Surviving Grady

Must Love Kids, Lugo, Green Fur

2008-07-23T06:51:00.004-04:00

Attention, boss: You know I love you dearly. But my dream job--the job I was clearly destined to hold since day one--has finally become available.

Yes, America. The Red Sox are looking to hire a new Wally.

Here's my favorite part of the job description on the official MLB application: "Must be able to withstand high heat in costume and be able to lift 50 pounds." Ironically, that was also a requirement of dating my college girlfriend. But I digress.

I like to think I've got an inside track for this job, having been helping Wally write his blog for the last few years. Let's check a few samples, shall we?

* * * * * * * *

"So today I'm working the spring training crowd. Giving them my everything, because I'm their clown. Their green, good-natured clown and I jump when they pull the strings. Later, I stopped for a smoke in what I thought was a deserted side of the ballpark. But a pretty teenage girl wandered past me, waving politely and giving me that look that only teenage girls can give. 'Don't you ever get to take off the costume?' she asked me with a grin. I just nodded and sighed and watched her walk away. Sure, I could have told her how my mother ignored medical convention and drank straight vodka throughout her pregnancy. Or how my father skipped town at the first sight of my green, furry hands as they clutched at my rattle. Or how I still feel the verbal slings and barbs of the children in the schoolyard as I stumbled in my size 15EEE sneakers. But really, what's the point?"

* * * * * * * *

"Had another meeting with Remy this morning. He seemed really jazzed about some of my ideas when I mentioned them to him last night, but over coffee this morning? Zilch. Guy just sat there smoking his cigs and drinking his coffee and looking at his watch like he had a bus to catch. I showed him some preliminary sketches for the Wally cartoon he said he'd help me pitch to NESN, but he didn't like any of my story ideas. 'Ya got anything that doesn't involve hookers?' he kept asking me, like he knows what the public wants. I just grumbled and told him I'd keep working on stuff. I appreciate all his help, but I swear, if he f--ks me out of this payday, the man is dead to me."

* * * * * * * *

"Well, I met a live one last night at the local watering hole. Lips out to here, ass like a goddam Graff Zeppelin. Big enough to hold a fifteen-course meal as my Uncle Tony would say. Had a good roll in the hay, but then she wakes up with this attitude, claiming I told her I'd introduce her to Varitek and threatening to go to the authorities. I called DeMarlo and he showed up with some of his 'magic chloroform juice' and we were able to put her lights out but good. Dropped her off at a Home Depot parking lot down in West Palm and signed her stomach, 'Thanks for the good time, Julian T.' to throw the dogs off the trail."

* * * * * * * *

"It's official: the cock tattoo was a bad idea."

Why Don't We Do It In The Road

2008-07-22T08:05:00.003-04:00

Meet Jon Lester, the unlikely savior. With another brilliant performance, Lester put a halt to the second-half losing streak and led the Sox to a rare road win. Seven-and-a-third shutout innings with six K's and ZERO walks. Enter Jon Papelbon for a 13-pitch, 5-out save, and the Sox have a nice one-game winning streak intact. Cutting the shaky middle relief completely out of the picture certainly helps.

To add to the unlikely events of the night, Jason Varitek hit a two-run homer, and Jed Lowrie added a couple of RBI to round out the scoring.

For comic relief, Lester had a "wardrobe malfunction" that brought Francona to the mound:

He also had manager Terry Francona and a trainer out to the mound when he tugged at the inside of his leg after a pitch in the sixth inning. A protective cup had painfully pinched a certain area. "You've got to wear them and sometimes they get in the way," Lester said, with a wry smile. Francona had to laugh at that -- and, for a change, at a game away from Fenway Park.

Finally, how's the Mike Moffit character on Seinfeld for a Youk "seperated at birth?"

What Was Sean Casey Thinking?

2008-07-21T11:14:00.003-04:00

The more I look at that strikeout by Sean Casey in the top of the ninth last night, the more I'm convinced that his mind must have been elsewhere during this critical moment of the game. How else to explain that mad swat at a ball that was already in the dirt before it reached the plate? The question is... what was on his mind? The fear that parents may take their kids to see the The Dark Knight, thinking it to be escapist fare for young'uns? Was he concerned that the new Sugarland CD is never going to live up to the hype? Myself, I'm convinced that he spent the previous inning conferring with Future Sean Casey, who had just returned from October 2008, and the conversation went something like this:

Future Sean Casey: Hey, I was just here. Well, just here three months from now. But still.

Sean Casey: What were you doing in Anaheim, Future Me?

Future Sean Casey: ALDS, baby. And it ain't pretty.

Sean Casey: Oh no.

Future Sean Casey: Not for us, mind you. For them.

Sean Casey: Really?

Future Sean Casey: Yep. More of the same. Swept away like the remnants of a Hostess Fruit Pie.

Sean Casey: Do they take it... badly?

Future Sean Casey: Vlad Guerrero quits the Game and goes back to the music business. Chone and Maicer are ordered by the governor to leave California. Anaheim is torched and sunk at sea. Oh, and someone teabags Scioscia during a press conference.

Sean Casey: Well, we have to stop this.

Future Sean Casey: You can't prevent the future from happening. The course has been set. You can only sit back and watch it roll.

Sean Casey: I can at least give the people of Anaheim something to smile about today. Just watch me!

::Swings horrifically at ball in the dirt for strike three::

Future Sean Casey: ::watching the cheering crowd:: Oh, if they only knew...

Ah, we'll get 'em in Seattle. Future Mike Lowell says so.

