Got a call last night from old friend Tim Kolehmainen, hard by the banks of the receeding Red River in Morehead, Minnesota.
"Miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiister Carpenter!"
I couldn't help but note the timing: My Sox, trailing 3-1 in the fifth inning to Timmah's Twins at the Metrodome.
"Tim, how un-Midwestern of you to call and bust my stones."
"Oh?"
He suddenly sounded like Margie's decoy-carving husband in "Fargo," O's and lower jaw elongating. "What's the score?"
"To be honest with you, Tim, I can't really be sure, because I've finally gone ahead and done it. At long last, Dice-K has made me gouge out my own eyes like the mother of Oedipus. What was her name again? Clytemnestra? Okeefenokee? I can't think straight for all the blood."
"You've gone wild, Mr. Carpenter."
"Yes. How many wild pitches are the Sox up to?"
"Let's see ... I think it's four, which if extrapolated over the course of nine innings -- well, eight, if the Twins hold their lead -- will eventually, if we apply the Pythagorian principal of exponential sandbagging, a theory I learned at the Upper Peninsula Institute of Technology, Logging, Edible Roots & Wildnerness Survival and applied to this spring's flooding, will, I say, add up to 8.325. Yes, most definitely 8.325."
"You got a date tonight with Iris, Rain Man?"
"Nooooope. Just watching my girls and watching Kevin Slowey pitch."
"That's another thing: We're losing to a pitcher named Slowey."
"Yep, he was one of the guys pitching for the Rock Cats when I covered them two summers ago."
"And Cuddyer and Morneau and Mauer were around when I was on the beat before that, Tim. That's why I cannot root against them with the same sort of hatred that bubbles up in me for all other Red Sox opponents. But, Tim, the blood! The blood!"
"Try cold compresses."
"No! What I need is for Dice-K to be put on the permanent DL. We called you 'Central Standard Time,' Tim, because you always seemed to be an hour behind the rest of us, but Dice makes you look like a New York Minute at a meth lab."
"Speaking of which, you called me when the Yankees were beating the Twins two weeks ago."
"Yes, but I wanted the Twins to win. I was pissed that Gardenhire left Blackburn in to get torched by Teixeira in the eighth inning of Saturday's game. Was it Blackburn? I can't recall now. I'm growing faint. The Twins should have won at least two of those games. Alas ... the Yankees are gathering steam and Big Papi still isn't hitting his weight, two numbers that seem destined to head in opposing directions."
Another wild pitch ricocheted off the armor of George Kottaras. Was that Dice still pitching? Delcarmen? Masterson? I was very faint, my frame of reference all askew.
"Adieu, adieu, remember me..."
"Miiiiiister carpenter" repeated and dwindled in my ears ... those Midwestern O's got even longer ... a hit batsman with the bases loaded ... "there's more to life than a little baseball, don't cha know?" .... OK, Margie ... the landscape's turning white ...
...
I confess to passing out and not waking until just now, moments before the first pitch in the Sox-Twins series finale.
Was last night's game for real?
I grab the paper. Yes, there it is 4-2. Six wild pitches to tie a Major League record.
"Hah, Kolehmainen!" I say into a phone long dead, "so much for 8.325! We'll see who makes the telephone call today."
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Monday, May 25, 2009
Moving on Up (Pole Sittin', Phase 1, in the Julio-Free Zone)
A 4-2 homestand that, for all the Friday-Saturday frustrations against the Metropolitans, leaves the Sox in first place.
Things have a way of first sorting themselves out by Memorial Day.
To wit:
*The Blue Jays, with their starting pitching in such tatters this side of Roy Halladay, simply can't hang. Theirs was a hot start born of a weak schedule. They ran into Boston and New York and promptly hit the skids.
*Conversely, Boston's starting pitching is finally shaping up nicely, even Brad Penny.
Even Dice did decently by methodical, tortorous Dice standards in his return Friday night. That one bad inning, as we all know, could have been defused by The Double Play That Was Not. First time I've ever seen a shortstop try to turn two standing flat-footed.
*Which brings us to Issue N0. 3 -- no more Julio. The Sox lineup must be a Julio-Free Zone. He was never that good to begin with and now his speed and range are gone, daddy gone, left somewhere on an operating table or some fried chicken take-out counter.
