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Doug:
Are you fucking kidding me? You know I hate crowds.
Bill:
What? What about when you're at Fenway or even your trips to the Stadium?
Doug:
Dude, there's a huge fucking difference between 35,000 or 55,000 and 5 fucking million! That throbbing sea of pussel-guts straining and pushing and sneezing and shit. Fuck no. I will have none of it.
Bill:
Your loss, Doug. I'll be there rain or shine wearing
my "Pigs Fly" shirt. You bettah fucking believe it.
Doug:
Hey, "W" is for "way fucking way," dude.
Bill:
Funny, I thought W was for "Where's the fucking WMD?"
The Red Sox win the World Series!!!
Susan:
A toast to the 2004 Boston Red Sox and all their fans. Congratulations …
In a group of Soxaholix, a woman speaks:
I just pissed myself.
Scene from a church:
Dear God, you like us, you really like us!
Bill:
Somebody wake up the fucking Bambino's dead ass and tell him he's been punk'd!
Mike:
I'm your fucking Daddy now, bitch.
Tara:
People tried to put us d-down (talkin’ ’bout Red Sox Nation) Just because we couldn't get it d-done (talkin’ ’bout Red Sox Nation) …
Mike:
How you fucking feeling?
Doug:
Fan-fucking-tastic! It's like that moment when a woman bends down and unbuttons and unzips a man's pants; there is such a feeling of providence somehow.
Mike:
And you can't help but feel that she has come, in that unzipping moment, to know the uselessness of words, and come, too, into a casual affirmation of the the life that is inside words but has no power to use them?
Doug:
Absolutely. One yearns for such affirmation, or at least a view on to it.
Mike:
And here we fucking are. On top of the mofo world.
Continue reading "Such a feeling of providence" »
Doug:
Un-fucking-believable! One game and 27 outs from ending 86 years of hopeful desperation.
Bill:
And so the Cardinals now find themselves in the unfortunate circumstance of drawing inspiration for an 0-3 comeback from the very team they hope to comeback against!
Doug:
And here I'd been led to believe the age of irony was ovah?
Doug:
Deep down you know the CHB is hoping the "the blood red moon" is Cardinals red and not Boston red. What the fuck is the dude gonna do when he can no longer peddle the Curse?
Bill:
Oh, for fuck's sake dude'll find a way to piss all ovah it. He'll probably start cranking out a book with the working title "How the Red Sox World Series Victory Left a Region Depleted and in Search of a New Identity" and columns like "After Red Sox World Series, Testosterone Levels Down, Breast Milk Gone Sour, Children Born With Missing Toes and Extra Eye!"
It's Game 3 of the 2004 World Series in St. Louis …
Susan/Circle:
I'm gonna give it to 'em … the best fans thing.
Mike:
No fucking way! Really? Wuzzup?
Susan/Circle:
It's St. Fucking Louis fercrissakes! Think about it. The so-called "Show Me State" … Show me fucking what?
Mike:
Yeah, you're onto something … you visit St. Louis and the dude showing you around's gonna be all, "You seen the Arch, yet?" Check. Seen the fucking steel rainbow … "How 'bout where they make Bud?" Yeah, yeah, been on the brew tour.
Susan:
St. Louis dude'll be all reaching now. "Nelly's from St. Louis, wanna see his crib?" And I'd be all, dude, do I look like the kind of chick who wants to drop down and get my eagle on? Fuck no I don't want to see Nelly's crib.
Mike:
St. Louis dude'll be all resigned at this point … "Well, that's it, then. Only thing left to do is get drunk and watch the Red Birds."
Susan/Circle:
There you fucking have it. Best fans in the world.
Mike:
I just hope Pedro had a chance to show
Mr. Nelson
that Arch and shit. Don't want to fucking miss that.
Despite fielding errors and many many many men left on base, the Red Sox take a 2-0 lead in the World Series …
Mike:
The
FrankenSchilling does it again!
Mike:
Fucking Renteria … what'd he foul off a couple hundred pitches in his first at bat?
Doug:
No shit. I kept trying to crush his head between my thumb and index finger like that Kids in the Hall guy used to. "I'm crushing your head, Edgar! I'm crushing your head!"
Mike:
Two more wins from the Red Sox Rapture. When we the chosen will ascend through the air to meet Babe Ruth in the sky where he will declare the second coming of the Red Sox dynasty!
