I've not been a very good Sox fan this weekend. I've been doing that watching-out-of-the-corner-of-my-eye thing.
Ah, it's early yet.
From what I've seen, though, the Sox' strategy going into play the team my father calls the "Devil Dogs" was that if they scored three (3) or more runs in the first five innings or so of each game, they were not contractually obligated to score any more runs for the rest of the contest.
Now here we are. It is 4:30 on Sunday afternoon, and it seems the players have decided that rather than actually play today's game, they will just take turns hitting one another with pitches.
There is nothing scarier than David Ortiz when he's angry. Holy God.
Why was Trot Nixon so furious? Did Lance Carter kill his childhood dog with a pitch?
Boys! We do not brawl with the Devil Rays. The Devil Rays are beneath our fists. We only fight with other large-market AL East teams.
About the only great thing about today's game has been my father's running commentary.
"Schilling, what are you doing out there. Go sit down. You're too old for this shit."
"Dad. He is not that old."
"Sure he is. He's not careful, he'll end up like Zimmer out there, rollin' around. One of those young guys will pop him one."
Schilling and David Wells are shown leaning on the dugout fence, and I must agree they are rather grizzled in appearance.
"Chrissakes, look at 'em. They oughta be playin' in the beer league in South Boston."
Mantei "relieves" Arroyo. "94 miles an hour. This kid can really bring it up. Too bad he has no idea where it's goin'."
Nick Green strikes out: "All right, Matt, I knew you had it in ya! I knew the whole time!"
Timlin gets up: "Timlin! All right! Get Embree up!
"Why don't we just bring in Embree, he can throw that one pitch, BOOM! And we can all go home?"
Timlin comes in: "For Chrissakes, Mike, don't hit anybody.
"Come on, bring Embree in, dammit! Come on now. Don't be intimidated."
Aaaand that guy Bronson so inexplicably hit at the beginning of the inning? Scores the run to bring Tampa Bay within two.
McClung walks Renteria: "He might as well be a hero and plunk somebody, cause he sure isn't gonna get it over the plate."
Another aspect salvaging this particular afternoon of
dodgeball baseball is continuing our ongoing argument about Manny Ramirez:
"Millar...Millar's killin' me out there in the field. We should've kept Mientkiewicz."
"Whoa, all of a sudden, you're dogging Millar?"
"He's just not good with the leather."
"Okay, so how come Millar's just 'not good with the leather', and Manny's an asshole?"
"Millar's a dirt dog. He doesn't take himself out of the game. We needed Manny up the other night, and he took himself out of the game."
"Dad, how do you--"
"We needed him up, damn it!"
"Dad. How do you know if Manny is or isn't hurt."
"Because! You don't pull a quad and then go out there and be in the field and runnin' around. He's not hurt. He's just an asshole."
"I guess what I don't like, Dad, is how you vilify him personally when you don't even know them."
"Oh, and I suppose you know Alex Rodriguez."
"Yeah, well, at least I'm not dogging someone on my own team."
Unfortunately, this last comment came back to bite me in the ass. Mark Bellhorn fucked something up (hard to keep track of them all lately), and I spat, "Mark, you SUCK."
"Why are you getting down on guys on our team?"