bizarro mets play, win bizarro game

August 13, 2008

On a night when Johan Santana didn’t perform up to his capabilities (though, truth be told, even mediocre Santana is boneriffic), giving up two leads–including a game-tying homer to…pinch-hitting Ryan Langerhans?!–the offense miraculously plated the go-ahead run by…getting hit in the head? How poetic. With the bases loaded, Jerry Manuel made the genius move of pinch-hitting Castro for Daniel Murphy aka Jesus and…he struck out? WHAT! Jesus Murphy was supposed to hit an eight-run homer! Desperate for more runs–because, as Howie Rose put it last night, “With this bullpen, a one-run lead is as skinny as you can get”–Santana is pulled for…Brian Schneider?! Who strikes out. Which isn’t bizarre so much as comically tragically predictable. But with a 4-3 lead, Santana was in the position of winning the game. We’ve heard that one before.

And then the bullpen…didn’t blow it?

Not sure if it was the bullpen meeting before the game–led by Scott Schoeneweis, of all people–or Jerry’s ludicrous notion that Maine or Perez would be moved to the pen, or if it’s just that the Nationals are terrible, but somehow Joe Smith and Pedro Feliciano (not, I repeat NOT Eddie Kunz, despite Manuel’s blather about how Kunz would get the first closing opportunity…WTF I say, but considering Feliciano got it done I’m not about to argue…too much. Maybe a little, as a matter of principle, of sticking to your word and all that) managed to…throw strikes? And get batters out?

Bizarre. But I’ll take it.

In other bizarre news, Boston scored TEN FUCKING RUNS in the first inning and STILL needed to rally against Texas to win 19-17. I wonder if Massholes got drunk last night (ex-boyfriend’s text last night “OMG WTF IS HAPPPENIG” confirms suspicions).

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nine in a row

July 14, 2008

Why does there have to be an All Star break? BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Weekend recap: I didn’t get to see Friday’s seeming nailbiter of a game as I was out celebrating a friend’s birthday with Korean BBQ and then–seeing as we were in Koreatown–karaoke. I paid $12 for a Jameson neat. Are you kidding me with that bullshit, I thought, and then realized that I needed the Jameson in order to sing, like, “Summer of ’69” and whatever assorted crap we all did (I did manage a lovely duet w/ Beth of my favorite ever song “Be My Baby,” so go me). I checked my phone for scores off and on throughout the night, and when I saw a 2-1 victory, I praised yet another solid Ollie Perez performance and the Mets’ continued winning streak.

Thanks to the generosity of Bill W, one of my four readers, I attended the game on Saturday. I remarked to Bill at some point during the game–as cheers were showered on every player, rhythmic two-strike claps filling the stadium, people getting out of their damn seats without having to be coerced–how the atmosphere at Shea has changed so much since the last time I was there, not even a month ago. A month ago, you had jeers and groans and the bullpen coughing up runs and the offense leaving men on base and a fanbase seemingly bored and compelled to accept mediocrity. Three weeks later the tension has lifted, the players look crisp, balls are finding gaps with men on base and two outs, scrubs like Tatis and Easley and Chavez and Argenis Reyes and Nick Evans are making stellar plays and driving in the big boys, the big boys are hitting like they’re supposed to, and by God, the pitching has been lights-out. Times like these, the cheers flow easily.

As for Sunday, the late starting time worked out pretty perfectly for me: Along with a whole mess of other hipster fools, I went to McCarren Park Pool for the free Breeders show and stood in line for about an hour and half just waiting to get in. I finally get in and stand in a beer line for about fifteen minutes. I get my beer and just as I take a sip, the Breeders start their set. I ended up seeing my ex-something Anderson, along with a bunch of his Masshole friends, four guys and two girls. So I ended up hanging out with dudes with the following names: Andy, Marky, Mikey, Johnny, and Sully (I don’t know his real name, and holy hell is that a joke or what). It was like NKOTB 2 or something. At one point, Marky left and returned holding three beers. “Thanks,” I said, reaching for one. “No, these are all mine,” he bellows in that horrific accent I love so much. Show’s over and I head home, just in time to hear the Mets begin play. Roommate comes home, we drink more beer and listen to the game together as we talk about girls (well, he talked about girls at least) while I intermittently raised my hands in triumph thanks to a home run or double play or strikeout.