That was a cruel and unnecessary shot, I know, but who can really take watching the guy anymore except maybe Mrs. Lugo (and then again maybe not even her)?
Nick Green has more than earned his keep and should hold it until Kid Lowrie gets back and gets a shot to prove if he is fact or fiction.
*Nice two-HR day for Youk on Sunday. Joe West, on the other hand, batted 1-for-2. It was good he and the umps went to replay on Youk's shot down the line, but you knew that baby wasn't getting overturned.
Great win on Sunday, though. It took away the sting of Saturday night. Don't know about you, brethren, but watching some Punch-and-Judy hitter take Pap deep for a game-winning, two-run HR with two outs in the top of the ninth did not sit well. First one to really piss me off since some of those Tampa games last September. (Shades of Bucky Dent, too, on the Chintz Scale.)
*Lastly, Papi's drought-breaking HR on Wednesday night was sweet, a testament to the loyalty and magic between the Sox and their fans, but the rest of the homestand proved it was hardly cathartic. I know he's swung into some tough-luck outs, but .195 is .195. It's time to drop him out of the 3-spot and flip-flop him with J.D. Drew.
And with that, it's time to plant some pole beans on this Memorial Day. The peas popped through yesterday, just like the Sox. The key is to provide proper support to keep them climbing.
Things have a way of first sorting themselves out by Memorial Day.
To wit:
*The Blue Jays, with their starting pitching in such tatters this side of Roy Halladay, simply can't hang. Theirs was a hot start born of a weak schedule. They ran into Boston and New York and promptly hit the skids.
*Conversely, Boston's starting pitching is finally shaping up nicely, even Brad Penny.
Even Dice did decently by methodical, tortorous Dice standards in his return Friday night. That one bad inning, as we all know, could have been defused by The Double Play That Was Not. First time I've ever seen a shortstop try to turn two standing flat-footed.
*Which brings us to Issue N0. 3 -- no more Julio. The Sox lineup must be a Julio-Free Zone. He was never that good to begin with and now his speed and range are gone, daddy gone, left somewhere on an operating table or some fried chicken take-out counter.
That was a cruel and unnecessary shot, I know, but who can really take watching the guy anymore except maybe Mrs. Lugo (and then again maybe not even her)?
Nick Green has more than earned his keep and should hold it until Kid Lowrie gets back and gets a shot to prove if he is fact or fiction.
*Nice two-HR day for Youk on Sunday. Joe West, on the other hand, batted 1-for-2. It was good he and the umps went to replay on Youk's shot down the line, but you knew that baby wasn't getting overturned.
Great win on Sunday, though. It took away the sting of Saturday night. Don't know about you, brethren, but watching some Punch-and-Judy hitter take Pap deep for a game-winning, two-run HR with two outs in the top of the ninth did not sit well. First one to really piss me off since some of those Tampa games last September. (Shades of Bucky Dent, too, on the Chintz Scale.)
*Lastly, Papi's drought-breaking HR on Wednesday night was sweet, a testament to the loyalty and magic between the Sox and their fans, but the rest of the homestand proved it was hardly cathartic. I know he's swung into some tough-luck outs, but .195 is .195. It's time to drop him out of the 3-spot and flip-flop him with J.D. Drew.
And with that, it's time to plant some pole beans on this Memorial Day. The peas popped through yesterday, just like the Sox. The key is to provide proper support to keep them climbing.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
May 19: Lay o' the Land
I've been thinking about old friend Tim Kolehmainen the past couple of days.
His Twins were in New York finding new cruel and unusual ways to lose to the Yankees and, while mowing the lawn, I found myself cutting a Minnesota-shaped pattern into the grass, which is totally weird because my yard is shaped like North Carolina.
Tim, with his background in engineering and Freudian psychoanalysis, could diagnose the cause.
Except he's too tuckered out after sandbagging his backyard in Morehead, Minnesota against last month's onslaught of the Red River.
Tim's sandbag structure, as I understand it, resembles the George Washington Bridge.
This, too, is clearly a product of a tortured subconscious.
