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Mike:
You know things are going well when your biggest complaint in the morning is that there was no game the night before.
Al:
Seriously. Right now this club is a joy to watch.
Mike:
And why not. They're .500 against clubs with a winning record and 12-1 against clubs with a losing record...
Mike:
Playing .500 against the good teams and beating the tah out of the weakah teams equals a winning formula.
Al:
Hahd to believe that a year ago at this time the games had already become unwatchable.
Doug:
Yeah, well, you do realize Bobby Valentine invented the wrap sandwich right?
Al:
And I've been told he speaks fluent baseball Japanese.
Mike:
Which I'm sure comes in handy athletic directing at a Catholic university in suburban Connecticut.
Doug:
You know, when hell freezes ovah, I bet the hockey's pretty good.
Doug:
About those strikes... A lot of 'em were right down the middle and had we not been playing the AAA Astros, well, you know...
Mike:
Look, guy, it's Monday, the Sox are 18-7, 2 full games bettah than any othah team, have won 5 straight and have outscored opponents by 40 runs...
Mike:
So there's no need for pre-emptive bitching and moaning. Carpe diem, bro.
In a group of Soxaholix, a woman speaks:
Says he's got too much day job work*.
In a group of Soxaholix, a woman speaks:
What a Nancy-boy.
In a group of Soxaholix, a woman speaks:
But, you're right, Ted, work is important.
In a group of Soxaholix, a woman speaks:
I mean somebody's got provide the welfare checks for the would be terrorists among us.
In a group of Soxaholix, a woman speaks:
Terrorist are people, too, you know.
*[It's true. I'm busier than an areola colorist in a RealDoll factory 14-day backordered. – H.B.]
Mike:
That reminds me... I have a conspiracy theory.
Al:
Does this tin hat make my butt look big?
Doug:
Al, your butt makes your butt look big.
Al:
I am lahge. I contain many foods.
Mike:
So as I was saying... What if Farrell was the guy the front office wanted all along?
Mike:
Knowing that Farrell would be locked up for all of 2012, wouldn't it be risky to bring in a decent managah in the interim?
Mike:
You know someone who might take the team to the playoffs and might end up reasonably liked by the fans and playahs alike? How would you get rid of a guy like that aftah one season?
Mike:
Wouldn't it make more sense to for the one year period to appoint a skippah with a high probability of being hated by all?
Doug:
Yeah, so you basically piss away an entiah year, but you get your guy and if you really believe your guy is *the* guy, well, the ends justify the means.
Bill:
"There seemed to be a lack of focus."
Mike:
Are you kidding me? I've seen more focus from a 5 year old cranked on a pixie stick sugah high at a Build-A-Bear store.
Bill:
Hey, Aceves, the lawyers for Pasta Alfredo called, they're gonna cease and desist your ass for bringing shame to the Alfredo name.
Bill:
Yeah, whenevah you order it, everyone in the restaurant gets to take an extra dessert. And you get chahged for it.
Mike:
So, Al, per your preseason declaration,if you are compelled to eat a pizza whenevah Napoli jacks one, what happens when he goes grand?
Al:
Easy. I add the antipasti, the cannoli, and finish it off with the grappa.
Al:
No worries... that's what the gym is for.
Mike:
You know, Al, that one actually has to go to the gym to get the full effect.
Al:
Hey, I was there this morning.
Doug:
Good for you. Hitting the Cybex machines?
Al:
Not quite, but I took a helluva steam.
Mike:
Meanwhile, the rest of the morning the genernal managah of the gym has been fielding complaints from membahs of a persistant and cloying smell of guanciale in the men's lockah room.
Mike:
Now where were we...
Doug:
Well, according to the national news media, we'd been driven to collective bed wetting with fear and grief and it was only the surprise and ultimately soothing Fenway appearance of Neil Diamond that gave us the strength to get our shit togethah and somehow carry on.
