Respect the Tek

In other news, the Indians have racist hats. Discuss

2011-04-06T22:11:00.002-04:00

ALL RIGHT, RED SOX, WE GET IT.

We realize that you're losing just because we haven't been blogging. BLOG IN YOUR FACE NOW.

Ahem. We don't actually believe that. (Really.) (Not really.)

Let's just say, though, that it's awfully early in the season for us to be turning away from the Sox game in order to watch a show on Animal Planet about killer catfish.*

And no, mainstream media, we're not panicking; we know the sky is not falling; we're not flying paper airplanes into Theo Epstein's office with directives on who he should trade, where, for what bag of baseballs. We're actually quite tired of the narrative that Red Sox fans are freaking out that the season is over before it's even a week old. The truth is that none of us are panicking. What we are? Is not having fun yet.

Hang on a second. The killer catfish has a name. It's called "The Goonch." Okay, back.

Perhaps this is the problem with the amount of spring coverage we get here at the molten core of Planet Red Sox. The early games in March took the very edge off our baseball jones, allowed us to make all our "crack of the bat, roar of the crowd" comments and used up our relevant Bart Giamatti quotes. We got acclimated to the joy of having baseball back on tv with Jerry Remy pontificating in our ears. And now we want winning. Or at the very least, we'd like to see some quality baseball instead of the Keystone Kops version. And for the time being, the Red Sox are as bad at baseball as... as... as we are at finishing sentences. Put another way, Dan Shaughnessy is to journalism as... well, okay, maybe that's unfair to the team.

We believe this team will sort itself out. In the big picture, these 6 losses are a small percentage of the season as a whole. In the present, however, they're 100% of our baseball season, and that's just less fun than a guy sitting on a wet rock, waiting for a killer catfish to come get him.

That's right, Red Sox! We have betrayed you for a...catfish hunter!

Okay, now that we've reached the bottom of the pun barrel, will they start winning games?

A game?

An inning?

An at-bat?

...excuse us, we have to go get umbrellas. That piece of sky up there looks awfully loose.

*This show is called River Monsters, and it appears to be the love child of Charlie Moore Outdoors and No Reservations. So, you know, season pass!

This is Not the Opening Day Post You're Looking For

2011-03-31T10:01:00.007-04:00

No, really, we had an entire AL East preview post planned--err, by "planned," we mean that we talked about it all the time and cracked ourselves up doing so, but never quite got around to writing anything down--but this MLB Mancave Fancave Frat Boy Extravaganza Real World Reunion Tour 2011 distracted us from our plans. Heck, it distracted us from baking (for our men) while wearing heels and pearls and cleaning (for our men) while rocking a beehive and loving pink (for our men) and putting on makeup (for our men) and all the other stereotypically girly things MLB apparently thinks we spend all of our time doing.* Be assured, though, that we'll at least share the Red Sox and Yankees sections of the post, and hopefully sooner rather than later. Before the All Star Break at the very least.

And, hey, we'll admit that we basically mocked the initial contest concept--who could watch all the baseball? how would that person have time to, you know, shower? or actually physically go out to the ballpark to watch a game?--and neither of us entered. However, we know that at least one female fan did. So it's not like there weren't any female contestants from which to choose.** We didn't sit down and watch all of the video submissions, so we have no way to judge whether or not the ones that won were the best. We did watch the clips from the Yankees fan's submission that are online, though, and let's just say we were decidedly whelmed. We're pretty sure that MLB saw all the memorabilia he has and thought "KA-CHING, we have a winner. Oh, hey, and he probably does drunken impressions at the bar--just like us!" (No, we're not linking. We don't want to give them the traffic.)

But let's just say there weren't any "qualified"--quotes used more because the qualifications were maddeningly vague from the start of the contest than for the sarcasm they may imply--female contestants. It's possible. That doesn't mean that MLB needs to market this entire thing as a glorified mini-frathouse, complete with Z100's Greg T the Frat Boy. That doesn't mean that they need to interview an underwear model to celebrate Opening Day; we'd argue that even if the VS model in question is a hardcore baseball fan, that advertising the event as "interviews with an underwear model" rather than "interviews with this totally hardcore baseball fan who, by the way, happens to be a VS model" basically tells that MLB is pretty damned sure that their audience is male, straight, and into underwear models. When dealing with a PR-based initiative--which the Mancave surely is, wrapped up in Real World nostalgia and Jersey Shore mystique--perception is a huge part of the equation.

And, to a female fan right now, the perception is that MLB either doesn't care or doesn't recognize that female fans make up about 45% of their demographic. That's pretty damned close to half, or so we hear; we're girls, doncha know, which means we don't understand the complicated math.***

It's just, look, we're constantly being asked if we understand the infield fly rule, no matter how many times we're the ones in our section who can tell you the name and scouting report of that kid they just called up from Portland. We're the ones buying kids' player tees because the men's ones don't fit--and we're lucky because we're both shorter than Dustin Pedroia and can fit into kids' t-shirts, even if they don't particularly fit our shapes properly--and we don't want to wear sparkles or bangles or pink or PINK. And while it's nice to be told by the grandfatherly type two seats over that he was "relieved" when we "proved our knowledge" because he "groaned" when he saw us coming to sit near him because we "look like teenage girls," well. It's actually not. And we'd really like to think that MLB the Giant [redacted] Entity thinks better of us than that guy, you know? We'd like to think that maybe the fact that we buy tickets and the Extra Innings package and scorebooks and baseball cards might make our fandom just the teensiest bit important. The sparkles and the bangles and the pink and the PINK really should've been a clue.

Heck, and this is just off the top of our heads here so please bear with us on this, but if they want to start things out by bringing a beautiful woman into the Mancave, why not invite Alyssa Milano? We hear she's definitely into baseball.

*Please note that we mean no disrespect to anyone who does any of these things--we do some of them ourselves!--because all of these things are awesome too. Though as neither of us currently has a man, per se, we're doing them for ourselves. Because who doesn't love a delicious Iraqi cardamom whole wheat cookie? Or a really great pair of heels?

**We're not even going into the fact that both winners are white-seeming dudes who root for AL East teams. But, you know, both winners are seemingly white dudes who root for AL East teams.

***Actually, math isn't our strong suit. But that's because we're liberal arts majors, not because we're women.

Leslie Knope for President & Other Signs of Spring

2011-02-18T17:02:00.006-05:00

Jim Leyland ruined all our "best shape of our lives" jokes. In fact, he ruined all of the "best shape of his/her life" jokes. Ever. Normally, that sort of thing would get him cult hero status in Casa de Respect the Tek, but the way he went about it was disturbing and offensive enough to kill that movement before it could get started. We're still going to keep calling him "Crazy Old Jim Leyland, Hmmm..." in our best Gaston voices though. Because we can.

But Camp Tuck is in full effect, Lil Papi's taken his cuts and high-fived his newest teammate, and it even feels like spring here in Boston for a couple of hours. We're ready for baseball season (and not at all writing this to step away from KaberleKaberle 2011: The Electric Trade Dance Boogaloo*). We're ready for Fenway Park, and overpriced beerwater; we're ready to stand up to see if that ball's going out, only to sit down again when it lands anticlimactically in an outfielder's glove.

We're so ready for baseball, in fact, that a few weeks ago, we bussed it down to Enemy Territory (aka Manhattan) to listen to people way smarter than us talk about baseball. Yes, that's right, we want to Baseball Prospectus's SABR Day event at Foley's. And we were ready to write about it that night, only we had a little too much to drink. And then we were ready to talk about it the next day, only we had to ride a bus all day, which required the taking of all the Dramamine in the land. And then we had to watch the Bruins. Or Parks & Recreation. Or we had to re-watch Parks & Recreation again and again during the intermissions of Bruins games.*

Of course, enough time has now passed that a) no one really wants to our recap anymore and b) we've forgotten most of the truly awesome stuff we were going to tell you. Still, here are a couple of tidbits too amazing to sweep under the rug just because we're lazy and also hockey fans and viewers of brilliant situational comedy.

1. There is nothing quite like the groan of a entire room of baseball geeks--including many a Mets fan!--at the mere mention of Jeff Francoeur's name. Except maybe the groan of an entire room of baseball geeks when a panel member dares to mention the RBI or the Golden Glove in trying to convince us all that Dale Murphy should be in the Hall of Fame.

2. We are possibly living in a golden--nay, chocolate wrapped in gold foil--age of baseball-related facial hair. Dennis Sheehan was rocking a killer handlebar during his discussion of the drool-worthy Kansas City system and baseball scouting in general. Jay Jaffe could give Ron Swanson a run for his money.

3. You just can't shout down a tech geek who wants to know what mainframe PitchFX runs on, no matter how much you want to ask about what PitchFX can do.

4. However, we did learn that FieldFX--which is designed to track everything that moves on a baseball field--is still in the works, and when it comes out the data will be made available to those of us who don't currently have our dream jobs in baseball ops.We're already planning a brand new website dedicated to tracking umpires and manager tantrums based on this new technology. How far off Country Joe West can Jim Leyland bounce? We may soon be able to calculate this figure to within 1/18th of an inch.

5. Sometimes, a player's mom will write a letter to the author of one of the approximately 70 billion out there prospect lists because she thinks her precious son should've been ranked higher. Have you seen his fastball?

6. The Mets should be a valid major league organization once again in 2023. Book it.

We also experienced a minor baseball miracle during the post-event pre-leaving-the-bar portion of the day, while mingling and staring at all the cool sports paraphernalia hanging on the walls of the bar. We stood around chatting about baseball with Mets fans, a Phillies phan, and a couple of Yankees fans, and no one lost a limb. Not even a pinkie finger. It was like Christmas, only with 100% less frankincense and myrrh!

Sso that got us through the winter and now that it's spring (sort of! not really!) we're ready to watch us some baseballl, with stats in our head and crazy Carl Crawford love in our hearts, with spreadsheets to the left, beer to the right, and a Captain Fenway hoodie keeping us warm on those oh-my-god, it's-still-April nights. And we're ready to tell you what we see. We're gonna do this blog up right. Because spring is all about new beginnings, blah blah cliche blah. And, besides, have you seen us? We're in the best shape of our lives.***

*We would officially like to admit that we are bummed to lose both Stu and Wheels, even if these trades do make the team better in aggregate.

**No, seriously, Parks & Recreation. We can't recommend this show highly enough. DVR it if your favorite sports team is playing that night: Ken Tremendous would totally understand.

***Do not test us on this; we just baked a cookie the size of home plate.

In non-Doctober news

2010-10-07T00:00:00.005-04:00

Six for our Sox:

1. Let the record show that on Sunday, October 3, 2010, we ran into the following people wandering the concourse at Fenway before the game: Derek Jeter, Jorge Posada, Josh Reddick, Kevin Youkilis, Robert Coello, AJ Burnett, Larry Lucchino, Rich Hill, Mark Teixeira, Lance Berkman. Let the record also show that we neither committed physical harm on the Yankees nor embarrassed ourselves unduly around the Red Sox. Let the record further show that Derek Jeter wearing a sports jacket and rolling a small suitcase behind him looks exactly like Derek Jeter wearing a sports jacket and rolling a small suitcase behind him would look like.

2. Sunday's game was the best season-ender we could've hoped for in a non-playoff season (non-perfect game &/or no-hitter &/or hitting for the cycle division). First, the home nine won--and, in doing so, thwarted the Yankees' division hopes. Playing spoiler! Good times! Second, we got to watch Jennifer's brother-in-law look slack-jawed and incredulous over Jorge Posada's insane decision to throw to second with a runner on third--thus allowing the runner to score when he, inevitably,* failed to catch the baserunner stealing--a move we haven't seen work outside short season ball. Third, Jedediah Jethro Lowrie, y'all. We even got to watch John Lackey be mostly quite good at that pitching thing the Red Sox pay him so much to do, and we got to standing O our blogsake multiple times. There were no tears, except for the ones we were forced to cry because it was so frickin' cold.

3. If JD Drew decides to retire once his contract expires next year--hey, he did bring up the possibility--and he actually makes the decision before the end of the season,** the Red Sox probably won't hold a "Thanks, JD" night. Therefore, we propose that those of us chilling in the Mom's-basement-o-sphere hold our own such event. T-shirts, posters, people who appreciate what a great ballplayer JD is, all getting together to say thanks while drinking overpriced beers and nachos. Because JD Drew is several kinds of awesome, no matter what Bill Simmons says, and he deserves a goofy video montage as much as anyone.

4. We wish Adrian Beltre and his family the best--we're singing "Happy Birthday, young Beltre child" right now--but we wish we could've watched him play just one more time with the Red Sox. Which obviously means that Theo needs to get started on re-signing him yesterday.

5. We're rooting for the San Francisco Giants*** this postseason. Consider this our official apology to any lifelong SF Giants fans whose team we've just jinxed. (We have an entire hierarchy of rooting interests after this one, but the Giants are the cart we're hitching our metaphorical horses to. You can probably guess who happens to be at the very bottom of the hierarchy, in a big box marked "DANGER: CONTAINS EXTREMELY LARGE PLAQUE.")

5. We kept saying (and saying, and saying) that we weren't going to be too upset if/when the Red Sox were officially eliminated from postseason contention. "The injuries," we'd remind ourselves. "We're going to honestly be thrilled with a winning season, given that our team this year was comprised of Papi, Beltre, and shrubbery." But under all that swagger, we had a niggling fear that we'd become that which we've long disdained: the fan who Expects the Postseason and Considers Anything Less Than That Abject Failure and a Reason To Fire &/or Trade Everyone. Finally, it happened. The Red Sox were eliminated. And the world didn't end. We were sad, yes, and disappointed that we're not getting bonus baseball this year. But we're not angry, or irrationally upset, or any of that. We're proud--in that weird way fans can be proud of professional athletes--of this crazy, injured, random team of ours.

Although, we're a little sad that we'll never get a job with WEEI.

*We mock because the Red Sox had Victor Martinez and Jason Varitek catching this year, if you know what we mean.

**Because, c'mon, the only reason Jason Varitek and Tim Wakefield aren't getting "Thanks for Gloving A-Rod in the Face" and "Thanks for Getting Us Out Of a Pickle When Hideki Matsui Meandered Over to Third Base That Time" nights, respectively, is that both want to play next season. We're not getting into whether or not they actually will--there are emotions involved, damn it, and emotions cloud objectivity--but there's obviously a chance neither will be dressing for the Sox come April.

***We actually fell for this team and their Tim Lincecum and their Buster Posey way back at the beginning of the season. (Hell, the fall started last season, if we're going to be honest, with Jonathan Sanchez's no-no and Pablo Sandoval's Kung Fu Panda action and, yes, Tim Lincecum's nasty, beautiful change-up.) Now, of course, we're stuck pinning our hopes to Pat Burrell.

These are, in fact, your father's Red Sox*

2010-08-31T22:14:00.004-04:00

Maybe next year? Is that what we're supposed to say after two painful losses to that irritating team down south?**

It's weird. We're pessimists by nature--the glass is always half-empty, and the water's always lukewarm with that funky chemical aftertaste--but we haven't quite lost hope this season. Maybe because it's, you know, not mathematically over. Maybe because we were there when the Mets screwed things up last year. And the year before that, etc., etc. And we watched from afar as the Colorado Rockies found Je--uhh--made their amazing run in 2007. We've got approximately a month of baseball left, and we're not about to start watching preseason football.

So it's time to give up on the tired "every season in which the Red Sox fail to make the postseason is, post hoc ergo procter hoc, a capital-F Failure" meme. If life in the big, bad AL East continues apace--hell, if the Matuszes and the Morrowses and the Wieterses and the Sniders of the world continue to improve, it could theoretically get even more competitive up here in the sports world's scariest division of all time***--we could see more seasons just like this. The same team won't be left playing golf in October every season, but when you have three or more legitimate World Series contenders in the same division, well...

Shit happens.

Look, between that glorious day when the Red Sox fielded their actual roster (oh, Opening Day, a time of joy and sunshine and hope) and the present, the Red Sox have lost their MVP-caliber first and second basemen, as well as 2/3 of their opening day outfield. They're down fifteen catchers and seventy-four Jonathan Van Everys. Hideki Okajima, Scott Atchison, Manny Delcarmen,**** and a motley cast of clowns have been allowed to pitch in actual games. Major league games, against other major league teams. The Red Sox are also on pace to win about 90 games.

Think about that, then get back to us about this being a lost season. A bridge year. Run prevention, ha ha ha.

Sure, the Red Sox face long odds against making the playoffs. We're not math people--liberal arts majors FTW!--but we're pretty sure the Red Sox need to win 79 of their remaining 31 games, while the Yankees and (Devil) Rays only have to tread water (literally: they're not even obligated to play out the remainder of their games, so they're all getting into the hot tub). But that doesn't we should consider the season a waste, or stop watching and rooting for our team. There's a difference, we think, between facing up to the odds and the reality behind them--the Sox lost too many games to bottom-dweller teams, and lost too many players to supremely freakish injuries--and giving up, full-stop, on the season.

This is a good team. One of the best in baseball. There's lots of fun left to be had.

Take bets on how many more head taps, exactly, it'll take for Adrian Beltre to really go medieval on Victor Martinez. For a team that has "no star power" he's mighty fun to watch: from the defense to those one-kneed proposal home runs he's fond of hitting. The dude may not have a Beard of Truth or Dreads of Destruction, but otherwise he's definitely our idea of star power: great baseball skills, fun personality, and a sideline in wacky brotherly dugout hijinks. We're bummed that he'll likely be playing for a West Coast team next year.
Dance to the beat of "The Kids Are All Right." Ryan Kalish, Felix Doubront, and whoever ends up on the roster next. We're hoping for a Josh Reddick sighting as early as tomorrow. Now we have all of September to give all the rooks crazy new nicknames. Can we do better than Yamaico "Me Feel So Young" Navarro? The answer is yes. We hope.
Clap if you believe in Jed Lowrie. C'mon, you were starting to think that he was just a figment of our collective imaginations, too.
Write that Made for TV movie you've been talking about writing lo these many years. Base it on the lives and careers of Darnell McDonald and Daniel Nava. Shop it around only to have execs tell you it's too farfetched to be believable and that maybe you should head over to Disney with this one.
Invent a sandwich in Terry Francona's honor. No, wait, that's a bad idea--it would probably involve ham that had been left out too long. And by ham, we mean starting pitchers. (We kid, Tito, we kid. But we have wondered if Leo DiCaprio inceptioned you into believing you manage in the National League.)

The Red Sox are still mathematically in things, and if this season has reinforced any of the many lessons we've learned in our time as baseball fans it's that sometimes? Athletes get hurt. Ballplayers underperform. Pitchers throw meatballs right down the middle of the plate, and batters swing through a pitch that's sitting right there in their sweetspot. Baseball is unpredictable. As Kevin Garnett would yell, eyes bugging out of his head, "anything is possible."

In the meantime, why not relax with a nice cold beverage and enjoy what's left of the Red Sox season? Maybe it'll end on October 2. Maybe they'll make one of those miracle runs we'll all talk about for years to come. Either way, it's baseball. And we like baseball.

*And your father didn't whine about it on Twitter, so suck it up, punk!

**Our plan: if the Rays can't scam the city into building them a new park, they should relocate. To Montreal.

**The obligatory "in any other division" disclaimer: in any other division, they'd be no further out than 2 games (and, it could be posited, based on their record vs., say, the NL West, that they'd have more wins and ergo be in first place in that division, blah blah blah conjecture-cakes). But, of course, they're not in any other division. We're not going to go all George Steinbrenner on you and start railing against a tough division our team, in part, helped create, but the facts are facts. The Yankees and Rays are both projected to win close to 100 games. Sometimes you just have to tip your cap. (But not to the Orioles, not anytime soon.)

***Bye, Manny in the Del! We'll probably miss the idea of you--you're from Boston!--more than actual you--you can't throw strikes and give up too many home runs!--but you were a part of a championship season and no one will ever be able to take that away from you. Or us. Maybe now you'll be able to put "Blame it on the Rain" behind you and live up to your potential.

We're not here to talk nonsense to Bob Loblaw

2010-08-26T21:40:00.003-04:00

Sometimes, Twitter lets you follow dramatic news or intricate political stories as they break. Sometimes, you just get bored sportswriters during rain delays. Obviously, we prefer the latter.

And so it was that Joe Haggerty brought this to our attention:
It's time to think about how to store Red Sox players safely over the offseason.

Haggs suggests bubblewrap, a classic choice. We're sure that armed guards and giant cotton balls have also been considered. But by investing literally minutes of deep thought in this, we've come up with an even better plan: Comas.

Not just any comas, protective comas! You know, the kind that doctors on medical TV shows put patients into while they're busy with A) their romantic entanglements, B) their daddy issues, or C) their thoroughly unbelievable hair? Well, we're not sure they're real, but then we never thought Adrian Beltre could break a man's bones with an I-Dream-of-Jeannie-esque blink. And with Dustin "I'm Not A Midget, I Just Play One On TV" Pedroia back in the boot, well, it's time for a surreal conclusion to a surreal season.

Of course, once we came up with this idea, our minds went immediately to Dr. Gregory House, MD. TV's least ethical doctor is an excellent candidate for practicing nonconsensual sports medicine. Just picture House administering a "routine check-up" to one player at a time, slipping 'em a "B-12 shot"* and then tucking them in for a long winter's nap. Sure, some players might put up more of a fight than others--

PAPELBON: I can't be in no coma, man, I got ducks to shoot!
HOUSE: Hold still, I'm pretty sure you have vasculitis!
PAPELBON: Get that needle away from my booty!

[Cue chase scene set to the tune of Yackety Sax]

--But in the end, we think Theo Epstein would agree: nobody puts patients in comas like House, and comas are definitely the way to go. That way, nobody strains a muscle in the winter while golfing or inhaling a pumpkin pie. Everyone will show up healthy to spring training!

And if anyone sues for malpractice, our lawyer, Bob Loblaw, is on retainer. And he's got a blog, so he must be smart.

*Not one of Roger Clemens's B-12s, and we swear that's all we have to say on that subject.

Limping off the DL.

2010-08-22T22:34:00.004-04:00

SCOREBOARD: "Last year, JD Drew ranked fourth out of all AL outfielders with a .911 OPS"

GUY BEHIND US: "Does anyone even know what OPS is?"
HIS FRIEND: "I do."
GUY: "RIght, so what is it?"
FRIEND: "OBS?"
GUY: "OPS, dude, it says OPS."
FRIEND: "Well, it's OBS."
GUY: "Fine, OBS, OPS, whatever. But what does it mean? You claim you know, so tell me."
FRIEND: "OBS means...on-base percentage."
GUY: "Is 900 good?"

US, REFRAINING FROM TURNING AROUND AND SAYING THIS TO THESE FINE GENTLEMEN, AND INSTEAD JUST LAUGHING BETWEEN OURSELVES: "Nah, man, a 900 OBS is just walking and clogging up the basepaths. Everyone knows JD Drew's a baseclogging jerk who doesn't care about baseball. Now, 900 RBI and a dirty cap, on the other hand..."

Last night, we went to a baseball game. It'd been a while--Futures at Fenway was our last attempt, and the skies opened and poured down on us and, lo, we were soaked to the bone and the poor kids from Salem had to take a long busride back home without playing a single inning on the hallowed grounds--and we were getting antsy. But things worked out in our favor, and by 5:00 we were pre-gaming at McGreevey's.* A couple of really weak drinks and an inning or two of the LLWS, and we were on our way.

We're not going to get into an intensive play-by-play here--either you watched the game, or you didn't, and there are plenty of places on the internet to get that kind of information--but we figured, hey, what better way to get off the DL and into the game than by talking about a game we actually attended? Much better than bitching about Sullivan's Tire commercials.

And, while we're profoundly not thrilled about the injury parade,** how cool is it to see kids we know from Sea Dogs and Spinners teams past playing for the big team? How awesome is it to look up and see Ryan Kalish on second base or Yamaico Navarro fielding a grounder? We admit it. We cheered for those guys harder than we cheered for almost anyone else. The kids, y'all. They're kind of all right.

Even Daisuke Matsusaka impressed us. Maybe we were still slightly tipsy, but he seems to be working faster and more authoritatively. Sure, he had that one inning where it seemed like everything was hit hard, but for most of the game he kept a really good hitting team off balance and off the basepaths. We approve of this guy. This guy didn't drive us back to the bar once.

Of course, this being our 2010 Red Sox, things weren't easy. As we all know, the game ended up tied through nine, and we had ourselves a little bonus baseball. We dashed to the ladies' after the home nine failed to score in the tenth, then set up in standing room behind home plate for the eleventh. (Papelbon works slowly enough that we really only missed one batter. True story.) A nearby usher started talking about the fact that he really thought Bard should've stayed in for another inning. Another guy looked like he was about to throw up. Someone in another section started the wave.

The wave. Top of the eleventh. Heart of the order up and a closer who had imploded the last time he faced this very opponent on the mound. What better time to stand up and down and lift your hands in the air like you just don't care? Not like there's anything happening in the game or--

--Jed Lowrie drops a routine pop-up in foul territory, and everyone in our section moans and grabs their hearts--

anything.

As we stood there, pounding our chests and hoping we'd remember to breathe at some point, Papelbon struck John Buck out. And suddenly the air seemed more oxygenated. We were going to be okay.

Plus: "now that Lowrie kid can redeem himself," someone said. "He has to."

8th INNING, SAME GUYS. RYAN KALISH HAS JUST JOGGED BACK TO SECOND AFTER AN ATTEMPTED STOLEN BASE.

GUY: "But I thought he stole third."
FRIEND: "Nah, man, he had to go back because the batter swung. You can't steal a base if the batter swings the bat."

If there's one thing we enjoy, it's the film Overboard, starring Goldie Hawn and--

Okay, strike that, if there's one thing we enjoy, it's watching Red Sox players embrace each other at home plate. If there's two things we enjoy, it's walking out of Fenway Park singing.

Overboard would make the top five, though.

*Look, we'd seen Friday's game. We figured hard liquor might be key to our enjoyment of Saturday's game.

**We blame Gary Bettman. As every hockey fan out there knows, there's pretty much nothing out there that you can't blame him for. In this case, though, we even have a reason. Bettman brought us the Winter Classic, the Winter Classic brought the Bruins to Fenway, the Bruins brought their broken-itis to Fenway, and the Red Sox all fell down.

Kevin Millar begs to differ.

2010-05-13T20:39:00.006-04:00

Nothing gets us all riled up and angry like a bad sports analogy or cliche run amok.* Maybe those of you who follow our twitter feed have noticed us @broadcaster'ing whenever the NESN Sports Desk folks tell us that "the Flyers wanted it more" or that "momentum momentum momentum."** Well, we tweet because the TV finally stopped listening to us when we told it that it was being ridiculous.

In the last 24 hours, we've noticed a disturbing trend on the internets: people actually comparing the 2010 Philadelphia Flyers to the 2004 Red Sox. Yes, our 2004 Red Sox. The Idiots. "Don't let us win tonight." The Steal. People have had the gall to compare Carrot Top and his Merry Band of Diving Mustachioed Flyers to Sir Curtis Montague Schilling And His Right Esteemed Sock Monkeys. As our ex-roommate's third cousin would say, "that shit ain't right."

We know all of you out there in loyal-reader-land understand why the 2010 Flyers are in no way analogous to the 2004 Red Sox, but for any random souls who have stumbled upon our humble blog when they were looking for Respect the Ted: A Blog about Ted from Scrubs, well, we've prepared a handy-dandy list. With pie charts. Because who doesn't love a good pie chart?***

Reason #1: No Aaron Fuckin' Boone.

In 2003, the Red Sox were defeated by the Evil Sorcerer Boone in what has largely become known as The Shot That Launched A Thousand Bucky Dent Flashbacks*. In 2004, the Red Sox staged an epic comeback by stealing a base, hitting a home run, and breaking the Mariano Bot for a couple of innings.

The 2009 Bruins did not do anything to make Flyers fans gaze longingly at whatever Philadelphia's version of the Tobin Bridge happens to be. The 2010 Flyers have not actually completed an epic comeback, at press time, and the 2010 Bruins do not feature an ageless robot who throws a cutter.

Reason #2: No ghosts.

In 2004, Yankees fans were known to dress up as the ghost of a long-dead fat slugger. This was mostly in an attempt to hide the fact that they'd split their pants at the all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet down the street from the Stadium, but also referred to an unfortunate incident in which Red Sox ownership traded--well, you know the story. Let's not rehash it here.

Bruins fans in 2010 do not dress up as the ghost of...well, any player traded from the Flyers to the Bruins. No, we're not going to do any research to find out who that might be. You know why? Because if it was in any way equivalent to Babe "George Herman" Ruth, we would already have heard of it. The only ghosts involved in this series are those of Marco Sturm's slaughtered tendons.

Reason #3: 1918.

Before 2004, the Red Sox had not won the World Series since 1918. Maybe you recall those charming, sing-song, "19-18" chants the Yankees faithful used to serenade us with (it's like Montreal's "Ole Ole" song, only completely different!). The Yankees had won 17 billion World Championships between 1918 and 2004, approximately 1.4 million per season.

