Mike:
Well, heads were gonna roll, but of all the heads, Tito's seems the least to blame.
Al:
Maybe Francona actually wants out, though? Per this quote: "'He has had his fill of the whole thing,' a source told the Sun-Times."
Mike:
Well, eithah way, I think Theo captures it perfectly when he says "we’ve gotten away a little bit from our ideal of what we want to be on the field and off the field."
Doug:
Yeah, let's face it, despite the World Series win in 2007, the whole thing has been in one long decline evah since the Duck Boats were pahked aftah the '04 victory parade.
Al:
Well, but what do you expect? Even Adam and Eve were kicked out of heaven. Nobody gets to stick around in paradise forevah.
Mike:
That's a good theory and all, but then how do you explain the Yankees?
Doug:
Fuck the Yankees.
Mike:
"Nevah can true reconcilement grow where wounds of deadly hate have pierced so deep." *
Doug:
Thank you Boston Red Sox for your foreshadowing back in April, the cruelest month, the coming of this dry death, this dead mountain mouth of carious teeth that cannot spit, where here one can neithah stand nor lie nor sit...
Bill:
And thank you Boston Red Sox for the wicked pack of Tarot cahds you drew stahting at the beginning of Septembah — the drowned Phoenician Sailor, (Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look!)
Here is T Francona, The Leader of the Sox, the fady one of situations.
Oh, here is the man with the neck tattoos, and here the Bard,
And here is the glare-eyed Lackey, and this cahd,
Which is blank, is something he carries on his back,
Mike:
One. Do the Red Sox and Rays both win today and force a single game playoff?
Doug:
No.
Al:
Nope. Rays win. Sox lose. Stare abjectly into a rented sunset.
Mike:
...
Doug:
What's the 2nd question?
Mike:
Well, the 2nd question was based on a different response than the one you guys gave to the first one.
Al:
So there is no 2nd question?
Mike:
Correct.
Doug:
Makes perfect sense as there are no longah any questions; there are just facts.
Al:
Yeah, like the fact that the Rays are only a modest 16-10 in Septembah yet that was enough to catch the Red Sox.
Mike:
Of course, if the Sox do manage to get into the playoffs and then somehow turn it around and staht kicking ass, you're gonna look back at your emotions now with chagrin.
Doug:
No I won't. That's the biggest canard going. You feel what you feel. And if history proves you wrong, nobody fucking remembahs because everyone is caught up in the joy of it all.
Al:
Seriously, nobody was denied admittance to the Duck Boat Parade for giving up on the Sox when they went down 0-3 in the 0
'04 ALCS.
Doug:
Likewise, when this turns out to be the worst collapse evah, we can look back at April and say, "See, we were right all along."
Mike:
Your logic if all twisted.
Doug:
Yeah, so fucking what if it is? Epic collapses will do that to you.
Mike:
Well, like a classic film zombie, the Red Sox continue to slowly shuffle along in circles, not quite dead but not really alive eitheah.
Steve:
You know, I was more or less resigned to Red Sox not doing much this weekend to turn it around, but the Pats losing to the Bills? I did not see that coming.
Mike:
Seriously, the only one happy this morning is the CHB.
Steve:
I've got to confess, the Bills playing "Sweet Caroline" over the loudspeakers was the kind of kick in the balls you just gotta tip your cap to.
Mike:
Yeah, well, when Buffalo's only pro team packs up and moves to London and the Bills are rebranded as the Bullocks, we'll see who's laughing then.
Your omniscient author in absentia:
Because channeling Marty yesterday has left me dyspeptic;
Because I thought yesterday was Friday;
Because September with the Red Sox has compromised my immune system;
Marty:
And, for those of you scoring this in Baaah-stin, that's 16 playoff appearances in the past 17 years.
Marty:
Hello? Bill, are you still breathing? (I guess I could ask the same for the Red Sox. Heh-heh.)
Bill:
Yeah, Mahty, ah, fuck you.
Marty:
Aw... now now. Are you sour, Bill? Have you lost your lil' lyrical hopes and dreams of bandboxes and mushroom gatherers?
Bill:
No, Mahts, I have not. And you know why? As awful as this team was at the staht of this season, it somehow found ways to beat the Yankees. And beat your asses they shall.
Marty:
Oh, right. This series starting tonight still has meaning to the plucky Sawx. How cute.
Al:
I should warn you that my mothah also said, "You kids need to clean your plates. Don't you know there are children starving in Africa fercrissakes?!" which led to my sistah's eating disordah and eventual hospitalization.
Tara:
So I arrange things to be back in the home office for the playoffs and this is what I get — a 2 game lead on Tampa for the wild card, 10 games remaining in which .500 ball seems a reach, and Shaughnessy delivering a "Feels like old times" column?
