While Rays Break Bones, Little Miss Becket says, Oooh, my back hurts!

While the always-tough Rays aren't afraid to smash some bodies to a win a big grapefruit game, looks like Princess Josh didn't feel right yesterday, so Ms. October called in sick with a case of the Garciaparras.

Tweak of the back.

Out a few days.

A bit tender.

Forget the fact that thousands of Redsock Nation citizens turned out in 50-degree weather, bundled up and freezing, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Beckett beard that tickled America's groin last year. I guess that shows what fame and Ben Affleck does to a guy.

Fortunately, nobody told Elliot Johnson of the former Devil Rays yesterday that the game doesn't count. Nobody told Elliot Johnson that the people who pay hard-earned recession sheckels to get into the ballpark are deserving of the ballpark food they're supposed to choke down. Nobody told Elliot Johnson that the world didn't care who won, when he rounded third base like a rolling meth lab and leveled our catcher, breaking his hand.

Ooooooooh, no. They were all in a circle, patting the bearded lady's powdered rump and saying, "Be careful, Missy, you could have another sweating spell. And when you're in the shower, don't turn it on full-blast. You could get damaged dermis!"

Where the hell is Curtis Montague Schilling with his bottle of Hunts?