLEARLY HE IS THE BEST EVER AND WE WERE ALL SO VERY, VERY WRONG TO DOUBT HIM AND HE WILL SAVE BASEBALL OH HOORAY LET'S ALL CHEER HIM LIKE A CONQUERING HERO!

Dudes, seriously? Calm down. It's, um, April. I believe Yankee fans are familiar with that refrain? I'm sure A-Rod and his legions of therapists are very proud of themselves and feel vindicated and believe that New Yorkers love him forever and ever and are ready to demote Jeter to AAA and install A-Rod to his rightful place as shortstop and captain of God's own team but really? Might want to wait a few weeks with the excitement there, chief.

And yes, I know that preaching patience and perspective as a Red Sox fan is a bit like going to Chris Farley for dietary advice, but come on, April, people. April. And the thing is, even if A-Rod continues to hit like this, the Yankees are still going to have to pitch better for it to mean anything. Kevin Millar, lovable oaf that he is, is doing his best to make sure that doesn't happen.

And now...a day without baseball. Sadness and woe. I wonder if anyone's talking about that Matsuzaka kid?

Laugh Riot

(Photo from Boston.com)

I am not a giggler. I am not prone to fits of girly giggles, hiccups and such. Normally, when I find something funny, I start laughing like a hyena or guffawing like a toothless farmer. Usually so often that I end up choking. It's...charming, I'm sure. But last night as I caught the highlights of Matsuzaka's debut on NESN, I found myself actually giggling. Uncontrollably. And it wasn't just because of Matsuzaka's impressive line. It was also because it marked Jason Varitek's first use of "phenomenal" in his postgame remarks (my bet for the season is at least 12,874).

Last night also marked the first time Mike Lowell has appeared especially snarky in interviews. And y'all know I love the snark.

"Yeah, we bid a lot of money for him to be this good," Lowell snarked, "We didn't throw all that money at a hope."

Oh, Mikey. You said it.

It was also the debut of the Terry Francona "Fun Uncle Who Likes To Complain" Hour. I forgot how much I love Tito. And I forgot how much I love it when he refers to his players as "kids." It's adorable. And I love it when he calls situations like "Matsuzaka Mania," "neat." Hee. It was also kinda swell, wouldn't you say, Tito?

Then, of course, there was David Ortiz, doing his patented "dump truck with the brake lines cut" towards home and likely scaring the crap out of the Royals catcher.

And, you know, Papelbon.

So that's where the giggling came from. Not so much because I feel like I have a new toy or because the new toy has all kinds of bells and whistles and is making all the other neighborhood kids jealous. But the giggling was mostly relief and excitement at the return of Red Sox baseball. It's quite a thing. I'm psyched.

And So It Begins...

And now, I sit down to watch the first Red Sox game of the year (since Monday was just a practice run, you see). So very many questions present themselves. Such as: How will Fathead fair in his return. (I'm still calling Beckett "Fathead" until he proves that he deserves to referred to by a normal human name. And even so, I'll probably next progress to "Dude," since that's sooooo Beckett.)

But here's the thing: I'm fairly certain that on the list of things I've missed about baseball season, Dennis Eckersley's mullet is right at the top. His hair is, as Amy would say, resplendent. Truly magical, that mullet. And hey, as we've clearly seen, fantastical hair configurations have only been good to this team in years past. Papelbon is surely doing his part and Schilling isn't far behind. So I propose a rally cry for this year's team. Mullets for Magic. What do you think? Come on, that's right up there with Cowboy Up and the business with the Idiots. What do I have to do to convince Papi to get on board with this? Can you even imagine? David Ortiz with a flowing mullet? I would probably pay one million American dollars to see this. And I do not have one million American dollars. But so strong is my desire to see Papi with a mullet, that I would find some way to fund that. Perhaps by selling a kidney or somesuch.

Okay, can I just say, it's not terribly encouraging that as Beckett sits in the Sox' dugout during the top of the first, he looks as though he's trying valiantly to focus on some fixed point in the distance so as not to get the spins and end up face first in the sunflower seed detritus on the dugout floor. That's a rather inauspicious start to the season.

