Thursday, July 26, 2007

We do not stop to smell the roses in this house

07/25/07: Red Sox 0, Indians 1

Picture it: Cleveland, OH, last night, an anonymous bar somewhere. C.C. Sabathia and Josh Beckett are doing tequila shots like there's no tomorrow, playing a rousing game of, "no, my team did a worse job of helping me get my 14th win," and getting completely and utterly trashed. Then they go out and get tattoos of their dogs' faces on their pitching arms. Okay, no, not really, but isn't it fun to imagine?

Less fun, of course, was last night's game. The pitching was stupendous. Out of this world. A thing of beauty to behold.* Unfortunately for us, this was true on both sides, and the Red Sox completely botched up each and every chance they had to score a run. Seriously, inquiring minds want to know: what was with that action? Let's break it down, what if? moment by what the fuck? moment.

1. The Coco Crisp Slow-Down in the Sixth: Remdawg made a point of telling us, over and over again, that Coco must've slowed down when approaching home because Manny forgot to tell him whether or not to slide. While taunting us with the replay. Again and again and again, until we spent more time yelling, "Shut up, Remdawg! Are you trying to get us to commit Seppuku?" than hitting ourselves in the forehead. So at least he saved us from possible brain injuries? All we can say is, well, it confused the heck out of us (he was running, full speed, and then he was jogging? and then trying to run again? no, really, someone explain it to us), and it was certainly a costly and emotionally scarring play. And it was somehow entirely Manny Ramirez's fault.**

2. The Botched Hit-and-Run in the Eighth: Jason Varitek is not going to stop Alex Cora's face with his glove because he has moved beyond that sort of thing, and it is very bad for our sport. That said, there may be multi-colored signal flashcards in Cora's immediate future. And by "may be," what we mean is, "they are already in Alex Cora's bag, and he has a quiz on them on Friday."

3. The Strikeout of Dustin Pedroia in the Ninth: We include this mostly because that last "strike" sure looked like a ball to us. Also because we wanted to make a point of addressing all opposing pitchers, past and future, with a few friendly words of advice: yes, Petey is small, but he is also tough (remember when he stopped Cinco Ocho from killing an umpire?), and if you continue to hit him with pitches he will fuck your shit up.

Of course, there was also the fact that, until Coco Crisp hit his single in the sixth, Fausto Carmona of the Awesomely Named Carmonas and the Absolutely Filthy Pitching was throwing a no-hitter. When the Red Sox finally managed to hit him, they were held to singles, and when you're not running the bases well, singles just ain't gonna cut it. Neither are walks. And while we're normally huge fans of plate discipline and getting on base however possible, last night's game made us pray for nothing less than a well hit home run, because that was apparently the only way the Red Sox could've managed to get on the board. And Carmona wasn't allowing any of that. Not in his house.***

In other news, we're busy singing, "la la la" and sticking our fingers in our ears until the trade deadline has safely passed. Teixeira? What's that, a new brand of Mexican beer?

*Josh Beckett has 99 problems, but a pitch ain't one.

**As is war, famine, pestilence, global warming, moldy bread, and tofurkey. Manny also plays too shallow, and there are allegations that he may or may not have a grill which may or may not be for sale and which may or may not even work. There are also those who claim that his uniform is too big. If you have any additional information regarding the Infamous Manny "C'est Manny" Ramirez, please contact our home office.

***Disclaimer: The Cleveland Indians are Jennifer's official baseball nemesis. Yes, she hates them more than the Yankees.**** Deal with it. So admitting that, yes, Fausto Carmona not only beat us down and made us cry last night, but that he did so by kicking ass and taking names, is no mean feat. In fact, it sort of burns. Like swallowing acid.

****Don't worry, Caroline is handling the Yankees Hatin' for the household just fine.

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