Sorry, Tim. Try as you might, there is no bridge or ford you can forge to carry the Twins past the Yanks, who are suddenly gathering a distrubing head of steam, like the Red River.
Then again, it did subside in time, thank God, so I cast a hopeful eye to the future.
But let us tend to our own garden, brethren. With how much alarm do we view our Sox as they limp home from the West Coast and start a telling series back at Fenway tonight against the first-place Jays?
We've got holes. Yep, we've got holes. And we need sandbags.
We've got issues at shortstop, we're getting no production out of the DH spot and our much ballyhood starting pitching is still far below cruising altitude.
Perhaps the sandbags are right at hand. Revolver Beckett was sharp Saturday night, though he did benefit from some strong defense. Hopefully, Lester is on the verge of getting untracked. Dice is due back soon. Jury's out on that scene, though, as far as I'm concerned.
As for the dismal DH production, perhaps Papi will have benefited from the weekend off. Perhaps the happy confines of Fenway and the Monster will get him back in the swing. I wish I wasn't so pessimistic. Still, who among us is ready to give up on Papi?
As for shortstop, we could just sit tight until the return of Jed Lowrie, but I sense a stopgap move coming at the trading deadline. Fourth-fifths of the NL West will be out of it by then, as will half the NL Central.
Bottom line: This team is too good to go through lackluster 2-4 stretches, be they on the West Coast, East Coast or Red River.
Getting Youk back will be a huge boon, a domino effect through the lineup that will restore guys like Jason Bay to their comfort zone. Papi, though, is the key. That big gaping hole in the 3-spot has to be shored up. You don't have to be an engineer like Minnesota Tim to know that.
I'd also like to see us stop being so stagnant on offense. Too much station to station lately. Not enough running. We attempted only three stolen bases on the West Coast swing, which was anything but, since we hit .115 with runners in scoring position (6-for-52), grounded into eight double plays and left 48 guys on base.
We need to get wheels a-spinning, get defenses moving.
And I need to get off my ass and get outside. I hear a lawn mower droning. No need to ask for whom it tolls.
His Twins were in New York finding new cruel and unusual ways to lose to the Yankees and, while mowing the lawn, I found myself cutting a Minnesota-shaped pattern into the grass, which is totally weird because my yard is shaped like North Carolina.
Tim, with his background in engineering and Freudian psychoanalysis, could diagnose the cause.
Except he's too tuckered out after sandbagging his backyard in Morehead, Minnesota against last month's onslaught of the Red River.
Tim's sandbag structure, as I understand it, resembles the George Washington Bridge.
This, too, is clearly a product of a tortured subconscious.
Sorry, Tim. Try as you might, there is no bridge or ford you can forge to carry the Twins past the Yanks, who are suddenly gathering a distrubing head of steam, like the Red River.
Then again, it did subside in time, thank God, so I cast a hopeful eye to the future.
But let us tend to our own garden, brethren. With how much alarm do we view our Sox as they limp home from the West Coast and start a telling series back at Fenway tonight against the first-place Jays?
We've got holes. Yep, we've got holes. And we need sandbags.
We've got issues at shortstop, we're getting no production out of the DH spot and our much ballyhood starting pitching is still far below cruising altitude.
Perhaps the sandbags are right at hand. Revolver Beckett was sharp Saturday night, though he did benefit from some strong defense. Hopefully, Lester is on the verge of getting untracked. Dice is due back soon. Jury's out on that scene, though, as far as I'm concerned.
As for the dismal DH production, perhaps Papi will have benefited from the weekend off. Perhaps the happy confines of Fenway and the Monster will get him back in the swing. I wish I wasn't so pessimistic. Still, who among us is ready to give up on Papi?
As for shortstop, we could just sit tight until the return of Jed Lowrie, but I sense a stopgap move coming at the trading deadline. Fourth-fifths of the NL West will be out of it by then, as will half the NL Central.
Bottom line: This team is too good to go through lackluster 2-4 stretches, be they on the West Coast, East Coast or Red River.
Getting Youk back will be a huge boon, a domino effect through the lineup that will restore guys like Jason Bay to their comfort zone. Papi, though, is the key. That big gaping hole in the 3-spot has to be shored up. You don't have to be an engineer like Minnesota Tim to know that.
