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10/16/08 Tampa Bay at Boston
Posted 14 October 2008 - 10:31 PM
We got Daisuke in Game 5, then Lester in Game 6 and then anything can happen in Game 7.
Posted 14 October 2008 - 10:38 PM
Posted 14 October 2008 - 10:48 PM
One at a time...One at a time...One at a time...
Posted 14 October 2008 - 10:49 PM
I am JohntheBaptist and I shall wash away the sins of shitty baseball and fucking atrocious pitching. Be blessed now in the waters of TOTAL DOMINATION.
ps- yes I am stoned.
Edited by JohntheBaptist, 14 October 2008 - 10:50 PM.
Posted 14 October 2008 - 10:51 PM
Basically the Rays really got to beat Daisuke in this game. If they don't, it just gets harder.
Posted 14 October 2008 - 10:59 PM
Posted 14 October 2008 - 11:03 PM
Keep the faith...or fuck off -- HSB
I am a wise man.
I am also a short, fat balding man but that's beside the point.
Mostly though, I'm an angry man.
I am tired of this shit. I am tired of pitchers that remind me of Tim VanEgmond, Vaughn Eshelman, and Ricky Trlicek. I am tired of an offense that reminds me of every lifetime movie about a 57 pound 18 year old with an eating disorder.
I am tired of the bullshit and I want it to stop and stop now.
Dice. Dude. Quit being a pansy. Don't strike people out. Don't walk people. Strikeouts are fascist and walks are communist. We're fucking Americans and fucking Americans are greedy capitalist pigs. Greedy capitalist pigs want other people to do the work so we can profit. You throw the pitch, they hit the ball, the fielders catch the ball. It's a nice team effort that makes lots of profit. You know what profit means? LOW PITCH COUNTS.
Papi, please, we love you. You have a lifetime pass to my rectal orifice if you're ever so inclined. Just hit the fucking ball. Hit it hard. Fuck the clicking in your wrist, fuck the pricking of your thumbs, be the something wicked. Be wicked. Be a very very bad man.
Jacob. You will get the Y back when you stop sucking.
Jason. Ahh who the fuck am I kidding?
Covelli. Last year Jacob stole your job in the playoffs. Steal it back.
Boring White Dudes. Seriously, just fucking win the game you douches.
Posted 14 October 2008 - 11:06 PM
Good morning. In less than an hour, aircraft from here will join others from around the world. And you will be launching the largest aerial battle in the history of mankind. "Mankind." That word should have new meaning for all of us today. We can't be consumed by our petty differences anymore. We will be united in our common interests. Perhaps it's fate that today is the Fourth of July, and you will once again be fighting for our freedom... Not from tyranny, oppression, or persecution... but from annihilation. We are fighting for our right to live. To exist. And should we win the day, the Fourth of July will no longer be known as an American holiday, but as the day the world declared in one voice: "We will not go quietly into the night!" We will not vanish without a fight! We're going to live on! We're going to survive! Today we celebrate our Independence Day
Edited by mrcleanwell, 14 October 2008 - 11:12 PM.
Posted 14 October 2008 - 11:08 PM
We can beat them
Just for one day
We can be Heroes
Just for one day
Posted 14 October 2008 - 11:33 PM
We've had some pretty good times since then, but you motherfuckers better NOT let that happen again.
Posted 15 October 2008 - 12:52 AM
Posted 15 October 2008 - 01:13 AM
I just want to tell both of you, good luck. We're all counting on you.
Oh what the hell, let's do this again.
We got Daisuke in Game 5, then Lester in Game 6 and then anything can happen in Game 7.
yay cabin mirror!
Edited by Andrew, 15 October 2008 - 01:18 AM.
Posted 15 October 2008 - 02:02 AM
D-Day: War's over, man. Wormer dropped the big one.
Bluto: Over? Did you say "over"? Nothing is over until we decide it is! Was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor? Hell no!
Boon: Forget it, he's rolling.
Bluto: And it ain't over now. 'Cause when the goin' gets tough...
Bluto: the tough get goin'! Who's with me? Let's go!
[runs out, alone; then returns]
Bluto: What the fuck happened to the Delta I used to know? Where's the spirit? Where's the guts, huh? "Ooh, we're afraid to go with you Bluto, we might get in trouble." Well just kiss my ass from now on! Not me! I'm not gonna take this. Wormer, he's a dead man! Marmalard, dead! Niedermeyer...
