Calling it quits (no, no, not us)

Bill:
So did you hear the latest? The Yankees have given up on 2007.

 

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Doug:
Good for them. Unlike Britney Speahs, the Yankees know when it's all ovah.

 

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Doug:
Meanwhile, don't tell Paddy, but Theo Epstein remains one smaht mofo.

 

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aimz 2 plz

Surliness today, surliness tomorrow, surliness forever.

Bill slamming phone with thought bubble:
Grrrrrrrr …

 

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Still the one

Susan/Circle:
Well, I'm so glad I waited until 10:30 to discovah that Kason Gabbard is to stahting pitching what Paris Hilton is to line drawing.

 

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Tara:
Hey now, could be a whole lot worse …

 

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Tara:
You be rooting for a team who lost for the sixth time in seven games and fell eight games behind in the wild-card and is betting on Scott "Walkaway Walkaway" Procter.

 

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Susan/Circle:
Eww.

 

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Tara:
And if you need more feel good, consider hitting coach Dave Magadan's prowess in turning around Coco's plate production.

 

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Susan/Circle:
Jeez, aren't you little miss sunshine this morning!

 

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Tara:
Well, give me a big, solid 10 in front and, yes, I'm feeling that love.

 

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All in all not a great start to the week

Doug:
"Everything went wrong today - that’s why I love this game."

 

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Mike:
And Batshit remains completely Batshit and that's why we call him Batshit.

 

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Doug:
Meanwhile, the long-awaited storyline where Jon Lestah replaces Taverez in the rotation may nevah get written.

 

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Doug:
And Schilling is fried and Buehrle ain't coming.

 

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Mike:
No one said it'd be easy.

 

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Doug:
Yeah, well, at least we can rest easy knowing that bunch of geezahs in robes know what the phrase "Bong Hits 4 Jesus" means, and that it specifically advocates illegal drug use.

 

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Mike:
Any word yet from SCOTUS on the phrase "Bong Hits 4 Batshit"?

 

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On eloquence

Al:
Beckett now 11-1, 2 of 3 from San Diego, and once again 11&fracc12; up in the division …

 

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Al:
The Red Sox are just so, I dunno, so eloquent right now... like a kite high in a day-at-the-beach blue sky.

 

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Mike:
The Sox are eloquent and effortless, like a dog who sleeps all afternoon in a corner of the couch.

 

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Doug:
Oh, are you guys friggin kidding me or what? C'mon, The Red Sox right now are eloquent, effortless, and full of purpose, like Salma Hayek's pregnant titties.

 

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Mike:
Righteous, bro.

 

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Al:
Seriously, Hayek's old rich dude has done a very good thing.

 

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Doug:
Heh, regarding the Yankees old rich dude, though, not so much.

 

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Permanent Fixture

Mike:
Heh, so the Pheonix has named Shaughnessy "The Most Hated Man in Boston."

 

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Bill:
Yeah, the "Seven things they hate about you" section is spot on.

 

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Bill:
But my only complaint with the story is I think it's about 2-3 years out of date.

 

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Mike:
How's that?

 

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Bill:
Do people really hate Shaughnessy that much anymore? I mean who cares about him these days — the interwebs have won.

 

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Bill:
Think about it: As near as I can tell the only people who are still influenced by anything the CHB writes are 1) The old schoolahs who still want to get ink on their hands when they take in the "news" and 2) the masochists who read Shaughnessy just to get their bile up.

 

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Bill:
And the formah group is, well, dying, and the lattah group, while amusing, hold little sway in  today's fan world.

 

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Mike:
Well, then where does that leave us? We still read and discuss him from time to time.

 

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Bill:
We don't count, of course, as we have no free will and are instead guided by the omnipotent whims of our authorial mastah.

 

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Mike:
Oh, right, that. Jeez.

 

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Bill:
Look, for evidence of the complete shrink of the Shank consider this: He's now bettah known as the butt of a Carl Everett joke, i.e., the CHB, than he is for anything else including his now uber passe tome The Curse of the Bambino. Res ipsa loquitur, you know.

 

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Mike:
True, there's a whole generation coming up who only considers Shaugnhessy in light of RSN trivia: "Who is the CHB, what does it mean, and what is the origin of the phrase?"

 

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Bill:
Abolutely. And it's cosmic justice that ol' Danny Boyo is going to fade into memory forevah linked with that othah malcontent intahlopah Everett.