I'd also like to see us stop being so stagnant on offense. Too much station to station lately. Not enough running. We attempted only three stolen bases on the West Coast swing, which was anything but, since we hit .115 with runners in scoring position (6-for-52), grounded into eight double plays and left 48 guys on base.
We need to get wheels a-spinning, get defenses moving.
And I need to get off my ass and get outside. I hear a lawn mower droning. No need to ask for whom it tolls.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Diaper Up
One last thing before we leave Anaheim and the travails of Papi (hopefully) in the rearview mirror:
While we Sox fans have a way of anguishing and dwelling on what doesn't go right, we do know our team is far better run than most and, when our guys struggle, no matter how much we rag them on the Internet or on talk radio or in newspaper columns, we're behind them when it's go-time.
So long as they're wearing a Red Sox uniform, we almost never boo. (Christ, look at the crap we put up with Manny.) Even if Papi goes 0-for-Seattle, when he steps to the plate Tuesday at Fenway, he'll be applauded, he'll be pulled for.
This is in direct contrast to New York, which tends to eat its young and falls all over itself to boo its struggling stars. What they ought to boo is an ownership team that has built a soulless new stadium where half the seats are beyond the means of 90 percent of the fan base.
Cheer up, though, New York. I understand you get to come down from steerage and watch batting practice from the two sections in the outfield corners.
While we Sox fans have a way of anguishing and dwelling on what doesn't go right, we do know our team is far better run than most and, when our guys struggle, no matter how much we rag them on the Internet or on talk radio or in newspaper columns, we're behind them when it's go-time.
So long as they're wearing a Red Sox uniform, we almost never boo. (Christ, look at the crap we put up with Manny.) Even if Papi goes 0-for-Seattle, when he steps to the plate Tuesday at Fenway, he'll be applauded, he'll be pulled for.
This is in direct contrast to New York, which tends to eat its young and falls all over itself to boo its struggling stars. What they ought to boo is an ownership team that has built a soulless new stadium where half the seats are beyond the means of 90 percent of the fan base.
Cheer up, though, New York. I understand you get to come down from steerage and watch batting practice from the two sections in the outfield corners.
Poopie & Circumstance, No. 2
Went on a great bike ride, mowed the back 40, but still bothered by yesterday's loss in Anaheim.
Somehow, in the SoCal sun, the Sox had a collective brain freeze as cold as Papi's bat.
That inning Lugo led off with the double -- the 10th, I believe -- I was hoping Tito would have Ellsbury bunt Lugo over to third. There, he could have scored on an out, such as that bomb Pedroia hit to deep CF magnificently hauled in by Torii Hunter. Instead of it going utterly for naught, it would have brought Lugo home with what would have been the winning run.
You had to figure Pedroia, 4-for-4 at the point, was going to put the ball in play. And, really, once it fell to Papi, what could we expect?
Weird new reality.
Do love the bullpen, though, even with yesterday's loss. Ramirez continues to excel, Delcarmen is way better than he ever was and NASCAR Bard makes throwing in the high 90s look like a warm-up run around the track.
Tell you what, let's go up to Seattle, pound that rag-ass team and go home with a 4-2 trip that ends our West Coast travels for the season.
Somehow, in the SoCal sun, the Sox had a collective brain freeze as cold as Papi's bat.
That inning Lugo led off with the double -- the 10th, I believe -- I was hoping Tito would have Ellsbury bunt Lugo over to third. There, he could have scored on an out, such as that bomb Pedroia hit to deep CF magnificently hauled in by Torii Hunter. Instead of it going utterly for naught, it would have brought Lugo home with what would have been the winning run.
You had to figure Pedroia, 4-for-4 at the point, was going to put the ball in play. And, really, once it fell to Papi, what could we expect?
Weird new reality.
Do love the bullpen, though, even with yesterday's loss. Ramirez continues to excel, Delcarmen is way better than he ever was and NASCAR Bard makes throwing in the high 90s look like a warm-up run around the track.
Tell you what, let's go up to Seattle, pound that rag-ass team and go home with a 4-2 trip that ends our West Coast travels for the season.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Poopie & Circumstance
Hate to say it, but Papi's got to be moved in the lineup. He's killing us in the 3-hole.