Otter: Dead! Bluto's right. Psychotic, but absolutely right. We gotta take these bastards. Now we could do it with conventional weapons that could take years and cost millions of lives. No, I think we have to go all out. I think that this situation absolutely requires a really futile and stupid gesture be done on somebody's part.
Bluto: We're just the guys to do it.
D-Day: Let's do it.
Bluto: LET'S DO IT!!!!
LET'S DO IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Posted 15 October 2008 - 06:43 AM
For the Red Sox, this situation is oh so familiar. Backs against the wall? Pitching staff in disarray? Batters in horrible slumps? Insurmountable odds? Been there, done that. At this point, it's just a question of who's going to step up to the challenge. I know that Daisuke will. I know it deep down in my heart. Take a good look at his eyes as he stares down a batter and tell me otherwise. Who's going to snap out of their funk at the plate? That, I'm not so sure of, but I know somebody will. They will find a way to win game 5 and send the series back to Tampa.
And although you'll hear quotes coming from the Rays' manager and players, saying that they're happy to get a chance to win the AL pennant in front of their fans, inside they'll be feeling something different. Inside them, the seeds of doubt will have been sown. "Can we lose this thing after getting so close?", they'll think. They'll dismiss the thought, but the voice will still be there. And when they come out to take the field in game 6, with the Rays fans cheering like crazy and ringing their cowbells, they'll feel pretty good. That is, until they get a good look at the Red Sox players. When they see that to a man, the Sox are unfazed by the noise or the pressure of the situation, that voice in the back of their heads will be screaming louder than all those fans. That's when they'll find out what playoff baseball is really about. And that's when they'll find out what the Sox are made of.
They won't roll over for the Sox - they're too good of a club for that. But that confidence they're feeling right now, thinking that they could hit a homer or strike out an opposing batter any time they want, that will be gone.
It will start slowly. A rushed throw resulting in an error. Frustration at not getting a strike 3 call. Hesitation at the plate. And it will build, as the Sox scratch out a lead and await the entrance of Papelbon. As Paps nails down the save, the Rays will find themselves in unfamiliar territory, facing elimination.
Game 7? We all know how that will go. The Rays will be left out in the cold, left only with questions as to how this could have happened. But we'll know how it could have happened. We've seen it before.
Posted 15 October 2008 - 08:04 AM
And let's be clear....we do know the way out: One game at a time.
This guy's walking down a street, when he falls in a hole. The walls are so steep. He
can't get out. A doctor passes by, and the guy shouts up "Hey you! Can you help me out?"
The doctor writes him a prescription, throws it down the hole and moves on. Then a priest
comes along and the guy shouts up "Father, I'm down in this hole, can you help me out?"
The priest writes out a prayer, throws it down in the hole and moves on. Then a friend
walks by. "Hey Joe, it's me, can you help me out?" And the friend jumps in the hole! Our
guy says "Are you stupid? Now we're both down here!" and the friend says, "Yeah, but I've
been down here before, and I know the way out."
For the doomsayers:
Chris Kraft: "This could be the worst disaster [we've]ever faced."
Gene Kranz: "With all due respect, sir, I believe this is gonna be our finest hour."
Let's get it done.
Edited by PedroKsBambino, 15 October 2008 - 08:17 AM.
Posted 15 October 2008 - 08:55 AM
Posted 15 October 2008 - 09:23 AM
One game at a time.
Posted 15 October 2008 - 10:32 AM
Posted 15 October 2008 - 10:37 AM
Because the Red Sox yet live, ye shall live also. James 14:19.
There is a certain kind of playoff joy which all the nation feels but which is largely confined to this one day, this one hope for victory, and is of no permanent value because it is not rooted in understanding. The day is of little significance unless it celebrates an event which brightens all the future, and gives to mankind a convincing and inspiring explanation of the whole pur¬pose of human life as exemplified in our national pastime.
If our joy is to be intelligent, let us give reasons for believing in the immortality of the human soul. There is but one way to begin, and that is with God. The evidence of a supreme power and intelligence is compelling; He hath made baseball. The proof of His goodness we find in ourselves, in our team, in that high faculty which we call devotion, and in the championships our team hath brought us in reward of a faith without reason.
