« October 2005 |
Main
| December 2005 »
Mike:
Well, given that Manny's default and/or normal behaviah is, er, screwy, for lack of a bettah word, how exactly are we supposed to know when he's "acting irrationally"?
Doug:
Maybe he can give us a head's up by holding a sign or something? Instead of "Manny Being Manny" it'd read "Manny Being (More) Manny!"
Mike:
Or what if the "irrational" Manny is a flip of the "normal" Manny such that the irrational becomes rational?
Doug:
Ah, right! So all of a sudden the "irrational" version is, you know, running wicked hahd to first on pop flies, is begging to play every day and remembahs how many outs there are in an inning … shit like that.
Mike:
You know regarding this latest trade me saga, I'm entirely sympathetic to Manny's or any celebrity's desiah for privacy etc, but, c'mon, living at the Ritz Cahlton smack dab in the center of the city of Boston isn't exactly working the privacy angle too hahd.
Doug:
Geez, you think? But I can understand Manny's inability to grasp that, but you'd think his wife would have her wits about her. I mean she's from Brazil aftah all.
Mike:
No kidding. In South America if you have any money or social standing at all you live behind razah wiah and a 10 foot wall of reinforced concrete to keep the riff raff at bay.
Doug:
Right on. Say what you will about Saddam, but as fah as dictahtahs go, the guy had an old school sense of style.
Mike:
You know, they just don't make dictahtahs like they used too. It's all been downhill since Napoleon.
Bill:
Yeah, my only solace is in thinking the Globe story is full of shit. They haven't, you know, been a very reliable baseball news source of late.
Bill:
Yep, according to Boras 7 years is a steal. At age 41 in 2015 Damon be ahead of both Ruth and Aaron in all-time runs.
Mike:
Who the hell knew that Johnny the Jesus would have greatah careah longevity than Jesus the Jesus!
Bill:
Well, see, if Jesus the Christ had a little less Judas and a little more Boras, it'd been a whole new ballgame in Judea.
Mike:
"Hello Pontius Pilate? Good morning your excellency, Scott Boras here. I represent Jesus of Nazareth, and I've got 10-section, three-ring notebook I'd like to go over with you …"
Continue reading "And He Shall Purify the Sons of Larry" »
Doug:
Well, you know what Shaunghnasty's thinking, right? If they give 21 to Beckett, then as soon as Beckett goes through some tough times, ol' Dan-O can roll out the "Beckett's a disgrace to the numbah, he's no Rojah!" column.
Bill:
Yeah, eithah that or the Shank already has one of ominous numerology columns filed away, you know, things like Babe Ruth had 21 teeth. There were 21 Bostonians on Titanic. The A-Bomb exploded 21 seconds aftah being dropped. JFK was shot 21 minutes aftah the hour … that's the CHB's bread and buttah.
Doug:
Meanwhile, this front office doesn't have the balls to make a break from the past like that. And, of course, I'm sure they like the idea of keeping alive the "Clemens may come back one day" pathos among the fan base.
Bill:
If I'm a playah, I'm going with numbah 00 and saying it's an homage to one of the coolest dudes evah to represent Boston: The Chief, Robaht Parrish.
Doug:
Ah, that's right the ol double nill. For some reason I thought Parrish wore numbah 420. Heh.
Bill:
But what's with all this positive integah only crap anyway? Where's 5 and two-thirds? 7 and three-forths? How whole numbah biased is that?
Doug:
It's the Man, dude, imperialist, hegemonist fraction hatahs.
Bill:
Fercrissakes, some of my best friends are irrational numbahs.
Doug:
Are you kidding me? If it wasn't for Pi, I'd be a total square.
Hart Brachen:
Your humble host Hart here on the metaphorical trolley of life …
Hart Brachen:
I'm doing the "over the river and through the woods to an undisclosed location I go" show, so no strip for the next few days.
Hart Brachen:
And a huge thanks, of course, to all of you for your readership, support, and pithy comments.
Hart Brachen:
Eat well and be well my fellow Soxaholix!
Bill:
Wait … Hold on I'm checking … OK. Yep, it's true. I just pissed myself.
Bill:
Looks like the "GM by committee" is working out a helluva lot bettah than the "bullpen by committee," eh?