 

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Bill:
Of course, that doesn't mean the Curly Haired Boyfriend is going anywhere soon … No, he'll still be there at the Globe thrashing out his little columns and believing he still mattahs for years to come …

 

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Bill:
But like neuticals on a fixed Irish Settah, Shaughnessy will just be taking up space, empty and powerless.

 

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Special bonus strip (filling in the hole from Wednesday last) …

Steve:
So much for Clemens only giving the Yankees not enough at the predicted 6 innings, the reality is he can't even give them a full 5.

 

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Mike:
Yeah, and how 'bout this: Damon is too hurt to play the outfield so the put him at DH. Great. Then he pulls an abominal and can't swing a bat without intense pain. So put him on the DL? Ah, no, because then they'd erase Damon's career footnote of nevah having been on the disabled list.

 

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Steve:
You know, that pretty much sums up the Yankees biggest philosophical weakness: They continually sacrifice the day to day nuts and bolts of winning to the altah of historical grandeur.

 

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Mike:
Yeah, that explains bringing Clemens back, bringing Petitte back, keeping Jetah at short instead of A-Rod and so on.

 

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Steve:
Yes, it is their Achilles' heel, this slavish relationship with historicity.

 

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Now with 100% More Batshit!

Doug:
OK I so need to lay off the game time bongs hits 4 Jesus — last night I swear I saw Manny Ramirez transmogrify into Willy Mays and make nonchalant oh-so-cool waist high basket catches in left.

 

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Mike:
Heh. Yeah, welcome to the new bizzaro Red Sox world where Batshit Tavarez pitches 7 shutout innings, allowing just 3 hits, 4 SOs, and a single walk.

 

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Doug:
Did I mention how rathah fond I'm becoming of Batshit?

 

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Mike:
Seriously. Even the nickname "Batshit" has gone from a term of derision to one of endearment.

 

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Mike:
And how about Coco Crisp who now has homahs from both sides of the plate this series?

 

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Doug:
I confess I went all DSS v Haleigh Poutre on wanting to rush to pull the plug on Crisp for the assumed permanent vegetative state he was in at the plate.

 

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Mike:
Meanwhile, we are back to the double digit lead in the AL East. Sweet!

 

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Doug:
And, oh, yeah, somewhere in flyovah country Sammy Sosa hit his 600th homerun. Ooh, the excitement of it all.

 

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Doug:
Even the 15 fans at the game in Arlington look bored.

 

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Mike:
Well, you know, those Rangahs fans were probably going to celebrate until they discovered someone had taken all the cork out of the champagne bottles for goodness knows what nefarious purpose. Oh, well …

 

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Today's strip has been postponed

Your omniscient author in absentia:
Sorry, technical difficulties (e.g., oversleeping) — No strip today.

 

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"You are Number Three."

Mike:
Jeez, the second Schilling "schillacking" in as many games.

 

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Doug:
Yeah, who knew he shot his proverbial load in the one out away from a no hittah game in Oakland?

 

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Mike:
Seriously, since then he's allowed twelve runs (11 earned) in 9 1/3 innings … But I'm not panicking or anything.

 

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Doug:
Me neithah. I think it's helpful if we begin to (if you haven't already that is) ̾ begin to transition ourselves into thinking of Schilling as our numbah 3 or 4 guy and not our numbah 1 guy.

 

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Mike:
Beckett, Matsuzaka, Wake, Schill, Batshit?

 

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Mike:
That'll work for me.

 

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Doug:
And don't forget Lestah the Molestah waiting for the call to head north on 95 from Pawtucket.

 

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Watching for lies

Two guys walking, no words exchanged:

 

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Two guys walking, tall guy speaks:
So if yesterday I watched 6 hours of US Open coverage and, concurrently, watched 3 hours of the Red Sox and Giants, does that mean I watched 6+3=9 hours of TV or just 6 hours of TV or, because of the simultaneity of it all, did I somehow actually cheat time and only watched 6-3=3 hours of TV?

 

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Two guys walking, short guy speaks:
Dude, have you ever like considered getting a girlfriend or something?

 

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Two guys walking, tall guy speaks:
Yeah, it's on my list.

 

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Two guys walking, no words exchanged:

 

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Two guys walking, short guy speaks:
OK, so Barry Bonds, right? Here's my deal with him …

 

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Two guys walking, short guy speaks:
For me it's not so much that he is an alleged asshole or that he's pumped with more hormones than a steer bound for Big Macs, no, man, for me it's that godforsaken dangly ass earring.