Mama Told Me There'd Be Days Like These

2008-07-20T11:55:00.003-04:00

It seems like any series played away from Fenway in 2008 is an experiment in torture. The first two games against the California Anaheim Los Angeles Angels has been no different. Friday we had the tease and smackdown where the Angels jumped up early, only to let the Sox creep back into it before lowering the hammer. Yesterday, it was worse. We had our ace on the mound mowing down Angels' hitters like a drunk through a bottle of Boone's Farm. Then came the dreaded ONE BAD INNING and suddenly we were looking at a two-run deficit.

Hey, no problem, we'll just load the bases in the eighth. And with two outs and Lowrie's turn in the batting order, we'll pinch hit The Mayor and steal this thing back. Tito had other ideas. What they were, I'm still not sure. If it was possible to strike out on two pitches, Lowrie would have. It was possibly the worst at-bat I've ever seen. Threat over, and with K-Rod looming in the ninth, game over.

Tonight, (and by the way my personal favorite - the Sunday 6:00PM game) we look to the elder statesman to stop the bleeding. T-Wake, do your thing.

Until then, I'll be torturing my Erick Aybar voodoo doll in ways I can't even mention.

Strange days indeed.

Papelbon, Sox Appeal and the Missed Opportunity

2008-07-19T19:46:00.004-04:00

New promo spots for Sox Appeal are up at NESN.com. I've only seen the one with Wally on TV, but of all three, I must say that I like the Papelbon one best. That said, I think the creative powers missed a great opportunity here. Is it just me, or would that spot be just a little bit cooler if, after ushering off the fumbling, would-be suitor, Paps himself turned to the girl and, arching an eyebrow, gave her a little, "How ya'll doin'?" or something like that. It just seems to be aching for a "this is a job for Jonathan Papelbon moment," you know? A final scene that drives home the point that "I am Jonathan Papelbon, satisfier of women, smasher of worlds, sultan of awesome, and lord of all I survey, and while you are incapable of satisfying this woman, I, myself, am all too capable." But it never happened. Instead, Paps just kinda waves him off, and that's that. Creative forces behind this ad: You've got one of the most colorful characters to ever don a Sox uni at your disposal. Give the guy something cool to do!

"I Waited Five Days For This?" or "Things to Talk About Instead of Anaheim Stepping On Clay Buchholz's Nuts"

2008-07-19T08:32:00.003-04:00

The boys get a mulligan for last night's fisting in Anaheim. Mostly because I passed out halfway through, and if I can't get it up for the first game back after the All-Star break, how can I expect the lads to? We've got Beckett today and that's usually all it takes to re-right the ship.

In other, cheerier news, one of our favorite blogs is Jere Smith's A Red Sox Fan in Pinstripe Territory, where Yankee-hating is flung to bold new heights almost every day (and his recent All-Star game rants were things of beauty). Jere and his mom, author Mary-Ann Tirone Smith, have collaborated on a new mystery novel, Dirty Water, that skillfully combines everything we love about the Red Sox--the players, the Park, the fans -- into a gritty, suspenseful tale that begins with an abandoned baby found in the Olde Towne Team's clubhouse. In a cool technique, much of the plot advances through the posts of a mysterious blogger, and Jere is nice enough to name-drop a number of Sox bloggers--including our worthless asses--among the comments. Best of all are the guest appearances by the players we know and love: David Ortiz (basically a supporting character in the book, who will no doubt be played by Yaphet Kotto in the film version), Daisuke, Teets, Theo. Hell, even Amalie Benjmain shows up, looking positively fabulous if only in my mind's eye. Folks, if you're gonna read a book, shouldn't it be a mystery novel with Papi and Amalie? My point exactly. Reading Dirty Water is like sitting in your favorite Fenway-area pub, watching the game while seated between Dennis Lehane and Peter Gammons. And that's my kinda place. You can pre-order your copy here.

Lastly, speaking of bloggers, happy one year anniversary to Melissa at Out in Centerfield, another of our favorite Sox blogs. Here's to many more!

Big Papi: In The Mood

2008-07-18T16:26:00.000-04:00

As if just the return of baseball wasn't enough after the three-day-seems-like-three-weeks break, we get great news from "down on the farm." Big Papi is back, and swinging a big bat. He went 1-for-3 with a walk, but the one was a shot into the opposing bullpen. And it felt good.

From Boston.com:

Though he said he misses playing at Fenway and that he's eager to rejoin the Red Sox, Ortiz said hearing the "Papi!" chant made him feel at home. "That's exactly what happens at Fenway," he said. "They're calling your name and it kind of pumps you up, puts you in the mood."

Of course, the Yankees countered with a big bat of their own, signing Richie Sexson and his .218 batting average and 30 RBI. Coming off his 2007 season of .205, I guess he's trending upward?

10:05 start on the left coast, see you then.

She Said, "Balls To Ya Daddy. I Ain't Never Comin' Back."

2008-07-18T07:56:00.005-04:00

Jeebus, see what happens when there's no baseball to be played? People start getting ornery with each other. Like Manny and John Henry:

“I want no more (expletive) where they tell you one thing and behind your back they do another thing,” Ramirez told The Herald. “I think I’ve earned that respect, for a team to sit down with me and tell me this is what we want, this is what we want to do.”

“I find remarks that we have been anything other than completely straightforward to be personally offensive,” Henry wrote. “Manny has been a crucial part of two world championships. I do not believe we would have won either without him. He has never played a more important role than he has thus far this year.”

I hope I'm wrong, but I'm starting to get the feeling that we'll be living a Manny-free existance next season.