Mike:
I dunno. A paht of me looks at this deal and cringes — I mean Lowell is dead weight, pure and simple, and Beckett is going to make Pedro seem durable by comparison …
Bill:
Ah, quit your bitchin' … This is one of those deals you just have to do if the opportunity arises no mattah what. Beckett's only 25 years old fercrissakes and Schilling says he's "as electric as they come."
Mike:
Maybe. But I don't think this deal happens if Theo is still the GM.
Bill:
Earth to Mike: Theo ain't the GM anymoah. Get ovah it.
Mike:
Oh, that's rich coming from the guy who walked around the office for 3 consecutive days pining and moping like a school girl and saying he was going to quit the Red Sox aftah Theogate went down. Jeez.
Mike:
Yeah but transcendental homeboy was talking about foolish consistencies … What's so foolish about, you know, stocking the farm system and developing from within rather than trading it all away for a "win it now" crapshoot?
Bill:
You know it's easy for you Gen X'ers to take that "we've got all the time in the world" approach, but for us baby boomahs now in middle age we need something to get us through the evah longah and coldah wintahs. Josh Beckett gives me something to look forward to this April. Anibal Sanchez? Ah, not so much.
Mike:
Ah, great. Because of you old fahts I'm going to have neithah a fahm system nor social security.
Mike:
All this talk about amphetamines has me wanting some. I've been sluggish since the time change. Coffee just isn't getting the job done.
Doug:
Lately I more and more find there's no coffee in the coffee.
Mike:
How true. I plow through it and it is definitely a coffee area, but there's no coffee in it.
Doug:
Right, and you always think there'll be a little at the bottom of the cup, but there nevah is.
Mike:
The fact is, coffee isn't just a substance — it's an event, and it's manifestation depends on countless subtle conditions, most of which are not speakable.
Doug:
If it's missing at all, it's all missing.
Mike:
Yeah, like a major league ballclub without a GM.
Doug:
If you say "G-M G-M G-M" real fast it sounds like Jem. And thinking of Jem is a pleasant distraction.
Mike:
Ah, I'm not too fond of the little Welsh rarebit, too scrawny.
Continue reading "Just a ride" »
It's another Thursday without much baseball news so, once again, The Soxaholix become the Lostaholix [caution: episode spoilers galore] …
Bill:
Watching the small bright dot in the sky rapidly enlahge to reveal itself as the about to crash violently tail section of doomed Flight 815 was one of the best sequences I've evah seen on TV.
Tara:
And the pacing was superb. 48 days in 70 minutes? Hell yeah! On the edge of my seat the whole time. And Mr. Eko? The most righteous and visually poetic kicker of ass on all of network television. And some seriously nipples to boot.
Bill:
Yeah, and leathah vest clad Ana "I do take prisoners and torture the piss out of 'em" Lucia ain't no slouch eithah.
Tara:
Man, that knife and apple scene with her and the infiltrator Other, Goodwin, was pure joy.
Bill:
Are you kidding me, Larry Lucchino would give a gonad to be half as smooth as Ana Lucia.
Tara:
I think Larry Lucchino is one of the Others. I mean what's the first thing they do? Dissapear the kids, right? Look what happened to Theo.
Bill:
More likely is Lucchino as part of The Dharma Initiative. I mean what bettah way to study lahge scale communal behaviah than to give long suffahring Red Sox fans what they most wanted only to 12 months latah destroy it all for no apparent reason?
Tara:
Yeah, 4 Yawkey Way is really Dharma Station 4 and there's a hatch underneath Fenway where Larry and the Dentist go to receive coded messages from Alvar Hanso to do nonsensical things like "sell sod" and "get rid of Theo" all for the sake of large scale behavorial research.
Bill:
Makes as much sense as anything we've heard out of the front office in explaining the crapfest they've gotten us into.
Bill:
Yeah, and Lucchino's about as populah in Boston as Saddam is in Bagdad right about now.
Mike:
This is what I most feahed all along. It's not that Theo is some irreplaceable GM genius, but rathah that any potential GM candidate with half a brain would look at the Red Sox situation and go, "You're fucking kidding me, right?"
