Beat On that Red Sox Mickey Mouse All You Want, Anaheimans...

Those futile swings won't bring your prop-board shantytown any closer to being an actual city (like, say...the one from which your baseball team embarrassingly pretends to be).

[OC Register via Deadspin]

Maybe I Don't Understand Major League Baseball Rules (And Maybe I Don't Care)

What, exactly, was Yankees manager Joe Girardi complaining about on Tuesday night after my sad-sack Red Sox scraped out a win against their vastly superior (this season to date) AL East rivals?

Something about Manny Delcarmen taking too much time to warm up in preparation to relieve one of the Red Sox's five godawful (this season to date) starting pitchers? Something about one of those pitchers, Josh Beckett, not actually being injured?

Cheese and rice, Joe: Your team's about a billion games up on the Red Sox. If you're going to protest something, protest the fact that the Yankees are currently trailing a team whose fans will remain nonexistent until it faces yours in the division series. (And then they'll be all like, "Hey, our city has a baseball team! I love that dude from 'Desperate Housewives'!")

Old Men, Take a Look At Us Now

It was reported on Wednesday that the Boston Red Sox have reached a preliminary agreement with the Texas Rangers to trade Mike Lowell for minor league catcher Max Ramirez.

The deal could still collapse--because Mike Lowell is an old man with a bum hip--and the emotional side of my Red Sox fandom kind of wants it to. On the other hand, Mike Lowell is an old man with a bum hip and the Red Sox desperately need a new catcher because their current one--whom I love dearly--is an old man with a bum everything.

I don't know how to feel...other than old.

[UPDATE (12/20): No deal.]

Metroville's Movie Corner 2026: Shia LaBeouf IS Terry Francona in 'Reverse the Curse'*

I've been telling my wife for years that Boston Red Sox manager Terry Francona is an older version of Shia LaBeouf. At last, I have found two video clips of the aforementioned individuals that (sort of) prove my case:






*(That might not turn out to be the exact title of the film; perhaps it'll be based on Stephen King and Stewart O'Nan's book.)

Celtics Defeat Yankees, 92-1

As any deluded sports fan knows, the best (irrational) way to cope with one season's team's failure is to carry over the resultant disappointment to the next season's team in the (meaningless) hope that the latter will, in victory, take the sting out of the former's most recent defeat.

When such a victory occurs on the same night as a decisive thumping of your former season's team's archrival...well, that's just Phantastic.

Idiot

Following the (suckass) Generally-Pacific Coast Angels of But Also Maybe Portugal?'s improbable victory over the (suckass) New York Yankees (actually of New York, unlike the NFL's Giants) in Game 5 of the ALCS on Thursday, the Yankees' ballerina-armed centerfielder Johnny Damon--the Judas who conveniently ended his tenure with the Boston Red Sox by grounding into an out that ended the Red Sox's postseason in 2005--was knuckleheaded enough to make the following statement:

"It gives them a couple more days of hope, and hopefully that hope ends on Saturday because anything can happen, especially with as tough of conditions as we’re going to be playing in... They still have to beat us two times at our place, and hopefully that’s going to be tough to do.”

Anything can happen? No shit, Professor Recall.

God, I hate both of these teams so much.

GO--uh...THE RETROACTIVE CANCELLATION OF THE 2009 MAJOR LEAGUE BASEBALL SEASON?

(Yeah, that works.)

'Pessimism vs. Optimism': A Play in One Act

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

METROVILLE, a smart guy.
MRS. METROVILLE, his wife.
MALE FRIEND, Female Friend's fiancé.
FEMALE FRIEND, vice versa.
THE CAT, Metroville's strikingly handsome cat.


SCENE 1

A patio area at a (vaguely douchetastic) sports bar in Los Angeles. Amongst the CROWD are METROVILLE, MRS. METROVILLE, MALE FRIEND and FEMALE FRIEND. On television is NBC's broadcast of a USC-Notre Dame football game at halftime: "Saturday Night Live's" SETH MYERS is performing a live mini-version of 'Weekend Update'.

METROVILLE: Wow...NBC really has nothing. Is it possible for a major broadcast network to fold entirely?

MRS. METROVILLE: Why are you so cynical?

On TV, Seth Myers partakes in a gag referencing the "balloon boy" story.

MALE FRIEND: Did you see that kid puke on two different TV shows? What was up with that?

