weekend at safecoFriday
I started out keeping a running diary of Friday night's game, figuring it would help keep me awake. Sometime in the bottom of the seventh inning, I wrote "time for me to lie facedown on the couch for a little bit" and never recovered. It ended up being too depressing to post, but salvageable bits include:
* I forget every time, but Ichiro's ass-out batting stance is hilarious. Worse than Jeter.
* Has anyone else noticed how Julio Lugo runs with his arms stick-straight and his fingers pointing toward the ground? He looks like a kid who's been told not to run with scissors who's trying to prove he can run with them safely.
* If you've never been to Safeco Field, the train station really is right across from the ballpark, which explains the frequent train whistling in the background of the broadcast. I spent a lot of miserable hours stuck there when I was in college. Stuck like a member of the Red Sox on base in scoring position.
* This feels like the 1,622nd double play Manny's grounded into this year, Remy assures me it is only the sixteenth. Whoo fucking hoo.
Chad Finn had a great line once about how Derek Jeter deserves a lifetime award for making routine plays look difficult. I'm prepared at this point to give Daisuke Matsuzaka this season's "Making 7 Inning, 2 Run, 6 Hit, 10 K Outings Look Like They Could Dissolve to Getting Completely Shellacked at Any Time" award. But to dwell on this point would mean ignoring the real issue here, which is that Huit-Trois and Cinco-Ocho are clearly locked in some kind of to-the-death competition to see which of them can induce the most heart attacks amongst the fan base in a single inning. I, for one, would very much appreciate it if they'd keep it between themselves and just start playing Russian Roulette in the bullpen or something.
You know, for all my frothing at the mouth about how this team has been running the bases like a bunch of drunk BU sorority girls pretending they're trying to elude the amorous advances of Josh Beckett, and how you can never tell if the third reincarnation of the corpse of Mike Timlin is going to be a good zombie or a bad zombie, and how Jonathan Papelbon insists on using my blood pressure levels for his own personal amusement, it is sometimes important to be reminded that the Red Sox did not end up with the best record in Major League Baseball because the other 31 teams failed to show up for spring training. This game was (eventually) a pretty good reminder.
* Katie passes along that she was in attendance at Wednesday's game, fittingly there for the Julian the Carnie King's (hopeful) last hurrah. Her: "We heckled Nick Markakis a lot." Me: "Why?" Her: "Because we were sitting in right field." Me: "No, why did you heckle him?" Her: "I don't know. He has a stupid name. You know how I can hold a grudge about that kind of thing." Her seatmates also sound AMAZING, including a woman who smuggled nips of Captain Morgan into the game in her bra (!!!) and an Orioles fan who had some kind of epic meltdown, ranting about how if they had a half-decent bullpen, they'd be better than the Red Sox. The depressing thing is that he's not totally wrong. They've already got one on us, their manager looks like Shatner!
* In case you missed it, please to note this article about the blogsake's reaction to the Gagne trade, in which he reaffirms his title as God's Chosen Gift to Hyperbole, and Gordon Edes reminds us that he's still one of baseball's biggest bargains.
* Tomorrow, we get to see how the biggest deal of the deadline -- the Red Sox trade Curt Schilling for … Curt Schilling -- plays out.