Whatever theory of evolution you may find more convincing, most men will agree upon this—that baseball is the highest attainment of creation; that since man’s arrival upon this planet nearly all development has been in the pursuit of perfection on the grassy diamond. A franchise has been training and encouraging its fans, despite years of failure and heartache, not merely “to make the desert blossom as the rose,” and not merely that they may produce better champions in pursuit of further championship accolades, but all the while He has planted in them the belief, the instinct, that this series—this game—is not the end. Indeed, as the intelligence of His children has increased, as they have been able better to understand Him, they have come to realize that no other conclusion is worthy of their faith in God, that there is no other solution but to win this game.
We are the children of this game, endowed with something of its restorative glory; through following our team we have become personalities with great possibilities here, and greater, by far, elsewhere. Human history is the story of the development of baseball; the only new element in that development is the emergence of the Red Sox as winners. Such victory was new, and yet this new reign has invigorated our fellow fans as though they had long waited for this day, so long deserved, so long delayed. Learning the new possibilities of victories, of triumph, as champion, was completely new in spirit and practice, and yet we accepted it as the only answer for our innate beliefs and hopes. It was as though baseball had been developed to quench this thirst, to fulfill this desire, to lead us to a new comprehension of the possibilities of what our team can mean—a Divine Amen to hu¬man aspiration and a prophecy of its fulfillment in personalities created and consecrated by Him: the Red Sox.
We are hearing on all sides today, and in quarters where we never heard it before, that our beloved pastime is the world’s most precious possession, the only hope for quieting and uniting mankind into a true human brotherhood. But that teaching and example would be unknown today but for the Red Sox’s victory over certain death; we have seen it before—we shall see it again. Or, if known at all, it would be reckoned the most pitiful and forlorn defeat known among men. What was His influence on the 2004 ALCS? When the all left the team for dead and buried, the world was quick to write “failure” upon Boston’s team. The Red Sox rose. It is for Boston, and we have our satisfaction be¬cause the Red Sox hath endured.
In the post-season there took place an historic event of such power that it changed cowards into heroes, set aside a divinely appointed holy day for a new one, discontinued an ancient sacrament and substituted another in memory of the sacrifice and victory of the Red Sox and in certainty of personal communion with the living Lord that only baseball can provide. Old things had passed away; all things had become new. This is suggested whenever we see a photo from 2007, watch the DVDs from 2004, and when the name of a speedy journeyman named Roberts brings us a smiles through darkness. We are living in the year of our Lord two thousand and eight; but we should not be starting this era with the birth of a resurgent team as though it had not risen from the dead. We keep and know this is a team which goes back without a break to the first days that bat was brought to ball. We celebrate a tradition which would never have had a second celebration but for that the mighty play which gave the team power—making it not a memorial of a dead team, but a festival of enduring Red Sox greatness.
If our reasoning has been just and convincing, we should now be prepared for our team’s declaration, “Because we face not yet elimination, ye shall retain faith.” God took our mortality upon Him to fit us for baseball; He took our weakness for a while to teach us to be strong in the face of years of heartbreak; how else would be fit to receive the bounty of this, the greatest franchise in sports? That is the one new fact in the development of human personality. Has it been effective? Seek the answer if you please from the most cautious and critical historians; you will find them confessing that the influence of the teaching and example of the Red Sox has done more to control incite Bostonian passions, to inspire Bostonian fellowship, to develop the highest type of character, and to in¬crease the sum of Boston’s happiness, than the combined efforts of all the athletes, artists and clergy in combination. The ideals of baseball are the ideals of the Red Sox. However they may be neglected at times, the principles of the Red Sox are and will remain the standards of baseball prowess and the fair goal toward which the noblest efforts of all other franchises will be forever directed. The new element of a resurgent Red Sox team in the development of baseball history is the hope of our world.
But the question as to whether it is effective has not been fully answered. If the victories of the Red Sox could be recounted here they would amaze, overwhelm and convince the last honest doubter. But many are more disposed to point out the failure and weakness of the hometown team, declaring that its members practice a faith which is conventional and selfish, whereas true fandom is reality and sacrifice and enthusiasm. They assert that recent failures we reflect upon today is the result of the failure of the front office to follow the teachings and the example of their own success at this critical hour in human history when high leadership is so desperately needed, and so sadly lacking. What shall we reply? That the Red Sox brass are to blame for the general and excessive cynicism about their players may be reasonably denied, but that we are guilty of not showing the Spirit of Pedroia in our devotional following of the team and in our daily contacts with our fellow fans ought to be promptly admitted. While making this admission let an important limitation of the statement be made: there are on the Red Sox today as true winners—men—as ever played the game with sincerity, devotion and utter sacrifice, and their number is not so small as some are disposed to think.