Oh, and thanks to everyone who left some songage in yesterday's summer tunes post; lots of great stuff there. Props also to commenter Ben, who points out that Prime Minister Pete Nice (born Pete Nash), formerly of 3rd Bass, is co-owner of McGreevey's on Boylston and a right fine baseball nut in his own right. The Prime Minister even stops to give the Rocket the gas face:

"It's so amazing that someone with a two-decade career and that record of excellence now might as well be Mark Fidrych," Nash says. "I mean, what's left of Clemens' legacy?"

Word.

The Results Are In...

2008-07-17T15:08:00.004-04:00

With half a season behind us and home-field wrapped up for the World Series, let's take a quick look at the Red Sox performance that landed them in first place. CBS Sportsline has given the team an "A" but even though they are currently enjoying the view from first place, I'm not sure it was an A-worthy first half. I've plagiarized the following from my article in last week's Barstool Sports.

Starting Pitching:

Last winter, we all thought the Red Sox would return in 2008 with pretty much the same rotation that won the World Series. Then Schilling went down in a blaze of controversy. Whether you considered him the ace, a strong number two starter or a great third starter, losing him hurt. Suddenly the likes of Justin Masterson and the Rotund One himself, Bartolo Colon, are part of the mix. And it has all worked perfectly. The combo of Beckett, Dice-K, Lester, Wakefield and Masterson are 33-18. Buchholz and Colon are 6-5. Lester has been everything Theo wanted when he refused to deal him, and Wake is on one of his near-unhittable runs. Look elsewhere for problems; we’re giving the starters an A.

Offense:

Here’s the deal: you take a guy like David Ortiz out of your line-up and you’re gonna suffer. It’s like taking “Coach” off of Cheers, things drop a level with “Woody” in the line-up. Looking at the woeful road record, particularly in one-run games, and you just know with Papi’s bat in the middle of the order, things would be different. Thankfully, there have been a few guys who have stepped up big. JD Drew, whose head I called for on a nightly basis in ’07, has been off the charts. Pedroia and Youk have been tearing it up, Ellsbury continues to make things happen, and Mikey Lowell has been old reliable. That’s the good news. Not only have there been a few “Manny being Albert Belle” issues, but the Man-Ram just isn’t getting it done. But the real rally-killers have been Lugo and Cap’n Tek. It seems like every time there are runners on and two outs, one of those two steps into the batter’s box and ends the inning. Usually with a horrific strike out or feeble grounder. Overall we’ll call it a B.

Bullpen:

Here’s where the trouble really begins. With Dice-K averaging just over 5 innings per start and Masterson and Colon not going deep into games, the bullpen has been taxed. Not only that, they’ve also sucked. Mike Timlin needs to hang up the spikes. I love everything the guy has done, but he just can’t do it any more. 6.75 ERA and opponents batting .312 against him. Time to go hunting, Mike. Craig Hansen can’t get big-league hitters out. He gets two strikes and just doesn’t have a reliable out pitch. A 5.84 ERA with 17 walks in 24 innings is going to hurt the team. Okajima - what happened here? His stats look OK but if you’ve seen him pitch, he’s not OK. He looks like he’s trying to pass a kidney stone when he’s on the mound. Delcarmen has shown flashes of brilliance but has been inconsistent. Gotta give them a D and hope for better days to come.

Closer:

Papelbon is still the man. Four blown saves, but there is nobody in the game I’d rather see take the ball in the ninth with a one-run lead. 47 K’s in 37 innings, and just 7 walks. And he’s even gone beyond his Irish Jig and co-starred with Delcarmen in a “Blame it on the Rain” music video. The guy should have his own reality show.

Manager:

Tito shows up every day, makes the line-up, and then sits there rocking back-and-forth like a retard while chomping on a mouthful of shit. And he wins games. I’ll be the first to throw a half-empty nip of schnapps at the TV and curse his name once in a while, but overall he gets it done. I question his use of Oki, and the way he uses (or doesn’t use) pinch hitters, but he’s Tito and he gets a B+.

Defense:
The defense is rock solid. Two potential gold-glove centerfielders, a first baseman that hasn’t made an error since Jesus was in diapers, and steady Mike Lowell at the other corner. Here comes the “but” – Julio Fucking Lugo. The guy can’t field. He’s compiled a staggering 16 errors already. Who ever thought the chant of “Ed-gar’s Bet-ter” would be a possibility? Defense gets a B, a solid A if Lugo goes missing, and I know people that could make that happen for fifty bucks.

Not a bad first half, all things considered. The second place standing in the AL East is an anomaly, not a long-term thing. The Rays will fade back into obscurity and return to being the fun, young team that is a few players away from competing.

Keep in mind this was written on July 6th, so the last paragraph was pretty prophetic. And the paragraph before that - best $50 I ever spent, other than that night in Tijuana.

Off-Day Diversions: Greatest Summer Songs Ever!

2008-07-17T06:26:00.005-04:00

Savvy readers of this blog know two things: First, I'm not quite right in the head. Second, besides the Sox and imitating a woodpecker at the local deli, one of my greatest passions is music. So rather than waste more space on how much I despise the Yankees--and it's good to see that the All-Star game has helped refuel that hatred, as I thought I might be getting soft in my advanced age--or how much I miss Tina C, I figured I'd tap your collective brains to uncover the greatest summer songs of all time.

Now these songs don't necessarily have to mention the word "summer" in their titles; hell, they don't have to mention "summer" anywhere in the lyrics, either. I just want to know the songs that, as soon as you hear them, teleport you to a sunny August afternoon on the beach, in the casino, or at the rifle range.

