Oops, We Did It Again!

WHAHOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!

Awww, Mike Lowell won MVP! Oh, god, if they're smart, they'll sign him to a big, fat contract.

Shhhhh.

Shhhhh.


Almost there. Almost. Don't get cocky.


The Fat Lady hasn't even begun to warm up.


My nails are bitten down to my elbows.

Shhhh

OK, that was almost embarrassing.

But we won. 13 - 1.

6 more to go.

Still not tempting the whatever, high atop the thing. No, no, appeasing the whatever. See? Look? Humble. Not cocky. Not taking it for granted, no. Never.

OHMIGAWD, OHMIGAWD, OHMIGAWD!!!!!

Bwaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!!!!!!

8 - 2, bottom of the 8th, Pedroia just cleared the bases, knocking in three runs and ohmigawd, ohmigawd, ohmigawd, we might do this again!!!!

Shhhh. Shut up. Stop tempting the whatever.

Do you know how much it sucks to be watching this all by myself? I have no one to get all giddy and excited with, so I'm sharing it with the internets.

I can hardly sit still. I need a beer. I need a cigarette (and I don't smoke any more). I need something celebratory. Wheeeeeeeeeeee!


Edited to add: Youk just hit a homer off the Coke bottles. 11 - 2.

Yeah, baby. Goin' to the show. Bring on those Rockies!

So, Do You Think Kevin Millar Wants To Come Back?

Bet he doesn't have a job with the Orioles next year.


Shhh. Still not tempting the whatever high atop the thing....shhhh.

Shhhhh.

What? You want to tempt the wrath of the whatever from high atop the thing?

No.

Then go outside, turn around three times and spit.



I do love me some Toby Zeigler.








Sox are up 7 - 1 in the top of the 8th. Shhhhh. (I've updated this score twice in the time it took me to find and post that picture. I'm whooping a very small whoop.)

In Which I Swoon Over The Red Sox And Discover I Am Old

I pink puffy heart Mike Lowell. Papi and Manny get all the glory, all the media, all the attention, and there's Mike Lowell, quietly belting things over the fucking Monster and making incredible plays at third.

I love post-season play. Love it.

Do you remember the mug? I blogged about it a while back, but I can't seem to find the post. I have this mug that I love. I got it at a craft fair. I am not a craft fair person. At all. There's usually entirely too many booths exhibiting the gingham dog and calico cat type of craft and that sort of thing makes my teeth itch. But this craft fair is different. It's juried, first of all, which means the wares exhibited tend to be less of the hearts-and-flowers/crocheted lady toilet paper covers and more of the turned wooden bowl/Reiku pottery type of thing. It's nice stuff.

Anyway. I bought a mug there about 6 years ago. I loved that mug. It fit perfectly into my hand and had a great handle with a spot on top to rest my finger. It was a gorgeous shade of green with a sort of oriental feel to the design. A few months ago, it developed a crack. I was devastated.

Oh, I found it. (Nothing like a little stream of consciousness blogging, huh?)




Pretty, no?

I went to this fair today specifically to find this potter. And was he there? Nope. There were lots of other potters (and a wonderful photographer from NYC - Zim Photography - if I had money to spare, there were four or five of her photos that I would have bought in a heartbeat, the one I linked to is the one I loved the best, but they were all stunning.) but none of them had just the right mug. Some came close, but alas, no dice. So once again, I'm mugless. Well, I'm not mugless, I just don't have MY mug.

It's ridiculous how attached I am to this stupid mug. I realize that.



But just on the off chance that any of you recognize the potter's signature, I'm asking again. Anyone have any ideas?

And why does my post title say that I'm old? Well, I'll tell you. Not only did I go to a craft fair today and thoroughly enjoy myself, I also listened to A Prairie Home Companion on NPR on the way home. And laughed my ass off.

This distresses me. Why? Because I used to roll my eyes and groan at my mother every Saturday night when she'd squeal and run to the stereo to change the station from WBCN over to WBUR. "God," I used to think, "how can she find this crap funny? She's so oooooooooold. She's so not cool. I'm never going to be like that." Yeah, well, be careful what you think about your mother. Some day you'll find yourself driving home from a craft fair, giggling away to Garrison Keillor. And I'll be there saying "Told you so."

*sigh*

I Almost Feel Bad

but only almost.

The Angels are about to get swept. They keep bringing in new pitchers and we keep scoring. Seven runs in the top of the 8th alone.... The commentators on TBS have really drunk the Red Sox Kool-Aid, too. They just rave and rave about them. I don't think our own guys are even that biased.

In other news, Joe Torre's going to lose his job if the Indians win tonight. As much as I hate the *spit* Yankees, I like Joe Torre. He seems like a solid guy and anyone who can put up with George Steinbrenner for so long has got to have nerves of steel.


Edited to add: Yep, Sox swept. Sorry, SueBob.

Too Bad, So Sad

Up 2 games to nothing, baby! And the *spit* Yankees? Oh, so sad. Down 2 games to nothing.


Manny Ramirez, channeling David "Walk Off" Ortiz, smacked a three-run homer way the hell out of the park.

I love this game.

There's Joy In Mudville Today

The Red Sox clinched the AL East last night, for the first time in twelve years, beating the Minnesota Twins 5 - 2. An hour and 17 minutes later, the *spit* Yankees lost to Baltimore, 10 - 9, in extra innings.

There were around 4000 fans left at Fenway, watching
the Baltimore/Yankees game on the jumbo screen.

Jonathan Papelbon soaks the crowd.

I see you, baby, shaking that ass....


Many bottle of champagne sacrificed themselves to the celebration.

An Open Letter To The Red Sox Organization

Dear Mr. Francona,
A 1.5 game lead? 1.5??? We had 14.5 games on the *spit* Yankees and you've pissed it all away. And listen, I know you want to give Eric Gagne a chance, but for the sake of my blood pressure, could you just not use him when the game is on the line? Don't turn into Grady Little on me.

Thank you.

With much nervousness,
Major Bedhead

Dear Mr. Farrell,
Could you please explain to me how someone of Okijima's caliber can become out of shape during the season? How is that possible? Is he scarfing down Fenway Franks on the side? Channeling Babe Ruth? Could you maybe give him a salad and start him on an exercise program?

Read the rest ovah heyah.

Holy No Hitters, Batman!

I'm posting over here today.

Snotty McBoogernose

Ugh.

I'm still sick. I think it's a sinus infection. I have a fever (again) and my nose. Jesus, it's disgusting.

And! My tooth is fucking. killing. me. I got some stuff from CVS that is used as a temporary filling. It's helping some but every step sends throbbing pain thru my head. It's agony.

I called the local community college about getting this looked at, but they're on break until the fall. Great. I hope to hell I can hold out until then. I need a root canal. I don't have money for a root canal. What I'll probably wind up doing is babying this filling as long as possible, then having the tooth pulled and getting a crown/bridge/whatever at some point down the road. Lovely. At least it's a back tooth.

My friend B won tickets to tomorrow's Red Sox game and asked me to go along. Yay! I hope my head is better tomorrow. I may just dope myself up with anti-histimines and Motrin and cross my fingers that it all goes well. Wonder if I can sneak a nip bottle in to spike my soda.

Yoooouuuuuuuk!

Kevin Youkilis, Red Sox first baseman, has his own blog now, for anyone who's interested. He joins the prolific Curt Schilling. This trend of players blogging is pretty cool - I love reading what they have to say.

The Boys of Summer

Hey, batter, batter, batter, sa-wing batter.

Opening day (away) vs. Kansas City. Game starts at 4 p.m..

And my mood improves tenfold.