METROVILLE: What's up with that is that the kid's dad is a psycho attention-addict and the whole thing was staged. Kid's got crazy-parent vertigo and probably some sternum bruising.

MALE FRIEND: Heard that.

FEMALE FRIEND (to Male Friend): Why are you saying that now? Is that your new thing?

MRS. METROVILLE (to Metroville): No, you were asleep while the whole "balloon boy" thing was happening, so you don't know. We were glued to the TV at work, freaking out. When the balloon landed and he turned out not to be in it...god, I could cry right now just thinking about it...it was unbelievable.

METROVILLE: No shit it was unbelievable--whole thing was horse poop from jump street.

FEMALE FRIEND: I don't know. The dad seemed pretty genuine in that first press conference.

METROVILLE: This is a dude who was on "Wife Swap" twice.

MALE FRIEND: He was on "Wipeout"?

METROVILLE: No... What?

MRS. METROVILLE: I also heard "Wipeout".

FEMALE FRIEND (to Metroville): I think you're thinking of "SuperNanny".

METROVILLE: I'm thinking of "Wife Swap", 'cause that's what I said.

MRS. METROVILLE: You mumble.

METROVILLE: You know what kind of people choose to appear on reality shows? Psycho scumbags. And the fact that this dude--the "balloon boy" dad--forced his family to participate in that garbage on two separate occasions renders it mathematically near-impossible that he'd find himself in the national spotlight--by accident--a third time. Dude set the whole thing up, I guarantee it.

MRS. METROVILLE: You're wrong.

METROVILLE: I'm right. Bet me.

MRS. METROVILLE: I'm not going to bet you. I feel bad for you that you walk around with this dark view of the world.

FEMALE FRIEND: You guys are cute.

MALE FRIEND: Kid puked twice just on the "Today Show"... Fuckin' nuts.


SCENE 2

METROVILLE is in his office at home, browsing on his computer. He comes across an article (on MSNBC.com)...and gets very excited.

He rises from his chair and skips jauntily from his office, to the living room, and finally to the bedroom...where MRS. METROVILLE is struggling to reclaim possession of a sweater from THE CAT.

MRS. METROVILLE: I hate this fucking cat.

METROVILLE: But he's so handsome.

MRS. METROVILLE: Still hate him.

METROVILLE: I love it when you talk negative.

MRS. METROVILLE: I never talk negative. I just want my goddamn sweater.

METROVILLE: Embrace it, baby: When all cards are on the table, pessimism--

Mrs. Metroville wins the fight, freeing her sweater from the cat.

METROVILLE: ...pulls us through.

MRS. METROVILLE: Save it. I beat your douchebag cat with positive thinking.

METROVILLE: Good intentions triumph over evil, love conquers all...that kind of thing?

MRS. METROVILLE: Exactly.

METROVILLE: Remember that "balloon boy" thing we were arguing about earlier today?

MRS. METROVILLE: Yeah...

METROVILLE: Guess what?

MRS. METROVILLE: What.

METROVILLE: "Charges to be filed."

MRS. METROVILLE: You're kidding!

METROVILLE: I am not! How you like that?!

MRS. METROVILLE: I don't like it at all. I think it's super-fucking sad. Guy's got a wife and three kids... This could tear the whole family apart.

METROVILLE: Yeah, okay, but... How about a high-five for me being right?

MRS. METROVILLE: No, thank you. I'm taking a bath.

Mrs. Metroville passes by Metroville (without high-fiving him) and enters the bathroom, closing the door behind her. Metroville looks at the cat.

METROVILLE: You got me, though, right?

Metroville picks up the cat and sort of makes it high-five him, getting scratched in the process.

METROVILLE: Ah, what the hell.


EPILOGUE

Later that night, METROVILLE is heading from the kitchen to his office. THE CAT approaches, rubbing against his legs.

METROVILLE: No dice, chief. We're still fighting.

Metroville's mobile phone buzzes in his pocket. He produces the phone, reading a text message...and frowns.

METROVILLE (calling OFF STAGE to Mrs. Metroville): Yankees won in the thirteenth! You gotta be fucking kidding me. I'm certainly not sad that the Angels lost, but the fuckin' Yankees? Major playoff in my favorite sport...

MRS. METROVILLE (from OFF STAGE): What about the National League?