Okay... go:

"The Boys of Summer" by Don Henley: Infectious chorus, check. Title that evokes baseball, the greatest summertime sport of all, check. Wigged-out guitars that sound like creepy seagulls in the background, check. Deadhead sticker reference, check. Congratulations, Mr. Henley, you've got a summer classic. Now go on out and get yourself laid!

"Steal My Sunshine" by Len: Like most great tunes, the lyrics make no sense whatsoever. "Now the fuzzy stare from not being there on a confusing morning week/impaired my tribal lunar-speak/and of course you can't become if you only say what you would have done/so i missed a million miles of fun." The f#$k? No matter; I get sunburn everytime I hear this thing.

"Centerfield" by John Fogerty: Try listening to this song on a dark January afternoon, while sitting on your steps in a parka and Gore-Tex gloves. Not quite the same, is it?

"Velvet Roof" by Buffalo Tom: Any song with the lyrics, "Scraggly hair and messed up shoes/I'm looking all around for you" is gonna get played at my summer parties. And this one has for more than a decade. Good stuff as always from the local heroes.

"You Really Got Me" by Van Halen: To paraphrase the great Nigel Tufnel, when you want to push your summer bash "to eleven," just crank this.

"Summertime Girls" by Y&T: Hey, listen, I lived through '80s hair metal the first time around and this track represents everything that was so goddam cheesy about that genre: sophomoric lyrics ("she's hot!" is an actual line of the song), overzealous keyboards and a video with a robot. But I still can't resist its gentle allure. Damn you, "Summertime Girls"!

"Surf Wax America" by Weezer: Great soundtrack for waxin' down the board. if you catch my drift. Wink, wink.

"Shaniqua" by Little T and One Track Mike: Voice on the speakers: "Is Shaniqua there?" Everyone in attendance at your party: "Hell, no!" Works every time.

"Mr. Brightside" by The Killers: Actually, I'll look for any excuse to crank this one. Possibly the greatest song of the last decade.

"Save It For Later" by the English Beat: The aural equivalent of sunshine. How can you feel bad when this song is playing? Not physically possible. Unless, of course, someone's tapping your nuts with a hammer while you're listening.

"Come On Come On" by Cheap Trick: Everytime I hear this one, I'm an awkward teen in some '80s softcore flick (think "Porky's" or "Joystick") watching Pheobe Cates cavorting by the swimming pool. Even though I'm really just an awkward adult. With a Red Sox blog.

"I'm Gonna Make You Love Me" by the Jayhawks: Forget the stalker-ific lyrics. This is perfect lounging-around-the-backyard-with-some-ice-cold-beers-on-a-sticky-afternoon music. Preferably with a potential hump-mate.

"Rockaway Beach" by the Ramones: This should be installed on every iPod at the motherflippin' factory. Everyone needs the Ramones.

"You Took The Words Right Out of My Mouth (Hot Summer Night)" by Meat Loaf: Do I really have to explain this?

"Brooklyn Queens" by 3rd Bass: Somehow, this one gets me thinking of hazy afternoons on a Brooklyn stoop, watching the fly girls walk by. And this from a guy who grew up in West Roxbury.

"Down to London" by Joe Jackson: I was in London the first time I heard this. And it happened to be summer. Thus, a memory was born.

"Livin' On a Prayer" by Bon Jovi: If your summer cookouts don't climax with at least one drunken idiot screaming this at their top of his or her lungs as the cops drag him/her off and the hookers trash your pool and the roof slowly burns off your house, well... I feel bad for you.

And yours?

Sex Addicts Unite!

2008-07-16T19:06:00.003-04:00

The headline above is all I kept thinking when A-Rod and W-Boggs activated Wonder Twin Powers during yesterday's pre-game festivities at the Toilet.

Also, why does George Brett always looks like he wants to punch someone? Is it the pine tar thing after all these years? Or the Ben Gay thing?

So We'll Take Our World Series Trophy and The All-Star Game MVP and Head Back to Boston, Thanks.

2008-07-16T06:28:00.002-04:00

You knew it was gonna happen. Hell, your dog and your senile grandmother and your old Atari 2600 console knew it was gonna happen. But somehow, hearing the Red Sox players -- particularly the Papel-Bot -- booed mercilessly and relentlessly by the crowds at the Shitdium last night bothered me a lot more than it should have. So it was particularly satisfying to see J.D. Drew walk off with the MVP award. The only thing better would've been if Bud gave the greenlight to implode the place immediately after the final out (and the Sox players were safely whisked away by hovercraft).

Two more days to go without Red Sox baseball, people. We can get through this. Together, we can.

Please Justin, Get A Hit...

2008-07-16T00:06:00.002-04:00

But it wasn't meant to be. Miggy Tejada made a sweet defensive play to leave 'em loaded in the bottom of the tenth. Somewhere, Bud Selig is on the floor in the fetal position, flashbacks of the 2002 disaster replaying in his mind. Next to him, a half-written thank you letter to Dan Uggla who almost single-handedly gave the game to the AL in the tenth. In the top of the inning, Uggla grounded into a double play with a man on third. In the bottom of the frame, he made back-to-back errors on ground balls to put the first two batters on base. Aaron Cook and the defense bailed him out with three consecutive ground balls to escape the inning.

Confession time: after watching the opening ceremony, I didn't watch a minute of the game until I turned it on in the tenth. I know it's the last midsummer classic to be played in Ruth's house, but I think leaving King George out of the festivities might have been a wise choice.

While Teddy Ballgame was physically debilitated in the 1999 celebration at Fenway, he was lucid and articulate chatting with the players, particularly his goosebump-inducing comments to Nomar. Steinbrenner, on the other hand, looked like an understudy in Weekend At Bernies III: A Day At The Park. It was hard to tell if he was crying while taking his victory lap around the park in a golf cart, or unloading in his Depends.