Before 2010, the Flyers had not won the Stanley Cup since 1975. The Bruins? 1972. So, not a Yankees/Red Sox type dynamic at all. By our calendars, it's a lot more like the Pittsburgh Pirates and the Baltimore Orioles.

Hey, the team colors even match up, so we must be right!

Reason #4: Not enough bad blood.

We weren't alive during those 1970s years we just mentioned. So we're not really sure who Bobby Orr would have considered his archnemesis at the time. We'll stipulate that the Big Bad Bruins and the Broad Street Bullies were enemies. Bitter enemies with big hair. Fine. But What about the eighties, and nineties? We're reasonably sure we remember those decades--we have the peasant blouses to prove it--and we don't remember any Bruins and Flyers rivalry lighting up our radar screen.

Oh, we hate the Flyers, don't get us wrong, but not nearly enough to call them our rivals. It's just not like that. Flyers and Bruins fans don't fight in the street--and these are sports fans from Boston and Philly; it's not like they need anything bigger than a hamburger bun to fight over. The Habs, now? Give us the Habs and we'll show you our hate.

Reason #5: Instant karma is not gonna get you.

There are people out there wondering if the Bruins' possible case of the chokesies is karma's way of punishing us for the Red Sox' 2004 miracle. These people are clearly not scholars of sports mojo like ourselves. You know, if the real world worked that way, it would be colossally unfair to the athletes--to say nothing of the fans that root for different towns in different sports (here's looking at you, Connecticut, with your weird combinations and your lack of Whale). But let's forget about justice and look at the logic of it. If karma really has nothing better to do than balance Boston's sports luck, then what happened in the 1950s and 60s when the Red Sox were bottom of the barrel? It's not like the Celtics spent those decades winning all the--

Oh, snap! Karma!

Uh...we'll get you that pie chart right after we go to Calcutta to work with the poor.

*Lies, damned lies, and statistics.

**Which reminds us: are we the only people left in the world who a) remember Joementum and b) use it to describe the opposite of forward momentum on a semi-regular basis? Inquiring minds want to know!

***Mmmm, pie. /Homer Simpson

Pessimism: it's what's for dinner!

2010-05-12T23:03:00.003-04:00

In the grand tradition of the MLB Post-Season on Fox, we have compiled Seven Keys to the Game for the Bruins going into the pivotal game 7 that should've never come to pass:

1. Shoot the puck
2. Score goals
3. Don't let the Flyers score goals
4. Stop taking stupid penalties
5. Hit Mike Richards
6. Score even more goals
7. Don't let it go back to Fenway

Look, we may not always have had faith that the Bruins would make it to the playoffs, but now that they're here we want them to win this series.* And then we want them to beat the Habs. And the Sharkhawks. And we want that shiny, shiny Cup. We really don't think that's too much to ask.

Especially since the Red Sox are currently doing their upmost to make us cling to hockey season for as long as humanly possible, what with their losing and their getting hurt and their letting outfielders pitch because their pitchers can't and did we mention their getting swept by the Orioles. Sure, there have been bright moments: the midget's taken to wearing tall socks more frequently, which make him look even more like a member of the Lollipop Guild than he normally does, and Jonny Lester remembered how that whole pitching thing works. Tek's OPSing 1.287, which is just a crazy video game number. JD Drew still thinks his strike zone is superior to any umpire's. Oh, and we've decided to call Marco Scutaro Scoots McGoots. It's fun to say! You should try it!

We've also been busy coming up with our own advanced pitching metrics. There's the standard quality start, of course, but even better is the wicked quality (WQ) start: 7IP, 2 or fewer ER, less than 4 wild pitches and two hit batsmen. And the WTF start, which is what Dice-K did last night.** We're still working on the math part, but we're sure these are going to be a hit with the BP crowd!

We're hoping to get back into the whole blogging groove now that we're done with this season's mandatory period of going to ballgames with our mothers (no, really, that's what we've been doing since Blogapalooza***), but we're over making promises of that sort. We'll blog when we remember to, and then we'll forget for a while, and then we'll think that blogging is jinxy before we remember that it's not blogging that's a jinx. It'll be a long, crazy, 162-game ride.

Unless the Stanley Cup Playoffs kill us first.

*Jennifer's other NHL team, the Devils, already lost to this particular Flyers squad. She really does not want last year's "both my teams lost to the Hurricanes" fiasco to repeat itself this year. Especially since the Flyers, unlike the Hurricanes, are actually Evil.

**No, really, WTF? We were there, and we're still not sure that happened.

***Hello to those of you we met! We liked quite a few of your t-shirts and would like to subscribe to your newsletters!

Hit the panic button on your remote control

2010-04-17T14:11:00.002-04:00

We're almost two whole weeks into the season, so it's definitely time to overreact. We'll finally be heading to Fenway tonight*, but until then, we've only experienced baseball through the magic of TV. No big--we finally joined 2008 and got ourselves some HD--that's how most of us end up watching most of the season. As such, there's been quite a bit of talk lately about televised baseball: the calling of, the filming of, the watching of. We don't consider ourselves experts, per se, but we're pretty dedicated amateurs. Of course we have some advice to impart on the fine folks at NESN.**

No, none of this is new, or groundbreaking, or even particularly unique. But it does come from the heart. Which is, as everyone knows, where pitching comes from.

1. It's too early in the season to be this punchy.

2. Let the Eck take a shift or two. We love Remy with the pureness of only the most Stockholm Syndromed of NESN-viewing fans, but the Eck not only brought us such genius as "the moss" and "hairy cheese," but also just a bit more inside-baseball talk than we get from the regular team. Nothing against the classic combo of the Dawg and the Don-O, but sometimes they're so comfortable bantering, they forget that there's a ballgame happening.

3. Do not--we repeat: DO NOT--film routine fly-outs as if they are (in descending order): game-winning home runs, game-tying home runs, doubles off the Monster, triples in the corner, bloopers, singles, or anything but the absolutely routine out they actually are. We get that sometimes an outfielder--damn you, Ankiel!--is going to make a spectacular play, but more often, a can of corn is just that.

4. Show us the outfielders on each play. One of the things we miss when we're at home instead of the park--besides seven-dollar diet Cokes--is being able to see B.J. Upton yawning with his glove hand held up, just waiting there for the "deep, far, caught" ball that Dustin Pedroia just hit.

5. We get it: you have overhead cameras! And a cartoon blimp! The main upside to watching road games these days is the lack of, "ooh, let's shoot this from overhead!" "okay, now this!" "ooh, and this!" going on. Night baseball at Fenway is really pretty from the air...the first five times. In one night.

6. No, really, Jerry, last week was way too early in the season to start pontificating about Don's wardrobe malfunctions instead of actually following the game. Way. Too. Early. In fact, we'd submit that, right up until the last game of the season, it is always too early.

7. Last but not least, maybe not so much with the weirdly sexist commercials. Have you guys seen the one where the cabbie ditches his fare for Heidi Watney, or the one where the (awesome cause) Run to Home Base is promoted by a posse of girls stretching in Baywatch-style slow motion? Seen them about a hundred times each? We're not being greedy, not asking for Eri Yoshida to get a bullpen spot*** or anything. It would just be nice if you maybe remembered that your baseball audience isn't all bros who wear their failhats backward. You have female viewers! Some of them even care enough to write thousand-word blog posts about their local sports network!

Weird, right?

Oh, NESN. You know we only bug you because we love you. Tell Charlie Moore we said hello.

*The weather forecast is promising temperatures in the balmy upper 30s! Who's got spring fever?

**We have advice for the fine folks at ESPN and FOX, too, mostly about firing Joe Morgan and cutting down on the excessive hype around Crosby and Ovech--oh, wait, that's NBC/Versus, never mind. But, since we've only really watched NESN (and other local channels, thanks to Extra Innings: did everyone else already know that sometimes SNY takes calls live on air? Can you imagine what would happen if NESN tried that? George Carlin would blush.) so far this year, we'll hold off on dissing the national networks until we suffer from one of our weekly bouts of writers' block later in the season.

***She may not be ready for a bullpen spot; so how about a buddy cop show with Eri and Wakefield? Knuckleballers united for truth and justice!

Mad Libs with Big Papi

2010-04-07T19:39:00.004-04:00

"Good," he said, turning to face the reporters encircling him. "You guys wait 'til [sassafrass] happens, then you can talk [poppycock]. Two [bloomin'] games, and already you [pigeon-smokers] are going crazy.

"What's up with that, man? [Great Googly-Moogly.] [Dadblamed] 160 games left. That's a [humbug]. One of you [Commies] got to go ahead and hit for me." --David Ortiz

All of which to say: it's a new day, a new season. Two and half games down, 159 and a half to go. Let's do this thing.

61 ain't nothin' but a number

2010-01-13T13:21:00.004-05:00

Are we supposed to be responding to the Mark McGwire steroid admission? We've heard that's all the rage these days. We're supposed to say, "Hey, he ruined the game." Or maybe, "Hey, he apologized, but we don't think he meant it." We're supposed to rend our garments and reconsider our nonexistent Hall of Fame ballot, and we're supposed to judge every twitch, every teary eyed moment, every word.

We don't care.* We just don't. We think that guys were doing greenies before they were doing roids, that guys were corking the bat and spitting on the ball and sharpening their spikes and doing whatever it took--whatever it took--to play baseball at the highest level possible since the game began. They'll continue to do so tomorrow, and next month, and next year, and on and on; the only question is what, exactly, that next big performance enhancer is going to be. Jonathan Papelbon, for one, votes for robot parts. In particular robot knees for certain catchers who have 900 year old knees. And robot elbows. And robot--

You get the picture.

Of course, our Lack of Caring is intensified by the news coming out of Haiti at the moment.** It makes McGwire's not-at-all surprising "revelation" seem about as crucial to our lives as Heidi Montag's new album. So instead of bitching and moaning about the integrity of the sport, instead of trying to figure out the physics that explain the alternate reality where Tony LaRussa is continuously living in 1994, we're going to pony up and donate to one of these here charities. If you've got a couple of bucks stored away in your Fenway beer money commemorative plastic cup, maybe you could send that their way too.

Look, we're a sports blog, yes, but some things are more important than sports. Even if it doesn't always feel that way when your closer's in the process of giving up the lead in an elimination game. Even if it doesn't feel like it when one of your favorite players gets traded to one of your most hated rivals. We're mostly here to tell jokes about A-Rod being a douche and to laugh at Papi plunking Jimmy Fallon with an egg, to question Tito's every managerial move*** and worry about Clay Buchholz's fastball command. Once in a while we may even bring up the Bruins and their complete and utter inability to put the biscuit in the basket. Just not today.

Today is for being preachy. And time travel.

*We are glad to see him confess--to the amazing Joe Posnanski, if not on air with The Costas--that, hey, staying on the field did pad his numbers somewhat. You know, even if he doesn't believe that steroids actually helped him hit those towering shots, at least he does seem to recognize that, wait a second, he couldn't hit them anything at all from the DL. Just as JD Drew--bah dum bum.

**"Ah ha!" you think, "So this is why they've come out of hiatus after so long." And, yes, you would be correct. Though we still fully intend to write our review of the Marco Scutaro signing based entirely on his performance in that modern cinematic masterpiece, A Player To Be Named Later. Spoiler: he's a better actor than we would've expected, though not quite as skilled as Kevin Costner at playing a ballplayer.

***Us: knock knock. You: Who's there? Us: TAKE SCHILL OUT IT'S THE SIXTH INNING. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, we'll be here all night.

Three Nights in Septober: A Week in Boston Sports

2009-10-07T20:36:00.003-04:00

Loss #1: Toronto 8, Red Sox 7

At least the Red Sox made it interesting. Down 8-2 as we finished the last fist-pumping chorus of "Sweet Caroline," the Red Sox fought and clawed and clambered aboard a JD Drew home run to reach a respectable 8-7 score heading into the ninth. But that's getting ahead of ourselves a bit.

This game started with a bang of the wrong kind: a first pitch lead-off home run and the realization that we were sitting in front of the dude who felt the need to prove his mad baseball knowledge by commenting on every. freaking. pitch. Seriously. "Well, they should've gone inside there." "That changeup was too high." "He's teeing off on pitches away." And on and on and motherfucking on. Yeah, he's one of Those People You Meet at Fenway. No, we didn't test the efficiency of the security hotline on him.

We were in Lawyer Larry's seats for the first time since Tim Wakefield's magical start against the Rockies back in 2007, and we were at a possible clinching game for the second year in a row. We possibly got our hopes up a little, is what we're saying. Not enough to jinx things, we don't think, but a bit. We laughed over the fact that, for the first time in our shared game-attending history, the singers did a worse job with the Canadian anthem than the American one. We rolled our eyes when people near us said stupid things. We were ready. This was going to be The Game.

And then the game started, and little old Claybee couldn't keep the ball in the yard.

Before the game, during most of the game, and for a few hours afterward, we were pretty down on our Red Sox. They'd been losing to the Royals and were in the process of losing to the Jays, and they hadn't managed to clinch their division on their own turf. Not quite the 2007 Mets, that's true, but it didn't exactly fuel excitement. But then...they turned it on. They found their offense in one burst, and for a few minutes, even if it wasn't The Game, it was definitely The Team. The team that couldn't be eliminated in 2004 or 2007; the team that pushed their luck all the way to the breaking point in 2008, the team that will not quit until they've got a reason to hug and cheer and pour booze on the bullpen cop.

The park shook.

Called strike three. And we all went home.*

Loss #2: Toronto 12, Red Sox 0

We weren't no-hit!

Yeah, this one was a laugher from the moment they posted the lineup. Hell, from the time the Rangers lost to the Angels, thus clinching a playoff berth for the Red Sox and allowing our actual MLB players to have a closed-doors bacchanal that left everyone with a hangover the size of Big Papi's smile. To say we weren't expecting much would be an understatement. We figured we'd head out to the park, catch what might be Timmy Wakefield's very last start, and enjoy ourselves out in the bleachers with the rest of the crazies. No expectations. No stress. Just baseball.

Baseball against Roy Halladay. Right.

This loss was totally different than the Tuesday loss. For one thing, there was never so much as an inkling of false hope. For another thing, with our ALDS spot assured, all that energy that went to crossing fingers and knocking wood could be diverted to creative yelling. We told Joey Gathright he was our hero (this was after he broke up the no-hitter--before that we were loudly reminiscing about how we used to babysit him), and we reminded the Blue Jays that they're losers because they loooove artificial turf. We even got the guy in front of us to heckle Jose Bautista with lyrics by the Police. Of course, the highlight of the game was obviously Dusty Brown's major league pitching debut; sure, Mr. Autographed Brian Daubach Jersey couldn't believe we even knew who Brown is--never mind that we were the only people in the vicinity who could tell our Josh Reddicks from our Brian Andersons--but that didn't quell our enthusiasm. Dusty Brown, y'all. We've loved that kid since Sea Dogs times.

All that was worth the price of admission, and the price of the huge coffees we needed to stay warm, and even the complete-game shutout the Doc twirled at the PawSox. We don't think we've ever had a better time watching a game that was lost before it began.

Loss #3: Capitals 4, Bruins 1

Hockey.

Hockey’s back.

Yes, we are a Red Sox blog, but we are also Bruins fans and we decided that, you know what, we would never forgive ourselves for missing out on Opening Night at the TD Banknorth Fleet Center Garden. So we donned the Black and Gold and wandered out into the autumn night once more.

We were ready. Our fellow fans in the cheap seats were ready. Unfortunately, the Caps fan in the row in front of us and the guy whose shirt she was wearing--some dude named Ovechkin? Yeah, we don’t know either--were also ready. More ready, in fact, than the Bruins. Who looked like they were playing on your dad’s beer league team for most of the game.

Your dad’s over-50 beer league team.

So, yes, the game happened. We cheered, we yelled “Shoot the fucking puck already!”, we cheered some more. And while it would’ve been nice to actually win the home opener—or, hell, to at least make it a game—it’s so early in the season that we just can’t stress about it quite yet. The aforementioned Caps fan turned around as the second intermission drew to a close to tell us that our row was full of good fans. We're not sure if she meant it in a condescending manner or not, but she pointed out that we never gave up cheering for our team and actually seemed to know things. Like players' names. And what was going on. She was nice enough when she said it, but we can't help but think it was a touch condescending in the "aww, look at the little fans watching my team crush their team" sense.

Of course, she was sitting next to Tuukka Rask's boyfriend the entire game, so maybe she really did mean it.

Because, yes, we met Tuukka Rask's boyfriend. Or maybe he was the guy Tuukka Rask has a restraining order against. But his love for Tuukka is true, and strong, and obsessed with the butterfly style. Even when the game was still technically close--in score, if not in feel--he was calling for Julien to play Tuukka. "He's calm in net," he told everyone in the section, "Not like Thomas. Tall and calm and he doesn't flail around." At one point, we're pretty sure he broke into haiku:

Tuukka Rask always
Looks good when he makes a save.
I've seen him naked.

As confirmed Tim Thomas fans, we didn't share his passion. But three periods of watching our guys mishandle the puck while Alex Ovechkin did triple salchows around them was two point five periods too many. That's okay, though--the Bruins have plenty of time to get Big and Bad and figure out their problem, and we'll check back in with them as soon as we get out of playoff mode.

About playoff mode: Hell, yes! Playoff mode! We're ready to roll. We have our lucky shirts, and a selection of lucky socks, and a bottle of Absolut Boston (yes, we're that cheesy) to help us either celebrate or cope. We also have a Twitter, which you can see at left, and which we used to "liveblog," as the kids used to call it, the Twins/Tigers one-game playoff. We'll be posting a lot of things there that are shorter than this thing you're still reading. Follow us and we'll promise not to use the word 'tweet' as a noun.

*Except for Jason Bay. He went out for drinks with his agent. His agent! C'mon, Jay Bay, kick it up!

Gagné Joke In 3... 2....

2009-08-25T22:57:00.004-04:00

Look, here's the thing: we've watched more Mets baseball than is probably--okay, definitely--healthy over the past couple of years*, and we're just not sure that picking up anyone who has spent any time in their bullpen is a good idea. Hell, anyone who has ever been cared for by one of their trainers, anyone who played with them in spring training, anyone who has watched an entire Mets game this season is almost suspect at this point. After word that they ignored Johan Santana's** sore elbow for, oh, an entire season came out, how can any other organization trade for a Mets player without the lingering fear that they're getting some dude with post-concussion syndrome or a gimpy elbow or, hell, a severe case of baseballphobia?

Not that we have anything against Billy Wagner personally, of course. We don't actually know him. Sure, he's caused his share of heartache and pain, but so has every other relief pitcher in the history of ever. Mo blew the 2004 ALCS that time, and you won't find any Yankees fans who won't argue--at the top of their lungs, even, until you need to tell them to just "shut up, already, we know"--that he's the best closer to ever close a game. Pap's blown a few himself. Trevor Hoffman, Dennis Eckersley, Goose Gossage: no one has a 100% save rate, which means that they've all caused a bit of the old weeping and rending of the garments action.

And, fine, there are rumors that he's not the easiest guy to be around, though we're taking anything Schill says about someone else's personality with a grain of salt. But, hell, until he actually pisses one of our guys off, we're willing to give him the benefit of the doubt on that front. Because, again, we don't know Billy Wagner, and we don't know anyone who does. Maybe if our dream of hanging out with David Wright and Jose Reyes is ever realized we'll get some of the juicy gossip, but in the meantime we're stuck with Jon Heyman and Buster Olney.

No, we're mostly scared because a) as with any former Mets player, the fear that said player's hand will fall off and run away is a legitimate one, and b) we was in the Mets bullpen that killed all winning during that horrible stretch we call the Post-Endy-Pre-K-Rod*** Period. Maybe he'll be okay? Sure, the move from the NL to the AL is the absolute wrong direction, as John Smoltz would tell us if he weren't so busy blaming his former Red Sox teammates for not noticing that he was tipping his pitches or whatever he's doing out there in St. Louis, and he's less than a year removed from the dreaded John of Tommy. And, fine, Papelbon's already calling him out, and there's been a bit of a war of words going on. But, you know, it's a contract year for Billy, so maybe he'll pull a Johnny Damon and hit a bunch of windtunnel-aiding home--or, erm, he'll kick ass and take names and get lefties out all night long. Who can say? If nothing else, we should--crossing all sorts of fingers--get some sort of draft picks out of these whole experiment, which will already rate it as more successful than our other failed reclamation projects these year.

Of course, ask us again after we find out who the hell the PTBNL are going to be. We've got us some baby baller woobies we don't want to see consigned to a life on the DL.

*Endy Chavez's Catch was the beginning of the end.

**Yes, that Johan Santana. The one they've got millions invested in. The one who--Jason Varitek's freakish ability to hit him aside--is a legitimate perennial Cy Young candidate. The one good starting pitcher they actually have. That Johan Santana.

***We still think K-Rod's overrated, by the way. Or at least not as good as he used to be. But signing him was at least some sort of acknowledgment by Omar Minaya that, hey, having one good starting pitcher doesn't really help if he doesn't pitch a complete game every time he's out on the mound.

Down the road and back again.

2009-08-22T21:24:00.006-04:00

Since our neighborhood kids didn't make it to the Little League World Series, we figured we'd put those little punks--er, adorable cherubs--to work. So we recruited them to the official Respect The Tek Graphics Department (they're almost as well paid as our crack research staff). We asked them to document our feelings about Friday's and today's Sox/Yankees showdown, and we must say, they have worked wonders. Here come the pie charts, cut yourself a slice!

* For taking Justin Masterson from us. Bastards.

** For giving us Victor Martinez. Yay!

*** For being a friend.

Jonathan Papelbon is why we need universal health care.

2009-08-19T19:13:00.001-04:00

In between bullpen-related heart attacks last night, we were wondering why, exactly, the Red Sox reacquired Alex Gonzalez. You know, since it's obviously not because of his bat. Well, we couldn't let this question go unanswered. So we dug up the truth, and now we bring you the true reason for the Gonzalez acquisition: It's almost football season, and Nick Green needed to reassume his alternate identity as Wes Welker.

Respect the Tek: we do research so you don't have to.*

Now, about that game. All the cliches--a win is a win, even aces need luck sometimes, Jason Varitek is trying to steal Gary Tuck's job, mumblety-mumble--apply. We're especially grateful for this one, not only because The Hour Of The Doc is upon us, but because it might quiet one or two of the doom- and gloom-sayers out there. Look, guys, we know that this season has been hard to watch at times. We know that the Globe is trying to whip us all into a torch-bearing mob. Hey, we're all in trouble when the Herald is Boston's voice of reason.

But we also know that Youkilis' suspension weakened our lineup, that J. Bay and B. Papi are just starting to get their late summer legs under them, and that Pedroia is due for a Daddy Streak. We know that the pitching....well, okay, we don't have the answer to the pitching, just yet, but how can we look at Junichi Tazawa's tiny little childlike face and not feel the love? A lot of love, actually. And a little bit of hope. Maybe even enough to get us through six more weeks of baseball.

Nobody bitches and moans like a Red Sox fan.** But nobody rocks a stretch drive harder. So keep your torch in one hand, but keep the other one free for fistbumps. As last night proved, we can't lose 'em all.

And if we actually do, well, who's up for doing shots and singing a sad chorus of Kum-Ba-Yah?

*And yet we didn't bother to dig up pictures of Green and Welker. But you can trust us. Have we ever lied to you? Except for the 'research' thing?

**Keep on practicing, Mets and Cubs fans.

It's Beckett's world and we're living in it. Until he aces us.

2009-08-14T09:40:00.001-04:00

Wednesday night, we met perhaps the rarest of the People You Meet at Fenway, the nice guy who, when noticing that he may be blocking the short chick who is kind of diagonally behind him in standing room says, "You tell me if I'm blocking your view at all, okay, and I'll move." (During the same game, we also spotted Dude in an Unadulterated Damon Jersey, multiple Kotsay shirts(?!?!), Guy in Babe Ruth Jersey, a custom Dom DiMaggio road jersey, and so much more. Definitely a successful outing to Fenway, people-watching style. And don't get us started on the security guys in our section--hi-lar-i-ous, people, and pretty much made of win.) Props to you, nice guy! We will always remember you and your nice guy ways!

Mostly, though, the night was memorable for Beckett Being Beckett. Which is to say: hot. Filthy. Nasty. Totally jinxed by those two yahoos--one of whom read Jennifer's twitter feed over her shoulder and wanted us to call Texas Gal over so he could tell her all about the superiority of the Sooners*--who kept saying, "Oh, hey, doesn't Beckett have a NO-HITTER going? Wonder if he's going to keep NO-HITTING them."

Sure, Mikey Lowell's third home run in two games was fun, as was the whole offense clicking on all cylinders (okay, fine, so the Tigers were featuring a bullpen guy because their actual starter went down with strep or whatever, but still; you have your delusions, we have ours), but Beckett's Beckettocity was the true star of the game. Yeah, he made those two mistakes, and the Tigers didn't miss them, but he was slicing and dicing through that lineup like they were the San Diego Padres.** It never felt like this was anything but his game. His field. His mound. And it took roughly four minutes for him to walk from that mound to the dugout. Now that is swagger.

This morning Jennifer's off to the land of Orioles, where she'll celebrate her birthday, Dustin Pedroia's, by watching Matt Wieters face off against Mike Napoli. Caroline's off to the land of, well, Red Sox and Yankees, true battlefield territory. We'll be back next week. Here's hoping the Red Sox grab some of the Fenway dirt and bring it with them to the Kingdom of Nolan Ryan.

*We didn't invite you, Texy, because we didn't want to deal with their crying and sniveling when you masterfully destroyed their wills to live. Sorry!

**Or whoever the most inept lineup in baseball is this week. Is it the Royals again? It's probably the Royals, isn't it?

Newsflash: we won tonight's game. It's a miracle! Wake up your children!

2009-08-10T22:30:00.003-04:00

The plan was simple: go to Fenway, watch some Red Sox prospects and a few major league retreads duke it out with the Orioles' prospects and organizational filler, and steadfastly ignore the major league scoreboard. And, hey, were it not for our perverse preoccupation with the outcome of the epic Barry Zito-Bronson Arroyo duel going down in the NL, we would've very probably succeeded. Still, Futures at Fenway is, bar none, one of our favorite baseball experiences every year, and even though we think it works better when the Lowell Spinners get the invite (no offense to the Paw Sox, but both they and the Norfolk Tides are littered with guys who were playing in the bigs only a few weeks ago), it was an awesome time yet again.

We sat in what we lovingly call the "rich people's seats," up close and personal with the visitors' on deck circle. We cheered for our favorites--no, they weren't all catchers, though we obviously shouted extra loud for Expo and Brownie--and avoided sunstroke due to a fortuitous combination of SPF 75 and some timely shadows. We decided that Ryan Kalish and Ryan Khoury should be best friends forever based on nothing more than their names. We ate ballpark food. We tried to keep score (an unfortunately timed bathroom run killed that plan), and we took a few pictures.

And we needed those simple pleasures, to remind us that baseball games aren't always the terrifying experiences that have happened to certain parent clubs in recent times.* Sometimes you can even sit through nine whole innings and still have enamel left on your teeth at the end.

Futures helped us to remember that, though baseball is famous for for its yesterdays--its segregated, dead-balled, spike-sharpened, mob-rigged, amphetamined and roid-raged yesterdays--there are always tomorrows. There are 21-year-old kids who get to hit a home run over the Green Monster, and keep that story forever. There's Josh Reddick making the most of things (and sacrificing his Mohawk in the process, oh, woe). There's tomorrow, and Junichi Tazawa's second chance to make a first impression.

And then there's the day after tomorrow, when we'll be back in the standing room saddle, resisting the siren song of frozen lemonade and cheering for the guys in the biggest, reddest socks of them all.** And reminding Dustin Pedroia that we expect to see a laser show. We may grow weary, but we never turn our backs on our boys.

Because we're afraid of getting hit with a line drive foul. That would hurt!

*Hey, as long as no one gets diagnosed with cancer, we're counting this season as better than 2006. Knock on wood!

**This means you, Tek.

An ode to sports radio

2009-07-20T16:21:00.005-04:00

Oh no! The sky is falling! The Red Sox can't win! The Yankees can't lose! The Not-Devil Rays just swept the powerhouse Royals! Quick, Theo, make some moves! Before the world ends and we're stuck rooting for whichever team emerges from the NL Central!

Ahem.

Anyway, as we were saying, just because this Red Sox team is on track to win something like 99 games* doesn't mean they're not obviously horrible, flawed, and in need of a massive overhaul. We're here to provide some helpful tips for the front office. That is, if they're brave enough to take it.First of all, while watching the ESPN game tonight, we noticed that the Mets' starting pitcher just went down with a Doug Mirabelli baserunning injury. And they're still starting Alex Cora at shortstop. So, we thought, why not offer them something in a "Brad Penny plus Julio Lugo" package? The Mets don't have much in their farm system--Omar Minaya** said something about a flood. Or was that a drought? Oh, wait, it's a slavish adherence to Bud Selig's inane slotting system!--but, seriously, we don't expect much in exchange for those two. Send us a lower level prospect for Penny, and we'll send Lugo's full salary with him. Sure, it'll mean giving up on our dream of pretending Julio Lugo never actually existed, but we're willing to make that sacrifice.

