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Bill:
Friggin' Shaughnessy, he just can't let go of the occult, phantasmagoric, supahnatural meme can he?
Mike:
So how hahd do you think it was for him to go with feint of the "occult hand from the wretched past" rathah than come right out and say what he really wants to, "The Curse Returns!"?
Bill:
The irony is that there is a mofo curse and it's the CHB himself and we're damned to all eternity to be stuck with him.
Mike:
Seriously, the Red Sox could win 3 consec World Series, and there'd be Shaughnessy, hunched ovah his keyboard, waiting, waiting, for a low moment to unleash.
Bill:
He's like the friggin herpes virus. You go years with a picture perfect penis and then one day, whoops, you've got a one way ticket to soreville.
Mike:
Of course, the news about Beckett feels like waking up with an STD.
Bill:
Yeah, seeing the doctor is "just a precaution." Right. Kinda like how the Russian troops in Georgia are just a precaution.
Mike:
But, you know, it's the Friday befoah a long weekend, the ol' man's letting us go at noon, and there's an entiah Septembah of baseball left …
Bill:
Yeah, somehow I think we'll find a way to carry on.
Mike:
You know what they say, "When the occult hand serves you gruel, eat it and shut the fuck up."
Mike:
Pedroia let his bat do the talking and what it said was, "I come to bury the Yankees, not praise them."
Al:
Yeah, and aftah that if you could hear the whimpah of tens of thousands of Yankees fans losing hope.
Al:
Pinto nails it in his Requiem for the Yankees post — "his isn't a good team playing poorly. No one sits there thinking, 'If only Sidney Ponson and Darrell Rasner can live up to their potential.'"
Mike:
But the Yankees will be back soonah than we probably realize.
Doug:
We're hee-ah.
We've no fee-ah
Get used to it, bitches.
Doug:
Now this is
an epitaph suitable for framing:
"When the desperate Yankees needed their superstar to deliver he failed miserably. No hits in five at-bats. Two double play ground balls, one that came in the seventh with the bases loaded. A fielding error. And no hits in two at-bats with runners in scoring position."
Doug:
A-Fraud says he's "perplexed" by his sudden drop off.
Doug:
Yeah, A-Rod was all, "I've been stickin' my 5-tools into that? Oh, help me Johnny, Jete, and Bobby, what have I done?!"
Mike:
Madonna is so much like the current Yankees, living proof that no mattah how much money and wishful thinking you throw at it, you're eithah young or you're not. And neithah are.
Mike:
Memo to Damon: The best playah in the league doesn't go 1-for-10 on the season with the bases loaded and 0-for-7 when there are less than two outs.
Doug:
Hey, Johnny, how's that move to the Yankees working out for you? Dumbass.
Bill:
So do the Sox go in and finally put the Yankees out of their misery or what?
Mike:
Let's hope the Red Sox play this final series in Yankee Stadium like cold hahted assassins and not like an errand boy, sent by grocery clerks, to collect a bill.
Bill:
Not that I'm complaining, but with the Yankees teetering on becoming "also rans" this early, it takes some of piss and vinegah out of the series.
Mike:
Yeah, good time to call your ol' Yankees' fan buddy Mahty and remind him of his misfortune.
Bill:
Nah, I don't call Mahty for the same reason I don't troll around the comments sections of Yankees blogs.
Mike:
Act like you've been there?
Bill:
Absolutely. We were acting like we'd been there even when we hadn't. And now that we have, well, winning 2 of the past 4 World Series capped with the catclysimic bitch slip that was the '04 ALCS says all that needs sayin'.
Bill:
Besides, I'm guessing Mahts has his hands full in Denvah these days.
Mike:
Oh, you've got to be shitting me …
Bill:
I shit you not — He's a delegate. And he's one of the angry ones.
Mike:
And people wondah why my generation is cynical about politics?
Bill:
Well, just when I was about to agree with the notion that this was turning into August 2006 all ovah again, the Sox go out and take 2 of 3 from Jays.
Doug:
Yeah, a loss yestahday would've had me ready to flush the crappah on these guys.
Doug:
Absolutely. They're still just hanging on to the wild cahd lead by a thread. And then the injuries?
