the road to 51 ends here
That game last night? That was canonically the best sporting event I've ever attended in my life. Oh, Papi. At least there's something left to cheer for this season. And the PM's future husband Lowell with his homerun, too. Brilliant. Exactly what I needed to end this season on an emotional up note.
**
[Note: So, I was excited and amused about this next link, but I post it with the caveat that I do not want to get into any sort of debate about the ethics or morality of hunting, mmmkay? We all have an opinion and whoo! for us.]
Papelbon's going moose hunting in ye olde homeland (Maine, to the rest of you people). For charity, even.
"I'm going to try to take mine with a bow. I imagine we might take [a bow and a rifle], because with a bow, you have to get within 50 yards of them," Papelbon said.
I was just talking about this with kelly, though in re: Timlin-- is bow hunting really the best off-season activity for someone who does horrible things to their shoulder muscles as a career? Just, you know, a thought.
stud who hits bombs, baby
"Then you got me," said Papelbon, "who's a [expletive] genius."
You may not be able to trust them with a 5 (or 10) run lead, but apparently our bullpen is full of smarties.
My favorite part of this article, though, is when for NO REASON WHATSOEVER, Edes brings up Lopez's wife's education. I'm pretty sure no matter how dilligently she's pursuing her PhD, she isn't pitching for the Sox. I'm not saying I wouldn't be willing to give her a try, but.
Anyway, the one that really impresses me is Breslow. I mean, for the rest it's mostly equating "spent any time at a 4-year college" with "smart" and while I certainly don't have a problem with not going to college, I've spent my fair share of time with guys on athletic scholarships majoring in psych to know that it doesn't necessarily mean they're going to class or doing any work. I went to a hockey school not a baseball school, but I think there's some comparison. But, anything with the word "molecular" in it strikes me as a real major. I guess there's a fall-back if the whole left-handed reliever thing doesn't work out for the guy.
**
Since in my head Doug Mirabelli will only ever be the guy from Doug Mirabelli Diaries, I always love to see that Doug show up in the media. So you can bet I was overjoyed to see his little spitting contest with Kevin Towers as reported here.
"I don't apologize for wanting to come back to Boston. I do apologize for the fact that he has this strong opinion about Doug Mirabelli."
Third person! He may as well tell us that San Diego is for pussies anyway. Fantastic!
Although, um, you probably should just skip the last paragraph of that item because if you're anything like me reading Meredith and Bard's stats might make you want to drive a pen into your eyes.
**
Speaking of driving a pen into your eyes, Fisk agrees with me that the loss of Tek and his non-grapefruit-scented intangibles had a lot to do with the season's downward spiral:
"It's no mystery (that) the Red Sox hit a little bit of a soft spot when he got injured," Fisk said on Tuesday. "I don't mean to diss anybody on the club, but you saw what happened when he went down. It shows you the value he has."
From here.
does a-rod really enter to missy elliot?
Sox/Yankees Game 1:
PM and I watch the game for ten minutes, and then we physically have to put it on mute because we cannot tolerate another second of Tim McCarver's fellating of Derek Jeter. And then Fox starts playing song tributes to the fact that Jeter was coming up to bat soon. And then I reach for the hemlock. Seriously, we watched most of this game on mute. I couldn't take it.
Sox/Yankees Game 2:
PM and I discuss how Randy Johnson still looks like a running shorts and knee socks wearing child molester. I wonder whether or not he tried to get one of those blue Lester bracelets everyone on the Sox team is wearing. We imagine him asking for one and Tek screaming that he will fuck Johnson's shit up and, of course, directing Mike Timlin to get the hose.
**
In keeping with the original mission statement, I direct to this item in which Paps says he wants to start next season. Whatever happens, I would really like to see him locked into a long-term deal this winter. Right? Right.
that dog with the casio sure plays a mean 'take me out to the ballgame'
The chilly weather is creating a wardrobe crisis, this morning the chick at Dunkin' put cream and no sugar in my "black, 2 sugars," BU students are back and happily destroying my commute, and the Sox are pretty much done for the season. Happy fall!
But, at least there's football and all the promise wrapped up in Tom Brady's wholesome, gleaming smile. And, okay, the passing game was off and it shouldn't have been that close, but a humiliating safety is always fun and a win is a win. More importantly, what is up with Belichik not looking like a transient subluxation you'd find living under a bridge? I think he might have even had that polo shirt ironed.
Actually, scratch that, MOST importantly-- who do I have to blow/kill/whatever to get Peyton Manning's GIANT FACE off my tv screen? The cell phone ad is moderately amusing, the Mastercard ad is just smug, the Gatorade ad is REPELLENT, but the two different ads that also star Archie Manning? Have GOT to GO.
**
Some Papelbon-related odds and ends that should have been posted days ago, except we were busy/lazy/broken/hungover/etc:
The AP's story on the glorious MRI results. Included for your reading pleasure are a quote from Pap about not going to school to be a doctor, Tito's above-referenced medical humor, and a picture of Papelbon winning my third grade bubblegum bubble-blowing contest.
SI's Tom Verducci thinks Pap should start next season.
Pap will return if by some stroke of crazy magic the Sox find themselves back in the race. This article is particularly notable for the definition of "transient subluxation" which you'd think someone would have looked up as soon as the doc's statement was issued.
A link that is a totally gratuitious excuse to show a picture of Papelbon and a small boy. Awww...
A real-life moment for Kristen's Papi and Papelbon show:
Jonathon Papelbon was on the field 41/2 hours before the game. He wasn't testing his injured right shoulder. He was operating a 2-foot long race car by remote control. David Ortiz joined him later, operating another car. "We raced them around the outfield, and I think he said he won," Papelbon said.
From here.
the ship has weather’d every rack
Bad 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?