And what’s there to say about Mike fucking Pelfrey? His confidence and dominance is a sight to behold. If I ever get me a Paypal account, I’m buying one of them shirts.


WHAT THE SHIT

March 7, 2008

Please for you to click on this link.

Great quote by Terry Francona re: the pride of Woodland, CA:

“I haven’t had a heart attack, I think I’ve come close,” Francona said. “My chest hurt I was laughing so hard. I got a headache I was laughing so hard. Pedroia is a moron. I mean, you can write that. Pedroia is a moron. He looked a puppet on a string.”

Also: WTF IS THAT SHIRT PAPS.

God bless the Sox.


congrats, sox

October 29, 2007

In honor of the Red Sox sweeping the Rockies, I present you with limited photographic evidence of a Halloween party this weekend where my costume was “Masshole” (aided by a shirt from one Masshole and a Sox hat from another). It, coupled with the accent, was apparently so authentic that I had dudes convinced I was Boston all night (in spite of my non-whiteness!), all of whom kept talking to me about the Sox and would come up to ask the score at various points in the night.

Behold some frightening images:

I think I was pretending to be Pedroia.

Oh, also:

The sad thing is that these photos were taken early in the night, and I progressively started to look even worse/drunker. I really dove headfirst into this characterization. YES, THAT MUST BE IT.


GOOD LUCK BUDDY

October 25, 2007

Yes yes, the Sahwx kicked the shit out of the untouchable Rockies last night. Ho-hum. There are more pressing matters! Like this!

In the parlance of our times: ZOMGLOLZ. That is some gloriously deluded, transparent, possibly desperate/certainly solicitous bullshit.

In the event it’s taken down:

FREE housing during WORLD SERIES Games (Wed-Sat) Men only

Men 18+ who are sober are welcome to stay the days and nights of the world series at my one small room apt.

Must share thi one room together
No drugs or drinking

send phone to contact you

Me: bi-male-student in music and law

How very accomodating! But only men, huh? That seems a little sexist, but I guess maybe he wants to just foster a good-natured sense of fraternity. Oh! But that little tiny inconsequential “bi-male” throw-in mention at the end of the post? Well. I wonder what he has in mind?

Also: no drugs or drinking? These are baseball fans during the World Series for Chrissake. Boozing is expected. And if they’re Sox fans? Fackin’ maandatahwry. Though he is in Boston, and what Sox fans are gonna need lodging unless they’re displaced natives? Maybe he’s hoping for some of that sweet sweet devout Rockies fan penis–I mean piety. Piety! There are certainly no shenanigans to be had in this fun-free zone of no drinking or drugs. And especially NOT sinful touching! Unless it involves sharing the tiny futon after reading some Leviticus 18:22, quelling the unsated vague feeling–some would say desire? No! It can’t be! You’re a MAN!–in the pit of your stomach while you and Bi-Male spoon and/or reluctantly, just to gauge the ambiance, surreptitiously touch hands or legs or feet under the sheets and lingering to see if he pulls away instantly or–hope of hopes!–lets his hand/leg/foot linger as well as you are wearing your Papelbon/Ortiz/Beckett jersey or perhaps Holliday/Matsui/Tulowitzki vest. Hey Bi-Male: alcohol generally helps these conversions. I mean…just sayin’. Not that I’d know or anything. Cough.

Or maybe he’s fishing for some perverts and is part of some reparative therapy group and is trying to fulfill a quota or something. Perhaps he’ll chain you to the radiator a la Ricci.

In any event: Godspeed, Bi-Male. You are certainly a more enterprising man than I.

[note to self: I wonder if this shit works.]

[note to Bi-Male: call me?]


OH MAH GAHWD DOOD

October 22, 2007

What a bunch of chowdaheads.