You can spot April as a mulligan with a slumping slugger, but once you get halfway through May and the dude's barely batting over .200 and his number of home runs matches John Blutarsky's grade-point average, well, you've got to take measures and nothing double-secret about it.
0-for-7 today with 12 guys left on: Papi's officially killing us.
You can spot April as a mulligan with a slumping slugger, but once you get halfway through May and the dude's barely batting over .200 and his number of home runs matches John Blutarsky's grade-point average, well, you've got to take measures and nothing double-secret about it.
0-for-7 today with 12 guys left on: Papi's officially killing us.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Tom Comes A-Knockin'
I was awakened this morning by a rap-rap-rapping at my front door.
Stumbling, fumbling, for I am very near of sight, I could barely make out the long staff and the crazy hair in the morning light.
He was shouting even before I got the door open.
"SLOTHFUL SLUMBERER! WASTER OF THE DAWN! RISE FROM THY COUCH OF DEBAUCHERY AND DESIGNER SHEETS!"
I'm not in much of a mood when forced to wake early, and here was Old Testament Tom, bane of the neighborhood and the ears of canines, howling on my front stoop, bearing false witness against my morals and bedding.
I noticed the woman across the street peeking out her window.
Tact, I fear, escaped me.
"Tom, you raggedy bastard. Get off my godd*mn porch!"
The SOB didn't back off an inch.
"Not till ye cast of your indolent ways, Idler, and take up thy pen!"
"What are you talking about? I write every day."
"NAAAAAAAAY! Not on the Magic Screen! Not on the Papal and Circumcision!"
"Papi & Circumstance? My blog? What do you care if I blog? That's on my time, Jack, and I've got a baby's room to get ready and a garden to plant and --"
He cut me off. "IT SEEMETH YOU HAVE ALREADY SEEN TO THE PLANTING!"
I was shutting the door at that point, but he wedged his staff into the narrowing divide and lowered his voice to an urgent, conspiratorial whisper.
"You must blog anew, my friend."
"What for?"
"I am in need. I am in need of -- wissssssssdom."
I swear the bastard hissed.
"What for?"
"For material. Mute fell I upon my last tour stop, in Madawaska, Maine, and I was pelted with rotten potatoes and all means of farm refuse and French-sounding epithets. They threatened to hang me from the wind turbines atop Mars Hill, where the sun and crows would unkindly play upon me, if I failed to offer full refunds."
This got me chuckling and got Tom fired back up.
"LAUGH NOT, YE SLACKER! Scott Boras himself has sent me hither to tell thee, to order thee, back to thy keyboard. We have a show this weekend in TURNERS FALLS, MASSACHUSETTS! You must provide me material and means for a bus fare."
"Boras, huh? Well, he's not going to like what I've got to say about his client."
"The falsely denounced Emmanuel? The Righteous Ramirez? The Right Arm of the Chosen Ones? He who has been exiled for games 10 plus 40?"
"I told you last summer when the Sox finally unloaded his circus act that it was a good move, one long overdue. I liked Jason Bay from Day 1. Funny, ain't it, how he's exploded at the exact time Manny has imploded?"
"Manny hath been contrite."
"Looks like he used steroids, Tom."
"Nay! NAY! A poor prescription of a fumbling physician."
"A female fertility drug, Tom? The sort of thing guys use coming off a steroid cycle?"
"An elixir for the manly pursuits!"
"Well, even if that's true, Tom, it still means Manny wasn't swinging real wood."
At that, Tom spat. He stammered and he swore. He dropped his staff, slipped and fell upon it, fumbled 'neath his nether robes and flung it limply once it was retrieved.
Then he grinned and pointed both fingers at it in a lame attempt to save face.
"I bet you're not much for running out come-backers to the mound either, Tom. Push any traveling secretaries down lately? You're lucky I'm the only one in the audience today. Sooner or later, the curtain comes down on the sham show."
And with that, I turned my back on the fallen idol, and it was easy to do.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Two Days in New Amsterdam (Pt. 2)
Five up, five down, high-fives all around.
But, you know, it's May 6. Don't know about you brethren, but I don't sign off on any Yankee death certificate until they're good and dead and buried with a stake driven through their heart and their severed head placed atop an explosives-laden tortoise to wander across the desert.