Tara:
I am not happy. Not happy at all.
Susan/Circle:
Well, if its any consolation, I'm still bullish on their chances of making the playoffs.
Tara:
Right. And then they just flip the "playoff" switch and everything is Rosy Sox.
Susan/Circle:
Exactly. It's just like when you have a girlfriend who's dating a guy who's a total louse — you know, stingy, cheats on her, etc. — and she says, "Yeah, well, once we're married he'll change, you'll see."
Tara:
Now batting for the Red Sox, the frog, Prince Charming.
Susan/Circle:
Hey, doubleheadah today, double your fun.
Tara:
Weiland and Lackey, sigh.
Susan/Circle:
You know, if kissing Lackey in a fairytale reversal would turn him into a frog, I'd lick his fucking tonsils.
Mike:
Seriously. If you missed out in investing in gold, I think now would be a good time to get in on a sunset renting franchise... the forecast suggests business will be brisk.
Bill:
You know as much as we seem to be headed straight on to Epic Fail territorry, there is something positive to make note of...
Bill:
This would be fah fah fah worse if it were occuring pre-2004.
Mike:
Absolutely. I mean if this had happened before we'd evah stepped foot in the land of milk and honey, well, can you say "apoplectic."
Bill:
Yeah, in the dakh days before the Holy Epic of the Bloody Sock and the Merry Band of Idiots I'd be planning an outing to Revere Beach to pull a Virginia Woolf.
Mike:
Revere Beach, huh?
Bill:
Yeah, you know, it's close, convenient, on the T...
Mike:
Maybe grab a Kelly's roast beef and fries for your last suppah?
Bill:
Exactly, go out in style, not to mention fully weighted, and all.
Al:
I nevah expected Bard to be the second coming the Messiah, and by Messiah I mean, of course, vintage Pedro Martinez, and, consequently, there's nevah been any Bard love fest among us...
Al:
Yet we'd all been kinda sorta feeling OK about him.
Doug:
So it would appear that the April craptasm was *not* the anomaly but that May, June, July, and August was.
Al:
But let's look at it this way... this recent bed wetting wouldn't be possible without terrible pitching, combined with zero offense, combined with poor managerial decisions...
Al:
So, you know, at least they're playing as a team and all.
Mike:
So let me get this straight. Once again teetering on the precipice of his 200th win, Wakefield hands an 8-6 lead to Daniel Bard in the 8th.
Susan/Circle:
A lead which Bard ignominiously shits away as he allows five runs on three walks — two with the bases loaded — and one hit.
Susan/Circle:
OMG. OMG. OMFG.
Mike:
And for those of you scoring this at home, that's one complete-game loss and three blown leads by the bullpen endured by Wake as he painstakingly attempts to add 200 victories to his war chest.
Susan/Circle:
This is frustrating. I feel like a one-legged man at an ass-kicking contest.
Mike:
No it's worse that that. This feels like being a one-inched pseudohermaphrodite at a record setting gangbang.
Susan/Circle:
Ah, yes, I see your point. Now that would be truly disheartening.
Mike:
"Neithah testis nor clitty
This Jack and Jill junk
Is a wee bit iffy."
Your omniscient author in absentia:
I've got contractors in my house this morning fixing a leak among other things, and this activity and assorted banging and hammering has my Soxaholix writing rhythm all out of sync.
So I'm going to skip out on today and catch up with you tomorrow...
Doug:
These Yankees series are more and more like hearing a Katy Perry song on the radio.
Doug:
Ovah-hypeded, ovah-played, essentially meaningless. and yet there is that timeless joy and nevahending nourishing wondah of those most bodacious Katy Perry Ta' Ta's.
Doug:
And you just give up, settle in and know that God is in his heaven and all is right with the world.
Bill:
I'm not even sure that comparison makes a lick of sense and yet...
Doug:
And yet your brain is cast adrift, caught and swept away, flotsam and jetsam on the mammary fluxionary.
Al:
You know that statue The Thinkah? Well dude's thinking "where and the fuck did Ellsbury get his opposite field powah?"
Doug:
Yeah, get this — When numbah 2 files his 1040, for occupation he puts "Jacoby Fucking Ellsbury."
Mike:
This morning the Pope was having breakfast... on his toast was the face of Jacoby Ellsbury.
Al:
So you think Shaughnessy feels even a tinge of remorse for his "Ellsbury is faking injury" columns last season?
Doug:
Pontiff Rat-Z should send a couple of ready to explode from repressed sexuality Opus Dei dudes ovah to the CHB's place to have, you know, a little tete-e-tete with Shank ovah the concept of bearing false witness against one's neighbah.
Al:
Put that shit on pay-per-view. Call it "Oh, hey! It's Opus Dei!"