Of course, that's not nearly enough. That's just housekeeping.

Next up, Theo needs to give the Blue Jays a call and offer the entire farm system for Roy Halladay. Clay Buchholz, Michael Bowden, Dan Bard, Lars Anderson, and Casey Kelly not enough? Offer up Yamaico Navarro and Josh Reddick! Throw in Anthony Rizzo! Sure, the system's going to be pretty barren at the end of the day, but we'll have Roy Halladay. He'll pitch complete games every other day, saving both the bullpen and the rest of the starting rotation. Which'll be helpful because the step three involves calling the Indians to offer up Jon Lester, Justin Masterson, Manny Delcarmen, and the rest of the farm system (crazy Star Wars uniforms and all) for Victor Martinez.

Oh, and get Hanley Ramirez back. Sure, it'll involve trading the rest of the team--minus our shiny new pitcher and C/DH/1B, of course-- with a pile of gold bars big enough to pay Jonathan Papelbon as much crazy money as his little heart desires, but it'll be worth it. Just picture it: a team entirely made up of Roy Halladay, Victor Martinez, and Hanley Ramirez.**** Unbeatable!

Of course, trading the future away for today doesn't work if our division rivals continue to do nothing but win, so Theo's going to have to invest in a bit of sabotage as well. Send someone into New Yankee to set up a giant fan that'll blow in from the infamous right field porch; hell, use Javier Lopez to do it. He can even wear that old gorilla suit Theo's got lying around in his closet as a disguise, and it'll be a way for him to earn his salary for the year. Javy should then fly south to disable all the cowbells in the Tampa Bay area; while he's there, he can also switch out Joe Maddon's glasses for ones with the wrong prescription. He'll spend all his time dealing with headaches and blurred vision instead of being the genius manager everyone tells us he is.

Luckily, the Red Sox don't have to travel to the west coast for the rest of the season, so we don't have to make up those subliminal messages for the team in attempt to convince them that they're on the east coast when they're really not. We're still working on the tapes that'll convince them that they're on natural grass under a beautiful summer sky when they're actually in domes, though.

*Yes, we are too lazy to look up the actual number. But, suffice it to say, it's high 90s. Trust us.

**Look, we know this is a Red Sox blog, but we feel compelled to point out that we could do a better job GMing the Mets than Minaya, armed only with a fondness for catchers and a beat up copy of Moneyball. This is perhaps a sign that Omar Minaya is very bad at his job.

**** And some guys from the Newark Bears. Apparently it's against the rules to field a team of only three players.

We've seen the lights go out on Broadway.

2009-07-10T20:34:00.004-04:00

We were going to call Joe Posnanski out for lying to us about his Kansas City Royals and their ability to score runs, but, in all honesty, we're a little scared of him. Dude's bigger than us, tougher than us, meaner than us: he's the Big Red Machine* to our 1962 Mets. So even though he told us this is a team that struggles to score runs--patently a lie, based on our highly scientific one-game study, and possibly intended to lure us into a false sense of security--we are willing to accept that maybe, just maybe, he merely failed to recognize the awesome power of Ryan Freel and leave it at that. Because Joe Posnanski? So much better than us.** He's written a book! He's written more than one book! We've written a blog, and a half-assed one at that! So, no, we will not be calling Joe Posnanski out tonight.

Instead, we're going to call out Dude In The Pedroia T-Shirt With The Schilling Jersey Over It Sitting Two Rows In Front Of Us In Infield Grandstand Section 16, Who Came to Fenway Already Completely Drunk Out Of His Mind And Proceeded To Try To Get Everyone To Do The Wave In The Third Inning (And Was Completely Annoying And Loud In Other Ways, Too). Dude--can we call you Dude, for short?--even your buddy was trying to get you to chill out a little. Look, we appreciate your enthusiasm. After the Red Sox coughed up the lead, you were one of the people leading the "Let's Go Red Sox" and "Let's Go Kotsay" chants in our section. However, screaming "I'm leading this!" at other fans when they tried to start new chants was not cool. Not to mention the fact that you shouted every. single. thing. you. said. and there was a kid a few seats over from us who probably didn' t need to hear all of that.

We're also going to call out the fellow behind us who took the initiative, after just about every pitch of every at-bat, to announce the on-field situation to everyone in the greater Back Bay area. "Oh, man, it's THREE AND TWO!" Buddy, baseball is not a play, and you are not the narrator. And if it was a play, Red Sox baseball would not need you--it would need, instead, a show-stopping musical number with a full ensemble cast.

Ahem.

What?

Oh, fine. It goes something like this:

Tek: One play more,
Another ball, another baserunner,
This never-ending road to October.
If A-Rod fouls off this pitch,
I'm gonna have to choke a bitch--
One play more!

Tito: The bullpen barely got through eight,
How will they pitch with bases loaded?

Tek: One play more!

Tito: The winning run is at the plate,
Someone check if my head's exploded.

Tek: One play more!

Pap: One more strike I got to throw,
[Fenway Faithful: Will he ever throw a fastball?]
Pap: Then I get to do my fistpumps!
[Fenway Faithful: His last slider didn't slide!]
Pap: Can't believe he called that low!
[Fenway Faithful: How the hell was that outside?]
Pap: I am gonna plonk the ump!

Infielders: One more play to win the game,
Drive the enemy from Fenway
Or else hide our heads in shame
Is it ball four or strike three?
[Fenway Faithful: The count is full! The end is near!]

Tek: One play more!

A-Rod: One more pitch to end the ballgame,
I will hit it with my bat,
It will land out in the bleachers--
Do these pants make me look fat?

Tek: One play more!

Orsillo: Bottom of the ninth, Fenway going mad,
Isn't this a good time for an Aflac ad?
Eckersley: That was easy cheese, that was lousy luck
If I was that pitcher, I'd be yelling--[BLEEP.]

Fielders: One more run means extra innings!
[Fenway Faithful: Live to fight another day]
Fielders: We have got to beat this team!
[Fenway Faithful: Did we mention, Jeter's gay?]
Fielders: There's the AL East for winning!
[Fenway Faithful: Do we curse or do we pray?]
Fielders: Do you hear the people scream?

Pap: I got my sign--here comes the ball!

Tek: One play more!

Tito: The bullpen barely got through eight--
Pap: One more strike I got to throw!
Orsillo: Bottom of the ninth, right here this is it--
Eckersley: If I was that pitcher, I'd be shouting--[BLEEP!]

Tek: This game has got to end someday, tomorrow we're at Tampa Bay--

All: This pitch is going to tell us who the playoff berth is for--
One more pitch,
One more play,
One play more!

*09/09/09

**That being said, we did not steal the asterisk thing from him. We were into asterisks when they were still underground.

Baby, you're a big star now

2009-07-06T18:36:00.007-04:00

So, this All-Star roster, it's amazingly inoffensive, right? Sure, there are a couple eyebrow-raising omissions, as always. Either the fans or Joe Maddon should damn well have made sure Ian Kinsler made the AL squad, and hey, even Charlie Manuel more or less admitted that Ryan Howard is there because he's popular, not because he's more worthy than a certain Kung Fu Panda out West.* But, by and large, it seems like the right people are going to be there in all the right places, with the double-play combination of Jeter and Pedroia once again freaking out a large chunk of the Eastern Seaboard.

The lack of ballot controversy leaves us free to focus all our energy on sighing happily in Tim Wakefield's direction. We have a documented fondness for the knuckleball and its practitioners, and for Wake** in particular, and we were horribly worried at Fenway on Friday night that a Fan Who Shall Remain Nameless had snatched Wake's All-Star chances right out of Youk's glove. We're so thrilled for the man. He's earned his spot--we've seen him start in person a few times this season, and for the vast majority of those innings, he was dealing--and it's also something he clearly values. Honestly, how can anyone sound so humble and endearing while basically saying, "I damn well deserve this recognition"? Wake should bottle that stuff, and send a six-pack to City Hall.

Our favorite part of this, the feel-good sports movie of the summer, is that Terry Francona attempted to psych Wake out by calling him into the office just as the team's other five all-stars (and we congratulate them, too, obviously) left with their packages. First of all, we imagine the look on both their faces was completely adorable. Secondly--

Hang on, packages? Brown paper packages, tied up with strings? Just what gifts does Bud Selig bestow on good little boys who make it to the Midsummer Sorta Kinda Classic? Here are our totally intrepid guesses:

Free samples of the most commonly-advertised products on baseball telecasts. Guys who've been making All Stars for years must simply be swimming in Coors Light and smoothies from Sonic. And we don't even want to think about the Viagra stockpiles.
A clue--one per player--to some sort of epic, Da Vinci Code-style scavenger hunt. Will the players be able to work together and find the hidden shards of Abner Doubleday's magical baseball bat? I guess we'll know if any albino monks show up. Or Tom Hanks.
A flying bird hat. Hey, it's at the Cards' park, so it kind of fits. We just hope the All-Stars are careful about wearing these--they might get hunted by an overexcited Jonathan Papelbon.

Now that we've solved the mystery of the Suspicious Packages, we're settling in to watch the Return Of Nomahhh. We can't understand why there's any debate about how to react to his presence--if you're not applauding the guy for what he did here, you're doing it wrong.

Also, a word of advice that never gets old***: "Don't look directly at him! He's got a HEAHHHT MUHMUHHH!"

*And isn't Kung Fu Panda the best baseball nickname to come along in a long time? It's especially great when you forget about the movie, as history surely will, and just imagine it engraved on a plaque--or, more likely, popping up in baseball-reference.com searches in a few decades.

**Speaking of nicknames, we're not sure whether or not to be ashamed of this, but we occasionally think of him as "Eggs'n'Bakey."

***And that's the only time we'll ever say that about anything involving Jimmy Fallon.

Easy as one-two-three, as simple as do-re-mi.*

2009-07-01T21:27:00.004-04:00

We didn't plan to blog today. Up 10-1 in the 7th last night, we figured, "eh, this one's such a laugher, there won't be anything to say." Sure, we could write something about the time Jonathan Papelbon took it upon himself to teach his teammates to count to three,** going all Count from Sesame Street on their asses, but that one's definitely funnier when we do the voices. It doesn't quite translate to the written word. Up 10-5, we thought, "hmm, well at least it's--wait, fuck, another run! Okay, this isn't funny anymore."

A game as horrifically, transcendentally, amazingly, trainwreckingly bad as last night's game deserves--nay, demands--a detailed response from the blogosphere.*** As representatives of said imaginary land, that means us. We think.

At first, we were willing to write it off. Bad games happen, even to good teams. There are no extra points for style: the fact that we lost this one the way we did doesn't mean it counts for than your average 1-0 or 2-1 loss. But then we realized the truth. The truth is that there is obviously some sort of grand conspiracy going on here. Maybe there's a grassy knoll, maybe there's a Broadway musical; we're not 100% sure on all of the details, but we've definitely got some ideas.

1. It's the return of the Curse of the Bambino! No, really, hear us out: the Babe was born in Baltimore, right? And this game happened where? That's right! Baltimore! At Camden Yards, even, which is allegedly located at the exact same spot he was born lo those many years ago. Ergo, the Curse is back. Sorry, guys, this means Orioles fans are going to be chanting "11-10" at us for years to come.

2. The entire bullpen hates John Smoltz. Now, they'll try to deny it--"He's a surefire Hall of Famer," Masty'll say; "Who doesn't love Smotlz?" Okaji will ask (okay, he'd ask in Japanese, but we're the kind of stereotypical Americans who get by with some English, a couple of catchphrases in Spanish and French, and charm)--but the facts can't be denied. Smoltz pitched well yesterday, but the bullpen was in full-on sabotage mode. Never mind that Smoltz wasn't in line for the win anyway; little details like "facts" and "logic" merely get in the way of a brilliant conspiracy theory. Actually, that isn't even the biggest flaw in this theory, anyway. The biggest problem is the fact that Jonathan Papelbon would have to be in on the plan, and we all know he's got the memory of a non-memory-having thing. Like a goldfish. Or a cactus. A scene, if you'll indulge us:

PAP: He's always going on about his friend, Tiger Woods. 'My friend Tiger woods did this, my friend Tiger Woods did that.' You don't see me always bragging on 'my friend Eli Manning,' do you?
TEK: No, but that'd be dumb.
PAP: Ex--heeey, wait a--
TEK: Eli. I was insulting Eli.
PAP: Okay then. Wait, what were we talking about again?

...and end scene.

3. Picture it: Baltimore, 2009. A solitary figure stands atop a lonely light tower, peering into a long-range telescope. Every so often, he flickers a flashlight. Or one of those red laser pointer things. Back on the field, the Orioles batter reads the sign being transitted from on high and swings. He does not miss.

4. It was the power of The Wieters. He is Baseball Jesus, after all.

5. Perhaps you noticed, as we did, that when play resumed after the rain delay, Tek was no longer wearing the tall socks. It was jarring. It was strange. It was wrong. Of course, Tito pulled him not long after we made that observation, and it quickly slipped our minds. How could we overlook such an important wardrobe issue? Could Tek without tall socks be the hosiery version of Failhat? Let's hope this hypothesis is never again tested!

Luckily, it looks like the intrepid crew we call the Red Sox recognized all of the above signs and portents and took appropriate action late last night. A phone call was placed to one Kevin Millar, and he talked his former teammates and his ex-Marlin friends (and even Julio Lugo) through the appropriate curse-breaking rituals. Sure, Beckett's pitching was possibly affected by the copious amounts of Jack Daniels he was forced to drink--against his will, we're sure--to complete the ritual, but luckily the curse lifted just as the ninth inning rolled around.

So, yes, yesterday hurt. There's no sugarcoating it. But, hey, if the Red Sox win in extra innings and no one's there to see it because we're all stuck in our stupid offices cursing the IT gods in vain, it still kicks ass. And that's a fact.

*We've filled our obligatory Michael Jackson reference quota, so the world blog police can't come after us.

**PAP: All's I know is, you never see me doin' my fist-pumps before the third strike. That's three. Count 'em. Uno, dos, tres, quatorze.

***What a horrible word. We vote that we rename it "Goretopia," for the founder, inventer, and colonial conquerer of these here interwebs.

You close your eyes and hope that this is just imagination*

2009-06-25T21:30:00.003-04:00

He warned us that some of his worst performances came when he was closing for the first time and returning to the rotation thereafter, but who among us wasn't secretly hoping for a dominant six innings out of Smoltz tonight? Oh well. We're not stressing this yet; a few more starts of a similar nature and we'll be calling for him to join Dice-K on the WBCDL, but for now we're going to assume it's some rust and that he'll shake it off over the next couple of weeks. Even in this, um, less than inspiring start, he had moments when you could see exactly why he's a no doubt hall of famer.** And then he'd give up another hit to Josh Bard.***

Too bad Jordan Zimmermann was consistently good. He's a seriously impressive kid.

Luckily, we took the first two games of the series, so we're actually okay with this loss. Winning is better--don't get us wrong! we like winning! we think it's kind of nifty keen!--but we still won the series. And that's the key. Sometimes you just need to tip your cap and move on to Atlanta.

In conclusion, you know a game's out of reach when Julio Lugo shows up. And promptly boots a grounder.

*RIP, Michael Jackson. And Farrah Fawcett.

**See also, the fifth inning.

***He really hates the Red Sox, doesn't he? Not that we can blame him.

The world shines as I cross the Macon County line

2009-06-25T00:56:00.010-04:00

Okay, fine. We confess: we missed most of it. Jennifer had commuting problems* and was an hour late getting home; Caroline has to head out to Logan tomorrow morning and had to do some laundry, pack, and bake some delightful cookies to bring to the person she's staying with. And, of course, there was the College World Series** to watch. So, yes, we missed most of tonight's game. Over the course of a 162-game season, it's bound to happen from time to time. But we hear tell that Papi and Tek went yard, which thrills us, and that while Jonny Lester wasn't at his sharpest, he kept the team in the game. These are things that please us greatly.

Anyway, Caroline's heading down to Atlanta to do a little recon*** while Jennifer's stuck up here fighting the good fight against the rain and the MBTA, so if we don't manage to post anything over the next week, that'd be why. It has nothing at all to do with Jennifer's propensity to fall asleep in lieu of blogging or her complete inability to finish anything without another person to bounce ideas off of. We're going to try to write a post or two through a cunning use of Twitter, twine, and a stick of gum, but that may limit things to a one-liner or two rather than a fully thought out blog post of the quality you've come to expect from Respect the Tek.

We've got a couple of ideas percolating (or fermenting, if you'd prefer the alcohol metaphor, and we always prefer the alcohol metaphor), though, so once Caroline's safe and sound back in the land of socks that are crimson-ish in hue and quarterbacks with supermodel wives, we're totally going to do our best to bring you a quality blog-reading experience.

In the meantime, as always, go Red Sox!

*It's wet out, which means the buses are contractually obligated to run on their alternate super secret schedule of sucktitude.

**Congrats to the LSU Tigers! We were rooting for Pedroia's Sun Devils, but since they got knocked out before the final we were mostly rooting for a 3-game series.

***By which we mean that she's going to try to kidnap Brian McCann.

By and by, we'll defy a little bit of gravity

2009-06-19T22:13:00.006-04:00

A spy deep in the heart of Braves territory informs us that even the Atlanta TV announcers disapprove of the Fail!hat.* This is important because, well, we're not sure why it's important. Possibly because we hate the hats? And obviously they're very, very, very unlucky. Made of fail, as it were. When something is so bad that even the opposing team's announcers are commenting on it, it's time for a change. Hey, look, if they won't send skip Dice-K's next couple (dozen) starts, the least the Red Sox can do is give up on this alternate hat experiment. If not for us, then for the children.

Because, yes, Dice-K happened. It was just as horrifyingly painful as every other Dice-K start this season, and we dipped into the alcohol and chocolate portion of our evening slightly--okay, much--earlier than we'd planned. Chocolate is awesome. Alcohol is awesome. A Dice-K start? Is not awesome. His stuff just does not look good this year. Even last year, when he was walking everyone and their father's cousin's old college roommate, his stuff had a way of looking relatively filthy once he had those bases nice and loaded. This year, though, it all looks flat. Hittable. Tasty and delicious and right down the middle of the plate for anyone who wants to go deep. He needs some time on the sunny beaches of Bermuda.** He needs to stop insisting that he's healthy, so he can go on the DL and do another rehab stint.

Of course, it's not as if his offense his helping him any. Pretty much everyone on the team looked lifeless at the plate--even Jason Bay, whose 2-run homer was a thing of parabolic beauty, seemed listless in other at-bats--and we refuse to believe that the Braves pitching is that good. We expect everyone to take some extra cuts with Mag tomorrow morning; Derek Lowe's starting, and we do not want to see people grounding into double plays without anyone on base.***

We also expect Tek to give out the Super Secret D. Lowe Scouting Report, Port City Roosters loyalty be damned. We want to see some runs on the board. And since Lowe is actually blogging about how much he still loves the Red Sox, we're sure he wouldn't mind helping us out by leaving a sinker or two up in the zone.

Oh, and Beckett? You're gonna go out there and kick some Braves ass, right? Lie to us if you have to.

*TM Texy. (Don't call it a hat-tip!)

**Sponsored by the Boston Red Sox. Which is probably great for business, but forced us to get "Kokomo" stuck in our heads. And now it's in yours. Sorry!

***If any team could manage it, the team we've seen the last two nights could. MLB history, baby!

How many fans got smacked with tape measures tonight?

2009-06-17T22:52:00.007-04:00

"That's why Manny used to go in the Monster all the time, he was looking for Bobby Orr."
- Tom Caron

Jason Bay's in Canadian heaven and all's right with the world, since the Red Sox have clinched an absolutely mandatory series victory against the Marlins. That'll teach them not to give us back Hanley Ramirez for a song and a lobster roll.

Brad Penny didn't exactly take it to a new level against his former team, tonight, but since a line drive TRIED TO EAT HIM, we'll cut him some slack. A serviceable five innings and some solid bullpen work* adds up to a deserved 100th win. Frankly, every time The Eck mentioned that he was coming up on a possible milestone, we cringed at the jinx potential. After all, we've been inside History's Waiting Room too many times--remember tapping your toes and checking your watch as Manny Ramirez stalled out at 499 home runs?

What's that? You don't remember this Manny fellow?

Right, Hanley. Hanley Ramirez is who we're talking about.

Return him to our custody, Fish People, and nobody gets hurt.

*Notwithstanding Papelbon's new allergy to the one-two-three inning. What's that about? Is there a nasal spray for that?

Lord Stanley had a pretty high alcohol tolerance

2009-06-12T21:45:00.008-04:00

We've always had a religious objection to leaving a baseball game before the ninth inning. Using the slightly crazy logic of the superstitious baseball fan*, we suppose that means it's probably bad behavior to immediately change the channel when a game goes to extra innings. But that's what we did tonight, in order to catch the end of game 7 of the Stanley Cup finals. Apparently...there was more to the game? Something with a double play, Justin Masterson going multiple innings, also starring Julio Lugo as himself? We're sure it'll all make sense once we see the highlight reel.

Here's the thing, though: our hearts belong to baseball, but we can't deny that the sport we call hoc-key truly has the greatest championship trophy (and presentation) in all the world. As great as it is to watch the World Series trophy bob down Boylston Street, or see David Ortiz flash two fists' worth of double-BeDazzled rings, it's a little sad that baseball doesn't have a trophy as beautiful and historic as the Stanley Cup, or a ceremony as moving as the annual Hoistifying thereof. Here are some things baseball could do to capture some of that glory in some far-off October (or November):

1. Get a cup from some minor nobleman--Sir Sidney Ponson should suffice--and wait one hundred years for it to acquire the necessary historic patina. Note: we need something in metal, not something that comes with a Happy Meal. Plastic doesn't patina too well. (Just ask Pamela Anderson.)

2. In lieu of the individual skate-and-makeout-session part of the presentation, place the Ponson Cup in centerfield and allow the winning players to take turns hitting fungoes into it. Unfortunately, this might run a little slow where pitchers are concerned. And if it ever involves American Leaguers like Chien-Ming Wang and Bartolo Colon, well, it'll put a damper on the moment to see a guy put himself in traction.

3. Rename the MVP award after somebody and make it more wacky-looking, like the Conn Smythe trophy. It's not like baseball has a shortage of funny names, like Dazzy Vance or Rabbit Maranville, or hideous designs, like Tropicana Field or the failhat.

4. According to one of our favorite bits of NHL lore, it's bad luck for a player who's never won the Stanley Cup to touch it. Baseball should extend this tradition so that only world champions are allowed to look at the trophy; just picture the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark. If that's a little harsh, we could go the Monty Python and the Holy Grail route instead, and taunt the losers in terrible French accents.

5. Take the very classy and very poignant handshake line. Replace 'handshake" with "conga." Replace "classy" with "champagne-soaked." Replace "poignant" with "gigglefit."

See that? We've solved problems Bud Selig didn't even know he had.

So it's with a sense of satisfaction (and congratulations to Jason Bay's Pittsburgh Penguins) that we're tucking ourselves in to watch the late replay of tonight's game. Our hearts are full of love for Jon Lester's amazing performance, but we might be able to make some room for Nick Green. And if nothing else, we need to confirm whether we were hallucinating when we thought we saw J.D. Drew smile.

*It's not our fault. Caroline happens to be descended from one of those people who routinely wears a Papelbon jersey to church.

We're rewriting the lyrics to "If You Seek Amy" for Britsuzaka.

2009-06-08T22:35:00.002-04:00

It has often been said that Daisuke Matsuzaka is an enigma wrapped in a mystery shrouded in secrecy and covered in delicious bacon-y goodness. This is not news. This is not even some sort of cunning insight. This is just a fact, stated plainly and clearly (and by two people who have yet to eat dinner). After yesterday's so-called "game," we started wondering what, exactly, our options are regarding our most frustrating starter. The answer we came to may surprise you: Daisuke's not the problem, we are.

No, really, think about it.

Keep thinking.

Okay, think some more.

You know how people keep joking that, hey, maybe if the Red Sox wore commemorative Team Japan jerseys Daisuke would think he was pitching in the WBC and actually get hitters out? Well, it turns out that idea didn't fly with ownership, so we're moving on to the next best thing. Something we, the fans, can control without pesky things like Tom Werner's approval or Jason Varitek's glove getting in our way.

The answer is clearly more cheerleading. But none of this half-hearted "Let's Go Red Sox" stuff that always ends up out of sync before the first set of claps; we're talking section leaders, we're talking songs, we're talking a full brass band and a drumline. All that stuff they kept telling us about during last year's ill-advised around the world road trip. Instead of Fenway Park, we want Daisuke to think he's at the Tokyo Dome (or, at the very least, Tokyo Disneyland). Of course, we'll also need some volunteers willing to risk expulsion from their swanky seats in order to drape a giant Japanese flag over the Green Monster, but that's what fandom's all about. It's about sacrifices.* And beer. Possibly crazy superstitious rituals involving chickens &/or lima beans, but that's another post altogether.

Just imagine it: a crowd full of people waving banners, singing songs, and cheering in unison. We'll even provide a visitor's section near the third base dugout, for authenticity's sake.** It'll be amazing. Daisuke won't know what hit him, and we'll finally get to see that legendary gyroball of his. He'll never give up another run at Fenway; in fact, he'll be so spectactular at home that people will begin traveling with the team, turning opposing parks into Fenway West and Fenway Midwest and Fenway Sou--

Oh, wait. Never mind.

So what say you, Red Sox fans? Care to volunteer the first cheer? The first song?

*In fact, as the ultimate sacrifice, we are willing to skip out on work and fly over to Japan to do some recon on what, exactly, it would take to give Daisuke's every start a properly authentic Japanese feel. If everyone donates $1.00, we'll have the cash to do it by the 2013 All-Star Break.

**And not at all because we kept getting confused by the really loud Mets fans we were surrounded with on Memorial Day weekend.

Do be a beer drinker, don't be a beer spiller

2009-06-07T18:51:00.004-04:00

The Respect the Tek Guide to Ballpark Etiquette, Fenway Edition

I. Before You Go: Pack Light, Pack Early, Pack Often

A. Bring a hoodie. Bring an unopened bottle of water. Bring ID if you're going to purchase alcohol. Bring a hat, and remove it during the national anthem. Bring your kids if you're prepared to cover their ears a lot. Bring your mom. Bring snacks (if you work for Fenway security and you're reading this, we personally never bring snacks). Bring a camera, just in case Jon Lester throws a perfect game or goes squirrel-hunting or something.

B. If you're not one of the poor fools who have to work until after five, head out to the park early. Watch some BP; if the Blue Jays are in town, yell, "Millar!" at random intervals. Take advantage of Fenway's Family Hour to eat twice as many Fenway Franks as you'd normally be able to afford.

II. To Sit or Not to Sit, and What to Do Once You Find Out Your Seat's Behind a Pole

A. If you are lucky enough to be chilling in standing room, cultivate a wide stance. Don't interpret your neighbor's foot touching yours as an invitation. This is not the men's room at Logan Airport.

B. Believe it or not, you can hold out until an inning's end or a pitching change before you get up and get another beer. You can. Really. Baseball has all these breaks built in. There is never an excuse to be getting out of seat 11 of 23 and getting in everyone's way in the middle of a full count. Unless you're having a medical emergency, in which case, the Beth Israel Deaconess medical center is behind Fenway Section Twelve. We know, for Remy told us so.

C. Sometimes it can be polite to climb up or down over one seat into an empty row in order to make your way to the aisle. But only if nobody is actually sitting in that seat. In related news, please keep your feet off other people's hats.

D. Ballgames are social experiences, and of course you should chat with the folks you're with, but remember there are things that the strangers five rows ahead of you don't need to hear. Like, say, the results of your paternity test. Save it for Maury, or at least keep your voice down. That goes for you, too, girl on cell phone for ninety percent of the evening.

E. If you're holding up a sign that says "Hit it Here," make sure your seats are in fair territory.

III. Fun and Games and Dance-Offs

A. Fans over the age of ten years are invited not to participate in The Wave.*

B. Sitting near season ticket holders? Ask if any of them have ever caught a foul ball. Chances are you'll hear some funny stories from the 70s.

C. This being New England, there's always a risk of long rain delays. Sure, you can just drink yourself silly until the game is resumed or called off--we're sure Larry Lucchino gets starry-eyed at the very thought of all those concession sales. But the poor man's rainy ballpark pastime? Jersey bingo! Find a good people-watching vantage point and see if you can spot T-shirts for every member of that day's starting lineup, for the twenty-five man roster or the entire 2004 Legion of Superheroes. Obscure players, of course, are worth bonus points. If you see a Gagne T-shirt, that's an automatic bingo. If you see an unmodified Johnny Damon jersey, you are actually at Yankee Stadium, and that's a whole different guide.

D. Try and applaud spectacular plays made by the visiting team; it's the classy thing to do. Please note that every play a shortstop makes is not "spectacular"--just unfamiliar.

IV. Thank You For Being A Friend: The People Of Fenway

A. There is an official scorer who attends Red Sox games and monitors the umpires' calls very closely. He's in the back of grandstand section 15, and while he may appear to be a very drunk guy with his hat on sideways, don't be fooled: he has a superior view of the game, and pinpoint accuracy, and that, dammit, was a strike!