 

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Two guys walking, no words exchanged:

 

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Two guys walking, short guy speaks:
I mean, nothing against earrings in general, but Bonds has been wearing that same thing since, what, the 80s? Hey, Barry, it's not "Hammah Time" anymore. It's 2007.

 

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Two guys walking, tall guy speaks:
Pack up the parachute pants and get in tune with the times, man.

 

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Two guys walking, short guy speaks:
That's what I'm talking about, D.

 

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Two guys walking, short guy speaks:
And here's the other thing. The dangliness of it just creates this awful visual discord, an aesthetic unbalance of the dainty dangle juxtaposed against Bond's hulking mass.

 

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Two guys walking, tall guy speaks:
Hmmm …

 

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Two guys walking, tall guy speaks:
Now that you mention it, funny how the earring hangs out there on the side like, I dunno, an asterisk or something.

 

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Two guys walking, short guy speaks:
For reals. Maybe Bonds is subconsciously projecting an asterisk?

 

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Two guys walking, tall guy speaks:
Say it isn't so.

 

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Bring out the paw of a dead monkey

Doug:
Last night I had this recurring dream that I couldn't sleep. That is, the dream itself consisted of me tossing and turning in bed, totally insomniac.

 

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Doug:
So then when I woke up I couldn't tell if I was well-rested or exhausted.

 

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Bill:
Let me guess, you watched that Red Sox game last night? That's enough to give anyone effed up dreams.

 

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Doug:
Seriously, it's like going to bed after gorging yourself on chicken vindaloo at the late night Indian buffet.

 

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Bill:
I feel like I'm going to rupshah my right nut from frustration ovah these guys — 1 for 13 with runners in scoring position and to two runs or fewer for the seventh time in the last nine games? What the hell?

 

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Doug:
A 14½ game lead now down to 7½ with nothing but wishful thinking on our pahts to foresee a reversal of fortunes.

 

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Bill:
What the frig was Theo thinking? Drew is offensively useless. Crisp? Useless. Lugo? OMFG as useless at tits on a bull as Granny Callaghan used to say.

 

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Doug:
If nothing else, it's time to Free Wily fercrissakes. Play him or trade but puhleeze do something othah than just waste his potential by sitting him on the bench.

 

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Bill:
Absolutely. At this point, I don't care how abysmal his defense is. A miraculous highlight-worthy diving catch isn't going to make much difference when you're getting blown out like an enema, 7-1, 12-2, by other clubs because the Sox bats are anesthetized.

 

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Doug:
So here's to hoping Batshit Tavarez is the talisman that tonight stirs up the return of the Red Sox we were watching in May.

 

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Suffer the children

Unknown Yankees fan:
Has an 8½ game deficit ever seemed so inconsequential?

 

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Marty:
The Yankees are like Ceasar on the north bank of the Rubicon — Alea iacta est.

 

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Unknown Yankees fan:
If you listen closely to our own North, you can hear the worry beads clattering.

 

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Marty:
The spring meadow seemed so pleasant for grazing, now, scent of wolf in the air, the sheep are bunched and nervously hesitant.

 

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Unknown Yankees fan:
At times like these, I almost have a pitiful condolement for Red Sox fans. I mean, there but for the grace of God go I.

 

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Marty:
Reminds of the time when I was a kid, during the so-called "Impossible Dream" season, where even in Yankee leaning Greenwich a bit of Red Sox fever had taken hold … So I came home one day wearing a Red Sox cap.

 

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Marty:
I'll never forget the look of consternation in my dad's eyes when he saw me in it, "Son," he said, "we need to have a serious talk."

 

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Marty:
"You're old enough now to hear this, Martin," he continued gravely. "In life there are two types of people — winners and losers."

 

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Marty:
"And every decision you make in life, even the ones that seem inconsequential, like rooting for a ball club, all conjoin over time to point you toward an eventual outcome as a loser or as a winner."

 

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Marty:
"Now, son," my dad asked with all earnestness, "which do you want to be? The choice is yours."

 

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Marty:
And so ended my brief exposure to the sad malady of always being on the wrong side of supremacy.

 

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Unknown Yankees fan:
Father knows best.

 

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Marty:
Indeed.

 

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See how the mainsail sets

Bill:
So I had this really crazy dream last night that the Red Sox made the incredibly radical move of altering the lineup.

