Monday, October 29, 2007

2007 WORLD SERIES CHAMPIONS!



















Because there just are no words to describe how proud...how happy...how ecstatic I am...










Friday, October 26, 2007

Two Down...Two to Go


We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Colorado...
Either way will pretty much suck for you.
We can kick your ass with our awesome ass ABs that will leave you crying from the top to the bottom of the order, (okay, except for Lugo...but whatever) or we can bring the big guns out from the bullpen. OR our outfield will catch everything your mom ever even thought of hitting and get out that way... Make no mistake- we're going to get you.
Sorry I can't seem to focus on anything else but baseball right now- as soon as my boys have the big shiny trophy, I'll be able to blog about something else. Until then, World Series Drama is what you get.
The BEST part of last nights Game Two was when Matt Holliday was up and belted one that knocked our boy Paps off the mound. He all but skipped his way to first base with that "Lallala, I'm a badass and got on against the Papelbomber." smug ass look on his face. Paps was fine, dusted himself off and promptly picked Holliday off by a mile at first base. Inning over- suck it, bitches.
I cried like a little girl when Curt tipped his cap to the crowd when leaving the hill. I adore the Schill. I am so upset that I wasn't around to see him years ago and can only hear the stories and see the old photos.
I would love to say that we'll see him in a Sox uniform next year, but chances are high we won't. Thank you for everything, #38.
Don't know what I'm going to do with myself on the off night tonight. Something fun to relieve some stress before Game 3, I hope. Because as sure as I have been since Spring Training that this is our year.... The waiting is the hardest part.

Thursday, October 25, 2007

The Joy of Sox

Call me sex deprived... or sex obsessed, but I was thinking last night how watching these different baseball games are like different rounds of sex.

There are games where anticipation builds for nine innings...your muscles tense, you get sweaty waiting for the climax... and either you are rewarded with an explosive ninth inning or let down by a loss and leave feeling unfulfilled with so much pent up energy you don't know what to do with yourself.

There are games that blow wide open so hard and so fast in the beginning that the rest of the game is just playing for fun. Good parts over...let's just play some more just 'cause we can. Sox are up 10-1 in the 5th? Fahk... Let's just run the bases and laugh for another 4 innings. It's like teasing... Last night's Game One was just like that.

What about the games that are so evenly matched that it's down to the wire every inning? You score 2, we'll score 2... 2 more in the 5th? You think you've got it won? NO! They'll score 2 more in the 6th. You tense up and feel relief every inning just to go through it again, and again and again...hoping you are the last one to feel it and their fans are the ones going to bed with no happy ending.

Thank gawd I've got at least 3 more games before the bats get put up for the winter....

Tuesday, October 23, 2007

No One Ever Saw This Coming...


Few people in this world I've never met before bother me as much as Kid Rock or that Mystery guy from The Pick Up Artist. Perhaps Donald Trump, Ricky Martin, J-Lo, Pamela Anderson, maybe even Brittany...But Kid Rock holds a special prize for being able to piss me off just for breathing.
I can't stand how any one so talentless has so much friggin money. It makes me crazy to see him all stringy haired and butchering the English language and on TV... Or up on stage where people came to see him. Why, someone tell me, do people want see a white trash train wreck covered in sequins? Why?

So it is no surprise to me at all to open my Yahoo news and see Mr. Rock was arrested last night.
At a Waffle House.

Of course it was a Waffle House! Do you think he'd ever be arrested at the opera? The ballet? Maybe an art exhibition? How is this news to anyone? So he comes in, probably in no tshirt with a few big boobed airheads on each arm, someone starts talking shit and so our friend Kid has to get all, "I'm from Detroit and wish I was Eminem" on him, so a D-town type, hillbilly brawl ensues and everyone ends up covered in sticky syrup residue from rolling on the floor. You know someone went home with a waitress who thought she was the shit because she saw Kid Rock that night...
I've seen such brawls. My family is from both Detroit AND Tennessee. Not pretty I assure you. But on him, it works. I think next we should expect a brawl at a Piggly-Wiggly, a Winn Dixie or maybe even a Farmer Jacks. I'm sure next time there will be mud wrestling and horseshoes involved...

World Series, Bitches!!!





I didn't write anything for awhile because I was so paranoid and superstitious about saying, doing or thinking anything that might jinx us.... Okay, until I see Youk or Paps making out with that damn big ass trophy, I'm still a little freaked out about it.


But I will say this... Hell YES, we DID just kick ass on our way into the World Series. And in awesome fashion. My boys made me proud- more than proud this weekend. The entire order stepped up. We didn't need to bring in Beckett as our last hope and prayer. Everyone got out there, stepped on some Indian throats, twisted their arms behind their backs until they cried uncle and took that WS spot by force. Then we left them crying for Mommy in the dugout while we danced in a beautiful "Fuck-yeah-champagne-takes-good-at-home, Garko!" fountain.


The Rockies may be on a hot streak, they may be good, they may or may not have taken 2 of 3 from us in inter league play... I'm not saying it'll be easy.


But I am saying WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!! It'll damn sure be fun!

Sunday, October 14, 2007

Pitcher for Sale!

