Game 112 – Red Sox
Royals 5, Red Sox 4
I’m sure I could search the archives over to the right and find a time when I was more bitterly disappointed in the Red Sox, but if the Sox can’t be bothered to give a quality effort, I see no reason why I should. I went to bed mad, woke up pissed off, and even my first cup of sweet, sweet caffeine hasn’t stemmed my bile. I spent my entire drive to work trying to come up with some clever metaphor or humorous theme and I’m flat out empty of any feeling other than fist-clenching, tooth-grinding rage. (Note to self – should probably keep this entry hidden in advance of the divorce proceedings. It’s probably not gonna be the most flattering character witness.)
I’d indicated yesterday that I’d keep a running log of my reaction to the game, but one can only get so much entertainment value out of “fuck” and its various derivations. My wife did enjoy the “holy hot fuck” that I broke out when Javy Lopez dropped a thigh-high curveball to let in the Royals’ 3rd run, though she did question why I was so agitated when the Sox held the lead.
The Sox failed in every phase of the game for the 2nd consecutive night, with major breakdowns in offense, defense, pitching, and baserunning contributing to a 4th straight loss to the league’s cellar-dwellers. I’ve not spent a lot of time this season criticizing the Sox, mostly because they’ve played up to or over expectations until this recent 6-11 skid, but there’s some blame to go around.
Perhaps the “idiot” atmosphere in the Sox clubhouse was played out and a move towards a more businesslike approach made some sense, but the 2006 Sox are left with no credible redass to shake them from the their current doldrums. Schill, Paps, Manny, and Ortiz, you guys are excused – go ahead and get a massage, ‘cause Lord knows you must be exhausted from carrying the rest of these pantloads. The rest of you, get in the shower and let me throw these bats at you, because it sure as hell seems like you need an asskicking, and your manager doesn’t seem willing to administer one.
As a wise man once said, baseball’s an easy game. You hit the ball, you throw the ball, you catch the ball. Sometimes you win. Sometimes you lose. Sometimes it rains. You fuckers can’t do any of those things right now, except lose.
Lopez, you had more balls bounce off your face yesterday than Jenna Jameson in a greatest hits video. Kapler, you’re on this team to play solid defense and maybe contribute on the basepaths – you get picked off one more time we’re gonna make you clean Wallace’s colostomy bag. Wily Mo, you damn dummy, how about some patience at the plate after the pitcher’s walked 2 straight – you’re killing us with the bases loaded twinkillings. Beckett, stop throwing middle of the plate fastballs to mediocre hitters – we had a 4-0 lead and you pissed it away like Mike Tyson on a shopping spree. Coco, hit a cutoff man. In the air. Youks…ahh, I can’t be mad at you, but that 7th inning at-bat was freaking pathetic. You might as well have been Corky Miller. And speaking of Corky Miller, your insertion as that punch line is the most value the Sox will get out of you and your miserable 1-for-55 self. Timlin, Delcarmen, Hansen, Seanez, Tavarez, Wells - you’re all either too old or too young. Do something about it.
This team needs an enema something fierce, and it needs someone or something to light a fire and soon. 50 games left with a growing hill to climb and no apparent sense of urgency to put the pick into the ground and start moving. I can’t believe I’m longing for a Kevin Millar rallying cry.
The usually terrific Seth Mnookin tries to talk Sox fans like me back off the ledge today in his blog. I'm pleased as punch that the Sox' front office has a long view and I'm completely convinced that they're building a terrific foundation that'll put the Sox in contention every year for the rest of time. Intellectually, I get all that - y'know, duh. Problem is, they have to play games today and compete today and I have to watch them shuffle through the motions against the dreckish Rays and Royals while the Yankees pull inexorably away for the 78th consecutive goddamn season and it's really fucking hard to have a long view when you're a fan and not paid to be rational and emotionless and fuuuuuuuuuck.
(Read that last sentence quickly, without taking a breath, and you'll be able to approximate my experience in writing it.)