 

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Mike:
No shit. It seems Terry Rip Van Winkle Francona awoke from his persistent coma at long last.

 

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Bill:
Unbelievable. And here I was thinking that having the worst leadoff OBP in all the majahs was some part of some diabolical managerial strategy that was just too sublime for mere fans to discern.

 

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Mike:
And don't look now, but the Yankees have stahted the bilge pumps and at last have their battahed and ageing hull back above the water line.

 

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Bill:
Ah, yes, on the good ship belly flop, the colors are fah from struck.

 

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Knuckle knock gnosis

Susan/Circle:
Is it me or is Manny's hair stylist Lmonstro staring a Tina Cervazio's rack during most of this segment?

 

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Mike:
"Hey, Lmonstro, I'm up here, dude."

 

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Susan/Circle:
So, the bright side to an off day is you get stories like this one about bullpen cop Billy Dunn and his fist touch routine with Paps.

 

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Mike:
Absolutely. That wins my feel good piece of the year so fah.

 

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Susan/Circle:
Yeah, despite their sports pages being cluttahed with detrital dips like the Shaunghnessy, it's pieces like this one that make me happy to pay for the Globe every morning.

 

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Mike:
And by "pay" you of course mean access for free on the interwebs.

 

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Susan/Circle:
Well, duh.

 

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Holding it in

Doug:
I know we just took 2 of 3 from the D-Backs and are still up by 9½ in the AL East, so why do I feel about as comfortable as Paris Hilton in a jail cell with a full bladdah?

 

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Mike:
Maybe it's the return of Francoma version 2.0?

 

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Mike:
Leaving Ortiz on the bench in the 9th? Jumpin Jeebuz.

 

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Doug:
And what the frig is up with putting the numbah 3 and numbah 5 worst hittahs in all of of baseball in the same lineup and batting them back-to-effin back?

 

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Mike:
You know we have the the lowest OBP out of the leadoff position in MLB, right?

 

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Doug:
Lugo and Crisp are black holes. And, you know, it's one thing to stick with guys when they are going through a slump, but Lugo and Crisp aren't slumping — They are what they are, terrible hittahs.

 

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Mike:
Yeah, a slump lasts a couple weeks, maybe a couple months in extreme cases, but these guys are now in in their 2nd years of hauling the lead bats.

 

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Doug:
I mean, yeah, yeah, yeah, we bitched about Francona's management back in 2004 and, chagrin, chagrin, the guy went on to lead us to the promise land, but that doesn't negate the frustration any less watching it now.

 

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Mike:
I know. It's like, OK, a 100 win club is still going to lose 62 so on and so forth, but why does Francona always seem to be working toward the 62?

 

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No, no-no, but still all smiles

Bill:
Cripes, did we need that game or what?

 

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Mike:
Tip o'the cap to Schill …

 

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Bill:
Yeah, too bad he had to shake off Tek on that 2 out in the bottom of the 9th pitch to Stewart.

 

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Mike:
Well, live by the blowhahdness, die by the blowhahdness. That's just Schilling being Schilling.

 

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Bill:
Seriously, I wouldn't be surprised if when Schilling is engaged in conversation with his personal savior, Jesus, he's obstinate the entiah time.

 

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Mike:
Meanwhile, here's something I don't get — if there's a fear of jinx about discussing a no-no while it's in progress, shouldn't that extend as well to the so-called "live blogging"? I'm looking at you Bob Bradford.

 

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Bill:
Yeah, and ESPN didn't do us any favahs eithah.

 

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Mike:
Meanwhile, the next time someone plays down the Yankees/Red Sox rivalry and insists it's only the fans who care, they need to be pointed to this:

"The Yankees watched the end of Schilling’s game in the clubhouse Thursday afternoon. When Shannon Stewart broke up the no-hitter, the room erupted in cheers, players bursting from their seats and shouting."

 

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Bill:
You've gotta love the universal Yankees fan and playah hatred for Curt Schilling.

 

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Mike:
Yeah, I think their animosity towards Schilling easily eclipses our own toward A-Fraud.

 

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Bill:
Of course it does! I mean their hatred is rooted in getting their asses whipped by The Bloody Sock, while our animus stems from the fact that A-Rod is an innefective, joculah, slappy blue-lipped putz.

 

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Mike:
Speaking of, looks like Alex has a new sleepovah buddy.

 

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Bill:
"I am pumped about this," said Rodriguez. Oh, I bet you ah, A-Rod, I bet you ah.

