Time to reap

Susan/Circle:
Big Papi-On! One flap of his bat and it's a game metamorphosis from larva to a thing a beauty.

 

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Mike:
Like in chaos theory, one clutch swing and half a world away a tempest forms in the resulting breeze.

 

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Susan/Circle:
The comeback tales of Ortiz would cure deafness.

 

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Mike:
Papi keeps us out of the dahk backward and abysm of time.

 

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Susan/Circle:
And what about Papelbon-bon, the bullpen fondant?

 

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Mike:
It was a defining moment. The confidence. The pure intensity on his face. The fastball good as evah. The splittah coming along.

 

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Susan/Circle:
And Manny, digging in, digging in like a Cape Neddick clammah.

 

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Mike:
The playoff possibilities are before us. A progression of the infinite to the finite, the hope of April to the must of Octobah.

 

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Susan/Circle:
I keep like fruitcake. Subsist on air. Not a worry nor care.

 

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The dead are talking...and she is listening

Bill:
Ah, can somebody call that Ghost Whispahrah chick because I've got a new case for her.

 

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Doug:
No kidding. Fahget the kid hit by a train who doesn't know he's dead yet. Ovah heah I've got a 25 guys run ovah by the Yankee Express a month ago but who insist they're still alive.

 

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Bill:
And aftah that I've got anothah spooky script for Ms Love Hewitt to read. It's called "I Still, Still, Still, er, Still, Know What You Did Last Summah! (And it wasn't 'Wins the AL East')"

 

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Doug:
Seriously. It's the perfect slashah/horrah film sequel set up. The evil nemesis is finally killed in 2004 and everybody can rest easy, laughing and splashing on the beach, nubile chicks in bikinis and all, it's a year latah and not a care in the world …

 

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Bill:
And then the overly serious and ominous voice ovah says: "Some secrets will haunt you forevah." Cue sounds of screaming.

 

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Doug:
Of course, in memory of last season, we should be more optimistic. Rationally there is no need to panic. And yet …

 

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Bill:
Happiness is founded on forgetting -- only wisdom, poor wisdom relies on memory.

 

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4 8 15 16 23 42

Tara:
So if you can go back in time and replay yesterday, Tito lets Wake go complete for the first game, saving the P-Bon and Timlin for the second game …

 

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Mike:
And, consequently, that would have allowed Tito to pull Pope Montague the 1st aftah the 6th, when it was clear he was stahting to lose it.

 

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Tara:
Ah, well, it is what it is, 2-way tie for the division, 3-way tie for the joker's wild.

 

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Mike:
And at the risk of being accused of crushing on that Polyanna chick, at least our guys did win one yestahday and the loss was normal as opposed to catastrophic.

 

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Tara:
Mussina done after 1 and two-thirds, the Yankees' pitching walked 9 Orioles and gave up 14 hits and 17 runs …

 

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Mike:
Four hours sixteen minutes, 398 pitches and an 17-9 Yankee whooping. Their fans can say it means nothing, but that loss hurts the fan psyche not to mention the Yankees bullpen.

 

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Tara:
Only problem with getting too optimistic is I remember a certain team who got the crap kicked out of them 19-8 but then came back to win 8 straight securing a couple pennants along the way.

 

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Mike:
Argh. Don't do that to me. Using Red Sox history to bolstah the Yankees chances …

 

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Tara:
Buck up, fool. The Red Sox are going to make the postseason. I'm so confident that tonight at 9 I'll be tuned into Lost and only glimpsing the game during commercials.

 

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Mike:
I hope you're right. If the Sox don't make the postseason, I'll be livin' in the past like that freaky Desmond dude in the hatch.

 

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Double the pleasure or double the trouble?

Bill:
Ah, Christ, a rainout followed by a double-headah the last week of the season while a half a game back in a pennant race?

 

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Doug:
Have double doses of Xanax and Vioxx on the standby, it's a pharmaceutical company's wet dream.

 

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Bill:
Somebody ring up Alan Greenspan and tell him to prep the Fed for a decrease in workah productivity in the Northeast beginning at 1pm.

 

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Doug:
OSHA needs to issue an emergency memorandum advising employahs to secure sharp objects from offices and warning foreman not to let guys with B's on their hahd hats operate backhoes or other heavy equipment while the game is in progress.

 

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Bill:
On the bright side, Schilling nevah wahmed up last night, so he'll be fresh as a daisy for his 7:05 staht tonight.

 

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Doug:
And by "fresh" you of course mean an ankle held together with staples and prayers, diminished velocity, and mental anguish with a side of emotional turmoil?

