Today, beginning around 2 p.m., the fundamental fabric of Yankee reality will begin to bend and twist the way Louise Lasser once did, while vacuuming the living room in hopes of luring husband Tom Hartman into bed.
Comrades, it is time for felony-grade juju, and it couldn't happen at a more dire crossroads in 2018. The season is on the brink. We are speeding toward a cliff, and as far as I can tell, the only antidote - my only true friend - will be found in the bottom of certain chilled bottles.
As usual, and as unpalatable as this may sound, I shall be forced at times to drink with Redsock fans. I say this with a wince. The Yankees are floundering like Dobie Gillis when confronted by Zelda Gilroy, and right now, Brian Cashman is surely spending 20 hours a day on the phone, talking trades, pretzeled into a doorway like Patty Duke, who's only seen the sights a girl can see from Brooklyn Heights. At any minute, the Yankees could do something utterly horrible, like trading Justus Sheffield, destroying all gains from the last two years.
You may or may not hear from me. Don't worry. I will be undercover, seeking to steal critical secrets from the Boston fan intelligentsia. Imagine me as one of those heroic Thai navy seals, lost in the watery darkness for 11 hours, writhing through cracks in the earth, on a mission of pure good.
If through this surgical juju operation, we can wrangle a tweaked gonad from JD Martinez or Chris Sale, all will be worth it. And if I never return - that is, if I am high, I am far, and I am lost - remember me to The Master and his Acolyte.
Be brave. Be bold. But by all means, please return to us.
ReplyDeleteCheers!
Please please please return to us General El D, we're nothing without you!
ReplyDeleteDon't forget to wear a cranial condom when mingling with the "intelligentsia" from Beantown.
ReplyDeleteWe will be waiting at the gates for your secret knock and, if worse comes to worse, we are prepared to launch a rescue mission.
Go with God - or the JuJu gods - and give 'em hell.
My Red Sox-loving cousin and her husband are coming to town on a day trip tomorrow. They're easy to get a long with because they complain about the same things we complain about. And they can't criticize the Yankees any more than I do. As a result, we don't have to spend a lot of time on baseball. Visceral hatreds aside, we're equally dissatisfied.
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ReplyDeleteJohn M: It is your obligation to point out to your cousin and her husband that Pedroia is likely out for the rest of the summer. He's starting rehab in Arizona now.
An auspicious day, Duque!
ReplyDeleteNot only 7/11, but the day the Blessed Babe made his debut in the majors, giving up just five hits and two runs to the Indians in seven innings, en route to a 4-3 win at Fenway.
Also, Burr shot Hamilton today. So no duels with those Sox fans!
Sasha goes tonight. Another 3 set loss to the lowly O's. I'm not watching them for a while.
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ReplyDeleteBeing 29 games over .500 would seem like quite the accomplishment were it not for the facts that we were 30 games over last fuckin' week and the Red Sox are 35 fuckin' games fuckin' over fuckin' .500 and never fuckin' ever fuckin' lose!!!!!
ReplyDeleteMy advice to you ...
https://youtu.be/gGHX_jsuRy0
I don't think that I can be on call for three hospitals and listen/watch Sunny destroy what's left of his fragile crabbed repulsive psyche.
ReplyDeleteHow does Buck Showalter still have a job. And I don't mean in baseball. I mean like any fuckin' job. Like unloading palettes at a warehouse in West Bumblefuk. Why is this miserable scabrous twat still employed?
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God bless you
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