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

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.

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

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!

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 go back to the future in this house

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 tan, we burn, in this house

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 sell rhymes by the gram in this house

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

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 sing "Happy Birthday" in this house*

08/17/07: Angels 7, Red Sox 5

Dear Dustin Pedroia,

People born on August 17 are totally the best kind of people.** Rock on with your home run hitting self, and congratulations on making the varsity squad!

Love,
Jennifer, Respect the Tek

Dear Eric Gagné,

Why did you ruin Jennifer's and Dustin's birthdays?***

Okay, look, intellectually we realize that you did not lose last night's game all on your own. Plenty of people contributed. Julio Lugo gave up a run through the power of his seventy-gazillionth error**** of the season. The offense, with the obvious exception of that beautiful eighth inning rally, was anemic at best. Manny in the Dell gave up two runs in his inning of relief; without those runs, the three runs you handed out send us into extra innings rather than bitching our way out of the ballpark and planning ways to get you deported back to Canada. But, see, you're an easy scapegoat. You came into the game with a lead, and left with a loss, and we're sorry if it makes you want to cry over a nice helping of poutine, but we blame you.

We're not going to boo you (it reflects badly on all of us, the fans, not to mention the fact that we personally find it... tacky? rude to the other players on the field? annoying? all of the above?), and we're certainly not going to throw things at you, but we're not exactly going to feel comfortable seeing you trudge out to the mound with anything less than a 20-run cushion and three guys warming up behind you. Three guys minimum.

In conclusion, no, really, why did you ruin the Jimmy Fund's day? Did you not get the Lowell-Lester fuck cancer memo?

No Love,
The Girls of Respect the Tek


Dear Terry Francona,

Mike Timlin, Kyle Snyder, Julian "Batshit" Tavarez: three people we would've felt more comfortable seeing in the top of the ninth with a one-run lead. Hell, three people we would've preferred to see after Gagné gave up his first run and very obviously did not have his A (or B, or C, or even F) game. Send Beckett back out there, he'll close out his own fucking game. Send Wake, he'll do it. Hell, send Jim Flippin' Belushi out there with some water balloons, a pair of night-vision goggles, and a pack of Big League Chew. Just do not, we repeat, do not send out Eric Gagné.

Look, we know you like to give your players a chance. It's your thing. We get that. But there is a difference between giving a guy a shot and sending in someone who has, in his short time with the Red Sox going into last night's game, given up seven runs in three innings***** when the team has a one-run lead. It just does not make sense. There's trust, and then there's whatever this was, and whatever this was loses us ballgames. We hate to say it, but facts are facts, and Eric Gagné is a free agent at the end of the season and there is no excuse for you coddling him like this. And we get it: this was just the sort of situation for which Gagné was originally acquired, blah blah blah, adjustment period, rah rah he can do it. However--and, again, we don't mean to be crass here--he's floundering. He's not getting it done. It's mid-August, not spring training, and this is not the time to be campaigning for Happy Good Time Feel Good Camp counselor of the year.

The ejection was fun, though. Next time, try swinging a base over your head and then seeing how far you can toss it.

No Love,
The Girls of Respect the Tek

P.S. The answer last night, by the way, was Mike Timlin. We're, like, 102.4% sure about that one.******


Dear Kevin Youkilis,

Thank you for adding a little bit of extra pizazz to that devastating ninth inning, but, please, we beg of you, do not actually kill the umpires. And, yes, it was totally a foul tip.

Love,
The Girls of Respect the Tek


Dear Wily Mo Pena,

We wish you all the best with the Washington Nationals. May you get tons of playing time and learn to recognize breaking balls and develop into the kick-ass player Papi tells us you have the potential to be. It's not like the Nationals have a whole lot to lose by giving you a fair shake. Watch out for Dmitri Young!

Love,
The Girls of Respect the Tek


Dear Doug Mirabelli,

Get well soon.

Love,
Tim Wakefield and the Girls of Respect the Tek


Dear Captain Varitek,

You, sir, are our hero.

Semper fidelis,
The Girls of Respect the Tek



*Because we do not have the money to pay those pesky royalty fees.

**Jorge Posada would be the exception that proves the rule. Caroline, on the other hand, shares her birthday with Mary Lou Retton and Neil Diamond, and Respect the Tek greatly regrets this.

***Followed by seventy-gazillion and one.

****Slight exaggeration. We do not allow Eric Gagné to dictate our fates in such a manner. Plus, there was still ice cream. And a win in the day game. And we may have acquired, under false-ish pretenses, Jonathan Papelbon lunchboxes.

*****Yes, yes, if you look at his record (and how we hate having to look at his record), he also pitched two scoreless innings during this period, but that is not the point.

******We had a feeling.

We do not acknowledge Florida in this house

The All-Star Game generates nearly as much chatter and analysis as American Idol, and deserves to be taken much less seriously. About 74.3 percent less seriously, if you look at the statistics.* American Idol actually has an impact on our everyday lives, insofar as we still hear that stupid "Jesus Take The Wheel" song once a fortnight. But since we can't live All-Star season vicariously through Simon Cowell...

COWELL: Alex, it was a great performance--
[Shot of teary-eyed DEREK JETER wearing "A-Rod A-RMY" T-shirt in crowd]
COWELL: --If I closed my eyes! You look like a Portuguese cabaret singer!
[Boos from the audience.]
COWELL: I'm just being honest.