Speaking of Ted Williams, with all of the overdone fanfare and the Steinbrenner trot-out, I half expected them to unveil Number 9's head during the pregame, Seven-style.

And with that, even though IT MATTERS!, I'm off to bed.

Further Proof That Jonathan Papelbon Needs to Be Mic'ed 24/7

2008-07-15T18:46:00.003-04:00

I swear, the guy opens his mouth, and out pops magic.

"If I was managing the team, I would close," Papelbon said. "I'm not managing the team, so it don't matter."

Papelbon, though, seemed to believe that Boston's championship a year ago not only ensured Terry Francona's place as the American League manager, but him being the closer.

"We've both earned that right; us, by winning the World Series and having the opportunity of having our manager there and our team being represented, and Mariano by what he's done for this role, we're in Yankee Stadium and blah, blah, blah," Papelbon said. "It's not that easy. Everybody thinks it's a cut and dry answer, but it's not."

Asked if Francona would make it out of the Bronx alive if he didn't use Rivera in the ninth, Papelbon said, "You're starting to scare me with that question. Do you have the mob after him or something?"

You can have McCain and Obama. I'm voting Papelbon.

All Star Memories: The Summer of Pedro

2008-07-15T07:38:00.004-04:00

Screw the Summer of George. 1999 was the Summer of Pedro. Watching him tie up batters in fits and play Superman to Clemens' Lex Luthor helped take the sting and sweat out of the air better than a busload of Coors Light. And smack dab at its center was his electrifying performance in the 1999 All Star Game. All of a sudden, the world was in his house, and he responded by striking out the first four batters he faced--including noted Vitamin Poppers Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa--and serving notice that with him at the reins, the Sox would be a force to be reckoned with down the stretch. And if we'd only had a few more horses of his calibre on the team, we might have been able to overtake New York in the ALCS just a few months later.

Anyway, here's the World's Skinniest Jedi fooling McGwire and Sosa from the 1999 All Star Game.

Oh, and who was the starting pitcher for the National league that year, you ask? Philadelphia's own Curt Schilling!

I Love The Smell Of First Place In The Morning

2008-07-14T15:01:00.000-04:00

And in the afternoon. And pretty much any other time. All-star break 2008, and the Red Sox are sitting exactly where they should be: atop the AL East standings. Sure, it's only half a game and they took a strange path to get there, but in the end it really only matters that they are there.

For anyone that thought the Rays would hang on and win the division, I can only shake my head sadly and hope that next time you'll have a little...what's the word...faith. The Rays are a fun team, always worthy of a good brawl, but they were way over their heads in this thing. Honestly, I didn't expect the meltdown to happen until..another of my favorites here...the dog days of August. I'm sure by now the entire Rays roster has taken the PA announcer that blared "Sweet Caroline" after the sweep out behind the Trop and treated him to a little frontier justice. Not that it was his (or her) fault that are in an 0-7 slump, but it was a serious violation of Karma. Nope, getting outscored 45-13 falls more on the players than any poor music selection.

So here we are. Schilling gone and all but forgotten, Papi nursing an injured wrist, and the Captain in a hitting slump of epic proportion, and still the Sox look down at the rest of the division. After the mid-summer classic, the next milestone of the season is the trading deadline. Assuming Ortiz is coming back healthy, I am of the opinion that the Red Sox essentially stand pat. Maybe a deal for another bullpen arm, but certainly not a trade of Youkilis-for-Teixeira proportions. What say you, SG Nation, on the second half roster?

NESN Presents The Adventures of Ellsbury 'n' Elf:Special All-Star Game Edition

2008-07-14T06:48:00.005-04:00

Time for a quick game of GTA?

Dude. I'm packing for the All-Star Game. Please respect the sanctity and emotion that surrounds this task.

::looks through his suitcase:: This is full of smoked meats.

I was once young and naive like you, Jacoby. Then I realized that meat is the nectar of All-Stars. All that protein and creatine helps drive my All-Star calibre of play.

So that's a "no"?

Damn straight. Brother, I am taking my game to the world's biggest stage and when one plays among the giants, it's important for him to look as if he belongs there.

Whatever.

::doorbell rings:: I'll get that. Probably my limo. Or the paparazzi.

Hey.

Mark Bellhorn, St. Lukes alumnus and cult hero of the 2004 Sox? What are you doing here?

I told him he could bunk out while you're gone.

Oh?

Heck, you're not gonna be here. I figgered another not-so-tall Red Sox second baseman could fill the void while you're off with the All-Stars.

Well, I mean... I'm just in New York.

What's in the suitcase, Mark?

Quite a treasure trove, my friend. Every episode of South Park and Family Guy on DVD. Also, some old Planet of the Apes films on reel-to-reel, and, as promised, ten hours of personal home video footage shot by the 2004 team members, including that bit where Curt Leskanic tries to sneak out of debtor's prison disguised as a French woman.

Freakin' awesome.

I'm only four hours away, really. I mean... I could swing back after media day, and...

Also, as you know, I've also been dabbling in the culinary arts. I've prepared a menu befitting a couple hard-drinking, fun-loving professional baseball players. Tonight, it's classic beef tenderloin with Bearnaise, served by my friends, the hookers!

Hey dudes.

::The Next Day::

The f#$k is Pedroia? That little weasel better not let me down.

I didn't see him on the train, sarge.

::Back home::

So I figured they have an All-Star Game every year. But dinner with my favorite roomie, Mark Bellhorn and a coupla hookers? That's a once-in-a-lifetime thing.

More steak, Dustin?