Congratulations to the Boston Red Sox for winning the AL pennant and advancing to the World Series! Behind a–finally–impressive performance by Dice-K and a big offensive performance by Dustin Pedroia (the pride of Woodland, CA wutwut), the Sox survived a taut six innings before exploding in the seventh and eighth, and rallied from yet another 3-1 series deficit.

Truth be told, it didn’t even seem that close. Once Jake Westbrook gave up four hits in the first inning (though only one run)–after Dice-K looked dominant, with that rowdy Fenway Park crowd–it seemed like a foregone conclusion. Actually, for me, it seemed like a foregone conclusion after game five. Before that game, I remarked to someone, “If Cleveland doesn’t close this out at home tonight, the Sox are winning it all.” Look at me predicting shit.

So. It’s the Team of Destiny vs. the New Yankees.

There are a few oddities in play here. For one, COORS FIELD HAS SNOW ON IT OMG. Second-of-ly, entering game one, the Rockies will have not played a game in nine days. Will any of this matter considering they haven’t lost a game in over a month? OVER A MONTH. They last lost on September 15th, for Holliday’s sake.

As for the Sox, well–they seem like a team that, when they get on a roll, they’re unstoppable (versus the actual unstoppability FOR A WHOLE MONTH of the Rockies). The lineup in the past three games has seemed to finally wake up, and they finally decided to start Jacoby Ellsbury in favor of Coco Crisp, which the entirey of Red Sox Nation (or at  least, those to whom I’m privy) had been clamoring for in the past week. Also, on paper, doesn’t Beckett-Schilling-Matsuzaka look incredibly frightening?

I don’t see how the Rockies can match up with the Sox in either pitching or hitting. But then again, the Rockies took two out of three at Fenway earlier this year when they were nowhere near the Team of Destiny. I guess teams of destiny just find a way to win.

Still: Red Sox in six.


oh you mean there’s a POSTseason?

October 4, 2007

First, a disclaimer: I never meant this to be a Mets-only blog (the few scattered posts about tennis and a Lou Piniella tribute points to that, barely). I didn’t really know how this blog would take shape when it started, but considering I lived and died with the Mets’ every game this season, I suppose it was only natural that the vast majority of the content would be about them. But their season is done. Is that supposed to mean that this blog is done until April? I would hope not. I still love the fuck out of baseball, even though it hurts that my team is out of it. I still love the feeling of October baseball. And there’s always rooting against the Phillies.

So!

Rockies d. Phillies 4-2, lead series 1-0
I would like to think I helped the Rockies because, the night before at the Jeffrey Leonard Invitational, I named my team “Cole Hamels is a PUNK BITCH.” I’m sure the fact that the Rockies have won 15 of their last 16 games will be seen as only a minor footnote to the large-scale hexing of Cole Hamels given by me. You’re welcome, Colorado.

How crazy has Colorado been playing? And who would have thought that, in that bandbox called Citizens Bank Park, these two offensive juggernauts would experience a pitching duel? Quelle surprise! Jeff Francis’ only mistakes were back-to-back homeruns to Aaron Rowand and Pat Burrell, which cut the Rockies lead to 3-2. Otherwise, he was straight up dealing, and the top four in the Phillies lineup went a combined 0-for-15 with 9 Ks (siddown, Chutley).

As for Hamels, it all unraveled in the second inning as Todd Helton ripped a leadoff triple and was then sent home by a Garrett Atkins double. After Brad Hawpe struck out, Hamels walked Ryan Spilborghs, and Atkins came home on a bloop by Yorvit Torrealba. A Francis sac bunt moved the runners up, and Kaz Matsui (hey, look at that guy playing in the postseason!) walked to load the bases. Troy Tulowitzki drew another walk, plating Spilborghs. Matt Holliday justmissed a grand slam before striking out to end Hamels’ 40-pitch inning. Hamels blamed his undershirt. Hey Cole? Maybe when it’s a sunny afternoon game, you don’t wear long-sleeves? Just sayin’. Ya punk bitch. [Full disclosure: I am quite sure that if Cole Hamels were a Met, he’d give me a boner.]

