Here today, gone tomorrow

A slow Red Sox news day combined with a perfect storm of work deadlines and …

Lisa the Temp:
Lisa the Temp here to tell you the Soxaholix are very "busy" …

 

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Lisa the Temp:
Hah, just wait until the whole operation gets outsourced to India.

 

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Lisa the Temp:
You think they take time on the clock to discuss Manny Ramirez in Bangalore?

 

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Lisa the Temp:
Work harder, work faster, work cheaper … Welcome to the global economy, bitches … Ha haa haa Everybody's a temp now!

 

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There's Lost and then there's lost

[Warning: First panel contains Lost TV Series 2-6 spoiler.]

Tara:
Well, Lucchino can blather on about the "misleading and inaccurate" reports regarding his role in L'affaire Epstein, but I feel about as much sympathy for him as I did for the ho bitch Shannon when she got gunned down by Ana-Lucia on Lost last night.

 

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Bill:
Absolutelely. I still remember how disappointed I was when Shannon didn't die last season. Now if they'd only kill off heroin hobbit Charlie next, at least my fan of Lost life would be in order, unlike my Red Sox fan life.

 

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Tara:
Yeah, at least with the Lostaways we can expect some sort of tribal justice. I mean Sayid is so going to go all Uday and Qusay on Ana-Lucia now for offing his "I'll give it up cuz you built me a sorry ass tent" white hootchie mama.

 

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Bill:
And there will be much rejoicing. But, alas, we have no such recompense on Yawkey Way. Nope, it's all circle the wagons and hit the spin cycle.

 

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Tara:
Yeah, I expect Lucchino to start talking about his dog Checkers any moment now.

 

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Bill:
And meanwhile, Lucchino's trying to force the "we are going to surround ourselves with great talent" Kool-Aid down our throats when they're interviewing Jim Bowden and Jim Beattie for the now vacant GM position? Oh.My.God.

 

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Tara:
Yeah, Larry predicts "successful seasons ahead" while interviewing one guy who signed Christian Guzman and Vinny Castilla to lucrative deals last off-season, and another guy who has been the overseer of a team as downtrodden as any in baseball over the last five years or so? Brilliant, Larry.

 

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Bill:
Yeah, and the people on Oceanic Flight 815 think they're lost? They've no idea …

 

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That little sound

Mike:
You putting any credence in these "Theo may come back" rumahs?

 

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Doug:
Well, if there were anything to it, you can fahgetaboutit now that Shaughnessy wrote about it. It's the fucking kiss of death.

 

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Mike:
Ah, classic CHB. Note how he writes all distant and innocent and shit.

 

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Doug:
Yeah, the Shank's all blinking his eyes like he's just awoken, "What happened here? Why isn't Theo the GM? I'm just a simple unfrozen caveman sportswriter. Your negotiations frighten me. I don't understand why you just don't offah the job to Theo Epstein?" No fucking mention that Shaughnasty himself was in the core of the Cat 5 shitstorm.

 

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Mike:
I love the psychoanalysis, "Bet he's having second thoughts about that decision right about now. Bet he'd listen if the Sox reached out." How 'bout, bet Theo would laugh his ass off if you got the bird flu, Dan-Oh?

 

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Doug:
With the newspaper industry shitting away money and readers like they've eaten a bad chicken burrito, you'd think they'd offah Shaughnasty early retiahment to cut their losses a bit.

 

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Mike:
No way, because when the Globe sits down to take a shit and the toilet seat is cold and the Globe makes a little sound to distract itself from the cold feeling on its ass … well, that little sound is Dan Shaughnessy.

 

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Nothing Could Be Finer

Bill:
This pretty much sums it up: The four-headed-GM-beast politely declining to report on the day’s events on the grounds that there simply was nothing to report.

 

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Doug:
Lucky for us, we have the hot cheahleadah on cheahleadah action to occupy the mind.

 

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Bill:
It's like an early Christmas present. A pink stocking shockah.

 

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Doug:
Allahu Akba, baby. Just when you think, you know, there's really no such thing as bitchin hawt lezbos outside of porn movies and Simmons' LUGs, entah Renee and Angela.

 

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Bill:
Absolutely. I'd just about retiahd my lesbian fantasy having been lulled into a ho hum flaccidity by an endless parade of middle-aged square jawed dyke chubby partners in purple t-shirts, men's jeans and gray crew cuts shopping at Whole Foods …

 

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Doug:
Yeah, not to mention the forsaken hasbians.

