Hi. I’m Red. ::extends hand:: How are you. Thanks for coming by today. Have a drink. Pull up a chair. There ya go.
Denton has left the building. Gone to Baltimore, to watch the Sox B-listers take on those pesky Orioles. Which means I’m left in charge of the massive Surviving Grady empire, which now includes at least two different flavors of “Pop Tarts” in the fridge. So I can write about anything I damn well please. And I will. So this is your chance to jump ship and head somewhere far more interesting.
Still here? Well, you are tenacious. Okay, so here’s what I’m thinking. Creating interesting content for this blog every day can be tough work. Obviously, we haven’t actually created anything interesting yet, but it’s the effort, man, that makes it all worthwhile.
Anyway, from time to time we get together with our shareholders and other associates to “brainstorm” [i.e., drink] concepts and themes for each day’s post. As the regular season draws to a close, I thought it appropriate to open the magic bag and give you a glimpse into the posts that might have been… ideas that were deemed “too thin,” “too Greek” or simply not worth the effort.
So here they are, just a few opening sentences that we thought could serve as the springboard to something magical. But, man, were we wrong.
In no particular order:
From time to time, we try to imagine what the Sox players’ shoes might say to each other as they languish in the locker room during a game. So today, we’re presenting last night’s game commentary from the point of view of Bill Mueller’s loafer.
Everyone who comes to Fenway knows “the Peanut Guy.” But very few know “the Blabbering Pantsless Guy.” Until now, that is.
My Uncle Pete was a man noted for his unusual relationships. But no relationship was more unusual than the one he shared with former pitching great (and one time Red Sox) Rollie Fingers.
Photos from Nomar’s “Bowling for Orphans”? We got ’em!
Pudge Fisk loved the ladies. But exactly how much? We caught up with Gretchen Fortez, who claimed Pudge once picked her up at the Ritz bar in 1974, to learn more.
Gabe Kapler and danish. The two go together like… well, they don’t. But if Gabe was into danish, here’s what we think he’d enjoy.
Stealing Johnny Pesky’s jockstrap is not quite as adventurous as living to tell about it. But we did. So here goes.
NESN’s Krissily Kennedy? Man, that’s why God invented eyes.
Ladies and gentlemen, today SG presents the poetry of Ricky Gutierrez.
Girls who wear Sox gear are cool. At least in my book. I am a sucker for any woman wearing a Sox jersey. Throw a Sox cap on there, and, man, it’s a little something I like to call “restraining order time.” The exception to this rule is Phyllis Diller, and that’s only because the oxygen tank ruins the overall picture.
Folks, I’ve snapped. I’ve got my gun, six rounds of ammo, and I’ll be in Section 16 tonight. Who’s with me?
Click here for downloadable video of Tito and Dale Sveum briefly contemplating the disappearance of several trays of ham from the post-game spread.
Last night’s infuriating, 1-0 loss to the Twins in Game One of the 2004 ALDS, in which Schilling went the full nine and only surrendered one unearned run, was simply the most heartbreaking game I’ve ever witnessed. Now, the weight of the world is on Pedro’s fragile shoulders, as he’ll try tonight to prevent the Sox from heading back home down two games.
Actually… ixnay on that last one. We were saving it for next week. Just in case.