Bill:
Of course, Lucky's personal Pravda reports that Dayton Moore, the alleged top choice for the GM spot, "felt great chemistry with Larry Lucchino …"
Mike:
Yeah, and I hear arsenic tastes like burnt almonds, not at all unpleasant as you're slowly poisoned to death.
Continue reading "Talk Dirty to Me" »
Mike:
Totally. When the generally stoic Pinto goes all "Tom Cruise on Oprah's couch" ovah Slappy, it, er, creeps me out more than a little bit.
Susan:
So how do you think A-Rod is going to spend his million dollah bonus for winning the MVP?
Mike:
Oh, you know, a little Texas Hold 'em, maybe some 5 Card Stud being that he's a self-proclaimed "5 Tool" playah and all …
Susan:
You think the A-Fraud plays pokah the way he plays baseball? You know awesome with the early hands but when the pot gets big he totally folds?
Mike:
Absolutely. Bet he's not above cheating a bit, too. What's the pokah equivalent to the sissy ball slap, anyway?
Susan:
Maybe he uses his rings to distract the other playahs … Oh, wait I second, I forgot, A-Fraud doesn't have any bling bling.
Mike:
Anyway rumah has it he's a pidgeon at the cahd table: Whenevah he has a good hand, his lips turn blue.
Arturo, the hot dog vendor:
Hey-ya, Mr. Roy. Long time no see.
Doug:
You know how it goes, Arturo, the food nannies have black listed your fine, processed food product. Just an occasional treat for me these days.
Doug:
Ah, Christ, you know, I've never understood the vegan obsession with making non-meat products look just like meat products. The Garden Burger? The Tofurky? What the frig? If meat is murder, then why in Christ do the vegans want their crap to look just like meat?
Arturo, the hot dog vendor:
Yeah, it's like a coupla lesbians with a strap-on. I mean eithah you like dick or you don't. Can't have it both ways, ladies. Heh.
Arturo, the hot dog vendor:
Big Papi, 100% clutch. Accept no substitutes.
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" …
Lisa the Temp:
Hah, just wait until the whole operation gets outsourced to India.
Lisa the Temp:
You think they take time on the clock to discuss Manny Ramirez in Bangalore?
Lisa the Temp:
Work harder, work faster, work cheaper … Welcome to the global economy, bitches … Ha haa haa Everybody's a temp now!
[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.
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.
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.
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.
Tara:
Yeah, I expect Lucchino to start talking about his dog Checkers any moment now.
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.
Doug:
Well, if there were anything to it, you can fahgetaboutit now that Shaughnessy wrote about it. It's the fucking kiss of death.
Mike:
Ah, classic CHB. Note how he writes all distant and innocent and shit.
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.
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?
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.
Continue reading "That little sound" »
Bill:
It's like an early Christmas present. A pink stocking shockah.
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.
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 …
Doug:
Yeah, not to mention the forsaken hasbians.
Bill:
One must summon the utmost empathy for men of the hasbians and their cruel dilemma.
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?
Bill:
To peep, perchance to gleam. Ah, there's the hasbian rub.
Mike:
Absolutely. It's going to be like bullpen-by-committee except even bettah.
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.
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.
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?
Susan:
Grey waves the stub-necked eiders ride. A labor of love, and that labor lost.
Continue reading "Against both bar and tower the black sea runs." »
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."
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.
Susan/Circle:
Where the frig is Larry "Baseball Man" Lucchino these days anyways? Hiding out in Dick Cheney's bunkah?
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 …"
Mike:
Yep. No stones unturned except, of course, for that giant bouldah sitting on Yawkey Way … "Nothing to see heah, people, move along now …"
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."
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."
Mike:
C'mon now. You know everything's going to be fine. John Henry and the gang are successful businessmen after all.
Doug:
Christ, you're right. Successful business guys have all the fucking ansahs!
Mike:
Absolutely. So how's that Enron stock working out for you anyway?
Doug:
I've got your 401K right heah, bitches. Let's Go Capitalists — CLAP, CLAP, CLAPCLAPCLAP!!!!
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.
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.
Bill:
I believe it is at this point that one tends to say, "I feel fine."
Continue reading "If you walkaway, walkaway" »