METROVILLE: I'm talking about real baseball, not the pseudo-Canadian version with a guaranteed failed bunt in every lineup.

MRS. METROVILLE (from OFF STAGE): You're funny.

METROVILLE: I appreciate that but please do not distract me from my rant. Major playoff in my favorite sport and I want both teams to lose and neither to win. How am I supposed to enjoy that?

MRS. METROVILLE (from OFF STAGE): Maybe pessimism doesn't always pull us through, smart guy.

METROVILLE: Heard that.

Metroville goes back to work.

(THE END)

Oh, NOW They 'Bumble'...

Shut up, baseball. I hate you.

Red Suckers

Here's a screenshot of what arrived in my inbox ten minutes before the time of this posting:


Yeah...let me just grab my credit card and do that, billion-dollar franchise made primarily on the backs of the middle- to low-income people whose souls you crushed not 48 hours earlier. Can I throw in an extra few bucks for your thoughtful timing?

Pap Smear

Grrrr...look at me...look at my mean face...

Mean faces count for outs, right?

What? No?

[Ed. note: Fuck you in your stupid fucking face, Papelbon.]

A Case for 'the Providence Red Sox of Boston'

When the Boston Red Sox--despite having been staggeringly incapable during the final few weeks of the 2009 season--managed to stumble ass-backwards into a playoff spot (a break owed entirely to the team's early-season dominance), I was concerned about their chances.

On Thursday night, when the BoSox promptly shit the bed against the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim-California-United States of America-Continent of North America-Earth-Earth's Solar System-Milky Way Galaxy in the first game of their division series, my concerns were unfortunately validated.

The question now is: How can the lethargic Red Sox turn the tide against the charged-up (and mathematically due to win the series) Angels?

Get their pitching to not suck? Hogwash. Have their batters hit the ball and reach base safely? Balderdash. Care? Stratego.

There's only one thing the Boston Red Sox can do if they hope to stand a chance a chance against their extraneously-named ALDS rival:

They need to add more cities to their name.

Think about it: in 2002, the first year since 1965 that the (then just "Anaheim") Angels acknowledged their geographical location on their jerseys, the team won its first (and, to date, only) World Series. No one outside of Anaheim gave a hoot (and even the majority of those living in the Anaheim area were only pretending to give hoots in order to hide their shame over having been unaware that their city had housed a professional baseball franchise since 1966); the team went on to suck for the following two seasons, a suckitude made much more embarrassing than its previous incarnation by the fact that the rest of the baseball world was now vaguely aware of the existence of Anaheim in all its irritating worthlessness. (I thought Disneyland was just Disneyland, remarked everyone, oblivious to the trenchant accuracy of that discarded belief.)

Prior to the 2005 season, the Angels ownership--no doubt realizing that the wholly artificial, rapidly decreasing "fan base" that came to exist just three years earlier might soon vanish entirely--struck upon the ingenious idea to rebrand the team to arbitrarily include the name of a city 40 miles away: a city that, importantly, people had actually heard of. And, voila: the [One City] Angels of [Another, Completely Unrelated City] went on to make the playoffs in 4 of the 5 ensuing seasons.

Sure, Providence, Rhode Island, is 45 miles from the city in which the Red Sox actually play--not to mention in a different state--but the Anaheim Angels didn't let silly things like "facts" and "logic" stand in their way en route to their recent postseason-appearance streak; the one thing that has stopped them, time and time again, from advancing beyond the division series is the Boston Red Sox. The hard truth currently facing the Red Sox is that they can't, in all likelihood, keep knocking the Angels out of the postseason forever. [UPDATE (10/11/09): Called it.] For that streak to continue, the Red Sox must take a page from the Angels' book and add a city.

(And though it may be too late for the Red Sox to do so this season, there's always 2010 for the Providence Red Sox of Boston; and if that doesn't work...watch out for the New England Boston Braves-Red Sox of Pennsylvania in 2011.)

Sports Writer Unaware of Sports Fans

I need to get off the internet.

I can't, of course, because doing so might force me to directly interact with other human beings. But if I could, I might have a better chance at avoiding articles like the most recent one from "NBC sports.com contributor" Tony DeMarco wherein the author critically wounds the Boston Red Sox's chances of winning the World Series this year by brazenly asserting that the Boston Red Sox will win the World Series this year.