 

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Bill:
You know, I really empathize with Schilling and generally love it when the sports writahs give us those human interest, family angle pieces, but I so did not need to hear Shonda Schilling's dismal report from the home front just now.

 

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Doug:
Are you kidding me? It's like being on a stricken airlinah about to make an emergency landing and as you assume the crash pahstchah the woman sitting next to you blurts out, "My husband is the pilot and he's totally fucked up ovah losing his pilot skills. He hates himself. And his fathah's dead, too." Jesus, lady, not now, OK?

 

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Bill:
If Shonda wants to help, she ought to track down the wife or girlfriend of the playah making the disparaging remahks about Curt getting off easy for not being booed and kick the shit out of her.

 

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Doug:
You know, what this season lacks is a good catfight.

 

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I dread, dread to think what the future will bring (When we're living in gangster times)

Doug:
Despite a whole season of following baseball day in and day out, yestahday's convergence of back-to-back "I need these" wins from both the Sox and Pats made me realize I'm not at full fan strength.

 

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Mike:
No joke. I was already emotionally drained from the 3 game sweep at Camden when it's ovah to Pittsburg for a rollacoasta Pats win that neahly sucked the soul outta me.

 

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Doug:
Yeah, and as if I'm not already totally feuillemort in complexion from it all this morning I open Drudge to find a 5-x headline that Barbra Streisand has "declared" a global warming emergency.

 

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Mike:
Yeah, it's one thing to turn a deaf ear to climatologists and other environmental scientists but ignore the actress who played not only Yentl but also Roz Focker? Fools!

 

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Doug:
Hey, it's about time some serious celebrity weight gets behind this crisis. I mean, c'mon, you think it's a mere coincidence Keith Foulke, in the prime of his life, goes down with not one but two knee injuries in the same season?

 

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Mike:
And don't forget Wells. In a normal climate, that shit just doesn't happen. It's eerie and, frankly, frightening.

 

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Doug:
If that isn't scary enough, there's the damn Yakuza Jap Mafia effin' things up for revenge of Hiroshima.

 

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Mike:
The powah of Yakuza is well known. You diss them and you're marked. When you least expect, expect!

 

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Doug:
Absolutely. Look at poor Gabe Kaplah. Says he hated playing in Japan after his brief and troubled stint with the Yomiuri Giants, gets waived, returns to the Sox, is contributing mightily when he all of a sudden he falls and snaps a tendon while rounding second base?

 

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Mike:
Yep, Yakuza can't be content with a devious weatha machine. Oh, no. They need to go and get an insta-cripple-beam as well. Bastids.

 

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Doug:
Damn them and damn their skanky comfort women as well.

 

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But it's been no bed of roses, no pleasure cruise

Steve:
So the word is Foulke is shutting it down for oh-5.

 

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Bill:
Wait, wait, because what I'm about to say might be critical, and lest anyone think I'm retahded or ignorant, let me first issue the following disclaimah: 2004's World Series victory would not have been possible without the heroic efforts and stunning ability of Keith Foulke and he may very well have ruined his careah because of it.

 

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Steve:
Right. Of course. I'm mentally genuflecting as I say this, but I'm happy to hear that Godot like wait for Foulke's "return to form" is finally over.

 

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Bill:
Absolutely. It's like one guy posted at SoSH. It is one less potential point of indecision for Tito. If you take Foulke away then Tito can't put him in.

 

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Steve:
Meanwhile, I'm so glad that pesky ½ game is gone so Joe Torre doesn't have to fret about it anymore.

 

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Bill:
Speaking of the Mystique and Horror show, so how's this "the Yankees can't win forevah; they have to cool off at some point" strategy working out for you?

 

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Steve:
Er, not so much. At this point the Red Sox just need to win every game and not count on any passive help from the Yankees.

 

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Bill:
Yeah, backing into a Division title because of another team's losses is lame.

 

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Steve:
It's like sucking your own balls.^* It might get the job done, but it doesn't do much for the ego.

^*(NSFW!)

 

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Bill:
Yeah, last time I checked the lyrics for "We Are the Champions" go "I've taken my bows" and not "I've sucked my own balls …"

 

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Doing battle with gravity

Bill:
At times like these it's important to remembah it's just a game, you know?

 

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Doug:
Seriously. Step back, take a deep breath, and get some mofo perspective.

 

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Bill:
Really, I mean it's not like we're at war with a bunch of jihadist whack jobs or anything. So the Red Sox are in second place behind the Yankees. It's not like we're about to have a global avian flu epidemic or anything.