Bill:
So we've collectively given up on taking the Division?
Doug:
What do you think? Tampa isn't all of a sudden going to fold the way we were saying just a coupla weeks ago.
Bill:
I still believe the Red Sox are the best team in American League despite the won/loss record and despite some of the mediocrity we've seen on the field in any given game.
Doug:
Yeah, and a lot of people swear they've seen Big Foot.
Bill:
Hey, don't fuck with the Sasquatch, guy.
Mike:
The thought of Leryn Franco getting her nasty on in Beijing gives me the hypahtension.
Al:
Ah, Christ, now that you've gone and mentioned Franco how am I supposed to sit and work on spreadsheets the rest of the damned day?
Doug:
Ah, before you two start growing hair out of your palms, let me remind you that some of these Olympians are playing for the othah team, if you know what I mean.
Mike:
Here we go again with Doug's two week obsession syncro diving.
Al:
You know, dude, you can get counseling for your repression.
Doug:
What can I say? I', fascinated by the homoeroticism that drips off this event. It's like that British dude said, "It all looks like a wonderfully elegant gay suicide pact."
Mike:
Is this what they mean by an "awkward silence"?
Susan/Circle:
I swear to Christ if I see him pitch again I'm going to go into early menopause.
Mike:
At least the Red Sox finally handed him the Chance cahd reading, "Go directly to the minah leagues and do not pass Pawtucket but go directly to Portland."
Susan/Circle:
One more chance at redemption or it's back to stealing laptops in Hickville.
Susan/Circle:
Hopefully, Meryl Masterson can put in a call to Jesus and give Buchholz a shout out.
Susan/Circle:
Ah, well, I'm pretty sure Jesus is just as pissed with Buchholz as the rest of us.
Mike:
Seriously, The Christ would be all,
"Clay, dude, I got your white trash ass out of Lumberton, I got you a no hitter, and this is the thanks I get?
"I mean, c'mon, dude, don't make me have to change my parable to 'Let Clay Buchholz cast the first mofo stone as he hasn't a chance in hell of hitting anybody with it.'"
Steve:
Yeah, dude continues to tend toward the wild and he walks more than he strikes out, yet he keeps on winning.
Steve:
But meanwhile so does Tampa Bay.
Steve:
Seriously. The Rays are the Chinese gymnast He Kexin -- Even when they lose they still win.
Mike:
Best friggin record in baseball. Jeez.
Mike:
You know it was cool at the beginning of the season when Tampa broke of its always in last place shell.
Mike:
But now that we are moving into the time of mists of mellow fruitfulness, it's really stahting to piss me off.
Steve:
On the bright side, at least Yaz is OK.
Mike:
Absolutely. And let's give a long overdue and earnest shout out to the cardiovascular surgeons at MGH and hospitals throughout the world for the critical, uber MVP work they do in saving lives every day of the week.
Your humble author is getting waylaid with day job deadlines, so I give you Lisa the Temp …
Lisa the Temp:
C'mon my peeps, why are you even still wasting your precious time following the Red Sox when The Greatest Athlete Who Ever Lived™ walks among us?
Lisa the Temp:
Behold His Majesty! (And I think Fenway's "Sausage King" needs to find a new moniker, don't you?)
Lisa the Temp:
That was Manny telling Michael Phelps that when Manny grows up he wants to be Michael Phelps.
Lisa the Temp:
But Lisa's got the inside scoop on more … When Michael Phelps mom gave birth to Michael Phelps she originally wanted to name him "Ditka" but the UN Security Council blocked it for fear of worldwide Armageddon.
Al:
Yeah,
so much for
those "feel good August" reverberations last week. We're now just a ½ game up in the wild cahd.
Doug:
Hey, I thought that once the "distraction" of Manny was out of the way that this team was going to bond around hahd work and brothahhood and that they'd be cruising into the end of the season on streets paved with gold while drinking milk and honey?
Doug:
Meanwhile, as the guys in red stocking were getting the stuffing knocked out of em, the good-fer-nothin' scourge drove in three runs on a homah. So let's see that's 21 RBI in 16 games since moving to LA. I'm just sayin'.
Doug:
Hey, there's no need to bring your sex life into this, dude.