Meanwhile, Holliday atoned for his missed grand slam with a solo shot in the eighth off of Tom Gordon. Matt Holliday, you are a big fucking pimp, even with your game-winning chin bruise on Monday. Also, best quote about Philly heckling:

“Yeah, I’ve heard a little about the chin. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because it’s so visible. Or maybe it’s because I’m such a good-looking guy anyway.”

Awesome.

Red Sox d. Angels 4-0, lead series 1-0
One game and it already looks over for the Los Angeles, California Angels of Anaheim, Orange County. With Josh Beckett pitching like a madman, the Angels couldn’t wreak their particular small ball havoc. Big Papi and YOOUUUUUUUK homered. Ho-hum, wake us up when they’re facing the Yankees.

I have to admit that I feel complete ambivalence about this series. As soon as the Sox won it, I received a gloating call from one of their fans, telling me that Anaheim sucks (in the background was a mass–heh–of cawing and squawking Massholes. Shit sounded like a barn, for real). Seeing as I lived there once, yes I know. As a proud Southern Californian, I feel compelled to root for them. But bleh, really. I grew up a Dodgers fan, and the Angels were always just the baseball version of the Clippers to me. But then the Dodgers traded Piazza and became dead to me, inciting Mets fandom, and so my slight SoCal baseball allegiance shifted to the Angels. But still–bleh. I did of course root for them in 2002, but that was SoCal vs. NoCal, and fuck the Giants seriously.

Then there’s the matter of the Red Sox–and, more specifically, their fans. I admire and sometimes love the team. They’ve got an all-time lovable goofball dunderhead in Jonathan Papelbon, and Big Papi seems like the awesomest dude this side of Tom Waits. But the fans! I love all the dudes I know who are Red Sox fans. They are stand-up, funny, charming, hot pieces of ass. It’s all the ones I don’t know that give me pause. In some ways they are a perfect distillation of the town: when the Sahx are winning, there’s drunken hooting yahdoodery. When they’re not, it’s self-flagellating, histrionic Irish-or-Italian/Catholic suffering.

Still, I’m rooting for the Sox here, because anything else would be tantamount to treason to my Red Sox buddies as well as the season-ending MetSox Desperation Pact (hey, so glad it worked for at least one of those teams. Harumph). Also, I wouldn’t want to hear Whadayahfackinretahtid? on a daily basis.

Diamondbacks d. Cubs 3-1, lead series 1-0
Whew! Two of the best pitchers in the bigs going head-to-head, and the big story manages to be Lou Piniella pulling Carlos Zambrano in the sixth inning…right after the Cubs had tied the game! You drama queen. Lou, ayahfackinretahtid?!

Said Lou:

“I’ve got a good bullpen here, OK? And I trust my bullpen. I’m bringing back a pitcher on three days’ rest on Sunday, and I took a shot with my bullpen. It didn’t work today. They’ve done it all year. I’ve got confidence in them — period, end of story.”

Maybe I’m biased, considering I’m only aware of the Cubs bullpen through its collapses against the Mets *coughRyanWuertzcough* but it’s a puzzling move by Lou. I understand maybe wanting to have Zambrano have rest for a possible Game Four, but you could maybe not even worry about it if you win Game One! You’re really gonna trust Carlos Marmol with a tie game instead of Big Z? Okay. Here’s a leadoff tie-breaking homer for your faith.

Meanwhile, in Metsland, Omar Minaya has assured us that Willie Randolph will continue as manager next year. Willie celebrated by shaving off his stache:

Stan immediately commented:

I’m sure there are many Mets fans who are as scared about Willie still having a job as Harry Potter is about whatever-the-hell that-is or whatever-actually-happens to Harry Potter when whatever-the-hell-that-is shows up.

Meanwhile, Paul Lo Duca cleaned out his locker and showed us that he wears metrosexual Chelsea fag mandals.

Those are some sharp-looking jeans too, Paulie.