I'm devastated. When Dustin Pedroia flew out to end the season, I went insane. I kicked over RoommateCoop's ironing board. I pulled a Bobby Knight and chucked my game-watching chair across the room. Finally, I collapsed to the ground and sobbed into my Curt Schilling jersey. I stayed like that for a long time.
I had hoped that my Tweet series would last longer than two posts, but I guess that wasn't meant to be this year. Still, I had fun doing it (especially when it looked like we would win Game 3; I mean, come on, we were one fucking strike away), so here are my Tweets from yesterday afternoon.
I'm going to take a while to heal and figure out where this blog is going to go now that the season is over. I'll still be posting regularly, but if you're looking for more level-headed and rational Sox analysis during my healing period, you should check out my friend Evelyn at What's Bruin In Beantown.
Also, you may have noticed that my last post came well before the end of the game. I was in no shape to Tweet after the final run. I was too busy panicking. Before the playoffs, I had no reason to use Twitter besides to occasionally talk about my breakfasts when I was especially bored. As such, I probably won't be updating my page for a long, long time. Twitter is stupid.
1:26 pm: Just realized the time difference means the Sox game is already half over...I'm such a bad fan.
--The Sunday game came just a few hours after the University of Iowa's Homecoming festivities ended, so I have to admit that I was asleep during the first six innings of the game. Still, coming in while we were up 5-2 made me kinda happy.
1:36: I'm starting to appreciate Bard a hell of a lot more.
--Daniel Bard strikes out two and enduces a groundout in his second inning of work.
1:40: Does Buck Martinez's voice make anyone else want to kick a baby, or is that just me?
--Don Orsillo was a nice choice as the play-by-play man for the series (but I might be a little biased). Martinez as the color man? Not so much.
1:51: Someone tell George Lopez that he's not remotely funny and to leave my baseball alone.
--The problem with TBS is that they plug the same damn shows over and over and over again. That's especially problematic when the show belongs to Lopez (although they played his spots much less frequently than Frank Caliendo's crap last year).
1:53: Social D makes a much better highlight song than Bon Jovi.
--"Reach For The Sky" vs. "We Weren't Born To Follow"? Bon Jovi was so 1985.
1:56: Something about Wagner's delivery bothers me...wont argue with the results though.
--Seriously, someone should shoot the guy who taught Billy Wagner his mechanics. They're just butt-ugly.
1:57: ...case in point. Siddown Hunter, you annoying bastard.
--Wagner strikes out Torii Hunter looking, and there was much rejoicing.
2:01 pm: C'mon, Wags...you cant walk Guerrero, thats impossible.
--Vladimir Guerrero, who literally swings at anything within 20 feet of the strike zone, draws a walk. I'll go ahead and blame Wagner's delivery.
2:09: Get some, Willits.
--Papelbon picks off Angels pinch runner Reggie Willits by a mile.
2:16: I love it when Bay strikes out without swinging once.
--I love Jason Bay, and think Theo pulled off the trade of the decade to get him, but a slugger can do a hell of a lot more for his team when he swings the fucking bat.
2:22: Yeah baby...no way Papi would have scored on that.
--Joey Gathright scores on a Mike Lowell single after pinch running for David Ortiz...Papi would have stopped at third and asked for oxygen.
2:26: Crunch time...we got this.
--Top of the ninth, two-run lead, Papelbon on the mound...how the hell did we not win this game?
2:27: It should be illegal to record a Beatles cover as bad as the one in the Blackberry ad...blasphemy.
--At this point, I was still optimistic enough to complain about commercials. Funny how quickly that changed.
2:33: I'd forgotten how shiny Terry's head is.
--Francona takes off his cap, and I'm temporarily blinded. Unfortunately, my vision returns in time for me to witness Papelbon's breakdown.
2:43: Pap takes too long between pitches...I'm having heart attacks here.
--It's one thing if you wait 37 minutes in between pitches and get positive results. It's a whole 'nother thing if you single-handedly end your team's season.
2:47: FUCK.
--Guerrero drives in the go-ahead run. It's about this time that I stop caring about Twitter and just start praying to the baseball gods for a miracle. Thanks for completely ignoring me, baseball gods. I'll send you guys the bill for my new game-watching chair.