Just keep it coming until my arteries explode.

You've outdone yourself, again, Mark.

Save room for dessert. I'm making spoon bread.

Getting back to my story. The toughest part of my disguise was fashioning crude fake breasts out of an old catcher's mitt...

Let's go kill some birds. I'm psyched.

2008-07-13T00:05:00.001-04:00

For about the last twenty years or so, nothing's cured what ails the Red Sox like a series against the O's at Fenway. Friday night, at first glance, might look like an aberration but it was really a case of the Sox running into a quality pitcher. "But's he's 7-5 with an ERA over 5" you say, in a voice that's a bit too whinney for my liking. True, my statistically-aware friend, but the numbers are misleading. Burres is 0-5 with an ERA over 7 when pitching on his normal four days rest. With an extra day (or more), as was the case Friday, Burres is 7-0 with an ERA around 3. The guy just needs his rest.

So we tuck that loss quietly away and look at brighter things, like last night's shellacking of the orange birds. The good times were a-plenty. Drew and Manny going back-to-back, both in opposite-field style. And by the by, Manny hit that thing flat-footed with no more effort than if he was swatting at a fly. Youk, whacking his first career grand slam (oh, how we could have used that in the 9th on Friday) and plating 6 RBI. T-Wake, continuing his assault on anyone stepping in the box against him - another 7-inning start, two hits, one run. And finally, The Mayor, for the second night in a row almost hitting one out of the park. Casey won't be mistaken for Jacoby Ellsbury any time soon, but what would you say best describes his attempt at a double?

Lumbering towards second...

Running in quicksand...

Chugging around first...

Carrying a piano...

He's no gazelle, let's leave it at that.

In other news, Big Papi may be back in the line-up on July 25th. And Julio Lugo will not, so we've got that going for us...which is nice.

Josh Beckett's Belt Is More Street Than You

2008-07-12T08:05:00.002-04:00

Our pal Derjue covered the Beckett Bowl for Boston Magazine's blog, reminding us that Josh's sheer awesomeness is so outrageous, even his belt could probably kick our asses:

As Josh Beckett walked the red carpet of last night’s Second Annual Beckett Bowl, we noticed he was wearing a gigantic belt buckle that, at first glance, looked to be the Red Sox B, paired with jeans and a button-down shirt. But when we spied the same logo on a bracelet his girlfriend was wearing, we saw it was a little different.

“It’s his brand,” Whitney Hayes said over the wails of frenzied fans begging for autographs.

As city-dwelling northerners, we immediately thought she meant it in the sneakers and politics sense of the word. But she meant it in the traditional cattle-singeing sense of branding. (It also appears on the gates of Beckett’s Herradura Ranch.)

In other news, Sox drop one to the O's, but on a night when the Rays and Yanks both lose, we can deal.

Enjoy your Saturday. Get drunk. Check the ladies. And we'll see you at 7:05 for the Wakefield Variety Hour.

Also: the greatest summer song of all time.

The Rays: No Longer Cute

2008-07-11T00:31:00.001-04:00

I guess when you take a crappy team that's never had a winning record - Christ, never won more than 70 games! - and put them in first place in mid-July, you have to expect they'll be out of their element. Sure, the win-thirsty fans might get a little mouthy, the players might start to strut around, chests puffed out more than usual, but you would think the Tampa media would try to keep an even keel about the way things are going, I mean it's been 10 years of off-the-charts sucking. But some people just can't handle the truth. It was clearly documented by both Red and I that playing "Sweet Caroline" after sweeping the Sox was creating some seriously bad mojo - like tugging-on-Superman's-cape-or-messin'-around-with-Jim kinda bad. And sure enough the Rays have lost four straight, two of those to the Yankees, getting outscored 27-7.

So you can blame it on a wise-ass PA dude at the Trop for creating the Curse of Neil Diamond and sending the Rays back into obscurity, 'cause that's where I think they're destined to end up. But check out an article in The St. Petersburg Times, cleverly called "10 reasons to hate the Red Sox" by one Tom Jones. Not the Tom Jones, at least we don't think so. It is so poorly written and factually inaccurate that it makes anything the Post or the Daily News ever spit out look like Pulitzer Prize material.

The fans

Red Sox Nation? They weren't even known as "Red Sox Nation" until they started winning championships, which in case New Englanders forget (and it seems they have) was only a few years ago. Before 2004, Red Sox fans were like Cubs fans: lovable losers. You felt sorry for them when Bucky Dent, Bill Buckner and Aaron Boone happened. Then they won a World Series and then another and now they, including all the bandwagon jumpers, parade around like they invented the game. They were more fun — and a whole lot classier — when they were cursed.

Wrong. The term was first coined by a Boston Globe Writer in 1986, then made popular ten years later in a book titled "At Fenway: Dispatches From Red Sox Nation" by none other than the Curly-Haired Boyfriend. And does this guy really want to talk about bandwagon fans?

Curt Schilling

I know he's not around, and, sincerely, we hate to see anyone's career end on an injury. But …
Shut up. Please. Please shut up. You talk too much. Remember a few years ago when he popped off on Lou Piniella, claiming Piniella no longer knows how the game is played? (This year's NL Central standings suggest otherwise.) That's just one of like a million things Schilling, right, has said over the years — to newspaper reporters, on the radio, on TV … in his own blog! I swear, someday a YouTube clip is going to show him rubbing ketchup on that, ahem, bloody sock. Okay, we get it, you had a cut on your foot.

Wow. I know he probably isn't serious...but...wow. And did he really say "right" in the middle of a sentence?

