Some people like dogs. Some people only like big dogs.
I don’t blame them. Big dogs are real dogs—a man’s dog. They eat a man-sized meal and take a man-sized crap. They can down a steak in one gulp and leave you a gift the size of a baseball glove when you screw up.
Boston took one hell of a dookie on the Philadelphia Phillies.
The pinstriped NL Pennant champs returned to the scene of their May skid hoping for a Groundhog Day, but got their bats handed to them on a Fenway platter.
The trouble didn’t start with a Boston teammate with a catchy nickname like "Dice-K" or by letting a baseball villain called "The Knuckleballer" have his way with you.
Not that letting a knuckleballer have their way with you is such a bad thing. You don’t ever know where it’s gonna go. In the dark, that could be quite an adventure.
But an adventure is not what the Phillies were hoping for. Baseball isn’t like combing your room for a missing sock or discovering what that bottle of Tequila did with your pants.
Last night’s game felt like a scavenger hunt for a pitcher who could go more than an inning and wouldn’t leave us in suspense.
That reliever was actually a starter named Kyle Kendrick. I’m hoping that means one thing—JA Happ’s coming back. I could really use a change of scenery in section 145 and Happ has quite a tight backside.
But after giving up three hits in as many innings in his rehab start on Tuesday, the possibility of sticking him in the rotation seven days later seems as improbable as my breasts ever attracting attention.
To add insult to injury, the Sox replaced the mildly effective John Lackey with Boof Bonser.
Obviously that’s a real guy.
Boof has spent his major league career perfecting his 2010 ERA of 18.0. He’s even been spotted moonlighting as a hotdog vendor. Fortunately, tossing dogs to patrons has kept him in shape. So after the opposition took a comfortable lead against a slumping Philly team and Jamie Moyer turned the game into a scrimmage, Terry Francona decided to empty his bench.
He just reached a little far into the stands to do it.
Suddenly we’re not thinking Jamie will be playing with one of his sons in the years to come. The Moyer fleet might just lose its captain.
And that brings us to the million dollar question: How much more faith can Charlie Manuel have in players who aren’t effective?
Answer: Ask Dave Trembley.
Whoa! Now before you get your panties in a bunch (and if you’re wearing boxers you probably already do), remember, I'm just kidding.
I’ve always loved Charlie. Even before the weight loss. I love him as a manager, I adore the way his cheeks rumble when he chomps his gum, and I’m still trying to bribe my way into the locker room.
That might have just gotten easier.
But a slump isn’t something that can be assessed and fixed like a car, and putting mind over matter isn’t like learning to bend spoons.
In other words, having a big dog will only guarantee you one thing: big turds.
Meanwhile, I’m happy waiting around to see the losing streak replaced by another, even if I have to run across the field naked to set the pace.
Hey, there are few things funnier than a tiny naked woman getting Tasered on national television. The good news is those little blurry spots won’t have to be too big to hide my privates.
That’ll be one for the scrapbook.
See you at the ballpark.
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