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Mike:
I picked up Leigh Montville's Why Not Us? over the weekend and breezed right through it.
Bill:
It's a good read, then?
Mike:
Yeah, the opening chapter, where Montville describes his conversation beginning in '99 from a dispassionate, root for no team "professional sports columnist" back to the diehahd Sox fan he was as a kid is worth the price of admission on its own … And he's got a good collection of fan voices as well.
Bill:
Yeah, but the only problem I have with the "voice of the Red Sox fan" thing is my own jealousy. I mean "Why Not Us?" how about "Why Not Me?" Hello? I've got a fucking story to tell ovah heah! [Laughs]
Mike:
Funniest thing about that slappy purse image is it's so seared, seared into my memory that I can no longer envision the actual play without the photoshopped purse.
Bill:
Little did Slappy McBluelips know that his sad and pitiful attempt to alter fate by cheating would become the premier Red Sox fan effigy of all time.
Mike:
And inside that little black purse are the voices of every Yankees fan who evah uttered the words "Bucky effin Dent" or chanted "1918"to a Red Sox fan.
Bill:
Voices now and foreveh silenced.
Bill:
I hate to break it to ya, buddy, but you're not likely to see those pants in summah neithah. But, Christ, that'd open up a whole new mahket for Ass Chapstick, though.
Doug:
Speaking of asses, I'm tuned into The O.C. last night waiting for some of that much Fox hyped hot girl on and girl action and during a commercial break I'm confronted with that whatthefuckisthis Nike commercial you guys were talking about the other day with Mariano Meatball Rivera in some sort of whacked out mask.
Bill:
Fortunately they didn't get any Red Sox signed up for that. It's an embarrassment to the athletes. I actually feel bad for Rivera being put into all those ridiculous poses like he's the bee-atch of some Risdee "performance artist" with a dominitrix fantasy.
Doug:
Fuck, now that you put it that way, I think I'm starting to like it. "You will wear this mask, slave. What's that? I want to hear 'Yes, Mistress' and nothing else. Do you understand, slave,? Get on your knees, Marionito. Now!"
Bill:
Yeah, that is pretty much how the Red Sox have been treating him these days. I'd want to wear a mask too after getting manhandled like that.
Bill:
Welcome to "Proctor and Gamble Stadium."
Doug:
Yep, say goodbye to "The Blade" nickname and say hello to "The Fabreeze"
Rider on Green Line:
Well, I naively thought the trade of Minky to the Mets would mean the end of ballgate dominating the Red Sox news, but no frickin' way.
Susan/Circle:
Yeah, someone needs to gather up some embryonic stem cells and attempt to grow this decision-maker a new set of balls so not only can he learn to discern the difference between the trivial and the tragic, but also so he has the courage to speak on record fercrissakes.
Rider on Green Line:
Absolutely. But something tells me this dude's decision-making around Yawkey Way is limited to whethah the crappahs will feature Charmin or Cottenelle.
Susan/Circle:
Does it mean I'm a bad fan if I don't rush right out to see this Ball of Turin when it goes on "immediate public display"?
Rider on Green Line:
Yeah, but Kos also said Howard Dean was the next big thing.
Doug:
Thank your favorite supreme being for that. Those clown suits were an embarrassment.
Mike:
I'll go out on a limb and say that I might be the only member of Red Sox Nation who liked the red uni. I even bought one …
Doug:
Dude, you're fucking kidding me, right? How does anyone like that horror show?
Mike:
I liked the way it accentuated the red in Red Sox, and it made a really bold color statement contrasting against all the Fenway green, especially on TV.
Mike:
Hey, it's a good show. Who the fuck knew I'd been shaving incorrectly all these years? Or that there's no such thing as too much hair product?
The Soxaholix dig out from one of the better snow storms to hit the area in years …
Doug:
I was just a snot nosed toddler so don't remember it, but I've seen the pics. That was the motha of all snow storms.