B. Fenway is home to some of the most knowledgable fans in the whole wide baseball world. It's also home to some of those people who call WEEI shows and talk the crazy talk.** When someone sitting near you starts in on an illogical rant about how he'll never forgive Pedro Martinez for giving up that home run to Bucky Dent, don't bother trying to correct him. Instead, turn to his wife and roll your eyes. Chances are she's rolling her eyes too, and you'll make a new ballpark friend.

V. "Yankees Suck" Is Not As Cunning as You Think It Is

A. Heckling is an art. Or a science. Or maybe one of those artsy-sciency things, like baking pie or being A-Rod's agent. At any rate, heckling definitely has its own set of rules:

1. Know who is actually in the opposing team's lineup. Bellowing insults at Josh Hamilton is less than effective when he's on the disabled list. He probably can't hear you from the comfy couch, and everyone who can thinks you're dumb.

a. Okay, so it's always tempting to heckle A-Rod, but try to restrain yourself. The thing is, when you heckle A-Rod, even the opposing fans probably agree with you.*** Heckling should rile the enemy up, not create battlefield camaraderie! This is not a World War I movie!

2. Don't bring other sports into your insults. It's a mistake to assume that everyone roots for every team a city has. Miguel Cabrera probably isn't gonna cry into his (purely decorative) glove when you point out how bad the Lions suck.

3. Once you've picked your victim, try and come up with something to say other than his name. The whole "Daaaa-rryl," "Rawwww-ger," "Bar-toooooo-lo" thing is only cool if 37,000 people decide to join in. Alone, you're just an annoying sing-songy voice, and a good target for flying beer paraphernalia.

4. Here's when it's okay to boo or heckle your own team's players: Never. Period. After all, you want them to win. However, if you really want to tell certain guys how much they suck--we can't say his name, so we'll call him Lugio Julo--at least hold off until he's actually done something that costs the team a run. Unfortunately, you won't have to wait forever.

Print these guidelines out and follow them for a wonderful experience at Fenway Park. Or, if you prefer, make a paper airplane, write a threatening note, and try and fly it into C.C. Sabathia's eye. That way, you'll have a wonderful night in a holding cell, and we'll steal your seats.

*Especially not when it's the fifth inning and your team is down by several runs.

**Curt Schilling.

***We have seen a Yankees fan outside Fenway Park hold an A-Roid syringe, and snicker. And in short, we were afraid.

The curse of Nomar strikes again.

2009-05-17T20:28:00.001-04:00

Dear Theo,

All we want for Christmas is a shortstop who can flash some leather and hit above the Mendoza line.

Love,
The Ladies of Respect the Tek

Giving away free stuff is a good way to make friends.

2009-05-15T23:30:00.007-04:00

Now that the Stanley Cup Playoffs are over*, we can finally return to our semi-quasi-almost-regular coverage of our favorite baseball team and yours, those crazy LOB machines known as the Boston Red Sox. And what better way to get back into the swing of things than with a contest? That's right, folks, you heard it here first (and last, and all the times in between): we've got two spare standing room tickets to May 24's game versus the New York Mets, and we're going to give them to one of you! All you need to do is answer one silly little question (one that is answered within the annals of Respect the Tek), and we will send them right out to you.

The Question: What part of Josh Beckett's body is Jason Varitek?

The Prize: 2 Standing Room tickets to May 24's game against the New York Mets

Just answer the question in the comments, and if you're right** we'll contact you and figure out how to get the tickets to you.

*Crazy how they just canceled them like that, huh? All out of the blue and stuff? Weird.

**Or the only entrant, in which case you win by default. Awesome, huh?

In lieu of a real post, a list of things about this comedy of errors we're calling the 2009 baseball season.

2009-04-15T15:24:00.003-04:00

1. Can we just say right here and for the record how much we love a J. Mast?

2. Fair warning: it's Stanley Cup Playoff time, so when there's a conflict between the Red Sox and the Bruins, this is the time of year we pick the Bruins. This is probably a good thing, since the upcoming epic Bruins/Habs showdown is helping us remain calm and quasi-sane through the rough patch the Red Sox are currently stumbling through.

3. You know what we don't love? The WBC. Sure, we were originally on board, if only so we could watch some Cuban ballplayers we might not otherwise see, but we were wrong. So wrong. Mere words can't express how very wrong we were. The WBC is evil.

4. Unpopular opinion time: we don't think the 6 game suspension MLB imposed on Josh Beckett is all that unfair. We're not thrilled with it, obviously, and we dislike the fact that MLB pretty much discounted what the umpiring crew--who were actually there, by the way--determined. But, still, intentionally or not, that ball sailed up toward Abreu's head, and Beckett sure as hell didn't help himself any by charging off the mound to confront him.*

5. Also, hilariously, Dave Magadan claims he found part of the offense's problem, i.e. that they're not taking as many pitches and are getting themselves out. We say "hilariously" because, well, it seems like twelve billion bloggers figured that one out before our illustrious hitting coach.

*No, JB, that does not mean you need to hug it out or anything. Just, you know, maybe--oh, who the hell are we kidding? He'll do it exactly the same way next time, and that is, in part, why we love him.

A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down

2009-04-13T22:09:00.002-04:00

We've got two words for all of you out there: don't panic. We've taken care of it. We know, we know, you sat there Sunday too, watching as the Red Sox stranded runner after runner after runner after--well, you get the picture. You yelled at the TV. You slammed your head against things heads are not meant to be slammed against. You threw the remote. You crawled around on the floor looking for the battery that flew out of the back of the remote when it hit the floor. You replaced the battery in the remote. You turned the volume off. You turned the volume back on. All the little superstitions from last season came flying back, and by the time JD Drew struck out to the end the game you were in full post-season crazy mode.

Which is when we decided to take action. We got ice cream.

Okay, you might say, that all sounds well and good for you and your taste buds, but what's that got to do with baseball?

We're glad you asked. You see, we didn't get any old ice cream, we got magically delicious Red Sox ice cream.* Jennifer got a scoop of Rice DICE Kream, which will solve all of our pitching staff's woes: walk rates will plummet, HRA will cease and desist, WHIPs will be smaller than sprinkles. Everyone will strike out at least one batter per inning, and our entire staff will be in contention for the Cy Young. Caroline countered with some Very Berry Ellsbury in order to kick start the offense from the lead-off spot. Just because we're not going to give up anymore runs doesn't mean that we don't need to score any either, and everyone knows that the offense starts with getting the lead-off guy on base. So everyone's OPS is going to skyrocket; people are going to get on base, yes, but more importantly they're going to be driven home. No more trying to convince ourselves, "hey, at least they're getting on base." The Red Sox will score runs, their opponents won't, and we're going to win us some ballgames.

...of course, then the team announced that Jed Lowrie's going to the DL, and we have no real starting shortstop. So, you know, maybe we should panic a little? There's no ice cream for that.

This is gonna require cupcakes.

*There are obviously a lot of flavors they just haven't seen fit to release yet, like Drew's Bruised Georgia Peach. Call us, JP Licks! We will trade concepts for coupons!

MLB Network is ruining our lives.

2009-04-01T10:23:00.004-04:00

Late last night or early this morning, in the middle of the ninth inning of a Padres-Brewers game*, the broadcast team started picking out shots of sleepy children clutching blankets in the crowd. The announcers cooed a little over the kids and their "woobies"--something they might snuggle to their chest and never put down for the first four years of their lives.

Then they said, unironically, that closer Heath Bell is the Padres' woobie.

This might be the best use of early childhood nonsense terminology since Bill Belichick's hoodie. Good call, Padres announcers.** However, since the inning was rife with defensive errors and Bell barely escaped blowing the save, we do have one caveat:

Dear Remy and Orsillo,

Raise the bar. Bring the cute. Tell us how John Smoltz is playing the proud parent in a pitching staff re-enactment of Make Way For Ducklings, with Clay Buchholz and Justin Masterson trailing merrily after him.

Just don't tell Jonathan Papelbon he's anyone's woobie. It's too dangerous.

*Yes, we do stay up late watching meaningless spring training jousts between teams that we don't even care about. Thank god there's less than a week to go before the real season starts and we can get our baseball fix in more sane and sanitary ways.

**At least, we think they were the Friars' guys. We could be wrong. It was late, and they kept talking about Tony Gwynn and Tony Gwynn, Jr. until it all sounded like "Malkovich Malkovich."

Also, in the future, Robot Dice-K will thrive.

2009-03-29T20:37:00.004-04:00

Yes, we promised you five Respect the Tek predictions every Friday until opening day, but we lied. This week, we have something even better. We have traveled to the future in our Tardis and brought back with us a few key quotes from Dustin Pedroia's future twitter account. (Yes, Dustin Pedroia will start twittering.* On July 14, 2009, if you want to be all specific about it, after he spends most of the All-Star festivities learning strange factoids about Barry Zito from Tim Lincecum.)

So, yes, we are late with this post. Our time machine malfunctioned slightly and we somehow skipped from Friday afternoon right until Sunday afternoon. We've been assured that this does happen occasionally, and that if the side effects don't go away in four hours, we should seek immediate medical attention. Anyway, on to Pedroia's Tweets of the Future:

1. @CCSabathia you suck! You got nothing! Next time we meet, that ball's going to be 95 mph going in and 200 mph going out!

2. "If winning isn't everything, why do they keep score?"**

3. Hey everyone I suck and I'm a midget and Jon Papelbon could totally strike me out a million times in a row so ha.***

4. everyone singing we are the champions whole flight home gonna blow chunks

5. @JPapelbon sorry your kid isn't a better pitcher than you were and that my kid had to hit that laser off her tonight. Go ASU!

We could have brought back pages with his insults to opposing pitchers alone, and once Kevin Youkilis' facial hair gets its own account, the back-and-forth between them is going to be epic. We don't want to spoil these things for you, though, so we're not going to post them here. And, no, we can't tell you when, exactly, #4 is from; we can't even reveal exactly what it's in reference to. Maybe our most valuable gunslinger just gets really excited about the Mayor's Cup.

Meanwhile, back here in the normal timestream and the real world, we're t-minus eight days to Opening Day, and we don't even need 140 characters to say this: YAY!

*Will start tweeting? Will become a twitterererer? Whatever the ridiculous terminology, Dustin Pedroia's going to be amusing the nation, one bon mot at a time. Like Shaq. You know, if Shaq was a small white dude who can't dunk.

**Pedey doesn't attribute his quotes, but we do. That's Vince Lombardi.

***This update mysteriously disappeared about fifteen minutes after it first showed up. The tweet that went up next is too profane for us to repeat.

How can I say goodbye to what we had? The good times outweighed the bad.

2009-03-23T19:29:00.001-04:00

Remember how, after the end of the 2007 season, Curt Schilling left letters for certain teammates in their lockers?* Remember how Jason Varitek refused to read his because Schill wasn't officially retired and could very well re-sign with the Red Sox? (Okay, that one might be something we made up. We're not 100% sure. Just go with it.) Well, we like to imagine the following text message showed up on Tek's phone late last night:

Read the letter.**

All of which is our way of saying that Curt Schilling is many things, all of them contradictory, but for a while there he was ours. And, in some ways, he always will be. We will miss seeing him pitch every fifth day--even when we decidedly do not miss Tito keeping him in one inning too long--and we will always, always think of him standing on that mound in Yankee Stadium, ankle stapled together, silencing the ghosts.

Thank you, Schill. Have a wonderful retirement (and please do shut up).

*We'd link, but that would require actual effort, and we are vehemently anti-effort on Mondays.

**Or, you know, rd teh ltr. We wouldn't put it past Big Schill to use textspeak.

Josh Bard will look up and shout, "Save me." And we'll whisper, "No."

2009-03-20T22:25:00.003-04:00

The Curse of Doug Mirabelli is alive and well and living in Fort Myers.

Just when we were starting to like Bard-o, too. Still, we're not gonna lie, we're excited that the PawSox Two are apparently getting an actual shot to win the gig. In fact, we're going to just throw this out there: we want a Kottaras-Brown backup catching tandem, people! Three catchers means we could, you know, pinch hit and double switch and all those National League tricks Bill James disapproves of so heartily. Make them uber-super-duper utility guys! Teach 'em to cover shortstop! Or throw a knuckleball! Heck, Dusty Brown was an outfielder once upon a time; we're sure all those innings crouched behind the plate haven't affected his ability to play right field when JD "Mr. Glass" Drew needs a day off.

So that's our cunning plan. Well, that or kidnapping Taylor Teagarden and telling everyone that he's Mark Wagner after extensive plastic surgery.

Anyway, it's time for some more 2009 predictions. We know you're all excited.

1. Jonathan Papelbon will hit a game-winning grand slam during interleague play.*

2. Julio Lugo will come back from his injury, and he will continue to play (almost**) as well as he did in spring training. Jed Lowrie will also continue to kick ass. This will be a great problem to have, no matter what you think about either player, and it will only make the team better.

3. We will never, ever, utter the words, "Man, I wish we'd signed Pudge Rodriguez." No disrespect to the future Hall of Famer, but there are plenty of other catchers we'll wish were on the Red Sox ahead of him. You can even strike Mauer and Martin from the list and end up with a strong Pudge-free top five.

4. Futures at Fenway will, once again, kick ass and take names. (What? We love FoF, okay, and we needed an excuse to point out that tickets go on sale this Saturday. Be there or be somewhere else. But somewhere else won't have baby baseball players taking each other's picture in front of the Green Monster while the Frisbee dogs run free.)

5. Every single team whose personnel have openly stated that they think they can be "the Rays of 2009" (We're looking at you, Reds, Pirates, and Orioles) will be bitterly disappointed. You know why Cinderella teams are interesting? Because they're really rare, like glass slippers. However, the national baseball media (now we're done looking at the Orioles, let's all turn our pointed gaze to Joe Buck and Tim McCarver) will keep this meme alive and anoint one of our lucky contenders "the Rays of 2009" around the all-star break--whoever it is, they will be instantly jinxed, and discover that they're the Rays of 1998-2008 instead.***

Tune in next week when we try to predict setlists for the bullpen band.

*Please ignore our footnote on this very issue from last week.

**Because no one actually hits .500, and we do not actually believe he will ever play error-free defense. This is not an insult, it is just reality.

***Or, dare we say it, the Devil Rays.

Robots eat old people's medicine for fuel.

2009-03-17T23:19:00.001-04:00

All week, we've been puzzling over Daisuke Matsuzaka's stellar six-inning, no-walk, fewer-than-1,000 pitch performance in the World Baseball Classic. We've studied the tape closely* and come to the obvious conclusion:

Daisuke has been replaced by a robot.

Okay, our theory raises more questions than it answers. Like, when did AI get so advanced? Was Dice-K himself the mastermind behind Dice-3PO? Was it another nefarious World Baseball Classic plot like the one that's caused freak injuries to half the players on the Team USA roster**? Where is the real Dice-K now--lying on a beach somewhere with his beautiful wife, or strapped to a training table in front of a Clockwork Orange-type infinite loop of game tape?

We may not have all the answers, but we're pretty sure we're right about the robot part. Because a version of Matsuzaka who doesn't walk a single soul and tosses efficient ten-pitch innings around like they're Icelandic money? That is definitely something out of the Uncanny Valley.

Meanwhile, we're more than ready for real games, but the Greening of the Sox is a fun substitute. We particularly enjoyed the presence of an "actual" "leprechaun." It wasn't funny in and of itself, but it allowed David Ortiz to bring his Pedroia mockery to a new level. And Papi's given us so much joy in this life that anything which makes him smile is worth closing elementary schools, holding a parade, and drinking vile green beer.

Haters, please note that Jason Varitek was 2-3 from the left side, with a well-thwacked home run into the bargain. For Dave Magadan's next trick, he'll drive the snakes out of New England.

*That is, we watched it when it aired live, and even spent some of that time looking at the screen.

**We're still rooting for Cuba, but if the US makes it, we are sure David Wright's smiling face will make us feel better.

"(Expletive.)"

2009-03-13T22:22:00.002-04:00

Oh, wow, time flies when you're under a deadline. Another Friday, another five predictions. These ones are short and to the point, just like us.*

1. We will mutter, "Man, I wish we'd signed Pedro" at least once this season. Possibly twice. No more than five times, though.

2. Lift the embargo! Free the Cuban ballplayers! (Okay, that one's not really a prediction, but c'mon. It's wrong and sad that the WBC is the only chance we'll ever have to see a majority of these guys. And it probably angers Mikey Lowell, too.)

3. Tom Glavine will--oh, wait, we did this one last year, and his BFF Smoltz is a Red Sox now. But Tom Glavine will still lose a ridiculous bet to John Smoltz this year, and he will have to do the chicken dance on the mound at Fenway Park.

4. "Yankees Suck" will be chanted inappropriately in the following circumstances: the Mets visit Fenway; the Red Sox visit Citi Field; the Nationals play the Braves; the Red Sox play the White Sox, who kind of look like the Yankees if you are squinting and/or drunk; the Bruins play the Rangers; Chuck Schumer gets into a fistfight with John Kerry on the steps of the Capitol. Actually, if that last one comes true, we promise to join in the chant.

5. Jonathan Papelbon will say something and Jason Varitek will tell him to shut up. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Hopefully, soon, we'll manage to post something a bit more substantive, but we're not going to get carried away and try to predict our own kooky behavior. That way lies madness, after all. In closing, we're forwarding a little PSA from our first baseman and yours, a Mr. Kevin Youkilis. Youk would like to know why you're not all on a flight to catch Team USA's next game in Miami. He wants your support, people, to drown out the Puerto Rican voices in the crowd and to celebrate the baseball team of a land so free even a crazy closer can speak his mind without fear of retaliation.**

We know why we're not going, of course: we've got jobs, bills, and a tendency to root for the Netherlands or possibly Cuba. But we could be swayed on that last point. If we were to call out of work by command of the Greek God of Walks, would that count as a religious holiday?

*By which we mean that we are short, but very rarely to the point. Also that we forgot about this until mere moments ago.

**Okay, that's mostly because he's a relief pitcher in the AL who will never, ever, ever get to bat. You hear that, Papelbottom? Never.

Our Predictions Are Slightly More Accurate Than CNBC's

2009-03-06T23:21:00.002-05:00

In an attempt to force ourselves to post something every week, no matter how inane, we are introducing a new feature here at Respect the Tek. Every Friday from now until opening day, we're going to bring you five random predictions for the 2009 MLB season, based entirely on box scores, an obsession with the MLB Network, random other blogs, silly conversations, and our favorite poems. These predictions will of course come with a money back guarantee and a free gift with purchase.* So, without further ado, we bring you Respect the Tek's First Five Predictions for the 2009 MLB Season.

1. Judging by his three hitless innings against the powerhouse Team USA on Wednesday, Matt Clement will not only stage a comeback this season, he will win the Cy Young. The Red Sox will face both Clement and the Doc in every single Blue Jays series this season.

2. Just going by the hype, PECOTA projections, MLB Network's 30 in 30, and the fact that the sun always shines just a little brighter when he's around, Matt Wieters is going to be the first baseball player ever to win the Rookie of the Year, MVP, Gold Glove, Silver Slugger, Hank Aaron, Roberto Clemente, Rolaids Relief Man, Comeback Player, and Kansas City Royals Pitcher of the Year. He will place second in the Cy Young balloting.

3. Tim Lincecum will continue to account for 2/3 of all San Francisco Giants wins.

4. Greg Maddux will wreak his revenge on Glavine and Smoltz for failing to retire so they could go into the Hall of Fame all together. Details of his cunning and evil plan remain sketchy, but Maddux was recently spotted in a Phoenix-area bar, petting a hairless cat and muttering about how Derek Lowe "works for us now."

5. On the eve of the last game of the World Baseball Classic, we will kidnap Yu Darvish and make him our own. That's "we" as in "we, Red Sox Nation," not "we," your intrepid bloggers.** This will give us the strongest rotation in Major League Baseball. It also means that Pedroia and Youkilis will have to fight their way back to the team. Guys, start practicing your Karate Kid moves now.

*The free gift is our charm and wit. No refunds or exchanges.

**Okay, actually, it's just us. But not for any prurient reason. We'll be his agents. Please leave your fifty million dollar opening bids in the comments.

It's A New Dawn, It's A New Day

2009-02-13T23:09:00.005-05:00

Respect The Tek is a steroid-free zone. We are not writing under the influence of any blog-enhancing drugs. If you know where blog-enhancing drugs can be acquired, please kick some our way.

Honestly, though, we've reached our limit with steroid talk. We don't want to hear about it anymore, or care about it anymore. Oh, yes, we believe that roiding is cheating, and that there should be aggressive testing and harsh penalties in order to keep baseball safe for the likes of a certain Most Valuable Midget. We think that cracking down now is worthwhile, but trying to ferret out everyone who used during the long, sordid era when Major League Baseball was out having lunch and getting its nails done is pointless. At this point, it's sadly necessary to assume that more people did it than didn't, and that nobody is guaranteed clean*. And it's also true that there's always been cheating in baseball, Gaylord Perry, and that we've never been stat freaks**, so we can't get all worked up about 'purity of the numbers' arguments.

So, we humbly ask our fellow Red Sox fans to cool it with the A-Rod steroid heckling this season, because there are plenty of reasons to loathe the Yankees that are less likely to kick us in the karma.***

Moving to new business: Paps'n Cap'ns (and the rest of the pitchers and catchers) have reported to spring training as of yesterday--this is like Valentine's Day for those baseball fans among us who think that Cupid can totally suck it. We can't decide which is our favorite sign of the coming spring:

Justin Masterson drives a clown car and smiles like Christmas morning.
Dustin Pedroia is shredded and jacked, and possibly other verbs associated with nacho cheese.
Ladies And Gentlemen, Your Closer exists, and shops for groceries with his teammates. (If Penny and Papelbon are going to start planning pranks together, you know Josh Beckett better lock his doors every morning and check the backseat of his car every damn night.)
Speaking of Beckett, he can still make the mitt make that beautiful sound.

Ah, but who are we kidding? This right here is our favorite thing. Our favorite, damp, sinewy, glove-totin', oversized-shorts-wearin' thing.

Who needs truffles and diamonds? Our hearts are already full.

*We're divided on the subject of those who tested positive in 2003. We're dreading the spectre of all those names trickling out one by one and ruining a whole lot of days for a whole lot of people, but at the same time, it's not fair to compensate for one violation of confidentiality by doing it a hundred and three more times. Mainly, it all just makes us want to see Frank Thomas roll up on Bud Selig and the MLBPA and knock some heads.

**This is why Nate Silver will never hang out with us. (Yeah. This is why.)

***And no, making fun of Leigh Teixeira is not acceptable, either.

Happy Truck Day!

2009-02-06T15:32:00.017-05:00

It all started with the postseason. We'd write a couple of sentences, play around with them for a while, but in the end we'd erase every last word on the off chance it could in any way be construed as a jinx, a hex, bad luck. Healthy? No. Sane? Certainly not. But we couldn't help ourselves. What if our (admittedly brilliant) one-liner about grilled cheese sandwiches made Mikey Lowell's bad hip even worse? What if that comment about high fastballs made Pap blow a save? We couldn't risk it. Anyway, fast-forward to the off-season, which has featured a hot stove with a frightening similarity to our old electric stove at home: which is to say that it is cold, cold, cold, on fire, cold. And you know you should probably move your hand off that burner--hmm, that smells a little like burning flesh, doesn't it? wow, and it kind of hurts--but you just can't.

So we stopped posting. And kept not posting. And then we didn't post some more. And, as is the case with so many things in life, the longer you actively avoid doing something the easier it is to justify your decision.

But today we are back. We won't promise it's for good--it's entirely possible that tomorrow morning we will come up with a batshit crazy explanation for broken bats that involves the twenty-third sentence of this post that will drive us back into hibernation; hell, we put off posting this until after Tek passed his physical because we were afraid of, well, things we aren't going to mention because then they might happen--but hopefully for a little while. Maybe even until pitchers and catchers report.

Which brings us to our regularly scheduled programming on this fine Friday evening: catchers. As in: the Red Sox have pretty much failed to develop &/or trade for a catcher of the future (CoF), thus bringing us to this point in time when they had to overspend on a 37-year old in the hopes that Joe Mauer a) actually hits free agency (we're dubious, to say the least) and b) doesn't get scooped up by the Yankees. As in: look, we're not stupid. We know that Tek's bat speed has deteriorated to the point that he can't catch up to a Paul Byrd fastball, and he couldn't throw out Sean Casey stealing second most days. That said, we don't care. He's still our favorite. Maybe it's nostalgia, fond memories of the days when he'd glove A-Rod in the face in the morning and get a few hits in the evening. Maybe it's the thighs.* Maybe it's the fact that, to a man, the pitching staff went out of its way to casually mention that they wanted him back, and we always want Jonathan Papelbon to get what he wants.** But, no matter the reason, that's just the way it is. We all have our favorites: sometimes they make sense, sometimes they don't. Joe Posnanski once wrote a post on this very subject (or was it someone else?), and were we less lazy &/or down for the count with the TD Banknorth Flu, we would search it out and link to it.

So, yes, before we get any further, we confess: we are happy Tek will be back, all logic and statistical analysis be damned. We are those people. (Of course, we are also those people who like to imagine that Andy MacPhail will go even more loco and hand us the Wieters for Daniel Bard,*** a Johnny Pesky autographed baseball, Julio Lugo, and a pack of chewing gum. What? It could totally happen.) We want Tek back, and we want a CoF to magically appear without costing us Clay Buchholz.**** We want Ted Williams to come back to life, a million dollars, and a pony.

We want this exchange to happen during spring training:

Tek: Hey, Salty.*****

Salty: Teach me all you know, Yoda.

Tek: Okay!

Salty: YAYS.

Tek: Now, the first thing you gotta know is that all our pitchers are insane. Especially Pap...

And so on and so forth, etc.

Mick Jagger would tell us that we can't always get what we want. He would tell us that maybe we'll get what we need. To this we say, "Hey, Mick, stick to the tight pants and dancing! Tell Charlie we love him! And, hey, you guys should tour again. We'd buy overpriced tickets in a heartbeat."

So, Theo, now that you've arranged for the first part of our little fantasy to come true, it's time to get the rest of it done. Call Texas &/or Arizona and convince them that the Red Sox prospect they really want in exchange for one of their catchers is a little-known RHP named Craig Hansen and forget to mention that he's no longer with the organization. Explain, very carefully, that you'd be willing to throw in Julio Lugo as a sign of good faith--free of cost, of course, ain't no one dumb enough to pick up that salary--and sweeten the pot with a couple of Fenway Franks. Offer up a free Pearl Jam concert if you have to, just get it done.

*We like to think we're above such abject objectification, but. Well. We're not. Deal with it.

**Unless what he wants involves hookers, blow, or anything else favored by the 1986 Mets.

***Codename: Hamlet. Think about it.

****Look, when your team acquired not only your long-time catcher/captain but also the dude who won all three clinching games the year they won the World Series for the first time in a gazillion years by trading away that year's Eric Gagne, well, you develop unrealistic expectations about how trades are supposed to work.

All glibness aside, however, we really are curious: who would you be willing to part with for a CoF? Does it differ if they catcher on offer is Saltalamacchia or Teagarden? Montero or someone else entirely? Inquiring minds want to know!

*****Feel free to substitute Teagarden, Montero, or your own personal favorite CoF flavor for Saltalamacchia. We've just had a soft spot for Salty for a while, is all, so we went with him. Also his name is fun. We here at Respect the Tek like fun names (We'll miss you, Coco Crisp! Have fun in Kansas City!).

We do not need to buy seats from Fenway to keep in this house

2008-09-30T16:55:00.005-04:00

So, a few weeks ago we decided we wanted tickets to this game, and we ended up with these lovely seats.* As it turned out, the Red Sox had a magic number of one that night, but they were going to have to get through the man whose name has been engraved on the Cy Young since April to clinch their postseason berth. And, while Wakefield's been money for us** all season, we were understandably less than confident about the offense. The Red Sox have had their problems scoring runs against good pitching all season, and visions of a heartbreaking 1-0 loss danced in our heads.

Tense game. Terribly tense game. Wonderfully tense game. The Sox got two runs while we were waiting in line for food, then Wake--with the help of some uncharacteristically sloppy defense--surrendered four runs in one inning, the fourth crossing the plate just as we returned to our seats. We ate, drank, explained the scoreboard to the guy from New Zealand behind us. The bullpen band played. We knocked on our chairs, danced to Coco's at-bat music, and watched as they managed to score three more runs, way more than we expected off Lee. They took that one run lead, and they clung to it. Cleveland kept putting runners on; the Red Sox kept squeaking out of it. The crowd spent more time on its feet than in their seats.

Top of the eight, bases loaded, two outs. Cue Wild Thing. Cue I'm Shipping up to Boston. Cue a first pitch ground-out, another Houdini moment. The game continued; the thin lead held into the ninth. Papelbon got the final batter to pop the ball up, and started jumping up and down while it was still in the air.

Then there was a big shouting, hugging dogpile on the field, which never gets even one bit old.