Showing posts with label David Ortiz. Show all posts
Showing posts with label David Ortiz. Show all posts
Monday, October 12, 2009
Sunday, September 6, 2009
The Backseat GM's Guide To Postseason Success: Pt 2
Today's edition of The Backseat GM marks a slight departure from last week's pilot episode; while my last post focused on a young pitcher who will hopefully offer some much-needed bullpen relief in coming months, the way Boston has been handled by the ChiSox this weekend convinced me that pitching is not the only thing the team needs.
Boston was outscored 17-3 in the first two games of the Chicago series this weekend. That kind of offensive ineptitude just shouldn't happen against a team like the White Sox, who have somehow found a way to lose 69 games despite having the second-best ERA in the American League. Hell, we didn't even face Mark Buerhle this series; how do we only score three runs off of Freddy Garcia and Gavin Floyd?
GM Theo Epstein has put together an offensive lineup that has the potential to be the best in the Majors. Unfortunately for us, some of the pieces in that lineup--namely David Ortiz and Mike Lowell--have struggled with inconsistency, age, and injury this season. Even reigning MVP Dustin Pedroia has struggled at times this year. The Chicago series only proves that we won't be a realistic threat in the playoffs until we put together a more consistent offense. Manager Terry Francona needs players he can bring off the bench without sacrificing firepower; he needs...
2. Lars Anderson
Anderson has to be one of the unluckiest guys in professional baseball. The 21-year-old from Oakland possesses sublime offensive abilities and is a solid defensive first baseman with some experience in left field. He batted .303 in his first two years in the Minors, was listed as the 25th best prospect in baseball by MLB.com, and has been compared to Mets first baseman Carlos Delgado.
Of course, none of this makes him sound anything but blessed. The only problem is that he plays in the Red Sox organization; his path to the Majors is therefore blocked by the depth of the big club at his defensive positions. How is he going to play first base if Kevin Youkilis and Victor Martinez--both of whom play better defense than Anderson--are locked into the position for the foreseeable future? Anderson hasn't played left field since high school, so how would he break into an outfield patrolled by Jacoby Ellsbury, Jason Bay, and J.D. Drew?
None of these problems matter much when you look at Anderson's offensive scouting reports, however. He's a left-handed opposite-field slugger, meaning that his swing could not have been tailored any better for Fenway Park's Green Monstah in left field. He has a sweet power stroke but is not overanxious at the plate. His compact swing and knowledge of the strike zone are unusual tools for a batter his size (6 feet 4 inches, 210 pounds).
Anderson may not permanently make the Red Sox roster for a few years, but there is no reason why Theo should not call him up for the postseason. He can pinch-hit for Jason Varitek late in games, serving as an offensive upgrade off the bench similar to Jim Thome's new role for the Dodgers. If Ortiz continues to struggle to hit for average, Anderson can take over as designated hitter (because you can't really be a DH if you can't, you know, hit). This kid has almost unlimited potential at the plate; we need to use him instead of keeping him locked away in the Minors.
Boston was outscored 17-3 in the first two games of the Chicago series this weekend. That kind of offensive ineptitude just shouldn't happen against a team like the White Sox, who have somehow found a way to lose 69 games despite having the second-best ERA in the American League. Hell, we didn't even face Mark Buerhle this series; how do we only score three runs off of Freddy Garcia and Gavin Floyd?
GM Theo Epstein has put together an offensive lineup that has the potential to be the best in the Majors. Unfortunately for us, some of the pieces in that lineup--namely David Ortiz and Mike Lowell--have struggled with inconsistency, age, and injury this season. Even reigning MVP Dustin Pedroia has struggled at times this year. The Chicago series only proves that we won't be a realistic threat in the playoffs until we put together a more consistent offense. Manager Terry Francona needs players he can bring off the bench without sacrificing firepower; he needs...
2. Lars Anderson
Anderson has to be one of the unluckiest guys in professional baseball. The 21-year-old from Oakland possesses sublime offensive abilities and is a solid defensive first baseman with some experience in left field. He batted .303 in his first two years in the Minors, was listed as the 25th best prospect in baseball by MLB.com, and has been compared to Mets first baseman Carlos Delgado.