Bill:
We lost powah for 20 hours. If my old man didn't have the wood stove goin', I swear we would have frozen to death right then and there.
Doug:
They were probably afraid Slappy would pull a Billy Boy to Schilling's Stagga Lee. [Sings the Clash lyrics] "But if you must lie and deceit And trample people under your feet. It is the wrong 'em boyo!"
Bill:
Absolutely. But, hey, how come Schilling can gamble and play cahds and shit. I thought that was a no-no with the Born Again crowd?
Doug:
Fercrissakes, everything is negotiable when it's for charity and shit.
Bill:
Hey, I bet Jesus would be one fuck of a pokah playa.
Doug:
Yeah, you'd be all "Man, I think Jesus is bluffing. He's got nothing. But then again..." And Jesus'd be all sitting there peaceful and shit, unreadable, freaking your ass out.
Bill:
Yeah, big time, and if you started to beat him, he'd be all putting the guilt mojo on you, all checking out your big ass pile of chips and saying, "Let him who has found the world and become rich deny the world." And you'd be thinking about his sandals and feeling all sorry for the poor.
Doug:
Yeah, and then when Jesus has finally beat your ass and he's scooping all his chips into his robe, for charity, of course, he'd be all cocky saying "Get some long haired chicks over here to wash and anoint my feet. And Jesus wants some wine, too. Don't make Jesus have to ask twice, fool. I'll smite your sorry ass. You want an ass smiten? Huh, do ya boy-ee?"
Mike:
Check it: "The day before the team opens a series, Carr delivers a black three-ring binder of about 80 pages to the coaching staff, Varitek, Doug Mirabelli, and Schilling." Man, I effin' love that!
Susan/Circle:
How about Brian O'Halloran's story? The dude so wanted to work for the Sox that he initially did it for free and, even crazier, secretly. Only Epstein knew he was coming in at midnight charting games 'til 4 or 5 in the morning then going to work as a substitute teacher to pay the bills! Talk about dedication.
Mike:
I feel so fucking inadequate now. Here I am in my late 20s at a meaningless job I have zero passion for, contributing nothing to society, while guys my own age are cross town in a Fenway officle changing the motherfucking baseball world with their ideas and energy.
Mike:
Fercrissakes, that's perhaps the stupidest thing I've heard in a long time. Blogging is an art form in the same way that poker and chess are "sports."
Susan/Circle:
Absolutely. But at least poker and chess require mental acumen and a degree of talent.
Mike:
What are you saying? That writing a few lines about your life or how you hate whatevahthefuckitis and including a picture of your cat or your tatoo and then pushing a publish button doesn't take fucking smarts and talent? Are you insane or something? Those are killah skillz.
Susan/Circle:
Well, now that you mention the cat pics, maybe I should rethink.
Bill:
Fercrissakes, what do you think I am, one of those American Idol wannabees? I just don't do the "exuberant, over-the-top fan waiting to audition" very well. Besides they'll be looking for youth demographic.
Bill:
Fuck yeah! Take that "Chicks Dig the Long Ball" think to a whole otha level. Boom chicka waa waaa.
Bill:
Viral ads fucking rule.
Rider on Green Line:
Hell yeah they do. OK here's my viral MLB satire ad idea … In "CSI-style" we open with a close up of a room filled with (everywhere) obvious lab equipment …
Bill:
Test tubes and beakers and shit?
Rider on Green Line:
Yeah, exactly. Scales, funky colored liquids in tubes … then the camera pulls out to reveal a guy, a scientist type in a white lab coat, he's wearing safety glasses and looking earnestly at a hypodermic needle …
Bill:
I'm following … guy is some sort of chemist or something.
Rider on Green Line:
Right! Now with that established, the camera pulls way back, wide angle, full shot of lab, to reveal a TV on the periphery, appears to be a baseball game on the TV. Jump cut to a close up on the TV. It's a totally bulked up stud swinging and hitting a towering effin' homah. Jump cut back to the chemist, close up on his face. He's smiling. He turns to face the camera and say, "I Live for This!"
