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Mike:
Hello, this is the electric company, is your refrigerator running?
Mike:
Yeah, well, then you bettah send Jacoby Ellsbury to chase it.
Mike:
Seriously. The Phillies couldn't do anything to stop him.
Steve:
If the game hadn't ended, Ellsbury would have been in control of Paris by the morning.
Mike:
It's gotten to the point where I look forward to every game just because you nevah know what's going to happen.
Steve:
After last year, who would have imagined Red Sox = Must See TV.
Bill:
I actually felt sorry for the guy.
Bill:
I mean here he is not only getting the save but also getting the big contract he wanted last year and, as if that wasn't enough, he was able to sit back and laugh at the Sox demise every day last season...
Bill:
And yet in the ovahwrought histrionics of his double-fist pump, Papelbon revealed to everyone watching how he still wishes he was wearing Red Sox.
Mike:
Yep, so true. And despite our humiliation last season, he still misses us *way* more than we miss him.
Bill:
There's only one Boston. There's only one Fenway. There's only one Red Sox Nation.
Mike:
Pleasant dreams, Jon Jon.
Mike:
You've got to tip your cap to him, though.
Bill:
Yeah, it's like that Flannery O'Conner quote about Faulkner: "Best not get your little wagon caught on the tracks when the Dixie Express comes roaring through."
Mike:
Absolutely. And therein lies one of the essential beautiful qualities of baseball. No mattah how good your club is, they're going to get beat and it's going to happen a lot.
Mike:
It humbles you. And reminds you that life is a series of peaks and valleys.
Bill:
Yeah, but let me tell you something, witty Wittgenstein, that's a whole lot easiah philosophized ovah when you're 32-21 in 1st place rathan than 21-32 in last place.
Al:
So turns out Doug here was rathah prescient going into the long weekend in not only announcing with foreknowledge the Bruins' victory in Game 5 but also the the Sox 4 game win streak.
Mike:
Chronic. Is there anything it can't do?!
Doug:
I genuflect in observance of your appreciation.
Doug:
But truth be told, even the unbound powah of the hydro skunk has its limitations...
Al:
Oh, and hello, first place, nice to see again.
Doug:
First place and tied for the best record in the AL on the morning aftah Labah Day weekend? Unbelievable.
Mike:
I'm happy for Francona. Love the guy.
Mike:
I'm happy that John Farrell is our current skippah.
Mike:
And I'm friggin ecstatic that the A.D. of Sacred Heart College is *not* the managah.
Doug:
Ain't that the truth.
Mike:
Meanwhile, long weekend and the unofficial staht to summah.
Doug:
I'm going to inhale heroic quantities of skunk weed, get ferocious munchies and eat a gallon of potato salad while blissfully watching the Bruins finish things off.
Mike:
And no need to reverse gooch it. That *is* gonna happen.
Have a great Memorial Day Weekend, all, see you back here on Tuesday. –H.B.
Mike:
He has gone at least 7 innings 9 times.
Mike:
A four-seam fastball, a sinking two-seam fastball, a cuttah, a split-finger fastball, a changeup and a curveball...
Bill:
Talk about arrows in one's quivah.
Mike:
One game at a time, guy, one game at a time.
Doug:
Look to win in Chicago you have to get creative. You know, payoff the unions, get dead people to the polls, and unseal your opponent's embarrassing divorce testimony.
Al:
I did so much celebrating last night that I ended up at one of those urgent care clinics with stomach pain.
Al:
I told the doc that I think I had one too many Makkaras.
Al:
Doc said, "Makkaras? Are you Finnish?"
Al:
And I was like, "Finnish? Are you kidding me, doc, I'm just getting stahted."
Al:
I'm here all week, folks, try the reindeer.
Doug:
So our government is corrupt.
Doug:
Exactly. Give me your Tuukka Rask special, Arturo.
Mike:
Not a bad way to staht a off a Monday, right?
Doug:
These are the moments to savor.
Doug:
Welcome to another edition of the so far consecutive run of "above .500 Friday."
Mike:
Well, is there more?
Mike:
Sometimes that's enough.
Doug:
Sometimes it has to be.