Mike:
As much as it stings, I've got to admit that
this line from Deadspin is gold:
"One loss is not a perfect season. A perfect season is Megan Fox. One loss is America Ferrera. You are America Fucking Ferrera, and don't ever forget it."
Al:
Yeah, well, something tells me the New York Giants are Lindsey Lohan, a brief moment in the spotlight followed by a rapid downward spiral.
Mike:
OK, so besides the
Sox sweep of Texas, what othah feel good memes have you got to get us through anothah cloudy, rainy, August day?
Al:
OK, here's my feel goodah: I love the way the Sox front office is working the waivah wiah. They put that claim on Giles to keep him from Tampa and chances that was the same reason
they went aftah Ibanez.
Mike:
Seriously. Looks like the F.O. is showing Tampa Bay a little razzle dazzle.
Doug:
Welcome to your first pennant race, bitches.
Mike:
And the Sox schedule, with only 25 games in Septembah and only 9 on the road, leaves the Division ripe for the taking.
Doug:
Are you kidding me? Sox take the Division, hell yeah they do.
Al:
That's my thinking as well.
Doug:
While I'm going to look back at this in late January when it's 2 below zero and I'm stahved for any baseball news at all, I've gotta say I'm having trouble getting enthused for each game these days.
Mike:
Yeah, that's the nature of August. It's late enough in the season that there aren't a whole lot of surprises and it's
WYSIWYG
with respect to the team on the field, but it's still too early to start anticipating crisp Octabah postseason evenings.
Mike:
So you have to look hahdah for feel good moments,
like this gem of sentence:
"In his five seasons with the Red Sox, he's been a lot of things: Rookie Along For The Ride, Fan Favorite (even a cynic like me enjoys howling, "Youuuuk"), On-Base Machine, Versatile Corner Infielder, Gold Glove First Baseman, Human Sweat Gland, Freakishly Goateed Hothead, October Hero, Manny Punching Bag, and now this: Legitimate Star."
Mike:
I mean, you gotta love Youks.
Doug:
Absolutely. Anyone who doesn't love the Youks is worse than Hitlah. (And I'm looking at you Ahmadinejad you Jew-hating, Holocaust-denying, squinty-eyed, s.o.b with delusions of grandeur you.)
Mike:
Speaking of hegemonist also-rans,
here's another feel good graf
to put some joy in the August doldrums:
"The Yankees left New York last week for a 10-game road trip, clearly aware their streak of 13 straight playoff appearances was in jeopardy. After going 3-7, they're stumbling back to the Bronx in even worse shape."
Doug:
Ah, August is feeling bettah already.
Doug:
Jesus wept what was that?
Bill:
No kidding. Fenway hasn't seen that many touchdowns since the Boston Patriots called it home in '63.
Bill:
Funny thing is, when it got to 10-0 in the bottom of the first, all of of sudden I had a brief flashback to a game in the late 80s when the Sox went up 11-0 over the Jays in the first inning and ended up losing.
Bill:
But I dismissed because, you know, crap like that doesn't happen anymore with the Red Sox.
Doug:
And in the end, it didn't happen, thankfully, because if I feel this lousy aftah the win, I can't even imagine the depths of my despair had Youks not come through with his field goal through the uprights.
Doug:
Can we even call what he was throwing a "knuckleball"? Knucklahs aren't supposed to have much or any rotation — But what Zink was tossing out there last night has more spin than a whirling dervish.
Bill:
To be fair, he was fine up until the 5th and it was his first big league staht and he was on only 3 days rest.
Doug:
Yeah, well, nobody said life in the MLB is fair. Eithah you perform or you don't.
Bill:
But, hey, that's nevah stopped Julio Lugo from putting "MLB Shortstop" on his business cards has it?
Bill:
Yeah, well, if you find as reason, be sure to pass it along, mmm-kay?
Al:
And it looks like Josh Beckett has that fiah-in-the-eyes look and resulting performance again. Francona thinks he's "primed."
Doug:
Seriously, now is the time for them to staht channeling their innah Vladimir Putins and staht crushing all who stand in their way.
Al:
How cool is it that the knunckleballah fills in for knuckleballah?
Mike:
Yeah, it's the Red Sox version of synchronized platform diving.