Oh yeah, sure, Red Sox GM Theo Epstein, right, is a genius. It takes real brilliance to recognize that Josh Beckett and Mike Lowell are, uh, pretty good and we should write them a check from a limitless bank account. No, genius is trading away a player like Delmon Young for Matt Garza and Jason Bartlett.

Newsflash: we traded for Beckett and Lowell! There's a guy named Hanley we gave up in this deal playing pretty well right now.

Jason Varitek's C

Jason Varitek is the Red Sox captain, and he wears a "C" on his uniform. This isn't hockey. Why is he the only guy in baseball wearing a C? In fact, what does a baseball captain even do? Wearing a "C" is just arrogant. "Hey, look at us, we have a captain." "Hey, lookie at me. I'm the leader." The Yankees have a captain, too, but you don't see Derek Jeter feeling the need to announce to the world that he has a job that has no duties. If you want to lead, then lead. But you don't have to tell everyone that you lead.

Yeah...there's actually only a handful of teams who even designate a captain, Jeter being one of them, and as far as what they do...nothing. So why do they need the title (or the "C") and other teams don't? It's something called "respect" given to long-term members of a team.

Coco Crisp and Jonathan Papelbon

Don't get us started on Coco. He starts all the trouble by spiking Akinori Iwamura then has the nerve to storm the mound when James Shields hits him in the leg? Whatever. Everything calms down, everything is evened up then Papelbon, right, runs his mouth about the whole thing not being over. Unless you plan on grabbing a bat and standing in a batter's box, you probably shouldn't say anything. And while we're at it, does Kevin Youkilis have to wet his pants and throw helmets every time he gets called out on strikes or pops up with a runner on third and one out?

As far as the Papelbon and Youk comments...never mind, not worth responding to. And yes, he did drop another "right" in the middle of a sentence.

Listen, I understand this was probably a harmless attempt at "tongue-in-cheek" humor, but it's July. When Labor Day has come and gone and the kiddies are back in school and the Rays are firmly entrenched in third place, I'll be checking Tommy's column out to see how funny he is then.

Starring the Red Sox as Godzilla and the Minnesota Twins as Tokyo

2008-07-10T06:27:00.003-04:00

Looking at the end result, it's hard to believe that for the first six and a half innings, yesterday's series finale between the Sox and Twinkies was an actual game. It didn't become a farce until the bottom of the seventh when the Twins had a triple play overruled and everything went to shyte for them rather quickly.

When the dust settled, the Sox had 23 hits--including four from Ellsbury and three from Manny, Youk and Casey--and basically tested the resolve of the Fenway Faithful by forcing them to endure four hours in the merciless, swamp-like heat.

My favorite quote on the day came from Twins skipper Ron Gardenhire:

“This is a tough place to play. Their hitters come alive here. We’ve seen that over the years, and today was a great example of it. Balls start flying around — balls in the corner, balls all over the place, the whole package. This team gets on a roll here and they’re hard to stop.”

If someone at Red Sox Co. isn't trademarking "Fenway Park: Balls All Over the Place" at this very minute, then I've lost all my faith in big league marketing.

Manny Ramirez Cordially Invites You to Screw Out of Work and Join Him at Fenway This Afternoon

2008-07-09T06:53:00.007-04:00

Look, the Red Sox are back home at Fenway where they're just about invincible. And they're pulling off dramatic, late-inning wins again. And Manny's going deep and looking giddier than ever. And Commander Kick Ass of the F@#k Yeah Brigade is on the hill today.

Sadly, the game starts at 1:05pm--a time that those of us who revel in gainful employment are typically working our asses off under the thumb of The Man. But there's no reason you have to be a slave to the hand that feeds you, especially when you consider that the season's half over, and these afternoons at the ballpark will soon be a distant memory, lost in hills of fluffy snow. Carpe diem, motherf@#kers! Here's how you can still enjoy today's game:

The Vendor Meeting: Talk loudly to no one in particular about how you're going to give that no-good vendor "what for" (the important thing is being heard by at least three co-workers, preferably at least one of managerial status). Then have your friend Sue or Jeffrey arrive at your offices in a neatly-pressed business suit (here, we exploit a well-known fact of the business world: while everyone knows the company has vendors, no one really knows who these vendors are or what they look like.) Explain to Sue/Jeffrey how you've "had it up to here with [their] inability to meet those performance metrics" as you walk down the hall with them. Bring Sue/Jeffrey into your office where you will close the door, change into your Red Sox attire, and exit through your office window, Fenway-bound. Please note that those of you without offices can still pull this off, although it involves burrowing through the floor of your cubicle, a la The Shawshank Redemption.

The Sick Aunt in Chelsea Whom You Have to Attend to at Once: Never fun to joke about ailing relatives. But ailing fake relatives? Game on!

The Tim McCarver: Book Tim McCarver for an impromptu motivational speech at your office. As McCarver launches into a semi-autobiographical anecdote relating business success to "owning a comfortable pair of cleats" and audience members (ie, your fellow workers) jump out windows, attempt to drown themselves in the coffee machine and stick their heads into the industrial shredders, call your friend to arrange to meet her at the Cask.

The Conference Call: Brag to a few people in the coffee room about how you've got a big conference call planned with home office (if you happen to be working from the home office, you can substitute "the guys upstate" or "our branch affiliates" or "Morgan Burkhart"). No one needs to know exactly what the topic is; just throw around a few key buzzwords like "deregulation" and "onboarding" and "accelerated culture" and people will just nod quietly, terrified to admit they have no idea what you mean. At 1:05pm, attach a sticky note to your door that reads "Conference call in progress. Do not disturb." Tune radio to WEEI. Grab Bud Light and sandwich from briefcase. Remove pants.