Granted he sucks- and he seems to have the anti-Midas touch because everything he touches turns to crap, but there has got to be some use for him somewhere other than Boston... Hey D'Backs, do you need a ballboy? Anyone want to use him for target practice? Maybe he could be a satisfactory waterboy somewhere...

I couldn't even post a picture of him in the Sox uniform because I'm too ashamed. Can you imagine how hard the Mets or the Yankees are laughing knowing they were smart enough to pass on this joke?

Honestly, for the life of me, I can't figure out why in the hell anyone let him near the mound until after we had already won it all, when during the regular season he showed us that no matter how big a lead, how dominant we'd been, if we turned it over to him, he'd find a way to fuck us.

So we have our big cushy lead Friday night and Terry lets him come out so he can feel good about himself...and he loads the bases. And with one swing of the bat, our night could've turned to crap. He didn't let it get quite that far, but anybody who had watched this disaster happen the past few months was waiting for it. Last night when we were tied, then behind by two, I yelped with physical agony when I saw him headed out. THIS? This is who we're going to count on to help dig us out of a hole? The man is seems to be a professional gravedigger? As soon as I saw him, I said. "Well, we're done now."

And we were. He's brought nothing to the table and I want to know what in the hell that 2.1 million bought us. Don't quote me stats on what he did here or there.... Put up or shut up, Eric. You can't claim to be a badass and pitch like a PowerPuff Girl.

But prove it next year (if we can't find a way to unload your ass). For the rest of October, grab some pine and watch how the big boys play ball. Take notes.

Friday, October 5, 2007

Dear Neiman Marcus Santa...

So Neiman Marcus has unveiled the 2007 Christmas catalog full of insanely overpriced purchases only the truly whacked-out would dream to wish for.

We are talking a $1.4 million submarine, $110,000 for a portrait made from chocolate syrup, $70 slippers, $500,000 for a tree tent, $73,000 for a diamond encrusted cell phone, a private concert with the Kirov Orchestra for $1.6 million or $1000 for a pair of Prada tennis shoes.... Tennis shoes. Like the kind you run in? Would you strap $500 to each of your feet and walk around in them? I don't think so.

But in the spirit of whacked out, craziness that I do so admire, I have assembled my own wish list for this mythical Santa who brings over the top gifts to especially good girls and boys...

Personal Tour of Fenway from the Sox- I don't want the standard tourist crap either, Santa, I want the real deal. I'm talkin' affirmative visual confirmation of locker room towel snapping, a tour of the inside of the Green Moster with Manny, BP with Papi's arms around me teaching me to swing. I want to watch tapes with Tek and try on his mask, eat hot dogs with Youk and his goatee while we make fun of Alex Cora. I want a walk to the pitchers mound with Josh Beckett on one arm and Curt Shilling on the other. (I'll work on the whole kissing Mike Lowell thing myself while I'm there, so don't worry about adding that in)

I'd also like to meet Jeff Gordon- (Naked, on the hood of his car if possible) If I must meet my future husband, Mr. Gordon, in a socially acceptable environment, I'd like to have him take me for hotlaps at Bristol.

One of everything from Tiffany & Co. No really. Just one. I know that it's a different store, Santa, but if you're handing out 1.4 million dollar submarines, I figure this isn't too terribly much to ask.

Instead of asking for that $500,000 tree tent, I think I'll ask for, I dunno, a HOUSE with foundation and bathrooms. I'm thinkin' half a mil could buy a pretty nice one of those...

Instead of that orchestra, I'll take a silver Mercedes. Convertable would be cool, but I'll take what you're giving in the silver- Mercedes family.

One last thing, please give ChaCha a pony.

I promise I have been a very good girl. (Kinda) Love, Me.

Thursday, October 4, 2007

Commander Kick Ass


I like nicknames. Sometimes it's how I remember certain people when encountered with large groups. On vacation, I have named people Deliverance (he was from Alabama), Shades (dude who wore sunglasses that wrapped around your head), Boston, Boston's brother, Hot Guy, Ugly chick, Pu-ssy Girl (chick who used that word continuously), on and on...

I call my kids turkeys, my baby ducks, my rotten brats, my tribe... I know people named ChaCha, Moe, Gravy, Mimi, Duh-dud-uh, Handsome, Sweets and Big Victoria.

But my all time favorite nickname right now is what the boys over at survivinggrady.com call my Josh Beckett: Commander Kick Ass of the Fuck Yeah Brigade.

And if you want to know why, you clearly didn't see him pitch last night. Not only did he win 20 games during the regular season, he saved a perfectly executed shut out for the post season. It was friggin' beautiful.

I think it's illegal in some states to be that damn awesome.

Here's hoping my ol pal Matsuzaka, aka Dice K, can just do the same tomorrow night.

Monday, October 1, 2007

Who Knew?


That Dustin Pedoria was so friggin' cute in civilian clothes? Damn! And if this is how my boys are getting ready for the post-season, bring it on! AL East Champonship? Check. Whiskey? Check. Ready to kick some ass and take some names? Done.

Not just yeah...but HELL Yeah!


You see, a little faith, goes a long way...

I am so proud of you, boys! We got the pennant, now let's go get a damn trophy for the other hand!!!!