Doug:
You know I've never understood the Olympic fascination with the whole synchronicity thing. How is doing something just like someone else a sport?
Mike:
Evidently they can identify the divahs destined for synchronicity at a really early age.
Doug:
Yeah, it's like this. If the mom or dad says to their kid, "Well, if Billy jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge, would you?" and the kid who answers, "Yes, I would, at precisely the same time and mirroring his every move!" then, there it is, you've found yourself the next synchro divah.
Continue reading "Zink in sync? " »
Your omniscient author in absentia:
Had to go out of town last minute. See you tomorrow, Tuesday.
Bill:
"The Globe has learned (from a source with direct knowledge of the inquiry) that Bud Selig directed Major League Baseball executive vice president Rob Manfred to contact all parties for an explanation of how things unfolded around last week's trading deadline."
Mike:
You know, if that were coming from anyone othah than Shaughnessy I'd give it some credence.
Bill:
What? You don't trust the Shank to get the scoop?
Bill:
What I'd like to know is even if there is truth to this is 1) How could you prove Manny was purposely dogging it? and 2) What can MLB do about it if they somehow did prove malfeasance on the part of Manny or Boras?
Mike:
Well, those are the kind of questions where the answers will probably come from the blogs.
Bill:
True. I mean we can't expect the Curly Haired Woodward Wannabee to sully his hands with actual fact finding or anything.
Mike:
You know, as much as we want to collectively tear our hair out when his knuckleball is "off" and he starts serving up 70 mph tatahs, truth is among 4th stahtahs in the league he is simple the best of the best.
Doug:
Not a chance in hell. There's more holes in that kid's swing than a German gangbang porn clip.
Doug:
Well, it's like this — I can only boycott one thing at a time and now it the time for me to man up declare that I will not watch one friggin minute of the Beijing Olympics.
Mike:
What are you back trying to impress Megan the Vegan by taking a stand against Chinese human rights violations and the treatment of Tibet.
Doug:
Fuck Tibet. My aversion to the Olympics is all about the Bob Costification of the Games.
Doug:
You know all the incessant talking and soft focus vignettes on individual athletes and the "problems" they had to overcome or possibly even their "victimhood" and the ensuing crapfest that the Olympic TV coverage has devolved to.
Mike:
Jeez, I figured a red blooded, flag waving Rethuglican like you would get wood ovah the nation-vs-nation medal count.
Doug:
Oh, you silly misguided lib. I get excited ovah the type of nation-vs-nation thing like the USS Lake Erie flexing its anti-ballistic missile muscle by shooting a satellite out of the sky and leaving the Chinese to piss themselves and not who has the most medals in esoteric sports like ping pong that nobody gives a fuck about except for a couple weeks every 4 years.
Al:
Hey, don't you be bad mouthing table tennis.
Doug:
OK. Sure. But for every 5 minutes of actual sports coverage you're going to have enduah 55 minutes of personal back story.
Doug:
Cue, dramatic, emotionally indulgent music and imagine the voice of Bob Costas …
This is the story of John Doe, unlikely star in an unlikely sport on an unlikely team of unlikely people …
Doug:
John's life started out idyllic enough, born on a farm in America's heartland. He attended church, ate his vegetables, and appreciated the honest value of hard work like getting up at 4am to help his father milk the cows.
Then one day John's simple life was no more. A meteor fell on the family farm and killed everything: John's parents, the cows, the pigs, the horse, even the two jackrabbits 7 year old John has affectionately and ironically names Mr and Mrs Starburst. John was the only survivor of this unlikely tragedy.
Doug:
So then John was sent to live with his grandparents who were nice enough folk but who were also deaf mutes. John was never able to get the affection he needed, never able to converse with his loved ones about the horrible tragedy stuck in this poor 7 year old's heart.
But John discovered an outlet. John discovered the Boy Scouts. And among the Scouts John felt the belonging and sense of achievement he so craved in his prepubescent yearning and growing bones, bones that carried the soul of a future Olympian.
Doug:
Pause for commercial break and then …
All was going so well for John until another horrific, almost unspeakable event transpired. While on a Scout camping trip, deep in the Pacific Northwest, and in the loving cocoon of his Scout family, a predator lurked. One of the Scout Masters was a pederast and he had his sick sights on John.
