Wednesday, February 27, 2008

We do not sell rhymes by the gram in this house

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

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--


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.

Thursday, February 14, 2008

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


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.