Way to know your readers, DeJinxo. Sports fans are by nature superstitious; Red Sox fans are by nurture quite unhealthily superstitious; ergo, you are a big jerk with a stupid mustache.

Unless, of course, your prediction turns out to be accurate (knock on wood)...in which case you will be a great guy with a stupid mustache.

Nomar Smoltz

Nomar Garciaparra returned to Fenway Park on Monday. Yay!

His Oakland A's beat the hell out of elderly John Smoltz and the Boston Red Sox. Less yay.

Innings of Love

In daylights, in sunsets
In midnights, in cups of coffee
In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife
In five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
How do you measure...
An inning in a game?

With an AL record-breaking 12 runs before recording an out is how, we musical-theater-loving nancies--I mean YOU! Not "we"! Just you! Ha-ha, what a weird typo!

I only like sports and I therefore have no idea from what fabulous stage play are the above lyrics. And I'm definitely NOT humming the tune associated with them as I write this.

Manny Using Manny (Drugs) Getting (Suspended) Manny (Games)

The Los Angeles Times has broken the story that Dodgers superstar and "model citizen" Manny Ramirez will be suspended for 50 games beginning Thursday after testing positive for performance-enhancing drugs.

...Hooray? ...Boo?

Eh, I don't care. As long as he's not on the Red Sox anymore or on my fantasy tea--ah, crap.

Red Sox Celebrate Metroville's 400th Post by Peeing All Over New Yankee Stadium

There will be many games played between the New York Yankees and the Boston Red Sox at the ill-advised sinkhole that is the Yankees' new stadium between now and the time that the Yankees go bankrupt, but there will only be one first game to take place there between the two arch rivals...and--on Monday (Tuesday local time)--the Red Sox won it.

That's on the books forever and ever, Yankee fans. Nana-nana boo-boo.

Who Told Selena Roberts I Have a Birthday Coming Up?

Beginning with his shift from would-be Yankees' savior to be playoff poison, I figured that, following the divorce, the Madonna mess and--of course--the steroid scandal, my Alex Rodriguez schadenfreude had reached its apex with the mirror-mirror smoochy-face gay porn photo spread. Little could I have imagined that the gift that is A-Rod's freefall had more to give.

It comes in the form of further revelations from Selena Roberts' upcoming biography of the manchild, A-Rod: The Many Lives of Alex Rodriguez.

Not only did Roberts break the story that A-Rod tested positive for steroids in 2003 (when he was playing for the Texas Rangers), her book reportedly includes evidence that Rodriguez--despite orange-faced promises to the contrary--continued to use illegal performance-enhancing substances when he was a member of the New York Yankees. Part of this evidence--the best part, far and away--is that A-Rod's Yankees teammates called him "Bitch Tits" because of his "round pectorals, a condition called gynecomastia that can be caused by anabolic steroids".

My cup runneth over.

Rodriguez also, according to Roberts' book, has a gambling problem, is a bad tipper at Hooters and (speaking of tipping) is a fan of signaling opposing batters to let them know what pitch is coming with the expectation that his cheating will be reciprocated.

The latter practice is called "pitch tipping", which is similar to the nickname that will--god willing--haunt Alex Rodriguez for the rest of his life.

Then again...I don't want to be greedy.

[NY Daily News]

"BOS! TON! SU-aaah, We Probably Should've Started This Chant Earlier."

I dislike the "[OPPOSING TEAM] SUCK[S]!" chant that is so prevalent at Major League Baseball games. It's crass, it's unoriginal, and--because its popularity can be directly traced to "YANKEES SUCK!"--I find it particularly embarrassing as a Red Sox fan. My enjoyment of it only ever takes place retroactively--and then only ironically--after its occurrence has been hilariously ill-timed.

Pay close attention to the first second of audio in the following clip:



What you've got there is manna from heaven against uncreative sports fans.

Sweep the Dregs

While it's too late to provide unique insight on the Red Sox' 3-game sweep of the Yankees over the weekend--including Jacoby Ellsbury's ridiculous steal of home (y'know, the base to where the pitcher is throwing the ball in the first place!)--I figured I'd squeeze in my obligatory mention of it before the Red Sox begin their series against Cleveland, who has a better of beating Boston than the Yankees do, because the New York Yankees are a terrible baseball team.

Grow Up, CBS SportsLine.

Seriously. Grow up.