Mike:
You mean how we Red Sox fans will lose what makes us "special" … That we define ourselves by losing and a World Series win will leave us empty?
Doug:
Yeah, what the hell will we do with ourselves? How will I know who I am for fuck's sake?
Mike:
No problem, dude. You can just go down to the
RMV
and they'll issue you a new fucking identity.
Doug:
Fucking A. I love the mofo RMV!
Mike:
Hell yeah. After the Patriots won their first Super Bowl and I totally lost my identity, I went down there, took a fucking number, got a reissue and registered to vote at the same fucking time.
Doug:
Christ, who knew this winning shit would be so frickin easy?
Red Sox fans have an undeniable spring in their step as they await Game 1 of the World Series in the greatest ballpark in the world …
Bill:
So the denial and rationalization has already started.
Pinto has a merry musing
asserting "Yankees will always have Bucky Dent" as "those things don't go away"
Doug:
Ah, for fuck's sake. Recent history always trumps the older stuff. Take Michael Jackson. What pops into your mind when you first think of him? The fucking moonwalking megastar singing Billy Jean or the fucking noseless freak who wanna be startin' something with little boy peepees?
Bill:
No shit. And it isn't just that Bucky Dent is washed up as a barb to Sox fans, the Yankees now have to deal with that shocking image of A-Rod bitch slapping Arroyo. Total fucking anti-mystique.
Bill:
Can you say irony? Turns out the greatest fucking thing to happen to the Red Sox was
not
getting A-Chop.
Doug:
Yeah, lets look at the history. Seattle has A-Rod and they suck. Send his sorry ass packing and they win 100 games. Texas gets A-Rod and they become the worst team in the AL. Rangers fly his purple lips to NY and immediately have one of their best seasons in years.
Bill:
Right. Then the so-called greatest franchise in all of sports gets A-Rod and they proceed to play out the greatest choke in the history of the game punctuated by that flailing white gloved sissiness and underlined by the screaming Jeter trying to convince the world A-Rod was really safe. My God that's fucking embarrassing.
Doug:
OK. This Spankees talk is starting to bore me. Yesterday's news and all that.
Bill:
Right you are, dude. Bring on La Russa and his Poo Holes!
The Red Sox beat the Yankees! The Red Sox beat the Yankees! …
Susan:
And all over the Nation there was great rejoicing by the people. The vaunted Yankees vanquished at last.
Susan:
Silly Spankees, even on the verge of collapse they were cocky enough to think the whole thing was a big joke. Trotting out Bucky Fucking Dent to throw the first pitch.
Tara:
Yeah, and offering Warner and Henry the Babe Ruth suite to watch the game. So fucking smug. How's that shit working out for you now, Georgie?
Susan:
Yeah, our Johnny Fucking Damon grandly slams the history book on your bloop homer Bucky soon-to-be-forgotten Dent.
Susan:
Yeah, Johnny, moving forward let's get our priorities straight. Hit the ball first. Hit the pussy later, after the pennant. Mmm-kay?
Tara:
Poor, Georgie Steinnie Heinnie … all that fucking payroll money just to choke. Three outs from the World Series then three more games to put the Red Sox away and Shitfield, Stinksui, Gayrod, and Teeter couldn't get it done.
Susan:
Yeah, Steinbrenner forgot Poland. Shit for brains.
Tara:
The greatest comeback in baseball history …
Susan:
I'll nevah tire of hearing that.
The Red Sox become the first team in baseball history to force a 7th
game after being down 3 zip …
Susan/Circle:
When the miraculously and obviously
on
Curt Schilling played the chin music to A-Rod in the 1st, I got pregnant, immaculately.
Bill:
What fertile woman of Red Sox Nation wouldn't desire such conception? The dominant genes of
the Hero
must be spread. An army of Schillings progeny for our future dominance!
Susan/Circle:
And if the seeds do not grow into Red Sox, let them become doctors who are as worthy of our adulation.
Suturing Schilling's tendon
was fucking ingenious.
Bill:
Our doctors kick ass. Our universities kick ass. Our football team kicks ass. Our fried clams kick ass. And now our baseball team is kicking fucking ass. I think I'm going to implode.