Doug:
Somewhere a groundskeppah was muttering, "Would you look at this guy... He's gonna wear a bare patch in my grass!"
Al:
Meanwhile, when did the Royals good?
Mike:
Aftah winning 7 straight, I think I can accept a bad day.
Lisa the Temp:
Good morning, dear friends and neighbors...
Lisa the Temp:
Our thoughts and prayers are with the law enforcement officers who are on this case.
Lisa the Temp:
And of course with all of you.
Lisa the Temp:
Boston Strong, peeps.
Al:
This, er, thing, this "winning" the Red Sox are doing is vaguely familiar and yet seems so new and unexpected.
Doug:
Meanwhile, despite spending billions on the CIA, FBI, DHS, NSA, JTTF, to name but a few of the myriad and various counterterrorism agencies, we are reduced to "Dudes, seen anyone with an unusually heavy, dark bag? If so dial 1-800-CALL-FBI"???
Mike:
Seriously. It's like the Department of Homeland Security meets Bobby Valentine.
Al:
At this point, the Israelis would have already caught the bombah, broken him into talking, and would now be zipping around on super cool motahbikes to pay a nice, pleasant visit to anyone the douchebag has so much as spoken to in the past 5 years.
Mike:
Hell, even the Europeans would be all ovah it by now.
Doug:
All that *and* they have high speed rail.
Al:
You know Bobby Valentine invented the Bullet Train?
Doug:
At times like this, one must not ovahreact...
Mike:
Absolutely, at this point we really know very little...
Doug:
And it would be a mistake to jump to conclusions...
Doug:
And just like that we brush ourselves off and carry on like any othah day.
Doug:
"If you know the enemy and know yourself you need not fear the results of a hundred battles."*
Al:
Listen my children and you shall he-ah, the sound of Al belching 11am be-ah.
Mike:
Through every Middlesex village and fahm,
Mike:
The fan folk are questioning the ahms:
Mike:
"Lestah and Buchh but then what the fuck?"
Mike:
But losing to the Orioles falls in that list of things I may not like but that don't fire me up much beyond a "meh."
Doug:
Right, things you don't especially like but that you don't lose any sleep ovah.
Doug:
Whoa, back up there... I sorta think those North Koreans in high heels are kinda hot.
Mike:
Ah, yes, a Conservative's wet dream: military powah combined with objectifying women.
Mike:
You win some, you lose some... but still we're going into the 2nd Friday of the season above .500.
Doug:
Um, let's see, ah... NO!
Mike:
So you're going to hold that against Boggs and his being the quintessential "Moneyball" style playah before the word was even invented.
Doug:
Yes. Absolutely. You bet your ass I am.
Mike:
In this day of free agency, I just think that's silly.
Doug:
Yeah, kinda like how in these days of sexual promiscuity when your cousin Murph caught his girlfriend Sheiler sharing a creampie with her Mini Coopah mechanic, it was really silly of Murph to convince your sistah, the wanabee actress, to pose as a nurse from the clap clinic and call Sheiler to tell her that the Mini Coopah mechanic had just been to the clinic and it was her legal duty, as a nurse, to report his case of chlamydia and gonorrhea with all his sexual partnahs of which Sheiler was one of many?
Mike:
It was my sistah's greatest role.
Mike:
And, you know, to this day despite Sheiler's tears and numerous pleas of forgiveness and protestations of love and nevah gonna happen agains, Murph nevah has spoken a single word to Sheiler since the pie was served.
Doug:
See that's what I'm fucking talking about.
Arturo, the hot dog vendor:
That's a good thing, if you ask me... it was unnatural.
Arturo, the hot dog vendor:
Well, that but I'm talking more about the essential ebb and flow of life and, of course, baseball as a reflection of that ebb and flow...
Arturo, the hot dog vendor:
Hittahs go hot, and they go cold...
Arturo, the hot dog vendor:
Exciting innings are followed by long stretches where very little occurs...