...We did vote. Repeatedly. But come on, if it wasn't a popularity contest, they wouldn't let you vote twenty-five times per e-mail address plus however many ballots you can scavenge off the bleacher seats. So these, and only these, were our guiding principles:

1. We don't feel obligated to vote for people who are definitely going to win, even if they clearly deserve it. Call this the "Ralph Nader 2000, if you lived in Boston" factor.
2. We sometimes vote against people we dislike rather than for people we like. Call this the "Ralph Nader 2000, if you lived in Miami" factor.
3. We vote with our hearts first, the stats second, and then we just close our eyes and poke at the person whose name we recognize best.

Without further ado, because we're fresh out of ado, here is our 2007 AL ballot.

1st Base
Probable Winner: David Ortiz
Most Deserving: Ortiz
We Voted For: Kevin Youkilis

You know why Papi hasn't hit up to his previous home run pace? Nobody is throwing him pitches! Pitchers be hatin'; Papi still be postin' a 1.027 OPS. During this season's insanely long bout of interleague play, he even made a nice pick or two at first (and we think it's stupid not having a DH slot, anyway; it's not like the All-Stars are about the Purity Of The Game Of Base-Ball). Of course, we knew Papi would coast to the All-Star Game on his Clooneyesque reserves of charm, so we wrote in the Greek God of Blogs. He's having as good a season as last year's MVP** and still finds time to play horsey with Manny Ramirez.

2nd Base
Probable Winner: Placido Polanco
Most Deserving: Polanco
We Voted For: Polanco and Dustin Pedroia

Everyone agrees that Polanco deserves the position, although taking a glance at B.J. Upton's numbers is rather confusing, but he plays for the nonexistent Tampa Bay Devil Rays*** so who cares? So each of us voted for Polanco some and Pedroia some, since Our Little Man Dusty is having a comparably impressive year (he's a lock to go All-State!).

Shortstop
Probable Winner: Derek Jeter
Most Deserving: Orlando Cabrera
We Voted For: Cabrera, and also everyone who is neither Jeter nor Julio Lugo

Cabrera is similar offensively and much better defensively (4 errors is better than 11, no?). And his biggest selling point? He's not Admiral Calm-Eyed Deke.**** He got the bulk of our votes, but we threw a couple each to Yuniesky Betancourt (Mariners love, plus he's got a hell of a life story), Carlos Guillen (fear), and Miguel Tejada (we pity the fool who tries to play actual baseball for the Orioles, we do, we pity the fool).

3rd Base
Probable Winner: Alex Rodriguez
Most Deserving: Rodriguez
We Voted For: Mike Lowell

Look, A-Rod is the best player in baseball right now, and we have no problem acknowledging that. We think sometimes the fans and media are unfair to him; his personal life should be his business and no one else's, and the fact that he hasn't won a World Series doesn't mean he isn't a stunning and committed ballplayer. That said, he's also whiny, annoying, and prone to the occasional bush-league move, and we can respect him all day long and still not punch a little hole next to his name.

While he may fade down the stretch, Iron Mike currently has excellent numbers.

Catcher
Probable Winner: Ivan Rodriguez
Most Deserving: Jorge Posada
We Voted For: Jason Varitek

Who would've thought this would be the most competitive category? It defies logic. Posada's offensive pace is bound to taper off, but for the first half of 2007 there's hardly anyone hitting better in any position. Rodriguez is a hotshot offensively and defensively, catching one of the strongest rotations in baseball. There are underrated younger competitors: Victor Martinez has a filthy-dirty number of RBIS; Joe Mauer's batting .319 and hasn't let a ball get past him once this season.

Yeah. Hi. Did you look at the name of the blog?

If we were to try and justify it statistically, we would note that Varitek has a lower CERA and fewer successful stolen bases than either Posada or Pudge, but we aren't. We're voting with our hearts. And the hearts of Josh Beckett and Jonathan Papelbon and Curt Schilling, and all those great big grown men who get starry-eyed when they talk about Captain Fenway. We don't expect him to win, don't even need him to win, but we voted for him with every one of our mumblety-mumble ballots.

Jason Varitek. Early and often.

Outfield
Probable Winners: Vladimir Guerrero, Manny Ramirez, Ichiro Suzuki
Most Deserving: Guerrero, Suzuki, Magglio Ordonez
We Voted For: Suzuki, Ordonez, Nick Swisher

Manny doesn't wanna go to the All-Star game. Manny wants to throw a big three-day party instead, with girls dancing on the bar and Julian Tavarez smoking a bowl underneath it. Manny wants to grill some burgers--he has a grill, maybe you've heard about it--and invite all his teammates over, except maybe Curt Schilling 'cause he doesn't know how to get down, and play a lot of Outkast and maybe put the game on just to cheer for Papi and/or Youk.

Stop voting for him, people, it's just mean. And it's ridiculous that Ordonez, who is literally hitting better than anyone in the game, can't crack the top three here. Here's hoping for a groundswell.

We can't explain why we voted for Nick Swisher instead of Guerrero, except for some kind of impossibly powerful Moneyball hangover, a lingering fondness that began during last year's playoffs, and the fact that The The Angels Angels of Anaheim are among our least favorite teams (they hang out down there with the Yankees, Indians, and Braves; we're busy girls).

In conclusion, this is a bunch of hooey. We've handled it with the mindfulness it deserves.

Let's all go vote for the ESPYs!


*The statistics here are the same ones we used to plan our voting strategy; specifically, well, almost none. Wait until you see how astute we were with the NL.

**Justin Morneau is still a monster, though, and he's surely playing hard--he crashed into someone so hard at home plate that he started coughing up blood. Baseball is so much cooler than football.

***Seriously, you expect us to believe that there is a team called the Tampa Bay Devil Rays? Piffle. And I'm a big fan of the Schenectady Flying Dutchmen.

****TM Fire Joe Morgan.