We rushed to get down close to the field while the team was partying in the dugout, and ended up right behind the home plate net. Bullpen pitchers emerged carrying tiny babies and champagne to spray. There was Kevin Youkilis with his cherubic blond child*** jogging around the bases. There were players being interviewed, all drunk and happy and grabbing each other. There was Papelbon hugging himself and gesturing to the crowd, strutting about in a belly shirt, and actually digging the bases up and giving them away to random fans.

And then Jason Varitek decided to greet every fan left in the park. Personally. He is the Captain, after all.

He made his way around starting at the dugout by first base, down to the area back of home plate, where he gave us the world's most gentle high fives. His eyes were crinkly. His hands were big and warm and surprisingly soft. He went all the way down to the left field corner before he rejoined his teammates for more back-slapping and lite-beer drinking in the middle of the diamond. We didn't manage to take pictures in our glee. He looks amazing in person. In real life.

We went to ten Sox games this year, and we sat through rain delays and heat waves, come-from-behind wins and inexplicable losses to the Orioles, Julio Lugo forgetting how to catch a batted ball as if the knowledge was surgically excised from his brain****, and Jed Lowrie learning to hit at Fenway. We sat through the lows and the highs of a very long season. And we know that as long as it was for us, it was longer, more arduous and stressful and punishing, for the guys on the field. There's been a lot of baseball.

So it's astounding, and wonderful, that the greatest moment***** we shared with them in person was the moment that confirmed we will see more baseball. The season won't end in September. We have another chance at the brass ring. And this isn't cause for exhaustion, it's cause for a champagne celebration. Big strong men cheered and hugged their teammates and danced with their children and, at Fenway Park on a suddenly warm autumn night, they reached out to us to share the joy.

Red Sox Win, the scoreboard said.

And we sang and danced all the way home.

*Sometimes, you buy tickets from the official site and end up standing on your head behind a pole somewhere in Medford. Sometimes, you end up with pretty awesome seats.

**By which we do, in fact, mean us, personally. If Wake only pitched while we were in attendance, he'd be 800-3 or something crazy like that.

***Is it weird or wrong to think they're extra cute because it's his fiancee's kid and not, biologically, his?

****Sigh. But it's mean to pick on a dude who's down with a nasty calf injury, so this is a mercy footnote.

*****We missed being at Jon Lester's no-hitter by one day! But we were at the crazy game with the 19-17 score. Definitely got several Broadway shows' worth of drama.

We do not have words that are not "woo" and "hoo" in this house

2008-09-24T00:48:00.005-04:00

We were at Fenway tonight STOP Jason Varitek high-fived us STOP More when we smell less like champagne FULL STOP.

We do not seduce and destroy in this house

2008-09-11T20:41:00.003-04:00

Apparently, the Red Sox are not in the business of distracting the New England masses from their "Matt Cassel is our quarterback" woes.* Unless, of course--and bear with us while we spin the crazy here--their cunning plan involves making September baseball so stressful and panic-inducing that we're all left far too cotton-brained and bleary to remember that there's a football team 'round these parts. In which case: mission accomplished, guys, thanks for playing the LOB and Relief Corps Failure Parade game (safe for all ages, available at K-Mart, comes with a special John Madden voiceover track)!

We'll be at Fenway on Friday, and we're hoping to relocate the mojo that allowed the home team to win in our presence on Monday night.** Jennifer's switching out her pretty Fenway desktop wallpaper as we speak; she took the picture herself, so it really pains her to admit that it is obviously a jinxy jinxer that jinxes, but facts must be faced. She put up the wallpaper Tuesday morning, and the Red Sox haven't won since.

And it's not just that they haven't won. It's that Papelbon blew a save; yes, yes, dude's human, blah de blah, nobody's perfect, but every time he blows a save it feels like the kitten you were playing with turned into a pissy mountain lion, slashed right through your arm, and destroyed your whole house while you called 911. It's that Beckett pitched a good game, the bullpen held it together for an insane number of innings, and the offense managed to do jack shit.

Of course, you could also look at it like this: Lester was awesome, Beckett was pretty fucking good for a guy in his second start after seeing the dreaded Dr. James Andrews, and most of the bullpen was lights out. We all expect Pap to bounce back, and, well, can anyone honestly say they didn't call Wednesday night's game once Timlin took the mound? We love the Admiral, don't get us wrong, but we do sometimes wish he was only around in some sort of coaching and/or hawk hunting capacity.

So, no, we're not freaking out (too much), because even in this demoralizing series, there are still positive signs indicating the potential for October kickassery. The postseason is the goal, and we all know that everything changes once you get there. Hell, the Sox had their problems with The The Angels Angels of Anaheim last season, but you wouldn't know it from the ALDS. So: get there. And anything's possible.

Plus, maybe you haven't heard, but Tampa Bay? Actually good at baseball these days.
Although we really wish Tom Seaver would show up and kick their asses for referring to themselves as amazin'.

*Full disclaimer: we aren't really Patriots fans, but we've reached a point in our sports fan development where we will say, without any irony, "hey, let's watch a football game today." This is a huge step for us. Y'all should be proud.

**Now, here's a question: should we wear the same jerseys we wore on Monday, even though they're completely not relevant to Friday's game (Lester and Varitek, neither of whom will be starting), or is that just crossing the line from serious sleep deprivation into full-on crazytown?***

***We tarried too long in writing up that experience. Here are the important highlights: Caroline got to shake hands with Johnny Pesky (!), our nearest neighbors were plotting to steal Coco Crisp from his wife, and a uniformed member of Boston's finest threatened to kick us out and relieve our benefactor of her season tickets if we refused to participate in the wave.

We do not make 11-year-old pop culture references in this house

2008-09-03T23:00:00.002-04:00

Photo: David Butler/US Presswire

Dustin Pedroia is a shark with a frickin' laser beam attached to his head.

Okay, maybe he's more like an ill-tempered sea bass, or a red snapper. But the laser beam? It is definitely for real.

We do not give up the big inning in this house

2008-08-16T23:03:00.006-04:00

A coworker called it, "a game you can tell your grandkids about." We're more apt to describe it as something we survived, barely, something we're still recovering from all these days later. A day so crazy we're still half-convinced Mikey Lowell successfully executed a double steal. We've tried a couple of times to piece together a narrative, to tell you all about Wally (not that one) and his stories and the 2004 World Series cup he brings with him to every game. We're pretty sure the sucker punch feeling of losing a 10-0 lead was the same whether you were at Fenway or sitting on your couch or at a bar, and we're just as sure that the sharp joy of Youk being Manny was just as universal. But Wally is one of a kind.

Tomorrow we're heading up to Portland to see Lars and Josh and all the little Sea Dogs. We're mostly hoping for a nice day: a good game and a chance to see all the Baby Sox before they're rookies of the year and pitching no-hitters up at Fenway, maybe even a win. We'll settle for no storms.*

*We may like pina coladas, but we're not quite as fond of getting caught in the rain.

We do not know how to catch a fly with a chopstick in this house

2008-08-11T17:13:00.005-04:00

"This is everything I have ever dreamed of. It has come true now and I'm going to the major leagues. It's ridiculous. I'm at a loss for words. I really don't know what to say about it. I'll be smiling forever now. This is just awesome. Awesome."

Wow, our button-making campaign, while still in its infancy,* was a complete and utter success. Charlie Zink toes the rubber on Tuesday, and we are just thrilled to death for him.

*Often referred to as the "my term paper's due in about fifteen minutes and all I've got is my name, the course number, and a haiku about cheese" stage.

We do not go back to the future in this house

2008-08-10T20:06:00.007-04:00

No photo credit, Jennifer took this one all by herself.

While the big team struggles to sort out its business in Chicago*, and our current president is interrupting perfectly entertaining Olympic gymnastics to talk about--well, we're not sure what he's talking about, but the wildly incoherent closed captioning suggests it's a message he's sending to the Cheese People**--we bring you some notes from a day in the Future.

Futures at Fenway, naturally.

All the Lowell Spinners looked so tiny in their vest-y uniforms, none tinier than the pitcher Stolmy Pimentel. Stolmy Pimentel, besides having a name that's really fun to say, is a small Dominican pitcher who wears #45 and who pitched 5 effective innings while we revelled in the requisite Pedro Martinez flashbacks.

That picture at the top of this entry is Stolmy with his catcher, the baby-est of the baby catchers we saw on Saturday, one Tim "FedEx" Federowicz, late of UNC. We got to know FedEx thanks to a UNC fan friend of ours, during the College World Series, and what we hear is that he doesn't like to talk to pitchers, or be touched. What we saw with our own eyes was a couple of excellent throws to second to cut down basestealers, which may have kept the Spinners in the game.

Because it was a long game. We're talking 12 innings in total, with the Hudson Valley Renegades vacuuming up everything that flew into the outfield, capped with a walkoff single (while Fedex was on base, no less!). It was a long enough game that cries of "Come on, Deshaun" and "Get 'er done, Mitch!" rang out in our section, because we'd had time to learn everyone's name. It was a long enough game that the Spinners pitchers were seen out in the pirate pen, forming a baby bullpen band. Manny Delcarmen, watch your back: these kids have got soul.

In addition to the baby band's performance, we were happy to enjoy the minor-league entertainments between innings, like guys in sumo costumes, frisbee dogs, the giant toothbrush that ran the bases for undisclosed reasons***. A little girl seated in the row behind us summed it up perfectly, after a small child raced the Spinners mascot: "So when that kid raced the alligator, that was a commercial? No commercial's better than that."

As for the PawSox, it seems like the cream of that particular crop has either been called up to the big club or traded to the Pirates. And it cannot possibly surprise anyone who's been reading this blog at all that we're a little catcher-centric. So we were especially thrilled that while Dusty Brown was starting, George Kottaras was first-base coaching. Two wee catchers for the price of one! Actually, not so wee. We've always thought George was skinny, because we've always seen him standing near Brown or Varitek or Mirabelli. Turns out, he's a pretty good-sized guy, just not built like a brick house or a Mack truck. Or a brick house riding in a Mack truck.

Brown had a hard day behind the plate; he overthrew second base twice, but his game plan was definitely effective. David Pauley went a sassy seven innings--four hits, two runs, two walks, four strikeouts--and he had the Charlotte Knights guessing. Think the big club's putting the coffee on for him, in light of recent tragic events****? Because he was fun to watch, but we were sad not to see knuckleball fraternity member Charlie Zink on the mound. Is it time for us to start a campaign to get Zink called up? Should we get buttons made?

It was a really nice way to spend the day (and, okay, way too much of your money) at Fenway, not least because nobody at all stayed in their assigned seat and we ended up with a bettter view than we paid for. We also got to see our prospects gaze in awe at the Green Monster, and cut loose in the dugout to do the Chicken Dance. But the best part? Both home teams won. Our farm system, in fact, is undefeated in Futures play.

Now if only the young guns could teach their big brother team a thing or two. If they can't make the Red Sox win, maybe they can get them to do the Electric Slide.

*Is now an appropriate time for us to say that we're worried about our man Claybelline "Why Can'tcha Be True" Buchholz? Because, um, whatever he was doing last year, when he was the shiniest of the shiny, this ain't it. Maybe we need to run him through the dishwasher with some Electrasol.

**Actually, now that the words "Balco" and "Barry" and "Baball" have appeared, we're pretty sure they're discussing steroids. Which might be an interesting interview if, you know, it involved someone other than the President, who really ought to be more concerned about anything in the world more important than baball.

***It seems like some kind of clean base=clean teeth analogy was at play, but really, who are we to try and understand the mind of the Great Toothbrush?

****Okay, maybe Wakefield's sore shoulder does not quite rise to the Aristotelian standard for tragedy, but we're definitely crying in our official terrible lite beer of Major League Baseball. Come back soon, Wake, and come back strong.

We do not know why you say goodbye, we say hello in this house

2008-07-31T20:40:00.004-04:00

And that happened. *

We're still processing. We still can't believe we'll never see Manny in the Monster, never see him in his oversized Red Sox home whites, never see him play the wall like he was born to it again. We're sad that it came to this, upset that the Manny who wanted to retire a Red Sox and bought Pedroia suits morphed into the Manny who tells anyone who'll listen about how the team doesn't deserve him. The Manny who shoved a man whose entire job is to make his life easier. The Manny who doesn't run out grounders and sits out games against the younger flamethrowers. Who, more than that, thinks that all of those things are perfectly okay. Manny being Manny always was a double-edged sword.

Still. We'd rather remember him as the guy who high-fived a fan in the middle of turning a double play. The man whose moon shot off K-Rod in last year's ALDS still hasn't landed. The man who beat up on Yankees pitching and always seemed to love playing baseball, who never seemed to forget that he was getting paid to play a game. Weird to think that he won't be patrolling left field the next time we go to Fenway.

We're just as sure this was the right move as we are that it was the wrong move, and that's all we have to say about that until we see it shake out.

GBMU (the last): Traded to Pittsburgh, where he'll hopefully get regular playing time with the big club and show the world why we love him so much.

*Here's the part where we wish Manny, Mossy, and Hansen all the best with their new teams. Good luck, guys, we'll miss you. **

**And here's the part where we say, "Welcome to Boston, Jason Bay," and brush up on our Canadian anthem skills.

We do not call it a comeback in this house

2008-07-28T23:41:00.002-04:00

So. We promised we were going to blog, but tonight's game doesn't really inspire conversation. Still, isn't it nice to see our Papi back where he belongs? And isn't there--well, not much else nice to say?

We've used our boundless cunning* and vast network of insider connections** to infiltrate the Sox clubhouse and document some conversations that took place once the big man rejoined the band.

I. Overheard from the Bash Brothers
Papi: I cannot believe this. I leave you alone for a couple weeks and what do you do?
Manny: Hit a home run?
Papi: And what else?
Manny: Hit another home run real hard?
Papi: Manny...
Manny: It's not my fault Boston hates me! All I ever do is play baseball!
Papi: Sometimes what you do is, you don't play baseball.
Manny: ...Is this like when a tree falls in the woods?
Papi: No, it's like when we play a game and you sit in the clubhouse playing Star Wars on the WII.
Manny: But I hurt my knee and I'm a Sith Lord!
Papi: You been talkin' to Scott Boras too much.
Manny: Look, it's okay with me if Boston doesn't like Manny. My feelings ain't hurt. Sticks and stones don't break my bones.
Papi: ...
Manny: Manny can play baseball anywhere. Boston...Japan...Iraq...
Papi: Think abot this, Manny. They don't have baseball in Iraq 'cause they are too busy shooting each other with guns.
Manny: The moon, then.
Papi: They don't have baseball on the moon, either, 'cause they don't have air.
Manny: I'm gonna wear a spacesuit. I'm not dumb.
Papi: You got me there, man. Have fun on the moon, or...wherever. Just one thing, though.
Manny: I can get you a spacesuit too, don't worry.
Papi: No, no, listen. Fenway...Fenway keeps the Monster.
[They think about this for a minute. Manny looks up at the sky.]
Manny: Goodbye, moon! I got to stay in Boston!
Papi: It's one in the afternoon, Manny. That's the sun.
Manny: I know. That was a symbolic gesture to the heavens, much like the actions of the Biblical figure Job. You should read more.
Papi: ...
Manny: Did you say one o'clock? Time for juice and cookies!

II. Overheard, Talking About Practice, Practice, Man, We Talking About Practice
Papi: So what'd I miss?
Tek: Well, um, Manny wants a trade.
Papi: I know.
Tek: And Pap and his wife are expecting a baby.
Papi: I know that too, I was there.
Tek: ...What the dang--
Papi: When he told us, man, when he told us. You catchers got dirty minds.
Tek: We do not! I just didn't understand you there, man, 'cause I've been a little preoccupied, what with me bein' in the worst offensive slump in the history of mankind.
Papi: Yeah, what's that about?
Tek: I think my bat's allergic to leather.
Papi: Come here, come here. Watch me and copy what I do.
Tek: Copy what? The way you heal sick children with hugs? 'Cause that's pretty cool.
Papi: Man, just pay attention.
[Papi crushes a batting practice fastball into the bullpen.]
Papi: Now you.
Tek: Gotcha.
[Tek flies out to shallow center.]
Papi: No, no, no, no. I said copy me!
[Papi hits a ball directly into the red seat.]
Tek: Okay.
[Tek grounds it foul down the first base line.]
Papi: Why you playin'?
Tek: I don't know, Papi, why am I playin'? Please make me stop.
Papi: I show you one more time.
[Papi hits a ball over the monster, over I-95, over New Hampshire, and into Portland, Maine, where it lands in the outstretched glove of a grateful Sea Dog.]
Papi: You got it now?
Tek: Um, maybe if you show me that one again.
Papi: Hit a damn baseball!
[Tek hits a double high off the Monster.]
Papi: My work here is done! I gotta go, it's time for rounds at Children's Hospital.
[He dusts his hands off and walks away. Tek takes another cut and bounces a ground-rule double around Pesky's pole.]
Tek: There goes my hero.

Interlude: Another County Heard From
A-Rod: Hey, Papi! Remember that time we had dinner during the All-Star Break?
Papi: You mean last week?
A-Rod: That was awesome.***
Papi: It was okay.
A-Rod: We should do it again! We should bring our families! Actually, we should go on vacation together!
Papi: ...I'll let you sit next to me at PF Chang's if you be quiet.
A-Rod: You're my best friend!
Papi: You're buying.

III. Overheard via the Parents Television Council
Beckett: I'm fuckin' glad you're back, dude.
Papi: Thanks. Pass me a bottle of water?
Beckett: Hey, waiter! Bottle of water for the fuckin' man here!
[Justin Masterson looks confused.]
Papi: Never mind, I'm good.
Beckett: You sure? 'Cause I don't mind, I can make the rookies do whatever you need. I got 'em good and scared of me.
Papi: Umm...so how you been?
Beckett: Me? Great.
Papi: Yeah?
Beckett: Yeah. Executin' pitches.
Papi: Yeah?
Beckett: Yeah.
[Long pause.]
Beckett: I mean, I don't expect fifteen fuckin' runs every fuckin' time I pitch...
[Beckett sniffles. Papi nods.]
Beckett: I know it's my fuckin' job to throw fuckin' strikes, I know, but--
Papi: Hey.
Beckett: Two fuckin' runs, man, that's all I need is two--
[Beckett lets out a sob and is instantly folded into a hug of record-breaking size.]
Papi: It's okay. Papi still loves you.

In conclusion, overheard in all of Boston: BEAT L.A.!

*This is a lie. We don't really have that.

**Or those.

***The resemblance to a Chris Farley sketch here is purely coincidental. Rodriguez has never really gotten into Saturday Night Live. He does have a tape of that one time Jeter was on, though.

We do not blog about losers in this house

2008-07-20T21:48:00.006-04:00

This blog is currently on strike until the Red Sox win a fucking game on the road.*

*We're actually just really stupidly busy in the real life sense, but the point remains. We'll be back next week, and we're looking forward to seeing Papi's smile (and swing) on our televisions when we return.

We do not sleep in this zzzzzz

2008-07-08T12:23:00.009-04:00

So Papi's taking BP (seriously, repeat it with us: we want our Papi back!), and they're pulling an anti-Joba with Masterson, sending him back down to the farm to pitch out of the bullpen. In the meantime, Bailey's coming up to give us a better pinch-hitting option than Tek,* Dougie visited the Fens and announced that he's coaching his girls' coach-pitch team,** Lugo's still our starting shortstop, and someone needs to hold Manny accountable for some of the crap he's been pulling lately. That about sum things up?

But, look, for all the frustration of yet another road trip gone horribly wrong, for all the times we banged our heads against a wall when Tek came up in the ninth/the bullpen blew a lead/Manny watched a pitch straight down the middle/someone grounded into a double play/another man was left on base, at least our team hasn't resorted to having a catcher pitch. Yet. So it really could be much worse.

And, hey, the ~~Devil~~ Rays have to lose a game or two sometime, right? So all the Red Sox need to do is take care of their own business, try to combine some killer pitching and offense on the same night once in a while, and maybe invest in a few Scott Kazmir voodoo dolls. Just in case.

So repeat after us: it's only (almost) the ASB,*** it's only (almost) the ASB, it's only (almost) the ASB. And, as the great Kevin Millar once said, it's not time to jump off the Tobin Bridge just yet. Or at all. Ever.

Now let's get out there--or, rather, the guys who are actually on the team should get out there--and beat up on the Twins. Sure, they're good. Sure, their catcher can hit. Sure, they've got outfielders who can actually throw and a Canadian first baseman and a whole bunch of wonderful things we're really not all that educated about (mostly because, well, we don't particularly care). That's not the point. The point is this: this is Fenway, not the Metrodome, and it's time to win some games. For the good of our sanity, and the sanity of the greater New England, etc., area.****

*Look, we obviously love the guy, but we're not delusional: the dude couldn't hit a knuckleball-that-didn't-knuckle these days, and no way should he be hitting with the game on the line in the ninth. Not in Tampa Bay, not in New York, not in Boston.

**And to give Tek some tips on how to become a stud who hits bombs.

***It's entirely possible that we're actually excited about the All-Star Game this year. We're pretty sure it's because of those crazy Statues of Liberty and the insanity of the whole "Last Year of This Particular Yankee Stadium" thing.

****We refuse to call it "The Nation." For reasons.

We do not miss June in this house

2008-07-01T15:11:00.005-04:00

Earlier this season, walking home from our regular Sunday Dunkin Donuts* run, an older gentleman--perhaps noting Caroline's Ramirez t-shirt, or maybe spotting Jennifer's ubiquitous cap--called out, "Hey, what's going on with your team?"**

We said, as one does, that we didn't know. That we hoped they'd figureout how to do what they were doing at Fenway in the Metrodome, at Comerica, in the Trop. We talked about our pitchers, and Manny'sswing, and the persistent awesomeness of Tim Wakefield. We talked about Tampa Bay.

He said, "Do you think they're for real?"

He said, "Because I think they are."

He said, "They remind me of my '67 Sox. The Impossible Dream, you know? Young, talented, fun to watch. They play to win. I think they're for real."

He told us that 1967 was his favorite summer of his life, not becausehis son was born that year but because of the Red Sox. Because of Yaz. Because of Dick Williams' managerial stylings. He still remembered who was on a strict diet, and whose ass got kicked on the way to glory. When he talked about the summer of '67, he sounded the way we young whippersnappers feel when we come across, say, VH1's "I Love The New Millennium: 2004" and freeze in our tracks, hoping for a glimpse of Bronson Arroyo.

It was still fresh. It was still present.

We said our farewells and started toward our apartment. The season was young, barely beginning, and anything was possible. Maybe for us, but maybe for the Rays; maybe for Toronto or Baltimore or, god forbid, even New York. Our coffees were getting lukewarm. We turned the corner onto our street.

*Tangentially, this Dunkin Donuts is currently papered with Papelbons, from the lifesize cutout in the corner to the poster on the wall where he looks like he's about to throw an iced coffee fastball. We're not sure whether we're supposed to be amused or intimidated. Probably we're supposed to buy stuff.

**Timestamp: one of the hellish road trips. Pick a road trip, any road trip.

We do not put the blame on you in this house

2008-06-21T20:33:00.005-04:00

06/20/08: Cardinals 5, Red Sox 4

Yeah, we were there.

We were there before and after the rain, there to watch the Celtics' duck boats get soaked and still there, a little damper, when they returned for the ceremonial first pitch. The Truth threw some high heat, but Jason Varitek couldn't handle the ball and had to chase it all they way to the backstop He managed to find the ball, though, and walked it back to the mound, where he shared a Captain to Captain handshake and a few hugs with his taller, lankier brethren.

That was pretty much the highlight of the evening. Well, that and Pap & Manny's music video debut. We seriously spent the entire time it was playing alternately staring, laughing, and turning to each other and saying, "That's so special, it's like riding the bus with Rosie O'Donnell's sister." If that video's not up for a MTV Music Video Award* next year, we're going to pitch a fit.

The game itself was mostly forgettable, if exciting enough in a give-and-take way. There was a bit of confusion in our section when loud cheers could be heard after a Cardinal home run; turns out there was a relatively large crowd of Cards fans in attendance, which just isn't something we're used to at Fenway. We've been spoiled, we know, but it was still a strange experience.

So, yes, there was a game. Wake was serviceable, if not great, and Oki continued to alternate moments of brilliance with moments of BP pitching. And then there was Aardsma. He's been frustrating this season, combining that fastball of his with an inability to throw strikes, but last night he was perfect. One-two-three strikeouts, beautiful strikeouts, and the baseball highlight of the evening by far. By that time, much of our section had cleared out (there were lots of families with small kids, and it was getting late), and we turned to each other and said, "We're glad we stayed, not just because it's right. Because we got to see that."

Let's not even mention today's game, okay? The PawSox are winning! Watch the PawSox hit home runs! Thrill as Jed Lowrie turns yet another double play! Do not think about Julio Lugo. Ignore him and he'll go away.

*Do those still even exist? The last time we saw a Video Music Award, it was being stolen from its rightful winner by a Beastie Boy.

We do not know the name of the NBA championship trophy in this house*

2008-06-18T14:00:00.005-04:00

Look, we are not huge Celtics fans (by which we mean this: we are not NBA fans, though since reading Let Me Tell You a Story we've maintained that the one team we'd root for would be Red's team). We're more college hoops people, to be perfectly honest, and women's college hoops at that (Big East represent), so it'd be a lie to say we've watched more than a few** regular season C's games this season. And it's not like we watched every post-season game, either.*** But, still, we--like so many others before us--have been sucked in by the drama and the "Beat LA!" chants at Fenway and the happiness on our Actual Celtics Fan friends' faces, and we were thrilled that the Celtics finally decided that, you know what, this historical comeback and trading off leads stuff was all fine and dandy, but it was time to stomp all over Not Jordan and his band of not-so-merry men.

So, yes, we too found ourselves giggling for joy when KG started screaming incoherently, and we're still not over the moment when he hugged Russell and said, "I hope we made you proud." Sports can be really amazing sometimes, you know? Congrats to the Celtics on number 17.

Moving on to the actual subject of the blog, we're heading down to Fenway on Friday, and while we're bummed that we won't get to see Albert Pujols in action, there's a part of us that's more than a little relieved that we won't get to see him go deep off our favorite knuckleballer north of Pawtucket, one Mr. Timothy Wakefield. We'd also been assuming our favorite Cardinal, Yadier Molina, won't be playing after sustaining a concussion--and holding onto the ball!--in that collision at the plate a few days ago, but we're really not sure of his status at the moment. Anyway, needless to say, we're excited. It'll be our first Wake start of the season, so here's hoping the knuckler will be all knuckley and Manny and Youk will be back in the lineup.

Coming soon: we talk stolen bases, ESPN, Jon Lester, and the direct statistical correlation between weddings and an increased workload with a decided lack of blogging. "This has been Sports Night on CSC"-- oh, wait, never mind.

*Naismith is something else, right?

**Translation: more than one. We watched part of a game when down in Florida for spring training, and a few minutes here and there, mostly while flipping channels or when we knew it was late enough in the game to actually matter. We're pretty sure that all adds up to one total game. Like we said: not big NBA people.

***Once the weather turned, however, Jennifer could follow the action by the shouting of her neighbors. It was kind of awesome.

We do not accept that Oakland's pitching is actually that good in this house

2008-05-25T20:10:00.005-04:00

05/23/08: Red Sox 3, Athletics 8
05/24/08: Red Sox 0, Athletics 3
05/25/08: Red Sox 3, Athletics 6

First, we'd like to thank Big Papi for ensuring that Jon Lester's was the only no-hitter this week. Call us selfish, call us sentimental, call us slightly tipsy after watching multiple hours of "hey, look, the Red Sox can't get a hit" theater, but we kind of wanted Jonny to retain sole Best Pitcher in the World bragging rights for the week.

Plus, you know, we actually wanted the Red Sox to win. Unfortunately, we didn't get that particular wish, and Jennifer's starting to think her latest no-hitter commemorative desktop wallpaper might be to blame.*

But, seriously, this insane home/road split thing is driving us batty. How can this be the same team? It's like, once they leave the friendly confines of Fenway Park, each and every player is replaced with Folgers crystals. Can you tell the difference? We sure can, and we'd like our real players back. Even after adding some cream and sugar, this instant stuff just isn't getting it done. Yes, the A's trio of starters** pitched good games. Yes, Wakefield had a pretty bad start, though at least he went deep enough to save the bullpen. No, Beckett wasn't at his best, but he also only gave up two runs and most other nights the story would be the way he minimized damage and managed to get the A's to strand most of their baserunners, not to mention the sexy, sexy Ks. Lester struggled, but, in the end, the offense didn't get it done (and the bullpen, Not Your Father's Javy Lopez, didn't hold it down).

It just defies explanation how this team can score eleven runs one day and struggle to put one across the board the next. Guys who were hitting everything in sight during the homestand are striking out and grounding into double plays left and right now that they're on the road ('Tek, we're kind of looking at you,*** even though we'll always love you best--what did you do during your two games off that has you looking like the guy we all worried about at the start of the season? We miss the guy who got two hits while catching a no-hitter, and we'd really like to see him back). At least Manny looked good today? He obviously put his day off to good use, and we're hopeful that whatever he discovered watching tape of himself won't come back anytime soon.