Arturo, the hot dog vendor:
Or to use Giamatti's language, the mysterious flow of power between spectatah and perfomah, between the extraordinary and the mundane...
Doug:
A time to reap and a time to sow...
Arturo, the hot dog vendor:
Exactly.
Doug:
A time of standing room only and a time of a few thousand souls in attendance on a cold night in April...
Arturo, the hot dog vendor:
"Free leave so large to all things... and choice unlimited of manifold delights."[1]
Doug:
Yeah, I confess I'm rather pleased with things just at the moment.
Doug:
My Japanese girlfriend jacket is pissed at me...
Doug:
And all I did was bring up how I thought it'll feel even bettah if we tried it with the zippah in the back.
Doug:
Seriously, that was such an unapologetic projection of powah it totally pissed off the North Koreans.
Al:
Yeah, it's Monday, let's yak about the fun stuff.
Al:
The four suspects were all about 5' 4" and approximately 200 pounds...
Mike:
Talk about "Releasing the Kracken."
Mike:
Somewhere in Connecticut a ne'er–do–well athletic director does an exaggerated fist pump and muttahs to no one, "Wait until you read *my* book, you horses asses!"
Doug:
And while those words were spoken in English, in his mind they were in fluent Japanese.
Mike:
Meanwhile, on to Canada.
Doug:
Where the Labatt is blue and moose makes the stew.
Mike:
Cue melodramatic voice of Zeus:
"Release the Lacken!"
Bill:
It may still be cold out, but...
Mike:
Absolutely. I saw the goat-footed balloonMan on the way into work this morning.
Bill:
Love the goat-footed balloonMan.
Mike:
I know. And it's been forevah since we've seen him around here.
Bill:
Yeah, because Valentine ran him off.
Doug:
So Selig can't wait to get the Red Sox Yankees rivalry going for ratings, so he front loads the schedule to make it the openah and then, in his infinite wisdom, aftah getting everyone excited, he decides to, you know, let it fucking sit fallow by inserting a day off aftah only one friggin game?
Mike:
Seriously, what in the name of sexy Portugese TV Christ was Selig thinking?
Doug:
If I'm Selig I'm nevah going to Youkilis' chef brothah's restaurant because Youkilis' brothah is so gonna spit in Selig's food.
Mike:
OK. OK... I've got something here...
Mike:
Celebrity Iron Chef...
Mike:
Youkilis' Chef Brother and Youkilis
vs.
Mario Batali and Jackie Bradley, Jr.
Who wins?
Al:
What are the theme ingredients?
Doug:
I know a win on Opening Day against the Yankees counts no more or no less than a win in August against Kansas City, but still...
Doug:
I mean considering that last year with Valentine at the helm we more or less went into Game 01 of 162 *already* 10 games undah .500.
Doug:
Right we're not opening the champagne or anything, but we should still feel entitled to celebrate with a cruller and fresh brewed cup of French roast.
Doug:
What's that? Yeah, seriously, French roast and Red Bull and then he goes all Gordon Ditka Ramsey on the kitchen staff.
Doug:
Exactly. My ass is currently banned in New York as a high capacity magazine.
Doug:
Locked and loaded, MFYs!
Doug:
Well, I enjoy a series with the Yankees as much as the next guy, but I gotta confess I'd prefer to staht off with a few dozen games with the flyovah country teams first...
Mike:
Seriously, even a RealDoll likes a little foreplay to loosen up first.
Al:
You know Selig... wants to be the PT Barnum of baseball... there's no such thing as too much hype.
Mike:
Bud wants baseball to be biggah than Jesus.
Mike:
Youkilis' brother just heard you ask that and he put his fist through a wall in angah ovah your effrontery.
Doug:
And then Youkilis brother tasted his fist and declared that the sheetrock tasted way the fuck bettah than the crappy Boston sheetrock tastes.