A new Red Sox manager (Bobby Valentine replacing fan-favorite Terry Francona). And a new Red Sox general manager (Ben Cherington replacing the boy-wonder Theo Epstein)… but still a stubbornly rubbish start to the new season. Wins: 4. Losses: 9. Starting pitching: woefully rocky. Relief pitching: banged-up and wonky. New closer: out injured. Star center-fielder: out injured. Need for some feel-good wins to get this season going: immediate/pressing. Opposition team currently in town: the dread, arch-rival New York Yankees.
TOP OF THE 1ST:
Driving back from the mall with Jacqueline. On my way to watch a ballgame on Fox – so damn American these days; even had a doughnut for breakfast…
BOTTOM OF THE 1ST:
Back home, Sox up 2-0 already. Big Papi (less big these days, admittedly, but still possessing the quality of bigness, no question) scoring Adrian Gonzales on a double. More of the same, please.
TOP OF THE 2ND:
Ground out. Strike out. Walk. Strike out. Early days, of course, but so far as easy as eating pancakes.
BOTTOM OF THE 2ND:
Right then, it seems that Yankee pitcher Freddy Garcia is tossing up the sort of pies that Boycott’s grandmother likes to catch*. All very amusing – end of inning and it’s quickly 5-0 to the Sox.
TOP OF THE 3RD:
Even better, in a season already (two weeks in) coughing up giant fur balls of dire Boston pitching, our man on the mound today is collecting outs with indifferent ease. Pinstripe douches still not troubling the scorers.
BOTTOM OF THE 3RD:
Another hit for Papi (think I might be falling in love with him all over again), and another couple of runs. Yankees are the bedwetting baby, and we’re busy stealing candy. (Kevin Youkilis hit-by-pitch, mind you – right in the fat part of his thigh… am guessing a little here, but I think that would have hurt….)
TOP OF THE 4TH:
Three up, three down. Yep, more and more, this is looking like one of those games that won’t succeed in parting my backside and the couch. Could watch New York lose all day long.
BOTTOM OF THE 4TH:
Nothing doing this time around. Nate Spears (who?!) pinch-hitting for the Youk, who probably by now has a bruise the size of C.C. Sabathia’s favorite dinner plate.
TOP OF THE 5TH:
Another scoreless inning for the so-called Bronx Bombers. Not much “bombing” in evidence yet, eh boys? Except for in the modern sense of the word that means “committing to the concept of rank shitness with a high degree of fidelity.”
BOTTOM OF THE 5TH:
He he he. Home run for Cody Ross – scoring two to make it an oh-so-sweet nine and oh. Against any other team, this kind of one-sided game would start to seem a little plain Jane. But this is terrifically enjoyable. More Zooey Deschanel being all cute and doey-eyed.
TOP OF THE 6TH:
Solo home run from Mark Teixeira. 9-1. No big deal. Teixeira may look like Hitler taking a shit every time he bats, but he’s still maddeningly competent. Better he scores one run that no one cares about, than three or four that really matter.
BOTTOM OF THE 6TH:
Gonzales grounds into a double play after a lead-off single from Dustin Pedroia. Annoying – but once again, no biggie thing. If we don’t win it from here…, etc.
TOP OF THE 7TH:
Hmmm. Fox skip a fair old chunk of this inning so that we can watch live the ninth inning of a perfect game being pitched 3,000-some miles away in Seattle by White Sox Philip Humber. He did it! Well played sir… only the 21st perfect game in baseball history, apparently.
Back in Boston though, and it’s… 9-5. Oh piss, Nick Swisher just hit a grand-slam. Of all the people, that irritating tosspot – seems the kind of man who’ll say the second that you meet him, “you’ll like me, I’m really fun and zany, me.” Urgh.
And what the shit is this? Another home run from the Fuhrer-lookalike. 9-8. Red Sox bullpen pitching this year quite completely poo at the moment. Nevermind. Bad inning over – we’ll still win the game, and that’s the biggest pickle in the jar.
BOTTOM OF THE 7TH:
Runner on second… no outs… But no one gets him home. Still 9-8.
TOP OF THE 8TH:
I’ll do us all a favor and cut to the chase. For the second straight inning, Yankees score SEVEN. Earlier, they couldn’t buy a run; now the Red Sox can’t buy an out. Seriously. Innings 7 and 8 combined: six different pitchers, 12 hits allowed, 5 walks offered up, and 14 runs scored against.
BOTTOM OF THE 8TH:
9-15. Let’s not kid ourselves, the fat lady finished singing twenty minutes ago and is now having an early evening snack with C.C.
Anger slowly subsiding. Gradually replaced by a forlorn sort of misery.
TOP OF THE 9TH:
Tazawa gets three routine outs. Who gives a crap?
BOTTOM OF THE 9TH:
Fourth hit of the game for David Ortiz. Comes to nothing. Hopefully he gives several teammates the stink-eye. Previous time he took to the field was 14 cunting runs ago.
Red Sox manager Bobby Valentine conducts entire post-game press conference wearing the facial expression of a five year-old girl who’s just seen Bambi’s mother die. Video evidence of which no longer anywhere to be found on the internet… Probably for the best.