Bill:
Ohmigod that's it! Better living through chemistry.
Mike:
Man, isn't it friggin' refreshing to read that a player is psyched and happy with his life and the money he's making?
Mike:
Yeah, this repining shit gets old real fast.
Doug:
Speaking of repiners, two of the biggest in Red Sox history, Mr. Clemens and Mr. Martinez respectively, have led me to mental fucking my-ah.
Mike:
No way! Not a motherfucking my-ah?
Mike:
And you know that will be the equivalent of a dog taking a fucking piss on Petey's mango tree.
Doug:
Hence the Boston fan dilemma: Does my never ending animosity towards Clemens outweigh my nascent loathing toward Martinez and his recent contract negotiation nastiness?
Mike:
A most merciless my-ah, indeed.
Susan/Circle:
Ah, how cute. A Sabermetric wannabee e.e. cummings. What possesses people to think crap like a blog written in lower case is cool or something?
Tara:
Yeah, does the dude get up in the morning thinking, "I don't use the shift key. Is my shit the bananas or what?"
Susan/Circle:
I love that irony that this self-described mathematician wants us to trust his numbers yet he doesn't feel compelled to follow the simplest of grammatical rules? Sloppy and lazy in one implies sloppy and lazy in the other.
Susan/Circle:
Abso-fucking-lutely. If you can't be bothahd with the extra keystroke, I can't be bothahd to read your blog.
Doug:
How come I nevah work at a place that closes for MLK day? What is the ol' boss man Scrivener against letting freedom ring or what?
Bill:
Quit your bitchin' … Remember it was ol' man Scrivener who let us slip out early, come in late, et cetera during the Sox playoffs, right?
Doug:
Yeah, that turd-slicah is all ovah at Pizza Hut getting the Crow Lovah's Supreme with crow stuffed crust. Dink should learn by now the only thing he'll be picking is his own ass, ripe or not.
Bill:
Yet again, the Patriots take the fucking Colts to school.
Doug:
Indy is so fucking enrolled at Belichick High School that Peyton Manning needs to ask for a hall pass before he can take a piss.
Bill:
Yeah, and then when he gets there, Peyton pees sitting down.
Doug:
Fucking overrated dome boys. Oh-fer-six? Go back to Louisiana. Wallow in the valley of despair.
Doug:
OK. So we've reached the mofo nadir in baseball news. There's nothing going on.
Mike:
What's even saddah is I'm so fucking bored I actually read it. Leave it to his Shankiness to use something as innocuous as the World Series trophy to take a jab at the Red Sox writing," It is bigger and better than any ballplayer. It never leaves via free agency."
Doug:
If nothing else, you've got to just step back and admire Curly for his fucking consistency.
Mike:
Ratha than thinking outside the box, the dude's standing there motherfucking hammerin' the box shut from the inside.
Mike:
How the fuck do they test something like that?
Doug:
Dude, don't tell me you've nevah seen a Euroweenie football club celebrate after a goal. Who do you think is behind that ass grabbing and smooching? That's right, motherfucking C-I-A.
Rider on Green Line:
I'm psyched but not at all surprised. He of the sutures and bloody sock doesn't go gently into that good night known as the DL.
Bill:
So when Schilling says that Randy Johnson is quote "special," does he mean, you know, special special? You know short bus special.
Rider on Green Line:
And what is up with the chimps?
Bill:
Hey, don't fuck with the chimps. Gotta have somebody with brains in that household.
Rider on Green Line:
True. And I'm just so glad they are going with chimp children and haven't yet polluted the gene pool or anything.
Rider on Green Line:
They really named the talking condoms Shaft, Stretch and Dick? That's totally flippin' hilarious. Yeah, I'm sure that will work in convincing third world men from highly patriarchal cultures into going to the glove for love.
Rider on Green Line:
What race gets stuck with that stubby blue one? Poor effin' bahstids?