Susan/Circle:
Seems like the Yankees and their fans are starting to lose it. A-Fraud swatting Arroyo's glove like a fucking sissy boy.
Riot police called in
to settle the Skankee ho's and hooligans.
Bill:
No fucking class. And
Wilbur calls it perfectly: "Sox fans throw trash onto the field in Game 5 of the 1999 ALCS against the Yankees and are vilified as some of the worst fans in the game. Yankee fans toss baseballs during the Rodriguez-Arroyo incident, and they’re
confused
by what had occurred." What the fuck?
Bill:
OK Derek. No hangovers. No hangnails.
Susan/Circle:
Oooh. The baby just kicked!
Doug:
Nonplussed. Nonplussed and recovering us. Recovering us even. Uneven.
The brightness of it. All is light! Do you hear? Light.
Doug:
If I had a kitten I'd name him, Ortizzle. If I had a puppy, I'd name him Papi. If I had a baby, I'd name him Walk-Off.
Mike:
Is this for fucking real? Curt Schilling gets to redeem himself for Game 1. Gets a second chance to make 55k in New York shut their fucking Skankees mouths.
Mike:
Ah, Das Boot! Schilling's going to torpedo Sheffield's overpriced shit barge and sink the Yankees' dreams.
Doug:
A sea of Pinstriped flotsam and jetsam, what a glorious vision for the Fatherland!
Continue reading "If I had a puppy, I'd name him Papi." »
Remarkably, the Red Sox win a game against the Yankees by way of a dramatic, 12th
inning walk off homer from who else but David Ortiz …
Doug:
Am I a bad fan for switching channels and leaving the Red Sox for dead when Matsui tripled in the 6th and then the Yankees took the lead on two infield singles?
Bill:
Naw, I got a feeling a lot more people will be talking about Ortiz's blast from having
seen the highlights this morning. Sort of like the countless millions who were at Fenway to see Clemens get 20 Ks on a cold April night.
Bill:
That would make you not only a bad fan but a despicable piece of fucking filth. Human detritus. What the fuck is wrong with those turds? Losing faith in times of darkness is a forgivable offense. But giving up on the Sox to become a Yankees fan? That's so absurd I think Edes is making that shit up.
Doug:
No shit. But if it is true, I hope the good folks at the Souvenir Store properly disposed of the returned Sox caps. Fucking tainted, bad mojo cooties and all up in there.
Bill:
I've got a good feeling about this 5pm game. My Petey senses are tingling.
Doug:
There is no fucking past. No fucking future. Just one game heah and now. We can win one game, right?
Bill:
Oh, abso-fucking-lutely we can. Everybody's ass in going to be piled on the bandwagon today.
The Red Sox write a new chapter in their woeful history, losing 19-8 to the Yankees at Fenway …
Bill from home:
What the fuck was that?
Bill from home:
Blind is right. We should all pluck out our own eyeballs so nevah to have to witness such a crapfest evah again. What the fuck happened to the Red Sox who swept the Angels?
Tara from home:
No, kidding. The Red Sox are the Mt. Saint Helens of the baseball world. Remember when that bitch was going to erupt "within 24 hours" and then it was all, well, just hold, this erupting shit is gonna happen,…… just give it… a moment … and we waited and waited …
Bill from home:
And nothing but a little steam. No fucking magma. No fucking lava.
Tara from home:
Disappointment on a volcanic scale. But at least the dorky seismologists have a better chance of seeing a lava show than we do a pennant. Greater chance of seeing the White Mountains blow their granite tops than a World Series for Boston.
Bill from home:
It's one thing to have the Yankees as your "Daddy." It's quite another to have them play the role of serial pedophile who keeps you tied up in some dingy basement turned torture chamber and rapes you violently 7 or 8 times a day for a week before killing you, dismembering you and then freezing your arms and legs and brain to feast on throughout the wintah.
Fans await Game 3 at Fenway and a shift in momentum …
Bill:
Should we be doing a
rain dance today
or what?
Bill:
Oh, I'm fucking more crazy hopeful than that: I think an extra 24 hours gets us a Schilling start in this bitch of a series.
Bill:
It's hard to live here. It's very hard to live here.
Mike:
In the morning over breakfast, I see them roll the dead down Beacon Street.
