Thursday, July 13, 2006
That Same Ugly Scapegoat
And so we begin the second half... with another extra-innings game. As I type, our boys in red have gone down by two in the eleventh. Tavaraz is pitching, causing the pelting of hundreds of televisions in the Nation with tomatos and curse words and even the lime slices from several freshly-downed Corona bottles (and who could blame them; many of us need the spirits to stomach the likes of Julie.)
Trouble is, I often start to feel comfortable with Julie on the mound. That is usually one or two pitches before he manages to fuck the game over. Such was the case tonight. I was right over there on the couch, all settled in comfortably and ready to stay there for awhile. I watched Tavaraz work the corners and Macha get pissed over the plate calls. I started to think that our nazi phone-puncher maybe wasn't so bad. yeah. you can probably guess what happened next. One meatball over the plate... and as if that wasn't enough, another.
I'm desperate to get rid of Julian Tavaraz, but also afraid. If he leaves he will surely stop throwing these meatballs and become untouchable, and probably in pinstripes. He's likely on Georgie's payroll already anyway. I think it's about time Timlin takes that guy hunting... you wouldn't have to pull a Cheney, Mike; a simple lead though unlevel terrain without warning might do nicely - heck, if you just find a way to trip the guy in the clubhouse you could save yourself the trip. Just make it something that lasts about two months, m-kay?
Were it not for that extra run driven in by Frank Thomas, I would still be watching the game right now. Kaplar & the Captain rallied for a run, but it wasn't enough. I'm sure there are some out there invoking the name of Fran-coma, playing backseat driver to Tito, so sure we ought to have walked the man. More will be asking (as I wondered myself, at the time) why Papelbon was cut short at one inning. I don't have the energy. That loss makes us big losers (so far) for the month of July. I go to bed thankful that baseball is a long season, almost as forgiving as groundhog day.
Tomorrow brings another game. Beckett v. Zito; now that should be good.
Trouble is, I often start to feel comfortable with Julie on the mound. That is usually one or two pitches before he manages to fuck the game over. Such was the case tonight. I was right over there on the couch, all settled in comfortably and ready to stay there for awhile. I watched Tavaraz work the corners and Macha get pissed over the plate calls. I started to think that our nazi phone-puncher maybe wasn't so bad. yeah. you can probably guess what happened next. One meatball over the plate... and as if that wasn't enough, another.
I'm desperate to get rid of Julian Tavaraz, but also afraid. If he leaves he will surely stop throwing these meatballs and become untouchable, and probably in pinstripes. He's likely on Georgie's payroll already anyway. I think it's about time Timlin takes that guy hunting... you wouldn't have to pull a Cheney, Mike; a simple lead though unlevel terrain without warning might do nicely - heck, if you just find a way to trip the guy in the clubhouse you could save yourself the trip. Just make it something that lasts about two months, m-kay?
Were it not for that extra run driven in by Frank Thomas, I would still be watching the game right now. Kaplar & the Captain rallied for a run, but it wasn't enough. I'm sure there are some out there invoking the name of Fran-coma, playing backseat driver to Tito, so sure we ought to have walked the man. More will be asking (as I wondered myself, at the time) why Papelbon was cut short at one inning. I don't have the energy. That loss makes us big losers (so far) for the month of July. I go to bed thankful that baseball is a long season, almost as forgiving as groundhog day.
Tomorrow brings another game. Beckett v. Zito; now that should be good.
# posted by Rebecca @ 11:20 PM 
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