You know, the usual sentiment.
Funny, the cycles of this great rivalry. Since the cauldron of 2004, it lost some steam. Then, into the mix, steps Joba. Comments from Sox fans such as, "I really respect Jeter and Posada and Mo" have given way to, "I really hate that $*#&! guy!"
Now I fully understand why non-Sox fans loathed Pedro during his Beantown days. It's pretty cowardly to stand up on that hill and bounce fastballs off people when you don't have to step in that batters box.
I could sit here and be just as cowardly and say, "There must be Meth-od to Joba's madness," but that's as cheap a shot as putting a ball between the numbers of someone who homered off of you in the first inning.
I'll just say that Joba & Hyde, the master of extremes, who gives up five straight hits to start a game, then strikes out 12 of the next 18, is one of those great talents and outsized personalities that are good for the game and good for this rivalry and would be wasted anywhere outside the Empire and Nation.
But, you know, it's May 6. Don't know about you brethren, but I don't sign off on any Yankee death certificate until they're good and dead and buried with a stake driven through their heart and their severed head placed atop an explosives-laden tortoise to wander across the desert.
You know, the usual sentiment.
Funny, the cycles of this great rivalry. Since the cauldron of 2004, it lost some steam. Then, into the mix, steps Joba. Comments from Sox fans such as, "I really respect Jeter and Posada and Mo" have given way to, "I really hate that $*#&! guy!"
Now I fully understand why non-Sox fans loathed Pedro during his Beantown days. It's pretty cowardly to stand up on that hill and bounce fastballs off people when you don't have to step in that batters box.
I could sit here and be just as cowardly and say, "There must be Meth-od to Joba's madness," but that's as cheap a shot as putting a ball between the numbers of someone who homered off of you in the first inning.
I'll just say that Joba & Hyde, the master of extremes, who gives up five straight hits to start a game, then strikes out 12 of the next 18, is one of those great talents and outsized personalities that are good for the game and good for this rivalry and would be wasted anywhere outside the Empire and Nation.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Two Days in New Amsterdam (Pt. 1)
Talk about a world turned upside down: Who thought the day would come when Yankee Stadium (new, old, retro or otherwise) would be a welcome sight after Tropicana Field?
The Rays simply own us. (5-2 vs. Sox, 6-14 vs. Everyone Else).
But, hopefully, we own the Yankees. Four up, four down so far, with Papi showing signs of life to boot. No slicers to left, but head-of-the-bat rips down the RF line.
Great outing, too, for Johan Lester last night. Only one bad inning, but that should have headed off with a double play. At least this one we can't hang on Julio Lugo.
One last note: I know Pap got the job done, but I hate those multi-inning saves. It backfired on the Yanks and Mariano that Friday night in Boston and it nearly did to Tito last night. Too many pitches get thrown; the in-between innings wait throws off the rhythm of the closer. October's one thing, May's another.
And one other item: How about, whenever Ellsbury gets on, we put him in motion. You know, the guy who stole home? Let's run him at every opportunity. Straight steal, hit and run -- whatever. Let's get him and the enemy defense moving. We've been hitting into an awful lot of double plays lately. Movement keeps the train whistling around the track.
The Rays simply own us. (5-2 vs. Sox, 6-14 vs. Everyone Else).
But, hopefully, we own the Yankees. Four up, four down so far, with Papi showing signs of life to boot. No slicers to left, but head-of-the-bat rips down the RF line.
Great outing, too, for Johan Lester last night. Only one bad inning, but that should have headed off with a double play. At least this one we can't hang on Julio Lugo.
One last note: I know Pap got the job done, but I hate those multi-inning saves. It backfired on the Yanks and Mariano that Friday night in Boston and it nearly did to Tito last night. Too many pitches get thrown; the in-between innings wait throws off the rhythm of the closer. October's one thing, May's another.
And one other item: How about, whenever Ellsbury gets on, we put him in motion. You know, the guy who stole home? Let's run him at every opportunity. Straight steal, hit and run -- whatever. Let's get him and the enemy defense moving. We've been hitting into an awful lot of double plays lately. Movement keeps the train whistling around the track.
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