Continue reading "At night the shadows are unborn creatures" »
Another loss, the Red Sox are now down 2 nil to the Yankees …
Doug:
So now we've got the Yankees right the fuck where we want them.
Mike:
Hella the fuck yeah we do. We'll get Daddy back in Fenway then go all
Menendez Brothers
on his sorry ass.
Mike:
All hail
the mighty John Lieber.
Swing early and often at anything, fellas, that'll do it. Did I miss the memo where the Sox hitters were told to give the fuck up on patience and the importance of OBP?
Mike:
It's looking
more and more
like Dude's gonna be oh-fer-2 as far as either goes. Rides a mean fucking bike, though.
Doug:
It's going to be a long fucking wintah.
Boston loses the first game of the ALCS to New York and Curt Schilling's ankle proved to be in far worse shape than anyone realized …
Susan/Circle:
Did I hear Fox announcer Tim McCarver say that if Derek Jeter wasn't so busy playing brilliant baseball that he'd have found a cure that would have enabled Christopher Reeve to walk?
Mike:
Yeah, but was that before or after he said Torre and Zimmer would be going to the Middle East after the season ends to help negotiate Palestinian statehood?
Susan/Circle:
Gotta effin' love national media announcers with a barely disguised Yankees fetish. I'm pretty sure McCarver carries pics of his fave Bombers in his wallet.
Mike:
You know not talking about
it
won't make it go away.
Susan/Circle:
The dark is empty; most of our heroes have been wrong.
Mike:
I hear the death-whisper of the heron, the bone thoughts of sea-things that are almost rock …
Susan/Circle:
Shark with a mouthful of man … We call on Petey. He is coming like the glory of the morning on the wave.
Mike:
Let the Stadium be his footstool, and the soul of Posada his slave. Our Petey is marching on.
Continue reading "Shark with a mouthful of man" »
As the time of reckoning approaches, Sox fans find many ways to prepare themselves …
Doug:
Father Tim? Yeah, Doug Roy, here. You hearing confessions today?
Scene from a church:
Every day at 1pm. Been especially sinful of late, Dougie?
Doug:
No, no, Father. Well, no more than usual. Just want to have a clean slate going into this Yankees series.
Doug:
Sure, why not? It's not like God hates us or anything. [Laughs]
Scene from a church:
Stop your whining, my son. Remember, Blessed are they who are persecuted in their heart; these are the ones who have truly known the Father. Blessed are those who are hungry, for the belly of the needy will be filled.
Doug:
Amen to that Padre. There's some hella hungry for a pennant bellies 'round here. Wretched souls, I tell you, wicked wretched.
Scene from a church:
Red Sox in five.
Doug:
No fucking shit? [Catches himself] Oh, begging your pardon, Father. Sorry for the language. You just stunned me. Is that the divine line?
Scene from a church:
Damn the Yankees, for they resemble a dog lying in an oxen manger, for he neither eats nor lets the oxen eat.
Doug:
That's what I was just saying the other day! [Laughs] Yeah, just like that. The Pharisees are the Yankees daddy!
The rivalry resumes: Red Sox v. Yankees, 2004 ALCS …
Marty:
Hey, Callaghan, you got your worry beads out yet?
Bill:
Ah, Marty Silverstein, my least favorite Spankees fan. To what do I owe the displeasure.
Marty:
Ah, is that anyway to treat your former college room mate? You're not nervous or anything are you Billy boy? By the way, from now on you can just refer to me as "Daddy" [Laughs]
Marty:
Class, Bill. You Red Sox fans are all class. Can't wait to hear the chant your Fenway low lifes will come up with when Mariano takes the mound. But I understand how all that losing can rot one's soul.
Bill:
Hey, you're the one who called me, ass wipe. You sound scared, Martin. You afraid this is the year it finally happens?
Marty:
Oh, yeah, Callahan, I'm fucking shaking so hard the 26 World Series rings are clinking. You know the BoSux couldn't beat New York in October if we sent our double A club out there.
Bill:
Ah, right. It's your two skanky Yankees strippers, "Mystique" and "Destiny." [Laughs]
Marty:
Laugh on Callahan. A lap dance from those two beats the clap you'd get from the Red Sox strippers. What're their names again, "Melancholy" and "Tristeza"? Probably still hurts when you urinate after what happened Game 7 last year.
