Showing posts with label fashion. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fashion. Show all posts

Sunday, March 9, 2008

We do not spring forward in this house

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.

Tuesday, December 11, 2007

We do not go a-wassailing in this house

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.

Friday, November 23, 2007

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

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.

Saturday, June 23, 2007

We do not wear our sunglasses at night in this house.

06/22/07: Red Sox 2, Padres 1

Dear Daisuke Matsuzaka,

We're onto you.

Some of us back here on the East Coast were pretty stressed out last night by your entrance. I mean, we may not be as well versed in the strategic intricacies of pitching as some folks, but--walking the bases loaded with nobody out in the first inning? We happen to know that's not good. Doubleplusungood, is what that is. It was giving us agita, and we're too young for agita. Plus, it's not even a real medical condition.

That was a long first inning, especially for a late game. Long enough for us to go from laughing at the Padres retro uniforms* to debating theoretical issues--Is multiple personality disorder contagious via air, and has Curt Schilling's bloviating transmitted it around our bullpen?--to flailing in outrage. Long enough for "Come on, Dice, you got him, baby" to give way to, "Look how frustrated Tek is! He's like, get Wakefield in there to pitch this bastard! It can't be any worse!"

Getting out of that with only one run** was a gift, as they say, a fluke. "Damn, we got lucky," we told one another at the end. "This is going to be a horrible night."

We're kind of sorry about all those things we said.

Because after that first ninety minutes or however long that inning was, we saw what you did. You found your control. You found the Captain's mitt, which you had apparently not noticed earlier in all the confusion. Sure, you got into a couple more jams, but held it together and got the big strikeouts--nine of them, and some of them were of the big, exciting K variety, the kind that make a pitcher look truly masterful. We couldn't really relax and enjoy it after three leadoff walks, but in retrospect, a fine performance.

You do this a lot, Daisuke. The one scary inning, surrounded by dominance.

It can't be an accident. It can't be a coincidence.

Okay, it totally could be, but we suspect that instead, this is your strategy. You have an agenda here, don't you? You're creating a false sense of security for your opponents***. An illusion of fatal vulnerability. It works so well that even Tek and John Farrell are worrying their pretty heads about you. You're a terrifyingly inconsistent pitcher in those single innings...in the same way that Bruce Wayne is an airheaded playboy dilletante. And you're putting us through all this drama just for the climactic moment when you rip off the mask, reveal your true powers, steel up and shut your opponents the hell down.

Daisuke, Dice-K, darling...

Are you Batman?

We promise we won't tell.


* HA. HA. HA.



See the bands of orange and gold, so bright they caused NESN to melt down into a puddle of technical difficulties? With the weird font on the front that's less baseball and more Kirby's Adventure? Have you ever dropped acid to celebrate Thanksgiving? We think we have, now.

**That one run was batted in by new acquisition Michael Barrett, forever known in this house as "The dude who coldcocked AJ Pierzynski." We admit, we are vaguely hoping he'll see fit to lay a beatdown on one of his own teammates during this series. Or attempt one against a Red Sox pitcher and see how fast Tek takes him down.

***This theory would also explain why we keep avoiding letting him pitch against the Yankees. Element of surprise!