Of course, none of this makes him sound anything but blessed. The only problem is that he plays in the Red Sox organization; his path to the Majors is therefore blocked by the depth of the big club at his defensive positions. How is he going to play first base if Kevin Youkilis and Victor Martinez--both of whom play better defense than Anderson--are locked into the position for the foreseeable future? Anderson hasn't played left field since high school, so how would he break into an outfield patrolled by Jacoby Ellsbury, Jason Bay, and J.D. Drew?
None of these problems matter much when you look at Anderson's offensive scouting reports, however. He's a left-handed opposite-field slugger, meaning that his swing could not have been tailored any better for Fenway Park's Green Monstah in left field. He has a sweet power stroke but is not overanxious at the plate. His compact swing and knowledge of the strike zone are unusual tools for a batter his size (6 feet 4 inches, 210 pounds).
Anderson may not permanently make the Red Sox roster for a few years, but there is no reason why Theo should not call him up for the postseason. He can pinch-hit for Jason Varitek late in games, serving as an offensive upgrade off the bench similar to Jim Thome's new role for the Dodgers. If Ortiz continues to struggle to hit for average, Anderson can take over as designated hitter (because you can't really be a DH if you can't, you know, hit). This kid has almost unlimited potential at the plate; we need to use him instead of keeping him locked away in the Minors.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
An Introduction to an Obsession
Christians have Jesus; Muslims have Allah; I have the Boston Red Sox.
I'll be the first to admit that my love affair with the Sox borders on obsession. My dorm room at the University of Iowa is a veritable shrine to Pedro Martinez (back when he was, you know, good) and Daisuke Matsuzaka, my wardrobe is built around my collection of Sox jerseys and t-shirts, and I recently had the Boston logo tattooed on my arm. My name is Cali, and I'm addicted to the Red Sox.
Blame my addiction on my father. He was born and raised in New England as the younger brother of (God knows why) a Yankees fan. It was therefore his brotherly duty to do the opposite of everything his big brother did, a duty that included becoming a Red Sox and Brooklyn Dodger booster. When I showed up a few decades later, he passed this ideal on to me. The rest, as they say, is history.
I live and breathe for the BoSox. I cried when Aaron Fuckin' Boone knocked my boys out of the 2003 postseason. I hyperventilated when we finally broke the Curse of the Bambino the next year. I had an orgasm when I snapped a picture of David Ortiz slapping the game-winning double against the Rays in my first game at Fenway in August of 2007. Hell, I'd have Dustin Pedroia's babies in a heartbeat. Now, through the wonders of the Internet, I can share my addiction with the world. You've been warned.
"Don't blame us if we ever doubt you
You know we couldn't live without you
Red Sox, you are the only only only"
- Dropkick Murphys
I'll be the first to admit that my love affair with the Sox borders on obsession. My dorm room at the University of Iowa is a veritable shrine to Pedro Martinez (back when he was, you know, good) and Daisuke Matsuzaka, my wardrobe is built around my collection of Sox jerseys and t-shirts, and I recently had the Boston logo tattooed on my arm. My name is Cali, and I'm addicted to the Red Sox.
Blame my addiction on my father. He was born and raised in New England as the younger brother of (God knows why) a Yankees fan. It was therefore his brotherly duty to do the opposite of everything his big brother did, a duty that included becoming a Red Sox and Brooklyn Dodger booster. When I showed up a few decades later, he passed this ideal on to me. The rest, as they say, is history.
I live and breathe for the BoSox. I cried when Aaron Fuckin' Boone knocked my boys out of the 2003 postseason. I hyperventilated when we finally broke the Curse of the Bambino the next year. I had an orgasm when I snapped a picture of David Ortiz slapping the game-winning double against the Rays in my first game at Fenway in August of 2007. Hell, I'd have Dustin Pedroia's babies in a heartbeat. Now, through the wonders of the Internet, I can share my addiction with the world. You've been warned.
"Don't blame us if we ever doubt you
You know we couldn't live without you
Red Sox, you are the only only only"
- Dropkick Murphys
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