Next up: Seattle. Now, we know you guys have had your troubles at Safeco, but--no matter how much Caroline wishes this wasn't true--the Mariners aren't very good this season. In fact, they're almost epically bad. Of course, because the Red Sox always seem to luck out**** when it comes to pitching matchups, King Felix will be toeing the rubber for them the first game up, but we have faith that the Sox will find the missing bag of awesome en route to Washington. Either that, or Manny Being will remind them about the rules of hitting (after all, he just rediscovered them himself, right?), or Papi will pull out the old "bad-ass motherfuckers" speech. Whatever works. Just, please guys, win?

*It's either that or her Yankees-loving mother, who e-mailed to remark upon the fact that the Red Sox were doing well and the Yankees were not, thus setting off a whole chain of games in which the exact opposite has been true. Mothers: can't live with 'em, wouldn't be here without 'em, can't talk to 'em about baseball.

**We, like Tito, are thoroughly sick of seeing Harden on the mound, and Duchscherer, of course, pitched that gem of a one-hitter. Blanton didn't seem all that amazing, but he was certainly good enough to win (which, in the end, is all that counts), and we're willing to admit we were distracted by Clayton Kershaw's debut for the Dodgers on mlb.tv.

***We're also, of course, looking at Kevin "0-11" Youkilis, Jacoby "2-13" Ellsbury, Dust--eh, never mind, this is just getting depressing.

****For definitions of "luck" that involve, you know, facing every team's ace (who just happens to pitching "the game of his life" that particular night).

We do not say "no, no" in this house

2008-05-20T00:02:00.006-04:00

(Reuters photo)

05/19/08: Royals 0, Red Sox 7

It was apparent early in tonight's game that Lester was pitching especially well. There's a sense about these things, a gradual build that led us from murmuring our appreciation for a ground ball out, to pumping our fists and calling Jacoby "baby," to holding our breath.

In the end, there, one of two things could have happened. We could've died of cardiac arrest and left nothing behind but debt and a memorial 5K, or Lester could've gotten the last out. It came down to the wire. Happily, we are not writing this from beyond the grave!

So, we don't think we can call this guy 'Little Jonny Lester' any longer. As Jason Varitek* pointed out in his postgame, Lester was a youngster and now he has become a man. A big man. Like Nolan Ryan. A man with a pretty line of zeroes floating behind him.

We salute you, Jon. Drink deep from the keg of glory, for today you are the best pitcher in the world.**

*We would be remiss in our duties as your local Tek fanatics if we didn't point out that this gives our beloved blogsake the record for most no-hitters caught by a single catcher. But he'd want us to remember that this is Jon Lester's moment. Still, congratulations, Captain Gameplan. This must be why Brian Cashman wanted to shoot you into space.

**Dennis Eckersley said.

We do not approve of the rising price of stamps in this house

2008-05-13T23:38:00.005-04:00

05/13/08: Red Sox 4, Orioles 5

Congratulations to the AL East leading Tampa Bay Rays.

Now that we've got that out of the way, and since it worked so well last time, a plea:

Dear Red Sox,

First of all, let us reiterate that we love you. We love you when you're executing pitches and we love you when you're decidedly not. We love you when you're scoring runs and making it look effortless, and we love you when you're grounding into double plays and stranding everyone on base. So there's that. We may threaten you and throw things and scream and curse up a storm, but that doesn't negate the love. Remember that.

So when we say, "Execute fucking pitches, Pap/Wake/Claybee/Becky," we say it with love. And the pain that comes from watching the other team knock one over the wall or hit another RBI single or laugh with Sean Casey at first base after drawing yet another walk. But there is love somewhere lurking beneath the profanities.

When we say, "Stop with the rally killing, Tek/Mikey/Manny," we say it with love. And the pain that comes from another GIDP or strikeout or failure to advance the runner. The pain that comes from losing. But also love.

When we say, "Oh, god, not another error, Lugo," we say it with pain. Though we haven't said that recently*, so it's probably just unnecessarily cruel for us to mention it here. Oh well. No one ever accused us of being nice.

When we say, "We miss B. Moss," we actually mean exactly what we're saying. And we're saying it with love. We're also saying that we want Theo to continue where we left off with the GBMU project.

And when we say, "Oh, fuck, what's wrong now?", we're freaking out because JD rolled over on his wrist or Coco disappeared (we've been watching without sound for a variety of complicated superstitious reasons that are obviously not working) and is that Youk in right?, but also because we love. And fear.** And love.

However, just because we'll still love you doesn't mean you should give up or anything crazy like that. Do not give in to our new no-longer-Devil Rays overlords, and rage, rage, rage against the stranding of runners in scoring position. In conclusion, please win tomorrow. Pretty please with a cherry on top, even. We promise to buy something shiny the next time we're at Fenway.***

Love,
The Ladies of Respect the Tek

*Look, we actually do want you to feel better, Lugey. We just don't particularly want to go through that whole thing where we don't expect routine plays to be made every single time a ball is hit in your direction. So, you know, it's a conundrum.

**There was a moment later in the game where it looked like Youk and Casey were going to collide. They didn't, of course, but we had a brief nightmarish flash of someone saying, "Now playing in right field, Kevin Cash." The loss seemed almost anti-climatic after that.

***Okay, fine, Jennifer's planning on getting a jersey anyway.

We do not respect the dome in this house

2008-05-10T18:49:00.002-04:00

Quick notes:

1. Joe Posnanski is a hero of ours*, and his comments about intentional walks beautifully articulate something we've always felt, namely, that in most situations that shit is lame. As kids, we always thought we just didn't understand the finer details of baseball strategy that made it logical to put an extra runner on base rather than face him. Now we understand enough of the finer details to sound like giant geeks in front of reasonable adults--and it turns out that sometimes, traditional baseball strategy is just kinda dumb.

2. We're looking to expand our blogroll, both inside of and outside of Red Sox Nation. So if anyone out there has a favorite baseball blog to pimp to us, whether it's your own or someone else's, please let us know in the comments. What's your essential daily reading?**

3. Please win tonight, Red Sox. We'll be your best friends. Okay?

*We started doing the asterisk thing independently before we knew of his writing; the fact that the Poz has a similar stylistic quirk to us is entirely coincidental. Of course, he does it much more gracefully. Buzz Bissinger would say it's because he's a professional.

**If you don't mind, ask your friends, neighbors, and random strangers on the Internet this question, and welcome them to this post to comment with their favorite sports bloggery. We're really looking to expand our horizons. Or just procrastinate more efficiently.

We do not understand why Jed Lowrie isn't the everyday shortstop in this house

2008-05-08T18:23:00.006-04:00

05/07/08: Red Sox 9, Tigers 10

Oh, that kooky Julio Lugo. What a character.

Anyway, we're going to try to focus on the bright side a little here. The painful, crazy, "what the hell just happened?" loss allowed Jennifer to vent some of the work-related stress she's been carrying around all month, so, you know, Julio Lugo: still more expensive than therapy, but at least some one else is footing the bill.

And Dustin Pedroia is a pinch-hit RBI midget. Mikey Lowell is still Mikey Lowell. Youk is angry (and the new "Stud Who Hits Bombs," at least in our little corner of the universe). Tek isn't exactly hitting in Detroit, but that strike 'em out-throw 'em out in the eighth was a serious thing of beauty. We're sure there are other things buried in there (Julian Tavarez is still alive: who knew?), too, but the loss hangover has us in its grip.

Never mind that, for a while there, it didn't look like the Red Sox had a chance in hell of winning this one. We'd even resigned ourselves to the loss, repeating, "the worst we can do is split" whenever another Tiger got on base. The very fact that the Red Sox made a game of it, let alone took a brief lead, was an unexpected bright spot in a game that had all the beauty of a slugfest. An ugly, bloody, fight to the pain. So we're going to cling to that. We're going to remember the, "oh my god he- he did!" when Youk hit his second homer of the game; we're going to focus on out impromptu rendition of "guess who's back, back again? Mikey's back, tell a friend" when our muy caliente third baseman also decided to go yard.

Ninth inning? What ninth inning?

Honestly, as bright as the picture's been lately, what with the sweeping Tampa Bay* and the Papi and the Tim "Wonder" Wakefield, this bleak spot just stands out a little too much. The passionate lobbying of Boston fans got Mike Lowell a new contract**--do you think it can get Julio Lugo designated for assignment? Seriously, if we took up a collection at Fenway over the course of one three-game series, we bet we could raise enough to seriously offset his salary. Or maybe we can just borrow Manny's copy of The Secret, and use the power of positive thinking to make Lugey disappear.

We know what we'll focus on for our happy thought***: the flawlessly executed strike-'em-out-throw-'em-out double play that Okajima and Captain Fenway provided.

Please hold while we replay it mentally...

...yeah, that's the stuff that dreams are made of.

*We were at Fenway on May 2 for the cold rain and the Brandon Moss home run--if you were there, you probably heard us howling about how much we loved him. We wish him the best in his recovery from appendicitis. We bet he'll come back hitting like a tiger, and he's welcome to show us his scar anytime.

**Okay, not really, but if we as a society can pretend that our votes for President and American Idol count, we should be able to go with this one, too! Clap your hands if you believe!

***The other happy thought is that as we type this, Beckett is minutes away from starting. Here's hoping he ate his Wheaties and drank his mescaline!

We do not control the vertical in this house

2008-04-30T18:29:00.005-04:00

04/29/08: Blue Jays 0, Red Sox 1

RCN and NESN conspired to keep us away from baseball-induced ulcers by refusing to broadcast last night's game until it was well underway. Therefore, we spent a good portion of last night watching an exhibition softball game between Team USA and the Oklahoma Sooners and imagining Jonathan Papelbon's rapture over watching Jennie Finch in the circle for Team USA. She's blonde, she's an amazing pitcher, and she wears short shorts with thigh high socks as her uniform. Obviously Pap is in love with her. And he won't hear you talking any smack about her, okay? Okay.

So, thanks, RCN, we missed most of last night's game. In fact, when the softball game ended, our NESN feed still wasn't working. We were forced to watch basketball. And not women's college basketball, a sport that we (like Manny Ramirez) respect and love. Oh, no, this was professional basketball. NBA basketball. Where's the fun in that?*

But luckily the blue screen of doom finally went away, and we were dropped head-first into a crazy pitchers' duel. And how proud are we of Little Jonny Lester**, who finally started throwing some first-pitch strikes and showing that will to win we all know he has? How awesome is our Second Base Midget***? What about that Youk fellow? And how thrilled are we that our Captain seems to have survived the flu, minus a few pounds that he hardly had to spare, and he's back behind the dish where he belongs? And did we mention Little Jonny Lester? And Pap, of course. It would've been nice for Lester to get a complete game, but we were starting to worry Pap would explode if he didn't get to throw.

Yeah, what a game. We assume. The last couple of innings were good baseball, at any rate. M-may we have some more, please?

GBMU for last night: one infield single against the Doc. Which is more than anyone not named Youkilis, Ramirez, or Varitek managed.

*Please do tell us where the fun is in that, if you happen to have its coordinates. As far as we can tell it retired around about the time Michael Jordan switched numbers. We like Kevin Garnett and everything, he seems like a good dude, but the actual games are just shy of NASCAR levels of boring.

**Who would likely kick our asses for continuing to refer to him as Little Jonny Lester, but we just can't help it. It's not his size or his talent level or even his age that causes it, necessarily; we don't think of Jose Reyes as a kid in the same way. Maybe we could convince him to take it as a compliment. We'll just tell him it's his blues musician name. Like Little Walter, or Blind Willie Fill-In-The-Blank.

***In the immortal words of one Vernon Wells, he is "Superman at second base." Our Infield Midget can totally beat up Toronto's Infield Midget.

We do not watch Jamie Foxx movies in this house*

2008-04-26T22:01:00.012-04:00

4/26/08: Red Sox 1, ~~Devil~~ Rays 2

Games like this are why wins and losses are bullshit statistics for a pitcher. Hats off to Clay tonight.

*Because we hate Rays.

We do not pay royalties to sing Happy Birthday in this house

2008-04-11T18:45:00.010-04:00

36 candles on a chocolate cake for our favorite catcher and superhero, Jason Varitek! What does one get for the Cap'n who has everything, if one can't afford to buy him a sixth starter? We hope that the festivities included funny hats, handmade cards from the kids that left Tek covered in glitter all day, and a serenade from Manny Delcarmen's Bullpen Band. And that he came out the other side of all that in good fighting form.

Of course, we all know about the shiny new diamond ring he got this week. That's a hard act to follow.

We watched the opening ceremonies live, watched it on tape again, and might not be done yet. See, we're suckers for all things involving Mr. Johnny Pesky, the score from Jurassic Park, and/or Lord Stanley's Cup**, and we don't understand how anybody could face all three at once without shedding at least one single, perfect tear. Manny kissing Pesky on the cheek was the highlight in terms of unforgettable moments, but almost as sweet was the big smile on Okajima's face as he tried his ring on for the first time. And then of course there was Buckner's triumphant entrance (beautifully described at Cursed to First; if you haven't read that, go now and choke up all over again). We don't see the world through Cardinal-colored glasses, so we really don't get where Deadspin's coming from when they called it awkward. While we agree that most fans didn't have any grudge left against the B-man (see also: our secret Mets fandom), it was obvious that he was really moved by the reception, and it gave fans an opportunity to shower him with love and force the media to bury the hatchet as well.

Though we suppose it was a tiny bit awkward when the red-tailed hawk got an even bigger ovation. But funny-awkward, like The Office was before we stopped ever watching scripted television. Damn you, MLB.TV!

It's been nice to see the bats wake up a little tiny bit against El Tigres; very not nice to see Mike Lowell wounded in battle--now, were we just not paying enough attention in previous Aprils? Is it normal for every team to have at least three people on the disabled list, or is this year special?--and very strange, given the extremely gradual unfolding of this season, to have the first Sox-Yankees series suddenly upon us.***

It seems like only yesterday we were finagling our rotation so that Beckett was guaranteed to pitch against Roger Clemens, a torch-passing moment that's sort of lost its jazz since we learned way too much about Clemens' medical history and his nanny's swimwear. They're pretty much the same teams, though, minus a few pounds and plus a few extra hemp necklaces, and we can't help but wonder what it would be like if Epstein and Cashman were a little crazier and we were watching a Beckett-Santana duel (or a Santana-Wang duel) tonight. There would be blood, and not just on Roger's pants.

Our biggest wish for this particular series, honestly, is that there aren't any rainouts****. We'd prefer to avoid the Morgantastic, McCarverrific hype of a Yankees-Sox doubleheader late in the season. We won't be able to stand it. Our insurance doesn't cover the necessary medication, and they know us at the bars and won't let us run a tab.

*Featuring a new arrangement of the alt-classic "(He Gloved A-Rod In The Face) For Me", comp. B. Arroyo.

**Since we're on the subject, go Bruins (and, Jennifer would like to add, Devils).

***The last time we saw them, it was still called Legends Field, nobody had yet made Jonathan Papelbon try sushi, and we didn't realize that the Orioles were going to take a running leap at leading the division. Abner Doubleday, we're pretty sure, was still alive. And a new invention called "the wheel" was all the rage with the kids...

****The Sox have been lucky thus far with weather, while the Yankees have had drizzle following them around. Is it because Jeter lied when he was seventeen?

We do not E6 (three times!) in this house

2008-04-06T16:34:00.003-04:00

4/6/08: Red Sox 4, Blue Jays 7

Notes on a Scandal:

1. Julio Lugo: now, we don't know stats, but doesn't it seem like his VORP is currently at, like, negative 500? Can we call up Jed Lowrie? Or, um, let Alex Cora play shortstop! Or, heck, let's call up Argenis Diaz from High-A Lancaster!

2. Toronto: our true AL East rivals. This series just confirmed something we've been suspecting for some time now.

3. Josh Beckett: we were worried when he came out throwing 98 in the first, not because we don't want him throwing hard but because we were concerned that he'd tire quickly. Which certainly seemed to be the case, control-wise, especially in the fifth. That said, he did better than his line will suggest, and we're nothing but thrilled to have him back in the rotation.

4. The 3, 4, and 5-hole hitters: need to step it up a notch, start hitting, get hot- whatever you want to call it, they need to do it.* And soon. Maybe finally coming home to Fenway will do the trick. We can only hope.

5. The bullpen: why bring in Manny in the Del just in time to face Frank Thomas with the bases loaded? (Okay, so that's more of a bullpen management question, but still. It seems like Beckett should've been pulled earlier or else allowed to face Thomas himself; bringing in MDC was rather a self-fulfilling prophesy of doom.)

6. The Big Snyde: we at Respect the Tek apologize for any and all jinxes, hexes, and/or curses we may have brought upon you when we mentioned that you looked good in the one spring training start of yours we saw. We wish you the best of luck in all your future endeavors (unless you pitch against the Red Sox, in which case we wish you nothing of the sort).

7. "They were outplayed in almost every face of the game" -Jerry Remy: which leads to the question as to which facet of the game they were not outplayed in. We humbly submit that the Red Sox outplayed the Blue Jays in kickassedness of catchers and Papelbonness of Papelbons.

8. Tito: look, someone needs to get him his pullover back, stat, because obviously the loss of it is affecting his managerial skills. Not only was there was the whole bullpen issue mentioned above, but he kept Lugo in with 2 outs in the ninth and the tying run at the plate. Lugo! Who was 0-whatever in the game! When there were actually people on the bench! Does not compute.

9. The so-called bottom of the AL East: no, really, someone needs to get those memos out and fast, as Toronto's starting to get ideas. And the Orioles beat the Mariners. (The Bay Rays, alas, lost to the Yankees, so maybe the memo's on it's way?)

10. GBMU:** 1-4 with a walk and 2 rbi.

*Though Papi did have an RBI today. Which is more than we can say for Manny "GIDP" Ramirez (who at least played some defense, making that catch at the wall and giving us a false sense of optimism about the game for about 3.7 seconds).

**Gratuitous Brandon Moss Update.

We do not E3 in this house

2008-04-05T17:50:00.002-04:00

4/5/08: Red Sox 2, Blue Jays 10

It feels like someone forgot to hand out the annual memo that the AL East is supposed to be all about the Red Sox and Yankees* (and the Tortimore Bay O'Blue Rays, whoever, no one cares about them, they're just there so Bud Selig can pretend it isn't a two team division) this year. While the Red Sox bullpen's been busy tossing some BP to the Blue Jays, the Yankees have been busy dropping two to their new rivals the Bay Rays. The Orioles are, of course, still the Orioles.**

We knew it was going to be a bad game defensively when the pre-game show focused on the lack of errors on the year thus far. We knew it was going to be a bad game offensively because, well, have you watched any of the games so far? The Red Sox bats are not exactly firing on all cylinders, to cross our metaphors, and the Blue Jays pitchers really like to beat up on the Sox. (Speaking of the Blue Jays beating up on the Red Sox, we're still working on that post about the spring training boycott. No, really, we are.) But, wow, was there some... interesting... fielding out there today.

We're not worried. Yet. We're not freaking out. Yet. We told ourselves coming into this season that we'll be thrilled if the Red Sox come out of April at .500, and we're holding ourselves to that. We're trying to focus on the good things, the "JD Drew seems to be swinging the bat well" things and the "Cash isn't committing twenty passed balls" things, rather than the "Coco/Youk would've had that" things and the "maybe y'all need to practice calling for balls if you're just going to watch them drop between you" things. It's even kind of sort of maybe a little bit working.

And, hey, Josh Motherfuckin' Beckett is coming off the DL, ready to execute some fucking pitches.

April showers bring May flowers, y'all, just keep that in mind. And down in Pawtucket, the Moss is in bloom.***

*Early sample size, obviously, and April's schedule would be a bitch even without the Three Country Epic Road Trip of Doom. Still, this division has the potential to be pretty exciting, if not this year than next year. Good for baseball, but stressful for us.

**We still love you, Millar!

***He went 2-2 with a walk, cats and kittens, and that's all we're gonna say about that.

We do not see by the dawn's early light in this house

2008-03-25T09:57:00.005-04:00

3/25/08: Red Sox 6, A's 5

Fire it up! One down, one hundred and sixty-one to go.

Something we'd planned to say in our next ST post was how well Brandon Moss had been hitting in the preseason, and how he looked very confident and comfortable at the plate to us, and how we were very encouraged and wished good things for him.*

Well, fortunately (kinda?) today's game went on long enough for those who woke up wide-eyed at 5 a.m. and those who snored until a more humane 8:00 to all share in the action. And this morning, Brandon Moss justified our love. In fact, since there are already swarms of men and women worshipping Jacoby Ellsbury, and not without provocation, let us be among the first on the Moss bandwagon.**

Meanwhile, we musn't neglect Manny, who clearly announced his return to Being by punishing Oakland for thinking they could pitch around Papi. Foolish Oakland! Even on the rare occasion when Papi isn't hitting well, an intentional walk is just a red flag to the baby bull. Don't think the Mantra Yoga has mellowed him out so much he won't kick your ass.

As for today's pitchers, we have a few comments, starting with the final inning and working our way back:

1. J. Paps, don't scare us like that. It isn't funny.

2. In some kind of fundamental, justice-in-the-universe way, it felt really nice to see Keith Foulke throw a good inning, even if it was against us. We wonder if he's campaigning to take Huston Street's job away. That might go beyond cosmic balance and into Bizarro World.

3. Last night, Britney Spears tried to ease her way back into the working world with a cameo on How I Met Your Mother. Today, Daisuke Matsuzaka made his return appearance in Japan. Both have been described as "not totally awful, but awkward and unpolished and ultimately irrelevant."***

Coincidence? Or is Britsuzaka back again?

Hide the Sonic burgers, y'all.

*While simultaneously wishing good things for Coco, Jacoby, Bobby Kielty, and Sean Casey. If it were up to us, there really would be no end to our bench.

**We've been thinking that Jacoby fans should call themselves Ells' Belles. Which we suppose would make us Mossy's Posse. Oh, this could get ugly real fast.

***However, only one of them left us whimpering, "Find the damn glove already."

We do not tan, we burn, in this house

2008-03-23T15:14:00.011-04:00

Our Floridian journey began in Bradenton, as part of a crowd that was largely composed of Red Sox fans (though there were a few Pirates fans sprinkled throughout the park, it felt much more like a Red Sox home game). We watched some infielders at BP, made the prerequisite midget jokes, and vowed to buy some TCBY later that afternoon before heading over to our seats in right field.

Our starter* at McKechnie Field was Kyle Snyder, for whom this house harbors a soft spot--it's probably his curly locks. He's also got this endearing mannerism of shaking out his right hand, Fosse style, after each pitch. We were pretty impressed by the way the ball was coming out of his jazz hand. Only one walk and one hit in his three innings, and that just seems like a lot less than he was giving up last year, doesn't it? He seemed comfortable. Timlin and Breslow, alas, did not. It's a sad day for a Red Sox pitcher** when you're outperformed by Byung-Hyun Kim.

For Kim was there. Oh, yes. And don't think a collective shudder didn't go through the stands when he made his way to the mound. It even prompted a discussion in our section about useless players of decades past. Our immediate neighbors were rocking red caps from the 70s and were, apparently, very impressed with our knowledge of Sox past, present, and future. The fact that we could knowledgably discuss both Luis Tiant and Brandon Moss was a pleasant surprise to all of us.

Next up was Legends*** Field. Which is a seriously impressive park, spacious and landscaped and copiously water-fountained, although we question the wisdom of the ad wizards who made picnic tables out of dark blue metal and placed them in direct, blazing sunlight in right field. Nevertheless, we were undaunted. We marched into enemy territory with our heads held high, wearing our Youkilis and Papi t-shirts with pride.

And we continued marching directly to the bullpen to watch certain catchers go through their Respectable pregame routine.

A lot has been said about the condition Tek's in this season and how good he looks, by a variety of journalists who basically seem to want to make us feel a little bit better about our boundless love for the man. It was pretty amazing to see in person how hard he works--we're talking an extended series of stretches and lunges, a round of long toss that backed George Kottaras all the way out to deep center field, and a series of drills with Tuck that included pouncing on invisible, imaginary balls in the dirt. All this, and he was done in time to sign several autographs for small children before watching Bartolo Colon get loose (for all the good that did him). It was, in short, a fierce display of Captainosity.

We almost didn't want the game to start.

Our particular scalding hot picnic table was shared by several New York fans, including a family with two small children and a Brooklyn resident who was featured in Sports Illustrated because of the enormous Yankees tattoo on his forearm. His wife warned us when we sat down that they were "obnoxious fans," and there was no small amount of heckling over the course of the endless first inning. Oddly enough, none of Jimmy Tattoo-Times' taunts (many of which involved Papi and hot dogs) bothered us, because at least he was paying attention to who was at bat. The same could not be said for one soul a few rows back from us who limited his heckle to an efficient two words: "The Naaaaaay-tion." Repeat for nine innings, in an increasingly drunken Jim Carrey-esque whine.

"The Neeeeaaaaaayyy-tionnnn!"

Dude, couldn't you at least try to get an 18-1 chant* going? We're trying to be righteously insulted, but you're giving us nothing to work with.

We played another round of Who's Who with the Yankees fans ("No, that's Javy Lopez--no, not that Javy Lopez, although he did play for us a bit in aught-six, and by the way, are you guys still lugging Carl Pavano around?") and were grudgingly acknowledged as "okay...for Boston people." Maybe we had a mild case of sunstroke, but we felt the same way about them by the end of the day. It was a good way to experience the rivalry without stressing the end result of the game--we've got 162 more chances to get ulcers, after all.

We'll cover Fort Myers and the Workers' Uprising in our next post, and probably throw in some pictures as well. Viva la revolution!

*"You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means."

**Or an Indians pitcher, if you're Breslow.

***At least on the day that we were there, it had not yet been renamed Steinbrenner Field. We really dodged a bullet.

****Jimmy Tattoo-Times did try and start this. His wife promptly shut him up by telling the world that they were Jets people.

We do not play Human Tetris in this house

2008-03-22T21:34:00.003-04:00

When in the course of human events, two bloggers go to Florida in search of spring training with every intention of sharing their experiences with the internet-at-large, but one of them* forgets the power cord for her laptop, no blogging will get done.

Oops?

Anyway, we're back in Boston now, huddled under blankets and space heaters a-blazing in an attempt to reacclimate to the cold,** and trying to describe our trip without resorting to, oh my god we saw Tek and he stretched and did blocking drills and stretched and played long toss oh my god. Which happened, of course, but was hardly the point. No, really. Stop laughing. So what was the point? We're not exactly sure, but we think it had something to do with spring statistics not mattering and getting burnt through our SPF 50.

Oh, the point was maybe that we have jetlag, even though we did not cross time zones, let alone take an 18 hour flight. Hence the continued radio silence. We're in the process of writing up our experiences (e.g. watching the world's shortest baseball strike), our questions (e.g.: why didn't we get to see a real starting pitcher?) and our insights (e.g.: it's so not fair that the Yankees' park is the only one that has an Outback Steakhouse snack stand). Expect a substantive post or three in the next 48 hours. We missed you, oh Internet, and all your works, and all your AP pictures of baseball players making goofy faces.

*Hint: her name rhymes with "Schmennifer" and she does not share a name with the ubiquitous Neil Diamond song played in the Tokyo Dome in the wee hours of this morning.

**Okay, fine, it's not really all that cold, but we got used to that 80F-and-sunny thing really quickly.

We do not hit bombs in this house

2008-03-13T12:44:00.001-04:00

We at Respect the Tek are taking a break from our frantic last-minute laundry and housecleaning and CVS runs for more sunblock (and, oh yeah, doing our actual jobs) to say that we are deeply saddened at the end of the Doug Mirabelli Era in Boston. We are eating chicken parm tonight in your honor, Dougie, and if you're ever in our neck of the woods the drinks are on us.

We do not spring forward in this house

2008-03-09T12:18:00.008-04:00

Be very very quiet. Josh Beckett's back muscles are sleeping.

As bad as it sounds (and the pessimist in us is thinking a month or six weeks), at least it's something we caught now rather than in the middle of the season. Everything's going to be fine, right? Our ace will recover, Dan Shaughnessy's hair will retain its natural curl, and the world will stay on its axis?

We wish we had someone to pat us on the shoulder and tell us it would be okay. We also wish we could just call off National Lampoon's Japanese Vacation. Really, since Beckett shouldn't go and Matsuzaka doesn't want to, can't we just send the PawSox and call it a day? We'd bet they could still thrash Oakland. And Mothra.

Nerves aside, we've been enjoying spring training so far, not necessarily because of the games themselves* as for the sudden flood of pictures and anecdotes, new things to argue about, and little nuggets of comedy gold. It's like running into an old friend for the first time in a year, and finding out that Manny Ramirez bought him a Rolex. Magic! Although honestly, our favorite part of that story isn't the Rolex but the fact that the Manny Being is buying Petey's suits. This is the greatest piece of haberdashery news ever. We can only imagine what it would be like to have his sense of style and his financial carelessness on our side. Maybe something like a combination of What Not To Wear and Snoop Dogg's Father Hood.