And no, I'm not going to liveblog this entire game. That way lies madness. You know what doesn't cause madness? David Ortiz taking walks and Manny getting hits. And...JD Drew hitting RBI doubles? Okay, that part does confuse me. It's no less confusing that my roommate has taken to placing my JD Drew Cardinals bobblehead (a sarcastic gift from Orioles fan friend Chris), on the coffee table and...bobbling his head when he does something positive. I don't know. I think I might have broken her. She's lived with me through two Red Sox' seasons and two Patriots' seasons and I've yet to catch her sleepwalking around the apartment, constructing busts of Manny out of cold mashed potatoes or muttering anything about "high fastballs swinging" so she must be a stronger person than I.

Additionally, is the Tony Pena, Jr. that's currently playing shortstop for the Royals actually the son of former Red Sox catcher (and Royals manager) Tony Pena? Because that? Is awesome. I always had a bit of a warm spot for the elder Tony Pena as I loved the way he'd actually sit cross-legged behind the plate when there were no runners on base. It's as if he was saying, "Bitch, please. I ain't ruining my knees for you or anybody." I would advise Tek to try the same thing except I think Tek is entirely too busy right now fending off the slings and arrows of those people wondering why the hell we're paying him $10 million a year to NOT HIT THE BASEBALL. Of course by "we" I mean, you know, the people who actually pay his salary. I am not among them. Nevertheless, I really wish that man would hit a baseball now and again. Otherwise, he's going to break me.

As I write this, the Sox are up 3-1 after one full inning thanks in no small part to Mike Lowell's bat and his glove. I've said it before and I'll say it again: Mike Lowell is a handsome man, but his defense, his defense is sexy.

Now, let's just hope no one accidentally steps on Dustin Pedroia during postgame handshakes or anything. I envision the team boarding the bus to the airport one of these days and not being able to find Pedroia only to realize too late that he's stuck to the bottom of Papi's shoe. How about this, to keep him safe, after games, he can come and live on my bookshelf, right next to the bobbleheads. I think he'd fit in quite comfortably there between JD Drew and Pedro.

I can't keep at this all night. I must nourish myself and sleep and such. Look at me trying to set a healthy precedent early in the season. How long do you think that'll last? I've heard a vicious rumor that Matsuzaka's start tomorrow is happening at 1pm. This is bad news as I'll be in meetings all day and will remain unaware of just what is going down in Kansas City. But I trust the troops will keep me informed via endless text messages, etc. If it's anything like the Tom Brady Baby Mama Drama, I will be informed endlessly. But for the time being, I leave the game in the capable (if oft-blistered) hands of Josh Beckett. And Mike Lowell. You know, just for insurance.

Edit: And now that I've professed awe at Mike Lowell's defensive wizardry, he has made back-to-back errors as he clearly cares nothing for me or my accuracy. There goes my Pulitzer.

Reversal of Fortune

(Photo from Boston.com)

Apparently, we had things backwards. Gil Meche, who we'd all been making fun of for being the answer to the Royals sturm und drang was actually quite masterful while Curt Schilling - no stranger to blustering himself - was, um, not. And come on, I simply won't believe you if you said, "Oh, Gil Meche is gonna turn that team around. No, really, he's the man. Smart signing by the Royals." It was more like, "Who? Meche? ::snicker:: Pshaw, Okay."

Now, obviously, it is not time to freak out. You hear that WEEI callers? Put down the receiver and slowly back away! We are a nation of fanatics for sure but honestly, keep it together, okay? At least until the end of the Royals series.

Truth be told, I saw only the tail end of the debacle yesterday as I figured it's bad form to start swearing at the little Gamecast men on the computer during one's first day on the job. But that's all right. Because this way, I can pretend that it didn't really happen. Sure, call it denial if you want, but come mid-season when the Captain is batting .075 and JD Drew has been replaced by a marionette on wheels, denial is gonna be my best friend.

And honestly, things don't look that bad. Ortiz is still driving in runs and over there in the Land of the Lost, A-Rod is making errors. So there are signs of positive things to come. So I say we all just take a big breath - unless you're Schilling as that'll just give him more time to talk - and call this one a do-over. Although Beckett pitches on Wednesday, doesn't he? On second thought, someone hold me.