Mike:
When life hands you lemons...
[The day job has me chewing on tinfoil, so I'm handing you over to Lisa the Temp — h.b.] …
Lisa the Temp:
Oh, I know that's not a frown I'm seeing, right, peeps?
Lisa the Temp:
You need to be happy to see Lisa.
Lisa the Temp:
Did you know that I occasionally do temp work for the IRS, peeps?
Lisa the Temp:
That's right. And that sure is a real purty 1040 you got there...
Lisa the Temp:
It'd be a shame if anything happened to it.
Lisa the Temp:
Yes, indeed, it would be a real shame.
Doug:
For those of you scoring at home, the Red Sox have lost three straight, six of seven, and nine of their last 11 games.
Doug:
And they are 14 of their last 83 (.169) in clutch situations over the last 11 games.
Mike:
Despite all that, it's *still* bettah than life undah Bobby V.
Mike:
Speaking of, anyone up for lunch at the Pahkah House? The Boston Cream is devine.
Al:
Oh, my ganache! I just snapped my lap band.
Steve:
So anyone can go to a fight and see a hockey game break out...
Mike:
Christ, I just rewatched that and got chills...
Steve:
"Just turned midnight.."
Steve:
We are in a golden age of the "B"
Mike:
Truly. Grace meets us where we are.
Your omniscient author in absentia:
OK, this has been one of those mornings...
On top of that, after the Sox and the Bruins this weekend, I'm suffering from a wicked case of Torontorosis.
Let's pick this up tomorrow.
Mike:
"Hello, yeah, can I speak with the broadside of the bahn? Oh, that's you? OK, good, I just want to say, stay right where you are. You're not in any dangah."
Doug:
And there goes first place.
Mike:
Is the bloom off the rose?
Mike:
April was like the first few weeks of sordid spring fling... it's all afternoon delights and the sweaty breathlessness of 'can't wait to see you agains'...
Mike:
But May... ah, well...
Doug:
Yeah, May has been like finding out your hot, April girlfriend is Jodi Arias.
Doug:
Ah, so this is the phenomena the statisticians refer to as "regression toward the mean." I finally get it.
Al:
Does this normal curve make my butt look big?
Doug:
Well, that took a lot out of me.
Mike:
Yeah, aftah getting swept in Texas this game already had a "need it" vibe about it, but as it went into extras it went exponentially toward the "must win" zone.
Mike:
That homah was huge.
Doug:
Are you kidding me? That homah was biggah than a preggahs Kim Kardashian stuffed into size too small leotahd.
Mike:
At an all you can eat buffet.
Doug:
Hosted by Chris Christie.
Bill:
Memo to the Red Sox offense: It's Texas. You're allowed to carry your weapons.
Mike:
Maybe Wayne LaPierre can throw out the first pitch for the staht of tonight's homestand.
Doug:
Seriously, if they keep this up, they're gonna melt the friggin polah ice caps.
Doug:
But eithah way the Fucking Polah Ice Caps Are Melting! Dont' just stand there, Panic!
Your omniscient author in absentia:
I've got one of my semi-annually fasting, draw blood, discuss my amazing lipids with the doc and then go on my merry way days today.
I mean a guy's gotta try to stay one step ahead of the coming death panels, after all.
But all this has jacked up my normal morning routine, so no strip until tomorrow.
Mike:
I empathize with Lestah. We all know what it's like to have one of those days where nothing feels right and it just becomes one long grind.
Al:
Days? I have weeks like that.
Doug:
Yeah, but we watch sports specifically to be taken out of the realm of the ordinary.
Mike:
Not exactly— we watch sports *in the hopes of* achieving the autotelic moment, but it is not a guarantee.
Al:
So they finish April at 18-8, just 1 win shy of the franchise record for the month.
Doug:
On the still brilliantly bright side of things, if you'd told me on April 1st that the Red Sox would finish April tied for the club records for wins in the cruelest month, I'd have worked tirelessly to track down a clone cutting from the mothah of that happy hydro you'd been smoking.
Mike:
Here's to a happy May.
Al:
May your poles be erect and venerated.