Dear Manny, while you're playing fashionista, can you get us a couple of Sox player shirts in feminine cuts that are not covered in pink, glitter, or the sticky fingerprints of Alyssa Milano? Because apparently those are impossible for us mere mortals to find, anywhere, at any price.**

Another thing about Manny, though, he played hooky on Photo Day for the third straight year, so he'll still be rocking the same old photo. If you haven't found time to page through all the pictures (or the new roster photos), let us sum it up quickly for you: Weird nose, serious business face, El Coco Salon and Day Spa, obviously stoned, missing a bottom lip, Captain, just needs to be stopped.

Our fear of Devern Hansack notwithstanding, we're off on our own Spring Training jaunt next week, catching the games on the 16th, 17th and 19th. There we will undertake some very important scouting, like whether Jon Lester can get his pitch counts down, whether Lowell and Youkilis figure to match their 2007 performances, and whether Tek actually has 9.7 body fat. You know, getting to the bottom of the real issues. We're going to attempt to take pictures and blog and all that useful stuff, but as you can tell by this crazy catch-all post, we may just flail around in indecision and love.

*It is wonderful to have baseball back on TV (or MLBTV, also known as the new crack cocaine), absent offense and Mirabelli baserunning blunders*** and all. But having victory back on the TV would not be an unwelcome development.

**Unless one makes one's own.

***Shortstop is not a base, Dougie.

We do not sell rhymes by the gram in this house

2008-02-27T22:37:00.006-05:00

SCENE:
A posh steakhouse in Ft. Myers, Florida. A table.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE:
Jason VARITEK
DOUGIE FRESH Mirabelli
CHORUS of Baby Catchers*

VARITEK: We few, we happy few, we band of catchers--

DOUGIE FRESH: All right, stop! Collaborate and listen,
Dougie's back with my home run hittin'.
Wakefield throws a pitch that goes knuckle-y,
Killin' hitters dead like William F. Buckley.**
Will it be a strike? Yo, I should know
Into my glove it'll go.
To the extreme, I hit grand slams like Slim J.D.
Making pitchers cry all "Dude Looks Like a Lady."
Love it or leave it, I had to lose weight,
But you better be watching when I block home plate.
If you want a lobster, yo, they'll boil it
Tek's gonna pay, I'm'a go hit the toilet.

CHORUS: Deep deep Dougie.

VARITEK: Mirabelli--

[DOUGIE FRESH exits.]

CHORUS: Deep deep Dougie.

VARITEK: I need another drink.

*Because we're not sure who all were there, exactly. Or how to spell their names. Sorry, we're still hung over from Doug Mirabelli Appreciation Night.

**RIP, we suppose.

We do not have a Rocket in our pocket in this house

2008-02-14T20:43:00.010-05:00

Y HALO THAR BASEBALL (AP photo)

Pitchers and catchers are reporting for duty, and so are we!

How did we spend this offseason? Um, toning up, of course. Hey, these carpals didn't tunnel themselves. Also, we invested some time in pretending to care about the Celtics.

Honestly, even the most baseball-avid among us must admit that the off-season has been rather stifling. Santanagate dragged on long past its best-by date.* And as important as the Mitchell Report revelations were, they've been scrutinized to death. We believe the PED debate needs to move past Roger Clemens' bloodstained pants and his nanny's bikini to actually deal with current and future policy before we'll care enough to analyze it--so, between day jobs and the colds from hell and a sort of general winter malaise**, we've completely and utterly failed to blog. At all. Consider us deeply shamed. If it's any consolation, any posts would've been along the lines of, "hey, look what Center Field or Surviving Grady or Basegirl just said," so if you've kept up with them (and you have, right?) you should be fine.

In the spirit of starting fresh, here are five things we're ready to enjoy about the 2008 baseball season:

1. With Erik Bedard moving away from Baltimore, the Sox will see him much less frequently. And he'll be on the Mariners, a team we think of with deep fondness. This is as close to a perfect trade as we can imagine. It would only be better if the entire lineup of Los Los Angeles Angeles of Anaheim decided to find their true calling in ballet.

2. Dustin Pedroia Year II: Midget's Revenge. If offseason reports are to believed, he is adding muscle and ego at an alarming rate. We can't wait to see the next round of great pitchers laid low by Mighty Mouse. Of course, we're also thrilled to see what Lester and Buchholz can do with a full and hopefully healthy*** season ahead of them, whether David Aardsma has the stuff to make it to the bullpen, how Sean Casey will fare, and what's left in our beloved Tim Wakefield's tank. But only one man on the 40-man roster has offered to take us to the gun show.

Petey, we're so ready for the ride.

3. We'll get to learn whether any of the young catchers in Tek's posse get a cup of coffee this year:

The sweetest dressing gang in pants.

Everyone in the Soxosphere has been running around all Henny-Penny about the fact that Tek doesn't have an heir apparent. But not us. We like George Kottaras and Ty Weeden; and we love Dusty Brown, who showed us a great arm at the Futures game last year, and looks like Rob Lowe's husky-but-still-hot brother. We'd love to see one of these guys get a chance on the big stage to prove the doubters wrong. And of course, if it's not to be, we will just have to send the posse above to challenge the Texas Rangers' catcher posse to a dance war for Saltalamacchia's soul.

4. Games. Like, every single day, new actual games. Scores. Standings. Goofy pictures of guys trying to slide into third or falling down underneath a pop-fly. Games we get to see at Fenway. Games on the radio. Games we sleep through 'cause they're in freakin' Japan. Games where Eric Gagne is facing us from the other team! Games where Papi will hit roundtrippers off which unfortunate Weaver brother dares to face him, and games where Papelbon will strike out Alex Rodriguez, or Kevin Millar, or a moose! Who could ask for anything more?

5. Live! In person! Spring training!

Yes, we are lucky. We're going to venture out of the pixelverse and into the really real world, for the very last week before the Red Sox fly east. We'll be attending three exhibition games, including one against the Yankees. We're both thrilled--it's a first time trip for both of us, so any Fort Myers or Tampa advice is welcomed. In return, we promise to do due diligence in our scouting. Any bloodstained pants will be reported post-haste.

We promise to actually do better keeping up with the blog, too. Because baseball, it left us in the winter, but today it came charging back, with chocolates and roses, with pitchers and catchers, with candy hearts reading "be mine" and T-shirts reading "do it now."

Welcome back.

*Though congrats are due to Omar Minaya and the Metsies for getting it done in the end (and for far less prospect-wise than anyone assumed possible). Now if only Pedro would step away from the cockfights...

**Not football-related. As a household, we are more interested in the recent revelation that Eli Manning and Jonathan Papelbon are duck-hunting buddies than in anything Manning might do in a game-type situation. Did...did they mean Nintendo Duck Hunt? Do we dare to hope?

***Touch wood. Toss salt. Cross your fingers. Contact your dead relatives. Rub Barack Obama's head. Whatever you do for luck, and hope, and gratitude, take a moment and do it for Jonny Lester.

We do not pirate media in this house*

2007-12-28T09:57:00.001-05:00

Usually the awesome picture posts are the province of Out In Centerfield, and usually we don't, er, loot Boston Dirt Dogs for content, but this bears repeating:

Photo: Gene Duncan

Varitek going capitán al capitán against Hook.

Well, considering the bullpen is the Black Pearl, it was only a matter of time. Still, the Jack Sparrow hat/wig really puts this over the top.

We eagerly await spring training, when Tek will have to explain to the pitching staff that, no, this doesn't mean they're allowed to use swords and pistols against the Detroit Tigers this year, and, yes, his wife is still laughing at him.

*Please tell the RIAA we said so.

We do not believe that Grandma got run over by a reindeer in this house

2007-12-25T10:55:00.001-05:00

Were we the kind of people who actually send out holiday cards, rather than the kind of people who just talk about it on the internet and never manage to get cards printed (let alone mailed) before Opening Day, these are the holiday cards we'd send:

Watch what you say, now,
'cause Jonathan Papelbon
believes in Santa.

As the voices in Pap's head would say, dance when the spirit moves you, always keep the eggnog flowing, and Happy Holidays to those who celebrate 'em. Hopefully we'll get back into posting semi-regularly once the insanity of the season passes.

We do not go a-wassailing in this house

2007-12-11T18:56:00.000-05:00

Oh, hi! We've been terribly lackadaisical about posting, obviously. Here, in a nutshell, are the riveting thoughts we've failed to write down:

1. Don't trade Ellsbury! No, wait, don't trade Lester! No, wait, don't trade anyone! Just screw the 25-man roster, issue all our pitchers the same uniform number, and convince everybody that Lester and Santana are the same guy.*

2. Maybe not this year, maybe not next year--since this blog's namesake will, as far as we are concerned, be forever young--but someday, the Texas Rangers will put the Saltalamacchia in the basket, or they will get the hose.

3. The Tigers are going to be scary this year, so much so that they might be able to stand it even if Jeremy Bonderman does keep wetting his pants on the mound. Our fond friends the Mets will also be scary, in a much less pleasant way. And is anyone else out there falling in love with the ragtag, felonious crew that is your 2008 Washington Nationals?

4. The Virtual Waiting Room: brilliant loyalty test/torture device, or brilliantest loyalty test/torture device?**

5. What can we give you, oh patient reader, for the holiday season?

Well, we have an answer for that last one. Finally!

The Bullpen Band T-Shirt is available!

Pick one up and show your pride in Manuelito, The Admiral, El Snyde Grande, and of course, This Year In Closers, Jonathan Papelbon. We're not making any money off 'em, but if you like them, or you have an idea for something else you'd like the logo slapped on, please leave a comment and make us feel pretty.

We'll be posting our holiday card images soon, as well, but in the meantime, don't forget to stop by Center Field and enjoy Texas Gal's highly awesome Advent calendar. Twenty-five days of Sox videos, links, and above all, pictures that are just crying out for lolcat captions.*** What is not to love?

*It's the mirrors.

**We're pretty sure we were able to get tickets, but the VWR claimed the package was sold out hours before it let us buy. So we may simply end up throwing ourselves bodily through Gate E some Friday night this spring.

***Curt Schilling: he's in ur dugout, writin ur emo lyrics.

We do not remain lucid within our food coma in this house

2007-11-23T12:16:00.000-05:00

We hope you're all having a lovely Thanksgiving/Black Friday/Mikey Lowell Contract Week of Joy. Our own celebratory plans were foiled by the MLB's lawyers and the folks at CafePress. Do any of you fine folks know a sneaky alternative where we could possibly get Manny Delcarmen's Bullpen Band T-shirts printed? Because the design's ready to rock, but apparently the name is taboo. Check with us if you have suggestions or questions. We want to make the magic happen!

Anyway, in lieu of jersey-knit gifts or deep hot stove analysis (we're getting a little scared of the "The Angels" Angels of Anaheim; is that just us?), we give you an excerpt from Robert B. Parker's novel Hundred-Dollar Baby, page 182 in the mass-market paperback:

"Is there anything you believe in?" I said.

"My wife," Belson said.

I nodded.

"Anything else?" I said.

"Maybe Jason Varitek."

He ate a third of his donut and drank some coffee.

"That's probably enough," I said.

We do not know a hawk from a handsaw in this house

2007-11-15T21:03:00.000-05:00

Old Business:

We've been easing our way into the offseason by downloading classic games from iTunes, and so far we've watched Game 6 of the 2003 World Series--we were too busy hating baseball and all its works and all its empty promises to properly appreciate the dominance of young Josh Beckett* at the time--and Roger Clemens' 1986 twenty-strikeout game. It's a lot of fun. For the record, Baby Beckett and Baby Rocket really do have extremely similar stances, Miguel Cabrera really was a svelte young thing, and the Mariners really did used to wear wide, gold-striped elastic belts. Next stop for our Tardis: 1965 and Sandy Koufax.

Also, we know we're behind, 'cause we haven't said anything since Mikey Lowell failed to sign on the dotted by the deadline.** It's hard to keep up with all the rumors and denials of rumors and noncommittal comments, even if we limit ourselves to Nick Cafardo's mad flailing as our main source of news. No rumor too random to bite your nails over, huh? And how come there's no news on Mike Timlin?

New Business:

Well, tonight Buster Olney claimed on SportsCenter that he expected Lowell to make a decision within 72 hours. So that'll make the weekend interesting, since nothing else is going in baseball news at all.

Oh, and we heard something about Barry Bonds and Alex Rodriguez? We heard that they're forming some kind of wacky Harlem Globetrotter exhibition team together, with a $300 million dollar payroll and George Mitchell as the GM? The Alcatraz Sharks, or something? Bright orange uniforms? Do we have that information right? It's not like ESPN is talking about it at all.

Rodriguez and Bonds have had their parallel storylines going all year, with these great Shakespearean overtones. They are men of great talent and power brought low by ego and greed; they're everywhere and yet they seem elusive, surrounded by myths and mockery.*** We should be fascinated. And we would be fascinated to find out what actually goes on in their heads, if they'd like to step to the corner of the stage and begin the monologue. But as long as they have agents and lawyers, that will never happen. And we just don't want to read, hear, or watch any more of Keith Law and Murray Chass and freakin' Charles Barkley pontificating about Barry's or Alex's issues. We're over it.

Unless there is going to be swordfighting, in which case we are there. With bells on.

*He shakes off Pudge Rodriguez like forty-seven times, to no apparent ill effect. Further evidence for our totally intangible case that Jason Varitek is magic.

**We support the Papel-blog's NDRaPRSFftEMRSoML effort and are definitely all for the emotionally motivated re-signing of Mike Lowell, but we could never be club members because we are not normally discerning, rational or pragmatic. Not like you couldn't tell.

***Also, we once read a scholarly analysis proving that King Lear could really rake.

We do not have to be 5'9" to ride in this house

2007-11-12T21:53:00.000-05:00

Thank you, Baseball Writers Association, for doing the right thing by Dustin Pedroia. We really weren't looking forward to going around breaking all your kneecaps if you'd voted for Delmon Young. Though, with the holidays coming, we could've used the frequent flier miles.

Congratulations, Monsieur Le Destroya. We will try to talk more about your fantastic gameplay and less about how Papi could carry you around in his pocket like a kangaroo does a joey.

And now, back to our regularly scheduled obsessive refreshing of Extra Bases for even a glimmer of a Lowell update.

ETA: Cursed to First has a delightfully eloquent post about Pedroia's many splendors. And now to bed, and dream of four-year contracts.

We do not rely on reality in this house

2007-11-08T21:54:00.000-05:00

Clay Buchholz and Jon Lester are being put on Jonathan Papelbon's shoulder-strengthening program and likely will visit with Josh Beckett to see how he performs his routine. The Sox will have a minicamp after Thanksgiving to go over the strength program . . .
- The Boston Globe, 11/08/2007

When the Writers Guild of America went on strike, it initiated a sequence of events that will have a domino effect on America's viewing audiences . . . A long strike could alter the landscape of network television by dictating an even greater reliance on reality and game shows.
- The Baltimore Sun, 11/08/2007

Our motto here at the Herradura is: 'Hunt and Live Safely - Teach the Children'.
- Official website of Josh Beckett's ranch.

This is the most perfect, most stormiest perfect storm. Ever.

In fact, The Real World: Herradura Ranch will clearly be the finest program of fall sweeps. Particularly the very! special! Thanksgiving episode where Beckett and Buchholz help Papelbon learn the poignant life lesson that there is a difference between "moose" and "male deer." You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll even grow a little. You'll wonder who the hell invited Kevin Millar.

Other exciting programming options (call us, Les Moonves! We're not union!):

Extreme Home Wakeover:
Tim Wakefield shows up at the homes of folks in need, helps them rebuild, and teaches them the Zen of the knuckleball. Children cheer, parents weep, Jordan's Furniture gets a whole lotta product placement. Each week's episode features a bonus Doug Mirabelli segment: "Chicken Parm for the Soul."

America's Next Top Set-Up Man:
Papelbon: "There are five excellent pitchers standing before me, but I only hold four baseball cards in my hands. The pitcher whose name I don't call will have to return to the clubhouse, clean out his locker, and go immediately to the National League or Japan or somewhere. Of course you know about our prizes: a one-year contract with the Boston Red Sox, your own music video on NESN, and one free ride on Manny's pet unicorn. Now I'm going to introduce our judges: Dennis Eckersley, one of the world's first closers; John Farrell, noted pitching coach; and catching diva extraordinaire, Captain Jason Varitek."
Varitek: "...What the hell did you just say?"
Papelbon: "Okay. The first name I'm going to call is..."

The Amazing Race, Literally:
It's just Dustin Pedroia and Kevin Youkilis running across New England on foot and yelling trash talk at each other. That's it. You know you would watch!

We do not go gently into that good offseason in this house

2007-11-04T21:50:00.000-05:00

All week we've been recovering, trying to catch up on sleep and our day jobs and all the things we've just straight up neglected since postseason baseball began, lo, a month ago. Doesn't it seem like it took forever in a temporal sense, but also like there wasn't nearly enough baseball? Shouldn't Josh Beckett be warming up for something right now, and wouldn't we all brave the newly chilly weather to watch him throw one more game? Shouldn't Jason Varitek be strategizing with his binders while Mike Timlin strategizes with his parrot? Can't we play three more games and keep the World Series sweep at the same time?

No? The laws of physics, baseball, and Suffolk County prevent it? Damn. It's going to be a long cold winter. But we've got our love to keep us warm.*

And you know who we love right now? Yeah. Him. And everyone else.

How about two guys not on the World Series roster: Tim Wakefield and Julian Tavarez? Polar opposites, right? The journeyman and the elder statesman. The Red Bull-chugging rubber arm and the reliable starter with the crazy knuckleball. The guy who lets Manny pet him on the head and the guy who keeps Doug Mirabelli as a pet. In spite of their shaky moments, we wouldn't have had much of a season if these guys hadn't been regularly reliable and occasionally spectacular--think of Wake's slick eight-inning outing against Rockies 1.0, or Tavvy's gorgeous relief innings on September 12th. We're delighted the club's picked up the options on these two. Imagining the team without Wake breaks our heart. And Tavvy may just be trade bait, but if not, well, our two baby starters could probably use the backup.**

Speaking of baby starters, we really love Jon Lester right now. We hope he's kickin' back on a couch somewhere, working on his fantasy football team, enjoying the first days of a pain-free, laid-back, regular-guy offseason. He'll have fun shooting deer with Bucky and Becky, and do some running and some weights and whatever it is pitchers do to hone their control. And that's it. And that makes us every bit as happy as knowing he'll come back to a ring ceremony.

How great is it gonna be, when spring rolls around, to see the eight 2004 veterans doubling their bling and their fun? It'll only be topped when Pedroia struts up from the dugout. We loved that boy back in April when he was barely hitting his weight, and only that much because he's a midget. We used to call him the best Little League 2B ever, then JV, and finally a varsity letter man. Now, having proven that he's more talented than he is cute and gritty, our Petey will get a shiny new band of gold to symbolize his triumph. He'll immediately pick a fight with Youk about whose is bigger.

We love Bobby Kielty, too. It'll be good to see him back for the party, and sad that he won't be in a Sox uniform.

Do we really even need to note that we've been breaking into spontaneous "RE-sign LOW-ell" chants*** all week long? We didn't think so.

When we look back in a year or two, this Series, and this season, will seem like they went pretty smoothly--a first-place team for more than five months rolled to a dominant and decisive World Series victory, stalwart veterans and shiny rookies and all. But we watched more closely, and know better. We had Eric Gagne ruin our birthdays. We watched a weakened lineup**** play down the stretch in September while the Yankees were mashing the ball all over the boroughs. We endured three miserable games in Detroit after the All-Star Break and three in Toronto in September, lost to Texas and Baltimore and Tampa Bay, suffered scoring droughts, costly injuries, and a fatigued bullpen tossing batting practice to Cleveland in the 13th inning of Game Two. We should remember all those things. Remember the headaches--our own and Papelbon's--and the ulcers we developed every time Daisuke Bat-suzaka walked the bases loaded. We should remember that the honorable Rockies fought to within one run in three of the four World Series games, making for a little bit of old-fashioned New England pearl-clutching before the town's best Irish dancer slammed the door.

Why hold on to the stress and pain along with the love and glory? Because it all goes to prove the point: our team could make all those mistakes, from the front office to Manny throwing his helmet, and still post dominant numbers across the board. Our team didn't quit until the last out, didn't fear momentum shifts, didn't panic, and David Ortiz made sure they never forgot their bad motherfucker-hood. Don't lose sight of how close they came to falling apart--that's how strong they were, to face that down and lock in and succeed.

This year, they were just that good.

Thank you, Red Sox. Don't stay away too long. What will we do without you?*****

*And T-shirts. T-shirts to keep us warm AND express our love. Thanks for letting us know you're interested--you guys rock, and they will be here very soon.

**Kind of hard to believe that six months ago we were freaking out about Josh Beckett's "avulsion", no? And did they ever define that made-up word to our satisfaction?

***We hope that by this point, Theo is hearing those chants in his head even when it's silent. "Sky Cries Lowell." "I Dream of Mikey with the Crooked Brown Goatee."

****Seriously, we'll miss Eric Hinske but we won't miss seeing him at first base. Maybe he and his awesome tattoos will turn up on a TLC reality show.

*****Next on Respect the Tek, a conversation between Todd Helton and Peyton Manning:
"GAHHH!"
"I know, right? Fuckin' Boston!"

We interrupt our regularly scheduled blog to OH HELL YEAH

2007-10-29T01:22:00.000-04:00

(Globe staff photo.)

Thoughts to follow, when we can think again.

We do not drink Coors in this house

2007-10-28T02:32:00.000-04:00

Thoughts We Thunk During Game 3 of the 2007 World Series:

1. The towel-twirling? Still pretty annoying. We've thought so whenever we've encountered them during this post-season--including the NLCS, which, in all honesty, we had no real opinions on other than a vague idea that late October baseball in Denver sounded cold*--so it's not just the Post-Cleveland Stress Syndrome talking here.

2. That Tulowitzki kid's a pretty damned fine shortstop, isn't he?**

3. Daisuke! With the hitting! We love to see an American League pitcher overcome his bafflement--"why is the ball coming at me?"--to give himslf run support. The fact that he wore his little jacket on the basepaths elevated it from fun to fabulous.

4. Were Caroline to design a Manny Delcarmen Band tour T-shirt, you'd all buy one, right?

5. John Farrell's been talking up Jason Varitek like crazy lately. In every interview we've seen/read/heard with him lately, he's all, "no, really, you can't overemphasize what he means to our pitching staff." We have concluded that this means that John Farrell is totally on board with our "Get Varitek as Pitching Coach When He Retires" plan. Viva!

6. Javier Lopez: still not a lefty specialist. Still not recording any outs. May still be good looking, but we were too busy hiding our eyes.

7. Dancing for Mike Timlin is a great source of cardiovascular exercise.

8. Yelling, "Catch that! Stop them! OMGWTF!" and smacking yourself repeatedly in the forehead also gets your heart rate up. As does yelling, "OH FUCK YOU FUCK YOU SO HARD, MATT HOLLIDAY!" when he hits a three-run homer (look, the combination of that and the towels and the no fucking outs might've lead to some crazy Cleveland flashbacks, okay?). These are obviously the sort of cardiovascular activities that lead directly into cardiac arrest, however, and they are not recommended by any primary care physician with a license.

9. Our rookies: let us show you them.

10. Mikey Lowell really did steal third there, right? I mean, we weren't hallucinating that or anything, were we?

11. Tim McCarver thinks Jason Varitek should be a sergeant major in the army. Or maybe he thinks Varitek is actually in the army. Silly McCarver. Everyone knows that Superman works alone.

12. No, really, our rookies. We want them to continue their little "anything you can hit, I can hit harder" game in the one-two spots for the remainder of the series and for years to come. They should also feel free to incorporate tap dancing.

*Nine out of ten Youks agree!

**Look, we know we've all said that about pretty much every opposing SS we've faced this season (with the exception of Jeter, who is, contrary to McCarver's belief, not a very good defensive SS), but in this particular case it's actually true, even though he could probably stand to cut down a bit on the Jeter Jump. That said, we give Lugo full props for some amazing defensive plays in this game.

We do not dance without moving our arms in this house*

2007-10-22T01:21:00.001-04:00

Jonathan Papelbon has seen the 2004 footage and he knows exactly what happens next. He was getting ready for it all night long.

We confess, we were scared it wouldn't happen, what with the record-setting number of double plays and the untimely return of Julio Lugo's Baseball Blooper Escapades. We were making mental notes of questionable managerial decisions, in case we needed to post our objections here in excruciating detail. Even when Petey-Pie's home run put us up 5-2, we kept reminding ourselves that stranger things have happened, that no lead is safe until the last out is recorded, that goddammit, if you assume you are winning, you're setting yourself up to get hurt.

Well, that's over for now--until Wednesday.

All that is gone and replaced by joy--until Wednesday.

The nerves will come back, but the important point here is, we have a Wednesday.

And we have a Dustin Pedroia--as early adopters, we salute Julio Lugo for pointing out, "That little midget's the man!" We have a Kevin Youkilis, and isn't Billy Beane just eating his heart out? We have a Papi, we have a Manny, we have a Tek--Josh Beckett's "backbone"--who takes a running leap into Papelbon's arms, because this is our tradition, now. This is what we play for.

All those bloggers who talk about Red Sox fans losing their identity are missing one simple yet apparently elusive fact: this team just kicks too much ass not to love. Post-curse reversal, now the Red Sox are just awesome, both in terms of quantifiable athletic skill and in terms of goggles and hugs and Riverdances.

We vote for Keith Foulke to throw out the 2007 World Series first pitch.

See you then.

*We'd fall down.

We do not believe Jacoby Ellsbury when he says he isn't offended by the mascot . . . in this house

2007-10-17T10:30:00.000-04:00

10/16/07: Red Sox 3, Indians 7

Notes on a scandal:

1. No, really, what was the point of showing the Aaron Boone HR from 2003 before the game?

2. First, the disclaimer: Jennifer admits that she has crazy psychological reasons for disliking the Team from Cleveland and is no way unbiased when talking about them.* Second, the question: if you were a Cleveland fan, would you carry a giant sparkly cut-out of the mascot as a sign or would you want to distance yourself from that particular symbol of the team due to it, you know, being pretty fucking offensive? Let's not even get into the Chief Wahoo face paint.

3. Bright sides: the back-to-back-to-back home runs, Jon Lester pitched well, Jason Varitek can't blame himself for the loss.

4. Less-than-bright sides: the fifth inning, grounding into double plays, the fifth inning, stranding people on base, the fifth inning, shots of sad Wakefield, the fifth inning, a complete inability to string together runs, popping out on the first pitch, the fifth inning, losing.

5. If 2003 was Cowboy Up and the 2004 squad were the Idiots, does that make the 2007 Red Sox the Sybils?

* For comparison purposes, let's just say that for her losing to Cleveland is roughly equivalent to losing to the Yankees if you're a normal Red Sox fan. Chat logs from the series thus far feature such highlights as, "I hate them, I really really hate them", "I think...Grady Sizemore might be my Derek Jeter", and "I am trying to at least be happy for the children, but then the players show up in their racist hats and play good baseball and make me want to cry."

We do not have a clipboard of fun in this house

2007-10-14T11:58:00.000-04:00

10/13/07: Indians 13, Red Sox 6

We were really hoping for the Redemption Arc. When Eric Gagné came in in the 11th, ball in hand and determination in his eyes (which we knew thanks to FOX's freaky obsession with the dramatic close-up), we were hoping that this could be the moment he turned it all around, saved the day, and inspired us all to go out and buy his jerseys. It was going to be epic, a thing of legend, a tale for the ages. And he even struck the first batter out, which had to be an auspicious sign, right?

Yeah, it was late. We were tired, and possibly delusional. It was the Epic Tragedy Arc all along.

Eric Gagné, take a page from your fellow countryman Dave Coulier and, "Cut. It. Out."

Yeah, you know how bad the jokes on Full House were? This is how bad the 11th inning went for the Red Sox. It's Stephanie driving her dad's car into the kitchen, or everyone thinking that DJ drank a beer at the school dance. This was a good beginning that went horribly wrong, like Tanner Family Fun Night--and much like Tanner Family Fun Night, it will end with everybody walking the plank.

But as every half-hour is leavened by the brilliant comic timing of Kimmy Gibbler, at least there are things to take solace in. We learned that our guys can hit Fausto Carmona and drive him from the game as quickly as Cleveland got to a pitcher twice his age. And like the raw animal magnetism of Jesse Katsopolis, there was plenty of sex appeal provided by Mikey and Manny and the long ball. Not to mention that there's something we'll always treasure about the sight of Manny's third bases-loaded walk in two days. That's what we call not swinging at bad pitches.

Come to think of it, maybe last night's tragedy arc is really just part one of a very special two-part episode. The series is tied at 1-1, and there's still plenty of time left for us all to learn a life lesson, enjoy a group hug, and chuckle as Jonathan Papelbon says something precocious ("You're in BIG TROUBLE, Grady Sizemore!").

That's how it's going to end, right, guys?

We do not pimp our home runs in this house

2007-10-08T21:16:00.000-04:00

It turns out that it's much easier for us to blog about the bad things--leaving everyone and their mother on base, grounding into double plays, leaving a starter in just one batter too long--than the good things. Like, and this is just off the top of our heads here, sweeping the ALDS against The The Angels Angels of Anaheim through a combination of sexy pitching, sexy long ball, and even more sexy pitching just to finish things off right.