But when that has been said, and we look out upon the vast potential strength of the Red Sox—its members, its wealth and influence—and reflect upon the victories gained in the early years by our team in the early days, we are ashamed, and not the less ashamed because we know the secret of our failure. We are following a cult instead of a Team, an idea instead of a fellowship in the greatest sport. There is no permanent vitality in our following the team apart from support of our beloved Red Sox. When they who continue to believe in the Red Sox are ready to pledge their personal allegiance to the present team, in that moment they pass from despair unto hope; they begin at once their true destiny; for them the play on the field shines in the radi¬ance of the light eternal; there is an immediate change of emphasis and value—the former luxurious necessity is forgotten, the former unnoticed detail becomes all-important; people become more interesting, more lovable, and the heart is full of faith in them and the desire to serve them. Our daily life is blessed and foretells its own immortal future.
Our team can be raised from the dead—that is the continuing and confirming miracle of Red Sox history. That is how the Red Sox became a vital force in the world, and that is how the team can once again advance like a mighty, victorious army. Men will attain to a new measure of manhood—“fine, eternal fellows”; and boys and girls will see a light and love in their heroes’ faces answering the hope of every child’s heart.
Why not today? Oh, for the courage to win the eternal victory now; to rise from the deadly, clinging things of the jungle into the clear light of God; to see the far eternal hills of the greater world; to hear the “well-done” of dear ones and heroic souls; and to turn at last to our God-given tasks of earth with the true ambition of an immortal soul!
Edited by Reverend, 15 October 2008 - 10:38 AM.
Posted 15 October 2008 - 10:57 AM
But it still sets in the West
Posted 15 October 2008 - 11:15 AM
When they who continue to believe in the Red Sox are ready to pledge their personal allegiance to the present team, in that moment they pass from despair unto hope; they begin at once their true destiny; for them the play on the field shines in the radi¬ance of the light eternal; there is an immediate change of emphasis and value—the former luxurious necessity is forgotten, the former unnoticed detail becomes all-important; people become more interesting, more lovable, and the heart is full of faith in them and the desire to serve them. Our daily life is blessed and foretells its own immortal future.
Good post, Rev, and related to the above excerpt, I add this: I am so glad that we are not at this moment the darling of the media, the choice of the sunshine patriot, or the best and most obvious story in baseball. Today many have fallen aside, and there is at least the beginning of a re-gathering of those who are interested, those who understand the thrill of the grass and will cherish the Fenway green long after this particular contest is resolved, with only a properly proportional interest in the final outcome. The leaves are turning, and in the flesh, on the radio, or on television we are tangled up in games that count, indeed tomorrow night a game which could be the last of the season, with all the sweet pain that comes only with that type of game. Things are getting better by the minute.
Posted 15 October 2008 - 11:31 AM
And learn, too late, they grieve it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night."
in other words... just f-ing win
Posted 15 October 2008 - 12:03 PM
For my heart's sake, here's hoping for one of those 23-7 or 11-2 games...
Edited by Sam Ray Not, 15 October 2008 - 12:04 PM.
Posted 15 October 2008 - 12:15 PM
Gack -- what's with Hendu's teeth? I never noticed that before.
I was at this game -- Game #5 at Anaheim in 1986. Scalped in for $30 while driving into the parking lot, only to be disappointed to learn I could've had seats for $20 if I waited till I got to the stadium.
It was back in the days when Roger Clemens and Wade Boggs were gods, and Calvin Schiraldi, at that moment, was still pretty good.
I was in the upper deck, right around first base. I remember shuddering when Donnie Moore came in, and the shocking feeling of hope when Don Baylor took him deep to open the 9th. I still the sound of the ball coming off Henderson's bat, and still feel the slightly sore throat I got from yelling "Henderson! Henderson!" till I almost passed out.
I remember Brian Downing making an amazing game-saving catch off Ed Romero later, and Rice grounding into a rally-killing double play -- but for the first time as a Red Sox fan, I felt confidence and not doom.
And we won in extras.
I'm feeling it again. I don't care how awful Beckett and Lester looked last time through -- for Christ's sake we've got Matsuzaka, Beckett, and Lester lined up. I feel deep confidence in each of them. We will, indeed, prevail.