 

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Bill:
One must summon the utmost empathy for men of the hasbians and their cruel dilemma.

 

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Doug:
Indeed. He is victimized by the tenuous throb of desiah and feah. She's been with women before, she'd probably do it again, for him. But, what if she falls for the woman and deserts him?

 

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Bill:
To peep, perchance to gleam. Ah, there's the hasbian rub.

 

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Against both bar and tower the black sea runs.

Nobody wintering now behind the planked-up windows where Theo set …

Susan:
I'm so glad to hear about this "general manager-by-committee" thingy.

 

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Mike:
Absolutely. It's going to be like bullpen-by-committee except even bettah.

 

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Susan:
People say, "eliminate the middle man" but I say, no, what we really need are more middle men. Less is not moah. Moah is moah.

 

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Mike:
And it's going to be business as usual, fercrissakes. This GM-by-committee will have carte blanche to make any decision necessary provided, of course, it's exactly the same decision Lucky desires.

 

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Susan:
It's a textbook example of how to run a successful baseball club. Is it any wondah why GM candidates are beating a path down Yawkey Way eagahly seeking the job?

 

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Mike:
Have we reached the nadir in which by wanting to be the Red Sox GM one proves one is not qualified for the position?

 

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Susan:
Grey waves the stub-necked eiders ride. A labor of love, and that labor lost.

 

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The Fenway Mutiny

Susan/Circle:
Jeez, I knew people are upset with the Theo departure, but who knew they'd take to the streets in protest wearing cat masks.

 

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Mike:
Just when I'm about to drink the corporate Kool-Aid that, you know, "no biggie, everything's cool, Theo ain't no big thang," I read Curt Schilling's words: "This F'in sucks to all F'in hell."

 

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Susan/Circle:
And you can't console yourself into thinking, ah, you know, Schilling is always running his mouth off when you've also guys normally reserved guys like Timlin and Captain Varitek expressing similar thoughts.

 

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Mike:
Absolutely. And Schill goes on to say he spoke to Theo "over 10 times in the last 7 days" and suggests much of the anti-Lucchino sentiment is spot on.

 

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Susan/Circle:
Where the frig is Larry "Baseball Man" Lucchino these days anyways? Hiding out in Dick Cheney's bunkah?

 

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Mike:
Yeah, right now he's like Captain Queeg in the Caine Mutiny, rubbing his silvah balls togethah in his hands, sweating, eyes dahting back and forth, feeling persecuted.

 

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Susan/Circle:
Yeah, he's all calling out to his Curly Haired Boyfriend, "Dan, write about the strawberries, Dan, how the bastid kid Epstein stole all the strawberries and he and his stat geeks laughed at me …"

 

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Like nobody's business

Doug:
I don't know about you, but I feel a whole fuck of a lot bettah now aftah Theo and Henry's pressah.

 

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Mike:
Yep. No stones unturned except, of course, for that giant bouldah sitting on Yawkey Way … "Nothing to see heah, people, move along now …"

 

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Doug:
Yeah, Theo gave the Red Sox the classic guy breaking up with a chick line, "It's not you; it's me. I just want you to be happy."

 

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Mike:
Hey, Larry, Theo's just not that into you.

 

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Doug:
Yeah, come June Larry's going to be staring at the phone hoping Theo calls. "I've changed, Theo. I really have. It'll be different this time."

 

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Mike:
C'mon now. You know everything's going to be fine. John Henry and the gang are successful businessmen after all.

 

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Doug:
Christ, you're right. Successful business guys have all the fucking ansahs!

 

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Mike:
Absolutely. So how's that Enron stock working out for you anyway?

 

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Doug:
I've got your 401K right heah, bitches. Let's Go Capitalists — CLAP, CLAP, CLAPCLAPCLAP!!!!

 

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If you walkaway, walkaway

Bits of the 2004 Championship Pennant flutter sadly in November's long shadows. It gets dark so early. Being a fan today feels like a shocking rudeness — one continually burns with shame but cannot understand why. It's as though our whole intention was suddenly terribly misguided, as though the site we built on really is a swamp, or someone else's property, or both. And, as in a dream, there is no moment after finding out. …

Bill:
I feel like I have nothing to say today.

 

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Bill:
It's not that I think anyone already understands what I feel (though many surely do), and it's not that I think "everything's already been said."

 

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Bill:
It's more like the feelings themselves are resentful toward the idea of their being made public — like they have a humility that makes them cringe at the thought of a witness.

 

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Bill:
I believe it is at this point that one tends to say, "I feel fine."

 

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