Schilling Sells Shutouts by the Seashore
We have this growing tradition that doesn't really have a name, so I'll call it the Clemency Chart. This began last season when Andy said the following:
What I need is a box, with buttons on it, and each button has the name of a Red Sox player on it, and when I press that button, that player gets struck by lightning. JOHNNY DAMON!!! BOOM!!!
A little while later, he followed that up with this:
Thank you...TROT...(in evil dictator voice) Trot gets clemency. Clemency for...Trot.
So, essentially, when a member of the Boston Red Sox makes a heads-up play, most often in the field, they receive clemency good for exchange later for one egregious error.
So let's say Billy Mueller makes two spectacular stops at third base in the course of a game (as he did last night). He then can redeem each for one of those dumbass dives that misses a ball completely and lets it drift off into the left-field corner for a base hit at a later time. Are you with me on this?
Clemency is also weighted by that players' overall history and value for the team. Manny has clemency to the point of diplomatic immunity, given his tendency to do stupid things like stand at the plate and watch a foul ball turn fair, or bellyflop into second base when there is no need whatsoever for him to slide. Trot Nixon, however, especially as the originator of the clemency concept, is the all-time points leader in clemency accrued. This allows him to be sitting out right now with a "butt knot", without undue anguish on our part about his absence.
Newer players, however, must earn their clemency. And it is far more difficult to acquire clemency following an egregious error than it is to have a studly play make up for that egregious error later. In other words, should someone like, say, Cesar Crespo, make a horrible throw to say, first base that results in, say, a Tampa Bay Devil Rays guy being safe at that base--I mean, just hypothetically--with no prevoius clemency to back him up, Crespo would be deep in the clemency hole.
Essentially it will take two clemency earning plays after the fact to make up for one egregious error, whereas it would have taken only one before the fact.
You get me?
Crespo did make a few nice plays later on, but it only got him back to all-even. We shall have to wait and see whether there will be clemency for Crespo.
When we're not coming up with complicated forumulae to determine when and exactly why to yell, "YOU SUCK!!" at the screen, we're calling each other immature names. For example, when the ball girl caught a foul, walked past some screaming frat boys, and then past an adorable little boy with his glove outstretched to place the ball carefully in the hands of a little girl in the stands, Andy said, "That's not cool, man. That's bias, right there."
Andy's just still upset about the My Little Ponies thing. But that's another story for another day.
"You're a ball girl," was my retort.
And thus you can guage the comparative intelligence of our conversation.
We must have made life miserable for my mother, who was trying to get work accomplished downstairs, with all our whooping and hollering and laughing and shouting and babbling about clemency. This yelling reached its ultimate crescendo when Kellie looked at Manny on the screen taking a pitch and said solemnly, with great love, "Allright, my slow Latin child..."
There is also no happiness quite like watching Curt Schilling throw a masterful 7 1/3 inning, 8-strikeout, no-walk shutout.
I've said it before, but I'll say it again: that man is a stud. He got clocked off the top of his right foot by a line drive in the very first inning, and still got out of that inning and a jam with runners at the corners. This was only the warm-up, though, for a game in which he made the entire D-Rays "New and Improved" lineup his bitch.
One by one, they stood up, and one by one, they were mowed down. The fifth inning, especially, was just whiff, whiff, whiff, whiff.
Curt's just an animal. A horse. A stud. A house. Look out, Schonda, I'm coming to your house, and I'm going to make off with your Bruce-Willis-looking husband that throws 95 with a fucked-up push-off foot and then has to be yanked back off the mound in the eighth inning like a Rottweiler being called off an attack.
I love it. I just love the guy.
Meanwhile, Andy had this to say: "If Curt's still pissing bone fragments from that foot after tonight, I personally plan to blame Cesar Crespo."