Doug:
And the pinstripes just accentuate his gauntness. You know, he just doesn't "look" like a Yankee, does he? Doesn't fit their square jaw, soapy clean, buzz cut image. And are those braces he's wearing?
Bill:
Ah, for fuck's sake. This is why I hate January. Baseball is so far away that we're reduced to playing the role of Melissa and Joan Rivers to Randy Johnson?
Doug:
OK. I so just got a bonah.
Bill:
I tell ya, though. I think I'll skip that erotic story "of sex in a Fenway Park bathroom during a Red Sox game." Call me a prude, but that just doesn't feel right.
Doug:
Yeah, be kinda like doing it in church or something. Besides it's totally implausible. Evah taken a whiz at a game when there wasn't a line to the pissah?
Bill:
You're not in Arizona anymore bean pole.
Tara:
What's also hilarious about Randy's media meltdown is that usually celebrity men get into fights with cameramen when they are part of a celebrity couple like Timberlake with Diaz or Sean Penn with Madonna and not by themselves.
Bill:
Well, Randy is in love with Randy, so what do you expect but a little worship at the alter of Onan?
Bill:
Hell yeah. I loved it when one guy dismissed Sabermetrics because it's "un-American."
Tara:
Considering that a good portion of our republic still dismisses the science behind the theory of evolution as blasphemy, maybe he's got a point?
Tara:
I always wonder if when one of the anti-Sabermetrics goes to the doctor do they refuse to take any tests? You know, "No, no, doctor. You're not swabbing my throat or taking my blood to find out why I'm spitting up glowing green mucous. Just look at me ferrcrissakes! Can't you just tell by looking at me?"
Susan/Circle:
This Minky-Ball-Gate story reminds me why I always go all glassy eyed and catatonic when someone starts going all reverential about their recent trip to Cooperstown. I really don't give a fuck about "memorabilia."
Mike:
Yeah and what the fuck is up with getting the ball "authenticated" by Major League Baseball officials? How the fuck do you authenticate something like that? Do baseballs have DNA all of a sudden?
Susan/Circle:
Oh, this sounds like a potential hit TV show. It's CSI meets ESPN in Fox's new hit series that everyone is talking about "SMA: Sports Memorabilia Authentication" Mondays at 9.
Mike:
[Imitating a TV voiceover] "In a very special cold case episode, at a suburban garage sale a reformed drug dealer claims to have the crowbar used to injure Nancy Kerrigan's knee in 1994. Join the crack SMA team as they rush in to authenticate! See what dark secret they reveal."
Susan/Circle:
Fuck yeah. The team would be made up of the scientist, the clairvoyant one, the rookie, and the hard scrabble, cigar chomping, older tough guy father figure.
Mike:
And one of them, probably the clairvoyant one who when handling the memorabilia can "see" the past, should be played by a hot chick who wears tight, low cut blouses.
Susan/Circle:
Abso-fucking-lutely. And maybe give her a French accent too, just for the fuck of it. And, of course, the scientist should be played by a minority, maybe half black, half Chicano, just to covah all your bases.
Mike:
And think of all the fucking spinoff series you could have like "Sports Drug Testing Squad" … this joint is pure network gold. Stories "ripped from the headlines" and all that shit.
Susan/Circle:
Must fucking see TV. You got that right.
Doug:
Not to sound totally callous, but can we dial back from tsunami 24 fucking 7 yet?
Mike:
No kidding, I got the memo: big fucking wave, no fucking warning, give shitloads of money already you wealthy not drowned bastahds.
Mike:
Back in high school, I so fucking wanted my 9th grade English teacher, Ms Honeywell, to have a lewd act with me. Every 4th period was a total fucking morning wood fest. I'd fantasize that she'd keep my after class to say, "Mike, we've discussed a lot of Shakespeare in our lessons, now I'd like to shake your spear in a special after school lesson…"
Mike:
I think my high school fantasy with Ms. Honeywell was more likely than that. But, you know, crazy shit does happen from time to time?