The Wade Boggs: Will yourself invisible. Casually walk down hall. Open office door, depart. If anyone calls you on it -- ie, you were unsuccessful in your attempt to will yourself invisible -- just tell them they should attend to their own problems, like "that copyroom incident." When they ask what you meant by that, switch your jetpack to "hyperdrive" and blast off, leaving them to their miserable, desk-bound, jetpack-free existence. And we'll see you at the ballpark.

Redemption Comes at Home, Guest Starring Heidi Watney

2008-07-08T05:37:00.006-04:00

For most of my life, going to a game at Fenway meant sitting in Dad's seats--the grandstands in section 16. Not exactly the most comfortable place to lay one's 6'2" frame, but, hey, it's Fenway with Dad and you really can't beat that combination. Last night, I got a new perspective, as my sister and brother-in-law hooked me up with some choice seating in the section 27 box seats, three rows from the field and directly behind the NESN camera pit. As an added bonus, I had my view of Daisuke Matsuzaka partially obscured a few times by the glorious Heidi Watney--who was literally so close I could've reached out and touched her, if I was the sort of guy who didn't care about prison or beatdowns at the hands of Fenway security. See that photo above, esteemed members of the law enforcement community? I laugh at your foolish "restraining orders"!

The game itself was a taut, engaging affair, with nobody pushing any runs across through the first seven-and-a-half innings. Just the sort of game you'd expect to be played on steamy night at Fenway where the sweat was literally pouring off everybody in the stands (and I distinctly watched sweat from the brim of the beer guy's cap drip into a few of the Bud Lights he poured--an added bonus!). Just when it looked like we couldn't buy a clutch hit with a sack of gold, Manny--last seen sleepwalking through a ninth-inning pinch hit stint at Yankee Stadium--came through in the bottom of the eighth with a clutch single to drive in The Elf with the lone run of the game. With that stroke of the bat, a brilliant showing by Daisuke, a rare instance of Okajima craftily escaping a men-on-base jam, and The Papel-Bot being vintage Papel-Bot, the Sox snapped their two-game skid and, at least for all of us drunk, sweaty buffoons in the stands at Fenway, erased the memories of that nutpunch of a roadtrip.

My personal favorite moment of the game came in the seventh, when a foul ball flew right down our way. While I often dream about making an heroic, bare-handed jab for such fouls, I actually kinda recoiled with what I'm sure was a schoolgirl-esque yelp as the ball shot toward us. It ended up caroming off the back of the seat of a kid sitting two rows in front of us. He snagged it off the floor, and had the damn thing signed by Ms. Watney herself.

Here you can see what she wrote: "Nice catch!"

Tonight, it's supposed to be even hotter at the ballpark. I'll be watching this one at home, awash in conditioned air and far cheaper beer. But, alas, no Heidi standing a couple feet in front of me. Unless, of course, my master plan comes together...

::Cue evil laughter::

Lastly, here's Pap coming into the game, as the PA system blares "Wild Thing."

...and Manny Ramirez as the Yeoman Purser

2008-07-07T05:49:00.007-04:00

That Manny cameo in the ninth was the most bizarre thing I've seen in some time. Looking as casual as a guy about to shoot a guest spot on The Love Boat, Manny sashayed to the plate, calmly watched three pitches go by -- at least two of which looked ripe for depositing in the Atlantic Ocean -- then ambled back to the dugout. Was it some form of silent protest? Was he that upset about being inserted into the game on a "night off"? Did he, like most of use, feel that Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull was just a horrific blemish on the original trilogy and chose that specific moment to bodily convey his disapproval? More importantly, why the f@#k did he have the night off to begin with? When our line-up is already Papi-free, we're gonna need a little more than Casey and Coco to set opposing pitchers trembling in their space boots.

It all underscores how much we're missing the Large Father. For a brief period of time, with Drew beating the tar off the baseball and Manny going all bananas after swatting his 500th home run, it looked like we might just be able to squeak through Papi's absence. No longer. We need his bat in the line-up like Rob Schneider needs Adam Sandler-especially with that gaping and ever-widening hole at the bottom of our line up. In all seriousness, at this point, you could replace All Star Jason Varitek, Coco Crisp or The Looger with three hatracks and/or Peter Tork and get similar if not slightly better results.

This is the sort of crankiness that sets in after a maddeningly awful road trip is punctuated by a game on ESPN. As someone pointed out in the gamethread comments, a loss is bad enough; a loss after you've had to endure four hours of Joe Morgan and Jon Miller is like a form of torture. Why can't ESPN offer alternate audio tracks, kinda like a DVD, enabling viewers to choose from either the actual commentating or something a little less aurally offensive, like squealing breaks, an iron glove on a chalkboard, or Stephen Hawking reading all the Frank Booth dialogue from Blue Velvet?

Anyway, we're back home tonight. And we never needed it more.

Three Out Of Four Ain't Bad

2008-07-06T12:06:00.002-04:00

Tim Wakefield has pitched at least seven innings and given up just 11 earned runs in his last seven starts. Yet he is just 2-3 in that stretch. I'd say it's time the Sox bring the lumber.

Tonight, Wake faces the Yankees and Joba Chamberlain on the big stage with Joe Morgan breaking it all down for us. This, to me, is a big game. Not that the Yankees are really competing for anything right now, but the difference between a 3-1 domination in their backyard and splitsville seems huge.

So let's end the holiday weekend on a positive note. Knock out Joba by the third, put the boots to the bullpen, maybe even have a good old-fashioned Red Sox - Yankees brawl towards the latter innings. Just for old times sake.

Just get some runs for Wake.