Posted 15 October 2008 - 01:29 PM
I just want to tell both of you, good luck. We're all counting on you.
I just want to tell both of you, good luck. We're all counting on you.
Posted 15 October 2008 - 02:18 PM
I dreamt that the grass at Fenway and the grass on my lawn were one and the same, that even though I really live out amongst the prairies of Montana -- in my mind -- Fenway was my home, too.
In the last hours of day, the Red Sox were facing elimination, bottom of the Ninth, two outs, Game Five -- the usual. In these final hours of a champion's defense, the air was growing colder, and the lights dimmer (because there aren't any spotlights in my backyard).
As David Ortiz dug in at the plate, Pedroia stepped off the bag at first. Ortiz wondered (I'm assuming, for the sake of drama) whether the ache in his wrists was the last remnant of the summer's injury, or if a half-decade of long seasons – a whole year's worth of October at-bats -- were finally catching up with him.
Even in the cold, he could hear the sweat pouring off of Youk's head as he bobbed in the on-deck circle behind him. Gone already were the days when a Hall of Famer would follow him, and as Manny's season had ended, clear across the continent the night before, some had the feeling that the era of the '07 Red Sox had already come to a close.
Now, those who remained found themselves in Hades, a purgatory between further torment and blissful rest. And it was draped in the generic Division II-esque jerseys of Tampa Bay. Pinstripes never looked so good.
Enraged by their jabs ("Whose knees are knocking now?" ". . . almost made you feel sorry for the Red Sox. Almost." "It certainly appears that [the Red Sox] are losing to the better team this time."), enraged by his own futility in the series thus far, Ortiz gripped his bat, not ready to be just a bedtime story.
With another fateful swing, David cheated the shift and sent the ball into right-center field.
Pedroia rounded second as the Rays center-fielder (BJ Uptown ...) raced him with his arm. Diving into his slide, the ball bounced beside him, and the sight and smell of leather flooded his perception. Flinching against the impact, he closed his eyes and blindly reached for padded sanctuary, grasping it just as earthy glove was thrust against his face.
Squinting through the dust, expecting only the validation of joy in what had just happened, Pedroia watched as the third base umpire threw his fist. As if punching 'Red Sox Nation' in the face.
Then, as if it was the only logical thing that could have happened next, fans charged the field and enveloped the gray-slacked bastard.
This is what I learned:
I don't want to [not win] because David Ortiz isn't yet 100%.
I sure as hell don't want to [not win] because of anymore bad calls.
And I know more than anything that I don't want to lose to the fucking Rays on TBS at home.
There isn't enough booze in the west.
Posted 15 October 2008 - 06:37 PM
Letterman: "The Indians – oh, man, what a series that was, huh."
Papelbon: "Yeah, it was a fun series."
Letterman: "What turned that around because it looked like the team from Cleveland was going to prevail? What happened to turn it around?"
Papelbon: "Well, we had Big Papi, aka David Ortiz, the Large Father, whatever you want to call him." (audience laughs)
Letterman: (laughs) "The Large Father."
Papelbon: "Yeah, uh, whatever you want to call him, it all translates, you know. He kind of got us guys together, just no coaches, no media, no nothing like that, and you know, kind of held a team meeting and said, ‘Hey, guys, look, you know,' and this is quote-unquote David Ortiz." (starts to impersonate Ortiz) "He goes, ‘Hey, guys, I've got to tell you some-sing, if you – '" (audience laughs) "'Some-sing. If you wear a Red Sox uniform jersey, you're a bad motherfucker.'" (audience roars with laughter and applause) "So, hey, that's quote-unquote. Sorry about that." (Papelbon smiles, audience still laughs; audience applauds)
Letterman: "Must have had one of my spells, because…"
Papelbon: "And this is actually coming from a guy, um, not very many people know this, but David Ortiz happens to be a huge Bedazzler." (Dave cracks up laughing, audience laughs) "So, yeah, yeah, see like this jacket right here? He couldn't wear this jacket normally, he'd have to put, like, Bedazzle a Lamborghini in the back, or something like that." (audience laughs)
Letterman: "I see, yeah. So that was it, that got everybody's attention."
Papelbon: "I think it did, yeah." (audience laughs)
GANBATTE, MOTHERFUCKERS. Let's do this.
Posted 15 October 2008 - 07:52 PM
Still, I suddenly have a good feeling about Game 5.