 

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Doug:
Right. It's not like entiah cities are being wiped out by massive killa hurricanes or anything … I mean if the Red Sox don't make the playoffs, it's not like gas prices are at recahd high or the global fucking economy is about to shit the bed or anything.

 

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Bill:
Jeez, you've gotta love perspective.

 

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Doug:
I can barely contain my joy at the dawn of a new day. My innah child is so released.

 

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Bill:
Yes, yes, if I close my eyes I can see my innah child … he's happy and he's running … wait, what's that in my innah child's hands? Oh, how cute, scissahs.

 

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The Schill and the Schmiss

The Red Sox win big but so do the Yankees. At this point there isn't much that can be said. It's win or else …

Doug:
So Schilling has gone from making 55000 New Yorkahs shut up to only getting 6 Central Floridians to stop talking on their cell phones during a game, but I'll take it.

 

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Mike:
Seems the Schill has made himself shut up, too,despite pitching a great game, as he wasn't heard from after the game, only seen, walking out a back doah to the clubhouse before it opened to the media.

 

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Doug:
Maybe Jesus told him, "Look Curt, Daddy and I gave you the gift to pitch and not the gift to gab. Stop running your mouth off and pitch like I know you're capable of. You're bringing down the whole 'made in my image' vibe when you suck ass on the mound. Don't make me come down there and smite you, dude, OK?"

 

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Mike:
You know you just can't overemphasize the good that can result from a solid, personally delivahed, deific smiting.

 

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Doug:
Truly, what the world needs now is more smites. I mean look around. There is a most obvious dearth of the smotted.

 

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Mike:
If I were starhting a new pro sports franchise, I'd call the team "The Smite"

 

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Doug:
Fucking A right. But what would the logo be?

 

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Mike:
I was thinking of a fist clenching lightening bolts or something.

 

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Doug:
Dude, that is awesome! Put me on the mailing list and shit.

 

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Nothing more than feelings

Bill:
Hey, you know, the Red Sox are still in first place.

 

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Doug:
Fuck yeah, and the North Koreans say they're going to abandon their nuclear weapons program. Now I can sleep easy and shit. Everything's okee fucking dokee.

 

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Bill:
Wells says he doesn't "feel" the lead slipping away.

 

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Doug:
Right on. Who cares about past performance or those pedestrian details like the number of wins and losses? What really friggin counts is how we all "feel."

 

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Bill:
When exactly did the Sox' front office toss out all the Bill James books and replace them with Deepak Chopra?

 

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Doug:
Speaking of feeling good, Dale Sveum must be ecstatic these days.

 

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Bill:
Really, how so?

 

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Doug:
Well, in Ray Nagin, Mayor of New Orleans, Sveum has finally found someone worse than he is at determining when folks are safe going home.

 

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Bill:
!

 

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Stop, Drop, and Roll

Marty:
Hi, this is Bug Selig calling to say we want the 2004 trophy back because we now realize how bad you Sawx suck. [Sound of mocking, evil laughter]

 

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Bill:
Right on time, Mahty, calling when the race tightens.

 

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Marty:
Well, you know, Billy, one is the loneliest number, and that "1" in the loss column is making me want to reach out and share what it feels like to root for a team that can go on an extended hot streak.

 

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Bill:
The race is on, Mahty.

 

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Marty:
On? The only thing "on" is you on drugs if you think it's on. It's over, baby. Foulke is toast. Schilling's God has forsaken him. Damon's held together with bondo and duct tape. Face your own music. Which by the way sucks as well. Dropkick Murphys? What a joke.

 

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Bill:
You forgot somebody, Mahty, maybe your subconscious is blocking him out due to the psychic pain, but his name is David Ortiz, Yankee Slayah.

 

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Marty:
Sure as shit, Callaghan, you must be cooking meth up there on the Back Bay your mind is so addled. Have you noticed how your Big Papi's homers have gotten shorter and shorter? Soon those late inning blasts that are covering up for how bad your guys really are, will be nothing but routine warning track put outs.

 

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Bill:
Wow, measuring Ortiz's homahs during highlight reels? Sounds pretty desperate to me, Mahts.

 

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Marty:
The other thing with Ortiz is he's become so full of himself, flapping his gums about how he deserves the MVP? Meanwhile, the real MVP just quietly goes out and gets his job done, day in and day out. That's called class, Callaghan, something you know nothing about.

 

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Bill:
The remaining schedule still favahs the Red Sox.

 

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Marty:
Oh, right, facing the surging Yankees in the final 3 is great for you. [Laughing] One team can't wait to play everyday while another team is crying about a lack of a day off. Some advantage, eh?

 

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