the ship has weather’d every rackBad news, first, right?
"Whatever happens happens, dude," Jonathan Papelbon said before the Red Sox' 3-2 win against the White Sox last night at Fenway Park as he prepared for an MRI on his ailing right shoulder.
"I'm not worried, man," he said. "My career path's going to go a certain way. I’m not going to let a little something get me all worried and get me in a fuss."
Aw, baby. I know we totally fell down on the Papel-news reporting, but I swear to you, I've barely thought of anything else. When he grabbed at his shoulder, I was nearly catatonic. I couldn't call Kelly because she was lumbering across town in a moving van or some such and I didn't want to be responsible for a car crash of any kind. Thankfully CSPAN called me, knowing I would be experiencing severe trauma. But hey, this season's mostly shot anyway, so as long as he can be healthly for next year, there's clearly no reason to worry. This is what I tell myself anyway.
On the up side, I was reduced to high-pitched joy and hyperventilating to see Tek all geared up and ready to go last night. 0-3, sure, but I don't even care because he's the Magic Man behind that plate and I am irrationally devoted to his "intangibles" (made all the better because they come without any hint of grapefruit). I saw him in the dugout and I was all Ethan Hawke on a desk, but without the messy suicide. TEK!
Seriously, I haven't enjoyed a baseball game as much in about forever (which, btw, is about how long it seems to have been since there's been an off day.)
This morning, I ran into someone at Dunkin' Donuts that I'm used to seeing only in the darkened, alcohol-smoothed confines of my favorite bar. At the bar, this guy is hot-like-fire and surrounded by at least ten of BU's shortest skirts at all times (seriously, Beckett should give this guy a call-- they could totally hang.) But, in the harsh and sober light of Dunkin', he just wasn't quite what I'm used to-- it's not bad, exactly, just strange and new and disconcerting. This little story is, of course, a metaphor for watching Julian Tavarez pitch an utterly fantastic game last night.
I said at some point in the fourth last night that I was really sad that the BusDriver had sucked so much this season (obviously, but for new reasons this time) because I was surprised to learn that he's actually delightful to watch when he's doing well. The traffic-directing all around the infield was brilliant! High comedy and true baseball fun. Plus, that guy's got groundballs for DAYS. I was, I must admit, shocked, amazed, and confused. And apparently BFF with Manny-- I bet that's some funny funny stuff.
Other highlights of the evening included the continued impressiveness of Tasty Baked Treat of a Man Mike Lowell and the oh-so-sexy work of Gonzo at short. Seriously, that man, making that sort of flying leap that he does is the hottest thing I have seen in ages. And I very recently watched Justin Timberlake dance. Sex-ay. And of course, local boy-hero Carlos Pena (who is pretty hot in his own right-- that little emo-style tee at the press conference? lovely choice). My favorite part of that was Tina Cervasio chasing him into the dugout -- "Carlos! Talk to me! Come talk to me! Please! And maybe give Loretta my phone number!?"
So yes. No matter what happens through the rest of the season, at least we've all been reminded that baseball is supposed to be fun. Apparently all it took was Julian Tavarez to do the reminding. Who would have ever guessed?