Luckily John was able to escape the buggahs malicious clutches and he ran away, and kept running. Where else could he go?
Doug:
Search parties searched for weeks but were never able to find John, but little did they know, this lost, scared, hurt, almost anally raped, future Olympian had fallen into a deep crevice and was injured. He couldn't walk. He was hungry. And he was very scared.
Doug:
Then his luck changed. A family of Sasquatch found John, nursed him back to health and made him one of their own.
And it was among his time with the Sasquatch that he learned two very important life lessons, lessons that could very well make the difference in a few short hours in Beijing. John learned how to walk with a really long gait correlated with an almost poetic swing of the arms, and he learned the sport of table tennis, or as the Sasquatch call it: Rrrrr Agg Rii.
Doug:
And here we are, 2008, the Beijing Olympic games where even among the best players in the world, the Chinese, John is respected and maybe even feared.
And it's why among the legion of 30-35 people who closely follow the sport in the States he is known simply as "Big Foot."
Now let's return to the table tennis action for 5 minutes before we go to something else as equally uplifting and personally endearing as John's story.
Al:
OK, OK, you win. Your cynicism has ovahwhelmed me like a strategically well placed s.b.d faht after a Chipotle burrito lunch.
Doug:
That's right. Breathe in my resplendence that is nevah silent and has no bitch!
Mike:
I wondah what Paris thinks about the Manny trade?
Steve:
I bet if Paris Hilton was managing the Red Sox she'd bat Jason Bay at cleanup.
Mike:
Seriously, what is Francona waiting for, a call from Rihanna?
Bill:
Well, now that the smoke has cleared from the hullabaloo that was the most recent episode of Mannygate, we are back to the not so pleasant reality that this team cannot hit quality pitching.
Bill:
And then there's the bullpen or lack thereof. Oh, but no worries there because they are scouting Freddy Garcia. Whew, I feel bettah already.
Mike:
Then there's the "click," of course.
Bill:
This could be one frig of a long August.
Mike:
"Knowing not grieving remembers a thousand savage and lonely streets." *
Bill:
You know, the one thing that gives me hope here is that last year's club didn't especially inspiah me until they did, well into Octabah, too.
Bill:
Are you kidding me, hope is so friggin' in right now.
Mike:
Hell, yeah, it is! And do you know why?
Because hope is motherfucking audacious that's why.
Doug:
Colah me skeptical.
Mike:
C'mon, dude. Lighten up and let go of the bittahness. What's done is done, let's move into the post-Manny era with a sense of optimism.
Doug:
I dunno, I think I need to take a break from the Red Sox, get some distance, you know? I mean these days baseball is but one of several entertainment choices.
Doug:
It's like that old saying about hockey and fighting, but instead it's "I was at a soap opera and a friggin' Red Sox game broke out."
Al:
You'd think you'd be more easy going after a weeks vacation. What happened, you're stash of skunk run low or something?
Doug:
All I want to know is why, why, why does the Red Sox pahting with their supahstah playahs always have do be so acrimonious?
Doug:
Look this isn't something new. It goes all the way back to Babe Ruth fercrissakes!
Doug:
Then you've got the more recent litany of begrudging going back to Fisk, Hurst, Clemens, Vaughn, Nomah, Petey, Damon … Ridiculous. I've seen smoothah breakups among lesbian bikahs cranked on meth.
Mike:
Well, it's not like this is unique to the Red Sox, I mean just look at the Packahs and Favre. Talk about your inimical break ups.
Mike:
But go ahead and take your little sabbatical. The Sox will be in first place when you return.
Bill (thinking to himself):
A guy can't throw a hissy fit and demand to be traded without it having repercussions on the entire team.
Bill (thinking to himself):
Maybe there was no causal relationship between the Manny situation and the Red Sox play on the field and advances in the loss column since the All Star Break, but who wants to take the chance?
Bill (thinking to himself):
So it is what it is, but that doesn't make seeing Manny go any less poignant, especially to those of us who've not only defended but reveled in "Manny Being Manny" over the years.
Bill (thinking to himself):
And I can't shake the feeling that none of us really had any clue what made Manny tick.