Oh, we admit it, we doubted. We are doubting doubters who doubt. We doubted game 3 starter Curtis Montague Schilling v. 2.0, we doubted the team's ability to generate any sort of offense (we are still shocked that they didn't manage to lose game 2, to be perfectly honest, and considering the NyQuil™ haze through which Jennifer watched it, she's still not convinced that Manny's beautiful walkoff homer wasn't some sort of drug-induced hallucination), we doubted everything and then we doubted everything some more. We were wrong. This is a good thing.

But the man Jonathan Papelbon calls The Big Daddy not only brought his A game, he brought the drama and the fist-pumps. Papi and Manny went back-to-back for the first time this season. And, even more surprising to our minds, they managed to string together seven runs in the eighth without hitting a home run. We could do a complete play-by-play here, analyze the ways the pitching managed to keep the Angels from their running game and wax poetic about Manny's swing, but we're sure you all saw what happened. We're sure you all watched the same post-game interviews we did, heard Schill call Tek "flawless" and praise all the work John Farrell did with him this season, heard Coco call Schill "a student of the game," saw (and were afraid of) Cinco Ocho's crazy crazy eyes. We don't have to tell you what you already know.

So, yes, we doubted. We paced and knocked on wood and had minor cardiac episodes every time an Angel got on base. We'd say we'll never do it again, but there's another game on Friday and we're Red Sox fans. Worrying and doubting and second-guessing and beer are all in our blood.

But, for now, we'll just raise our glasses in a short toast before settling in to see whether or not Joe Torre loses his job tonight.

Guys, here's to making it hard for us to blog. Feel free to do it again anytime.

We do not hold grudges in this house

2007-10-06T16:16:00.000-04:00

The embargo on substantive posts continues (y'all, we have head colds and overpowering superstitions, and if you look over at the sidebar, better men and women have it covered). But we have a couple of notes:

Manny Ramirez, you are forgiven for the first eight innings of last night's game.

Jason Varitek, we ain't mad at ya for going 0-4, since the Globe brought this to our attention:
"I remember when I came to the clubhouse today," Ramírez told Mota, "Varitek told me, 'Hey, you can't leave Boston without a home run.' I said, 'You know it.'
Excellent game plan, sir.

Jonathan Papelbon, you are forgiven for putting your pants back on.

J.D. Drew, you are forgiven for not being Stephen Drew.

As far as we're concerned, David Ortiz has never done anything wrong, or we'd forgive him, too.

And, oh, Josh Beckett, for your Game 1 performance, we forgive you five to six bad relationship and/or facial hair choices. Don't make us regret it.

We do not call Dionne Warwick in this house

2007-10-02T22:34:00.000-04:00

We have not been able to find it within ourselves to write a playoff preview post, for several reasons. Firstly, there are too many unanswerable questions (Ten pitchers, yet Kevin Cash and Doug Mirabelli are on the roster? Can someone explain this with small words and visual aids? The comments section is waiting for you!), and secondly, we are pretty sure anything we say or do would cause an irrevocable jinx. Also, we still haven't fully recovered from Jonathan Papelbon's hangover.

So instead, at this last hour of the last day before the drama begins, let's skip ahead a few pages in the calendar....

2008 Baseball Predictions

- The Cubs start off strong in defense of their division title, but tank when Lou Piniella takes up Transcendental Meditation and starts greeting umpires with garlands of flowers.*

- Tom Glavine returns to the Braves for his swan song; unfortunately, he spends most of the year playing poker with John Smoltz, and ends his season early by falling off Smoltzie's roof. To add insult to injury, Smoltz still makes him finish the gutters.

- Mike Timlin retires, but still hangs out in the Red Sox bullpen. During the first Sox game in New York, he kills all of Yankee Stadium's squirrels and roasts them on a spit.

- Ken Griffey, Jr. hits his 600th home run and is mercifully removed for a pinch runner.

- Johan Santana will be traded to the Mets for a payroll-shaking salary. Come opening day, his pitching hand will fall off and walk away like Thing in the Addams Family.

- Noting that the Colorado Rockies' improbable success followed after the team dedicated itself to Christian morality, the Washington Nationals convert, as a group, to the Rastafarian faith. Wily Mo Pena bats .500 and is named the league MVP.**

- Curt Schilling shocks the world by dropping his bid for a new contract in order to run for President of the United States. (He's working on a 20-point lead in the polls in October, but blows it by shaking off Jason Varitek.)

- Torii Hunter to the Yankees, Melky Cabrera to the Twins, Johnny Damon to a shopping cart in the parking lot of Dodger Stadium.

- The Kansas City Royals win 145 games, dominating all challengers in unprecedented fashion. Unfortunately, no one is paying enough attention to remember which division they're in, and the playoffs go on without them.

- Not to be outdone by C.C. Sabathia's tattoo (his own name, on his back, uniform style), Josh Beckett has Nolan Ryan's name tattooed on his back. He also lodges a complaint with Major League Baseball when he discovers he's not allowed to pitch topless.***

*Lou Piniella is the Walrus. Terry Francona is the Eggman. Goo goo g'joob.

**His AL counterpart is the Triple Crown winning Kevin Millar.

***Which is nothing compared to Papelbon's protest about the oppression of the pantsless in American public life. Seriously, theses will be written.

We do not have words in this house

2007-09-29T00:10:00.001-04:00

But the pictures are worth more than a thousand.

We do not learn our lesson well in this house

2007-09-28T10:54:00.001-04:00

9/27/07: Twins 5, Red Sox 4

One of us was at the game last night and one of us was at home watching (or, at least, watching as soon as it became clear that "The Office" is no longer must-see TV). The following conversation is reconstructed from post-game text messages and kitchen table analysis, minus a whole lot of "oh my God" and "why?"

Caroline: /gently thwaps Beckett upside his head.

Caroline [half an hour later]: /violently thwaps Beckett upside his head.

Jennifer: At least I got to see a Tek homer? Also, I apologize to all other fans for daring to go to another Beckett start. I get it, he hates me, I'll never go to one of his starts again.

Caroline: Yeah, I'm sure you could see Tek moving arond behind the plate from where you were sitting, 'cause Becky was not throwing the ball anywhere in the vicinity of where Tek was setting up. Almost like he was intentionally avoiding the glove, and why would you do that? I mean, apart from A) being A-Rod, or B) hating us, since you'd think he likes his teammates more than he hates us.

Jennifer: What he apparently likes is throwing BP fastballs. In hitter's counts. Over and over. And over. Again.

Caroline: And that throwing error? Like to have killed me, or at least driven me into the arms of Michael Scott.

Jennifer: Oh, God. That was when I knew I was being punished for returning to Fenway after Papi gave us such a great send-off. Message received, okay, baseball gods and mean girls?

Caroline: I guess at least it was a close game where we got beat by a good closer. We know that other teams don't inherently suck because they can't get hits off Papelbon, right? (Of course, Paps says, "Hell, yeah, they suck!" and fist-pumps, but then, he's not exactly a member of Mensa.)

Jennifer: Still, there were Twins fans on the T. A whole family of them, even. Ew. I pay too much for a Charlie Card to ride next to Twins fans.

Caroline: Ew. That sucks. Does not suck: Jason Varitek. Okay, he's not Papi and you can't put the whole team on his back, but a monster home run and the strike 'em out, throw 'em out DP?

Jennifer: Yes! That was pretty great to see! Of course, then he assisted in the suicide of the ninth-inning rally. For which he is obviously beating himself up plenty. Five bucks says he tells NESN he "got himself out."*

Caroline: At least he didn't make two outs on that, Mike Lowell. I was actually sitting in front of the TV thinking, "Captain, if you really, really need to strike out, just do that, babe." Because it could have been more painful.

Jennifer: I just had to explain to a Yankee-rooting coworker who thinks all the Red Sox are ugly and horrible that Mike Lowell may be last night's GIDP king but he is still, as officially sanctioned by People Magazine, muy sexy.

Caroline: It's nice to educate people on baseball fundamentals. You make a good ambassador.

Jennifer: Great, where are my free tickets?

Caroline: Not so fast. For an actual Red Sox Nation government position, you'll have to wait until after the election. And the recount.** But then maybe Remy will consider your resume and assign you a diplomatic post somewhere.

Jennifer: Please, not Philadelphia. I'm allergic to Phanatics.

*He didn't actually say that, but "Personally, I didn't--wasn't able to get the job done" is close enough that one of us owes the other one a fiver. If that man stubbed his toe he would probably apologize for not seeing the floor well.

**It's a funny feeling, but this whole "Tim Russert moderates the presidential debate" thing has us understanding, with deep shame, what makes other baseball fans hate us. Yet, at the same time, we're still extremely amused by Remdawg's attempts to use a history of Dodgers fandom to Swift-Boat Doris Kearns Goodwin.

We do not hunt for Red October in this house

2007-09-22T23:48:00.000-04:00

9/22/07: Red Sox 8, Devil Rays 6

SCENE:
The TROP. Visitor's clubhouse. Doors closed to the media.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE:
The goddamned playoff-bound BOSTON RED SOX (!)
George, a MOUSE

[Enter the team.]

LOWELL: Hey, put a chain on the door--otherwise Tina Cervasio might chew her way in.

HINSKE: That's a bad thing?

LOWELL: You need to get out more.

VARITEK: Does everyone have some champagne? Good. Guys, at this time I think it'd be appropriate to make a little toast--

RAMIREZ: To being Manny! [Raises glass, pulls oblique muscle.] Ow. Not to being Manny.

TIMLIN: To our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ!

YOUKILIS: Seriously? I'm sitting right next to you.

TIMLIN: [Passes Youkilis a Chick tract and a cigar.]

PAPELBON: Um, I wanna make a toast to the Cap'n, 'cause he hit a roundtripper, and more importantly, he kicks ass, which you can tell 'cause he's my catcher and I kick so much ass. [Fist-pump.] Oh, and I hope the Yankees get attacked by robot dogs.

VARITEK: Paps, that's enough.

PAPELBON: Or robot mooses.

VARITEK: Paps!

PAPELBON: 'Kay, I'm done. [Downs champagne.]

VARITEK: Well, that was all very entertainin', but I have a couple things to say. [Raises glass.] First off, good game tonight. We played good baseball. That's important. That's what we have to keep doing for the rest of the season. And, you know, into October.

[Everyone cheers.]

VARITEK: It's real nice to be in this position, but don't forget that this is just the beginning. We worked hard all year and we want the division. We want home-field advantage. We, uh--well, we want bragging rights.

[Everyone cheers louder. Pedroia jumps up and swings around on the ceiling fan.]

VARITEK: Guys, seriously. Let's not get carried away. And Schill, let Beckett up outta the ice bucket already. He's turning blue.

[Beckett emerges from the ice bucket with a stream of obscenities which not even this blog can reveal.]

VARITEK: We deserve to celebrate. We've come a long way. But we still need to keep our eyes on a higher goal--

[Pedroia flies off the ceiling fan and roundhouse kicks Varitek in the chest protector. Since he weighs about 130 pounds, he bounces off and lands on his ass at Varitek's feet.]

PEDROIA: Soccer sucks!*

EVERYONE: Yeah!

[Drinking commences.]

VARITEK: [sits down in the corner with a sigh.] Well, I hope they can at least behave in front of people.

MOUSE: Squeak.**

VARITEK: Yeah. [He grins.] Why start now?

[Curtain.]

*We at Respect the Tek do not share this opinion. We respect soccer, too. Maybe we should make a blog called Respect the Wambach.

**Translation: "Whatever. I was told this party would have cheese."

We do not want to have to say, "we told you so" in this house

2007-09-19T12:00:00.000-04:00

9/17/07: Red Sox 1, Blue Jays 6
9/18/07: Red Sox 3, Blue Jays 4

What did we say about Eric Gagné?

Okay, fine, Jason Varitek tells us "we need him," and normally that'd be enough for us. Normally, we'd say, "fine, let's stop calling J.D. Drew 'Nancy' and start trying to cheer him on." Normally, we'd say, "well, Tek says some of those balls were borderline and with another umpire might've been called strikes, so obviously Eric Gagné is not a ticking time bomb on the mound." But "normally" flew out the window a few losses back, and we are reeling. Of course, judging from the video footage, so is our captain.

In other news, we may not have mentioned it, but in our spare time we also root for the Mets. It's been a long stretch, is what we're saying. A painful stretch. A stretch in which we've watched our beloved pirate gang falter and our captain struggle at the plate, a stretch in which Pedro Martinez* pitched a commanding six innings only to have it tossed aside by a continually shaky Mets bullpen. A stretch that makes us way too excited about tonight's season opener of America's Next Top Model, we tell you what.

Look, we get that Manny's Being Injured and that, without him, the team is not at full offensive strength. We get that Joe Torre's Operation: Take Out the Youk finally came to fruition with one pitch from Chien-Ming Wang, thus leaving us with Eric Hinske** at first. We get that everyone's tired, we get that the Blue Jays are much better than you'd think from looking at their record, we get that the Canadian National Anthem has some sort of hypnotic suggestion in it that makes our guys unable to win ballgames. That said, raid Tavvy's cooler of Red Bulls, guys, and put some earplugs in whenever someone starts to sing, "O Canada! Our home and native land!." Get out there and play. Get out there and win.

*Stay tuned for our Guide to People You Meet at Fenway, featuring Angry Dude Who Can't Forgive Pedro Martinez for Giving Up that Homer to Aaron Boone in 2003 Because Pedro Destroyed Said Angry Dude's Hopes and Dreams and Possibly Even His Ability to Have Children and Cool Woman Who Said, "Um, Wasn't That Wakefield?" and Agreed With Us That Wake Is Totally The Man.

**We actually love Eric Hinske, but we'd rather Youkilis at first than anyone else at this point.

We do not leave games early in this house

2007-09-13T14:13:00.000-04:00

9/7/07: Devil Rays 4, Red Sox 5

This is going to be hard for us to blog about in any coherent way, because how do you reduce the ecstasy of a perfect Fenway Park experience to words on a screen? (Unless you are Beth, who channeled it perfectly.)

I. Pre-Game

For once in our sweet, short lives, we made it to Fenway in time for batting practice, a fun ritual elevated by two sightings: 1) Manny's first live BP since the oblique strain, and 2) Save: J. Papelbon filming the latest Friendly's Scoop. Naturally, the latter drew us down close to the field* and we got to hear him rant about how Tito is a cheatin' manager who better watch his back (we admit to being paralyzed with fear for a moment before realizing he was talking about fantasy football).

Plus, we can now provide a tantalizing sneak peek of future Scoops: Paps inaudibly interviewed Manny Delcarmen and then audibly botched saying his own name three times in a row while taping the intro. So our new favorite saying is, "This is Jonathan Papa-blah-blah." Okay, it's not that handy as favorite sayings go, not as easy to drop into conversation as a Seinfeld reference, but love will find a way.

Jonathan Papelbon: oh, he's real, and he's spectacular.

II. Unsung Heroes

Jon Lester's first-inning peccadilloes definitely gave us chills. And nausea. You know, vague symptoms like Mike Lowell's.** Credit where it's due--once he got out of the inning, even though he continued to terrify us and rack up the pitch count like a pinball score, he didn't allow another run. But this is not a story about starting pitching and its desertion of the greater Boston area. This is not a story about shame.

This is the story of Julian Tavarez and his Moste Merrie Pirate Companie. When Lester departed in the 4th, a tourist standing near us asked, "Are we clapping because he did a good job, or clapping because they're taking him out?" We patiently explained that it was a little of both, and a little bit because we were scared of what might happen once Tavvy had the ball. But he got a quick out to end the inning and followed it with a pair of 1-2-3 innings at lightning speed. The tone of conversation in our little bit of grandstand changed from, "Oh dear, Tavvy time" to "Julian Tavarez, bitches and gentlemen!" He got a standing O for his trouble, and there was no mistaking the intent; that was love.

Daddy Delcarmen and Okajima-Okey-Dokey were both reassuringly effective, and we expected Okajima back to begin the ninth, but then the opening chords of "Wild Thing"*** blared out, and that's when the game really turned around. Papelbon jogged in and paused, prayerfully, on the edge of the infield, and the feeling began to spread through the stands that Francona was doing the right thing**** by sending in Mr. C. Ocho, save or no save. As hapless as the Sox had seemed to that point, the game suddenly seemed to be ours for the taking.

III. Mr. Clutch Is Back

When Papi hit one over the bullpens in the fourth and made the score 4-3, we said to ourselves, "Well, if nothing comes out of this game but the scarring humiliation of losing a home series to a team that wears vests, at least we got to see a classic Ortiz home run." We had several innings to think about what a nice memory that would be, and how we'd hold onto it through the long dark teatime of the off-night. We were prepared. Maybe even resigned.

Then Lugo drew the walk to lead off the ninth, and we started to wonder.

Papi comes to the plate, one on, one out, and of course every one of our 37,000 friends is thinking it.***** But we're all hedging our bets, reminding ourselves that Papi's already blasted in the few runs we have, and we can't expect him to actually single-handedly carry the team. We're thinking that a double would be really nice; that even a long single that got Lugo to third would give us a solid shot at tying the thing up. We're remembering Coco knocking Tek around from second a month ago off the very pitcher we see before us, and we're on our feet hoping that at least it doesn't end here with a double play.

The count goes to 3-1 and we figure they'll just throw him another ball and try to make Youk ground into a double play. But this is not a story about double plays.

Papi hits the ball about a mile in the air, and it just stays up there, floating, doing some kind of crazy dance, with all of us craning our necks and holding our breath to see where it might come down. From our vantage point (and apparently Tito's) it looks like it'll make the seats, but possibly fall foul. (We didn't realize until we saw NESN's replay that the ball was so close to catchable.)

Finally the ball drops, and drops, and disappears. For a split second, nobody is sure where it landed, or maybe nobody's sure they can trust what their eyes tell them they just saw.

Nobody relaxes until we realize that Lugo and Papi are running the bases, and the rest of the Sox are leaping the dugout fence to meet them at home plate.

Pandemonium. "Dirty Water." Hugs. High-fives. Beer. Magic.

This is a story about baseball. In baseball, one swing of the bat can clear away three and a half hours of doubt and depression. In baseball, a bullpen that keeps a stuffed parrot as a mascot can pull together for what really should be credited as a combined win. In baseball, there's no such thing as running out of time.

The moral of the story is that we love our Papi and he loves us.

Sweet dreams.

*Here, have a crappy cell phone picture.

**"Activity from both ends." Ugh. Thanks for sharing, Tito.

***Which are also the opening chords of "Louie, Louie." They are actually the exact same song.

****And that's an unfamiliar feeling in any game which features Eric Hinske at first base.

*****Okay, maybe not every one. We did spot a grand total of two people wearing Devil Ray gear. But we can't say for sure that they weren't being ironic.

We do not negotiate with headhunters in this house

2007-09-09T22:41:00.000-04:00

9/6/07: Red Sox 7, Orioles 6
9/7/07: Red Sox 4, Orioles 0
9/8/07: Red Sox 5, Orioles 11
9/9/07: Red Sox 3, Orioles 2

Hey, Boston, we're officially done with the Os for the season! Everybody set your Kevin Millar phasers back to "gently stun."

Four notes on a four-game series:

1. One of these games is not like the others. One of these games just doesn't belong.

2. Seriously, not to dwell on the single loss, but Dice-K's performance was on par with Britney Spears' trainwreck on the MTV Video Music Awards tonight. Sure, we weren't expecting perfection, but we also weren't expecting a deer-in-the-headlights gaze, slow-motion movements, and the overall sense that the star of the show had abandoned all hope.*

Britsuzaka, get yourself to some kind of "wellness clinic." We're all pulling for you. We hear Bronson Arroyo is already arranging the benefit concert.

3. After being rattled by Toronto, the bullpen was lights out at Fenway South. With the exception of Tavvy (and seriously, they've gotta stop listening to him when he claims he can throw with a two-minute warning and a Red Bull--or else, hook the man up to a Red Bull I.V.)**, our bullpen band did not give up a single run in these four games. Even though we spend a lot of this space giving love to Paps and Oki and dancing for Mike Timlin,*** we sometimes take it for granted. It's nice to pay as much attention to their "routine" dominance as to their rare mistakes. It's nice to see question marks like Lopez and Snyder and bullpen newbie Buchholz shutting down everyone in their path, and even nicer to see Paps getting his save on with an efficient-yet-badass dozen pitches. Can they all win the Cy Young together and share custody?****

4. The bottom of our order stepped it up this series. The Man Papelbon Calls Cap'n came through twice in key late-inning situations, and today he even took a little extra time out for sexy defense; Coco Crisp had a homer, tall socks, and today's game-winning hit. Even J.D. Drew (not technically in the bottom third of our order, but let's not beat around the .383 SLG) contributed, with the bat and on the basepaths. We really want to be pulling for Slim J.D., at least until such time as we have the wherewithal to actually buy the team and start auctioning contracts off on eBay. This week he made our lives easier.

Of course, it's always easy to root for Tek. The hard part is watching him strike out and make a face like he'll never forgive himself, and unfortunately we had to see that a bunch this series.***** We hope he's taking comfort, post-Orioles, in what he did accomplish. And figuring out which of his gloves will best fit Britsuzaka's face.

You know. Tough love.

*They also did about the same amount of lip-synching.

**Someone should also tell Tavvy not to try and be the voice of reason in any sort of fight situation. Did you see him approach the mound to talk to crazed Daniel Cabrera? Did you, also, expect him to pull a shank from his sweatband? When he didn't, weren't we all the tiniest bit disappointed?

***Yes, it still works. Bam-a-lam!

****Can they also have a Grammy? Come on, whatever they were playing, it must be better than the award-winning "My Humps."

*****Blame the umpire, Tek! Mike Lowell totally has your back.

We do not have anywhere to run in this house

2007-09-06T21:23:00.000-04:00

Once again, actual baseball has foiled our plans to blog about something fantastic and trivial.

Original plan: A "Welcome Back, Kotter"-themed tribute to Doug Mirabelli. (Now starring J.D. Drew as Horshack!)*

Instead, one studly at-bat into the game, we got the first fifteen seconds of this:

Kevin Millar played the Morey Amsterdam role.

Get well soon, Mr. E. Fresh! Next up on Respect the Tek: if you take the good, you take the bad, indeed, if you take them both, what do you have?**

*Drew is a very old and respected name. It means, the baserunners are dying.

**Survey says: A) the facts of life, B) a lot of brain cells wasted on Nick at Nite, or C) Daisuke Matsuzaka.

We do not say "no" in this house*

2007-09-02T00:18:00.000-04:00

We intended to take it easy on the baseball this weekend, and we were planning a whole post about the team's imaginary expedition to see The Simpsons Movie, with Mirabelli smuggling epic quantities of food into the theater for everybody (Tek: "Dougie, I'm sorry but I just don't want chicken parm that's been in your pants, okay?") and Papelbon throwing Skittles at Mr. Burns.

And then Clay Buchholz had to come and distract us from the funny with actual baseball.

Thanks, Clay.

No, seriously, thanks. From the heart. We'll post more about the game tomorrow when the giddiness subsides. For now, Clay, just let us know--do you want a drink, or a baby, or anything?

*Until after the final out is official and the pitcher's celebrating with a nice mug of hot cocoa and a story--no, two stories--before bedtime.

We do not let young pitchers near the Rocket in this house

2007-08-30T20:19:00.000-04:00

8/28/07: Yankees 5, Red Sox 3
8/29/07: Yankees 4, Red Sox 3
8/30/07: Yankees 5, Red Sox 0

Okay, so that hurt. In a variety of ways.* We can analyze it to death (Dice-K and Beckett both pitching into the seventh when even we could see that it was a bad idea? Manny being broken? the Yankees discovering pitching and defense to supplement their crazy offense?), we can weep and scream and crawl under the covers until Thanksgiving, we can stick our fingers in our ears and pretend like the pennant race isn't going to be just that-- a race. Or we can face reality, recognize that the season isn't over--for either the Red Sox or the Yankees** or, hell, the St. Louis Cardinals, if only because everyone else in that division decided to start losing, too--and hope and pray and do all those crazy superstitious things we do that the Red Sox remember how to hit,*** how to run, how to pitch, how to field, how to play the game we all love.

Moving on. There's another game tomorrow. And the day after that. Play ball, guys.

...Please?

*Can we just take this opportunity to please remind opposing pitchers to stop hitting Pedroia already? Let's not even get into the fact that Joba Chamberlain apparently got a standing ovation for trying--and failing, thank whatever deities you believe in--to bean Youk in the head. We say "apparently" because we were both at work today, and while this means that we were at least spared the horror of actually watching the game go down, it also means that we only know what we've read on the internet. Jennifer's Yankees-lovin' mother reports from behind enemy lines that Joba looked "really, really sorry and young" in his post-game press-conference and that she "felt bad for him because the umpires clearly overreacted." We report that we could really care less, and that this is your brain on Roger Clemens.

**And, seriously, thanks so much to all those people who said, "oh, the Red Sox have pretty much clinched it." Really. Because no way was that a jinx or anything.

***By "remember how to hit," what we actually mean is, "finally learn how to hit consistently."

We do not stain the game in this house

2007-08-27T19:59:00.000-04:00

Idle questions for an idle day: What's the over/under on a bench-clearing brawl in the Beckett/Clemens game on Wednesday?

Will the brawl actually start before the game, when Beckett walks up to Clemens and says, "Dude, you were my idol when I was, like, nine," and Clemens replies, "Get off my lawn, punk"?

How many hit-by-pitches does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie-Pop?

We do not blame it on the rain in this house

2007-08-24T22:14:00.000-04:00

Sorry we've been such terrible bloggers. As you can see, we've been out to lunch.*

08/24/07: White Sox 3, Red Sox 11; White Sox 1, Red Sox 10

Thanks to the rains on the plains, neither of us was able to watch the rain-delayed opening bout of the Hosiery Hostilities, only monitoring the scoreboards through the entirely unsurreptitious workplace use of CBS Sportsline's live scoreboard. This means that we didn't get to watch Jason Varitek's homer until the replay much later. Now, granted, we've watched it a half-dozen times apiece, with the added bonus that MLB's clip has the call by the entirely downtrodden White Sox announcers.** And it is spectacular. As were Papi's and Youk's blasts later on in the night, especially Youk, who may or may not actually have hit that ball with his spectacular slump-busting chin.***

Still, we feel deprived. Actually, we were kind of wondering whether Tek would catch Game 2 instead of Game 1, given that Kevin "Rules Everything Around Me" Cash was already slated for today's Wakefield start. We're sure the idea crossed the pitchers' minds, too...

BECKETT: Tek, you're catchin' my start, right?
SCHILLING: The hell he is.
BECKETT: The hell he ain't. I called dibs.
VARITEK: J.B., it's up to Tito. Also, you can't call dibs on me.
BECKETT: Don't worry, Tek, it's just a saying.
SCHILLING: He pointed at you across the field during spring training and said, "Mine."
BECKETT: So you admit I have dibs!
VARITEK: There are no dibs!
BECKETT: Listen, you and me, we've got a game plan. Curt can come up with his own game plan. He's smart like that. I'm dumb as a fuckin' rock. Everyone knows that.
SCHILLING: ...He makes a point.
VARITEK: It's up. to. Tito.
BECKETT: Hey, Tito! [points to Varitek] Mine!

And then they all lived happily ever after. Or at least for twelve hours that Ozzie Guillen will never get back.

Finally, since Mike Lowell mentioned the use of Google in the latest Friendly's Scoop w/Jonathan Papelbon, we feel compelled to leave him a note in case he does Google himself and somehow end up perusing our illustrious site.

Dear Mike Lowell,

You're definitely muy sexy, as you correctly pointed out to Cinco Ocho, and you don't need the Just-For-Men. And if you ever get tired of playing baseball, well, we think the sports world definitely needs the equivalent of the Daily Show--we respectfully submit that SportsSnarker Featuring Mike Lowell would be a high point in broadcast TV history, particularly if you retain one Cinco Ocho as a correspondent. Make it so, number 25!

Peace, love, and empathy,
The girls of Respect The Tek

*Yes, we each signed up for Red Sox Kid Nation under the flimsiest of false pretenses. Yes, we did it for Lunch: J. Papelbon (2). Though we might also use the ice cream coupons. Is that evil?

**As much as Don and Jerry can sometimes annoy, with their mascot fixation and their relentless plugging of Red Sox Nation (TM) paraphernalia, at least they muster up some nonpartisan baseball enthusiasm for great plays, regardless of who makes them. They're not ridiculous homers; they applaud the game as it happens, and nothing Jerry Remy has ever said, not even about "exploding chest hair" is as irksome as every third word out of Tim McCarver. Did we mention we're watching today's game on Fox, and they're using Coldplay as incidental music? Coldplay? In 2007?

***To be perfectly honest, we were happy about the wins, but positively giddy that both Varitek and Youkilis whipped out the offensive production. Victory is sweet, but when you see how hard they've been pushing themselves, and punishing themselves, and it finally pays off, seeing them smile is sweeter. Goatees and all.