 

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Picnic, Lightning

And hitherto things had been going oh so swimmingly …

Mike:
Last night, the Sox lost their fourth game in a row, 3-2. It was their sixth loss in seven games and third straight this week to the A's.

 

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Susan/Circle:
It is possible to be struck by a meteor / or a single engine plane / while reading in a chair at home.

 

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Mike:
We are now on our longest skid since dropping six straight last August.

 

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Susan/Circle:
Safes drop from rooftops / and flatten the odd pedestrain.

 

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Mike:
They went 1-for-5 with runners in scoring position, stranded six men on base and bounced into three double plays one night aftah hitting into five.

 

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Susan/Circle:
At a picnic even, / a flash of summah lightning, / the thermos toppling over, / spilling out on the grass.

 

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Mike:
"Once we got to the West Coast, it was a different feeling," said David Ortiz.

 

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Susan/Circle:
The haht, no valentine, / decides to quit after lunch, / the powah shut off like a switch.

 

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Mike:
"Everything's just changed, the intensity, all kinds of stuff, it's not there."

 

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Susan/Circle:
The instant hand of death / always ready to burst forth / from the sleeve of his voluminous cloak.

 

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Burnt out

Lisa the Temp:
Oh, what's the matter, feeling a little West Coast hangover?

 

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Lisa the Temp:
Perhaps a few too many G.I.D.P. shots for your tired soxaholix livers to process?

 

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Lisa the Temp:
No fear, peeps, let Lisa put a smile in that cotton mouth this morning with a little joke …

 

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Lisa the Temp:
Q: How many Red Sox fans does it take to change a light bulb?

A: Yankees Suck!

 

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For your consideration ...

… Somewhere on the Green Line a possibly sagacious and certainly loony (and, frankly, urine reeking) neerdowell likes to pose questions to nobody in particular …

Rider on Green Line:
So the Sox are 1 and 3 in June, is this the staht of the swoon?

 

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Rider on Green Line:
I did not get this from any book
I got this on trust and betrayal.

 

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Rider on Green Line:
I got this on trust
I got this on trust funds

 

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Rider on Green Line:
on loan
with interest

 

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Rider on Green Line:
Bwahahahaha

 

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These things take time

Steve:
I don't care if we are up 12½ games, dropping a series in Fenway to the Yankees is painful.

 

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Mike:
No kidding. I mean it's like losing to the Yankees and the Kansas City Royals at the same time. We're supposed to kick the crap outta the cellah dwellahs, you know.

 

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Steve:
Bottom line, though, I'd rather be us than them. They needed the sweep and didn't get it and still aren't even a .500 club.

 

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Mike:
What's more, we saw a side of this Red Sox team that is some ways is more important for the long haul than an extra win or two over the weekend … from Lowell's version of the "dropping the shouldah move" to Youks forsaking his 23-gam hitting streak to take 3 walks on Saddadee, these guys are all balls to wall.

 

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Steve:
Seriously. I've got a good feeling about the next 130 games before facing the Yankees again at the end of August.

 

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Smelled like... victory

Bill:
Those NOTY folks are still at it. This time going through the National Spell Bee contestant names and, quite frankly, give us one of the funniest lines evah.

 

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Mike:
What the hell did people do for humah befoah the interwebs?

 

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Bill:
I tell ya, the world was a cold, sullen, and morose place back in those days.

 

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Mike:
Speaking of the morose, gotta love Mazz pointing out Clemens predicament of being stuck with the Yankees now.

 

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Bill:
I dunno. Mazz's premise that Clemens is "kicking himself now" rests on the shaky assumption that Rogah Clemens is of a rational and sane mind.

 

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Bill:
But let's face it, the hormone and steroid addled Clemens is anything but. I bet you dollahs to donuts Clemens fully believes he and he alone is the only man on Earth for this mission to save the Yankees.

 

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Mike:
Yeah, you've got a point. Clemens is baseball's version of Colonel Kurtz in Apocalypse Now.

 

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Bill:
Seriously. He's all fat and happy worshipped by his tribal minions and fully convinced he's a God.

 

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Mike:
"Are you an assassin? "

 

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Bill:
Hell, yeah, we are Col Clemens-Kurtz … And the Red Sox lineup isn't what you'd call errand boys, sent by grocery clerks.

 

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Mike:
We've got your horrah right heah, Rogah.

 

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