Bill:
I know your sick head would like nothing more than to contemplate sick fantasies regarding my piss, but I've got to go read yet another story in the NY press about how the Yankees "aren't as good as they were a year ago" and how the Sox are.
Everyone anxiously awaits Game 3 of the ALDS at 4pm in the Fens …
Susan/Circle:
Is it wrong to envision a sweep here?
Mike:
Hey, if imagining a sweep is wrong, then I don't want to be right.
Mike:
Yeah, fuck the other shoe. Screw that whole expression. Who the fuck drops their shoes anyway? And why does this second shoe cause so much terror? It's just a shoe for fuck's sake. [Laughs]
Susan/Circle:
Alas, no more shoes, then. And while we're at it, no more of this writing on the walls either. Who are these retahds doing all this scribbling? Haven't they ever heard of instant messaging fercrissakes? Nobody reads walls anymore. That's so 1st Century.
Mike:
Right on, walls are for scoreboards, screens, and clanking doubles off.
Susan/Circle:
The skinny cornrow kid gets the start today. Any reticence over that choice?
Susan/Circle:
Agreed. God willing, October 8th shall become the Feast of Saint Bronson, sweeper of Angels, patron of cornrows and high leg kicks.
Bill:
Yeah, walk their rally monkey asses into a church and kneel down and pray.
Tara:
We should
go easy on the dreaming, though … it's not like we don't have some first hand experience with being down 0-2 in the ALDS and coming back to win 3 straight.
Bill:
True dat — But the '99 Indians and the '03 A's are
not
your 2004 Boston Red Sox.
Bill:
I'm Bill Callahan and I approve of that sentiment. [Laughs] OK. Wake or Cornrowyo as Game 3 starter?
Tara:
I'm leaning toward the skinny Texan. I don't like the idea of the Angels baserunning skills giving them
a real chance to manufacture runs
against the Flutterballer.
Bill:
All I know is the hours between now and Friday at 4pm are going to drag on like a couple old geezers playing checkers in the sun.
The Red Sox take Game 1 of the ALDS over the Angels …
Doug:
Was that a great
F-F-Figgin
game or what?
Doug:
No kidding and the best part is there's plenty of Schilling left for his next ALDS start, if necessary.
Doug:
Is it me or did Johnny Jesus Damon's hair grow about 3 inches between Sunday in Baltimore and yesterday in Anaheim?
Mike:
Dude's probably been chowing down on some of those, er, "fish tacos",
wink, wink
… that's pure protein. Makes everything grow. [Laughs]
It's show time. Red Sox v Angels, ALDS Game 1, 4pm today …
Doug:
All over the Simi Valley, fuckers are setting aside their
fish tacos
to go look for their thundersticks.
Doug:
What the fuck do you expect, it's the land of
chinplants
and
tummy tucks
for fuck's sake. Nothing's for real.
Doug:
Shit, dude, don't mock the dead. [Crosses himself]
Bill:
Hey, I'm just fucking sayin' … that's all.
The Playoff match ups are set: Red Sox v Anaheim in the ALCDS …
Mike:
Did you get this morning's email from ol' man Scrivener?
Susan/Circle:
Hell yeah. He's shutting the office down at 3pm tomorrow so we can all
watch Game 1 at 4pm. The Scriv may be an old pervert, but his heart's in the right place.
Mike:
No word yet on whether he's going to cut us any slack on Thursday morning, after the 10pm Game 2 start the night before.
Susan/Circle:
Hopefully the Sox'll take the first two and then work won't matter anyway.
Mike:
Fuck yeah,
worker productivity
in New England drops to that of Third World country whenever the Sox are in the post season.
Susan/Circle:
Students, too. I was a decent math student until the playoffs in '86. Ended up failing trig that year because I didn't do any homework during that run. I never recovered. Fuck math anyway. [Laughs]
Susan/Circle:
Like it was yesterday. I was 15 and all that mattered to me were
the Smiths
and the Red Sox.
Mike:
Yeah, "How Soon Is Now?" could be the title of my life with the Red Sox.… Well, except for the "all my hope is gone" part.
Susan/Circle:
The hours between now and 4pm Tuesday are going to effin' drag.
Mike:
No doubt. And nobody bettah fuck with my work place lassitude unless it's to
discuss the ALDS.
