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.
Showing posts with label illogical. Show all posts
Showing posts with label illogical. Show all posts
Friday, February 18, 2011
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Kevin Millar begs to differ.
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
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
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Mad Libs with Big Papi
"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.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Down the road and back again.
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.
* For taking Justin Masterson from us. Bastards.
** For giving us Victor Martinez. Yay!
*** For being a friend.
Monday, July 20, 2009
An ode to sports radio
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.
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.
Friday, July 10, 2009
We've seen the lights go out on Broadway.
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Easy as one-two-three, as simple as do-re-mi.*
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.
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.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Lord Stanley had a pretty high alcohol tolerance
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.
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.
Monday, April 13, 2009
A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down
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!
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!
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Also, in the future, Robot Dice-K will thrive.
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.
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.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Robots eat old people's medicine for fuel.
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.
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.
Friday, March 13, 2009
"(Expletive.)"
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.
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.
Friday, March 6, 2009
Our Predictions Are Slightly More Accurate Than CNBC's
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.
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.
Monday, July 28, 2008
We do not call it a comeback in this house
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'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.
Saturday, June 21, 2008
We do not put the blame on you in this house
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.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
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.
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.
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
We do not believe that Grandma got run over by a reindeer in this house
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.
'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.
Thursday, November 8, 2007
We do not rely on reality in this house
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!
- 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!
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
We do not call Dionne Warwick in this house
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.
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.
Saturday, September 22, 2007
We do not hunt for Red October in this house
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."
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."
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