Doug:
Therein lies a great truth: The more implausible the plundah, the more plausible the plundah becomes.
Still poking the hot stove fire as January takes hold …
Bill:
If I'm a Yankees fan …
Doug:
Ewwwww! Gross thought. [Laughs]
Bill:
Yeah, I feel soiled just saying it, but if I were, heaven forbid, a Yanker, I'd be scratching my head over this alleged pass on Beltran.
Doug:
Oh, no effin' doubt. Spend all that money to get Randy Johnson and then just take a pass on the best free agent out there? Makes no fucking sense.
Bill:
All we hear from the so called intelligentsia of Yankee fandom is all that shit about the Yankees "not asking for the current set of rules they operate under" and how George is such a magnanimous and great man for working the system and putting the best team money can buy on the field each year for his fans, for his people. "George just wants to win blah fucking blah" and all that …
Doug:
And yet he doesn't even put an offer on the table for Beltran?
Doug:
I fucking love it. While the Spankees management remain focused on responding to their horrific beat down at the hands of Schilling and Company in an effort to win it all in 2005, they are blind to the fact that very soon they're going to find themselves in need of a centerfielder, second baseman, catcher and staff ace.
Bill:
And 2005 is fah from a given for the Mystique and Aura punks from the Bronx.
Doug:
I am so loving this Slappy McBluelips era of Yankees desperation moves by players and bosses alike.
Rider on Green Line:
Fantastic. I always liked Boggsie, though during his career the knock against him was that he was a selfish player.
Bill:
Course he was selfish. You don't become a self-confessed sex addict without a narcissistic streak, do you? But 5 batting titles is an awesome achievement.
Bill:
Ah, for fuck's sake. You know winning isn't everything (except when playing the Spankees) but it's just wrong seeing one of our own, a proud member of Red Sox Nation getting the smack down like that.
Bill:
Hey, you know soccer is the most popular sport in the world.
Rider on Green Line:
So I keep getting reminded every four years. But the last time I checked, I still live in the country that doesn't give a rat's ass about world opinion, right? Besides I don't trust any sport that doesn't allow for the use of hands.
Bill:
No shit. The fucking opposable thumb is nature's gift to the primates.
Rider on Green Line:
I heart my flippin' thumbs.
Bill:
I bite my thumb at the hand hating soccer hooligans. [Laughs]
Doug:
Man, it's flippin' amazin' how the Red Sox World Series victory has totally afforded me the ability to chill the fuck out.
Mike:
No shit. Before I'd a been all "Fercrissakes what are we gonna do now!?!?" Now I'm all "I yawn that shit muthafuckahs."
Doug:
Yeah, yeah, rathah than "Randy Johnson? Holy Fucking Crap!" I'm all "Randy Johnson, the guy who got out dueled by Masato Yoshii in the '99 NLDS." [Laughs]
Doug:
Yeah, the Valley Girls have only moved once but have changed their name four fucking times now.
Doug:
Yeah, and with a fucking halo in their logo. Surely some fucktahd is going to claim he's being unfairly forced to endorse Christianity when he goes to a ballgame to watch the Angels in a public funds supported ballpark.
Mike:
Abso-fucking-lutely. There's nothing worse than being scared shitless by random religious iconography in public spaces.
Continue reading "Touched by Angels" »
Doug:
Maybe I do need to reassess the situation. Then again being in a flippin' coma most of the season, would make it easy to be the kind of manager who "kept secrets, protected reputations, and prevented isolated personnel problems from mushrooming into destructive media conflagrations." [Laughs]
Bill:
But whatevah it was, it worked, eh?
Doug:
Fuck yeah it did. He can rock his ass off in the dugout and make questionable moves all he wants. Francoma's getting a free pass from me.
Bill:
You are so absolutely full of shit. You'll be all ovah Francona's ass the first chance you get.
Doug:
[Imitating the voice of Napoleon Dynamite] I'll do whatever I feel like I wanna do, gosh!
