Y'all are gonna love this. All right, y'few are even gonna care, with only y'one or y'two loving it. Remember when I talked about the Red Sox 80s road uniform (worn from '38-'72, '79-'89), with the BOS/TON, which breiefly was BO/STON? (Meaning the BOS was to the left of the middle button-down line, and the TON to the right.) It was from this post, from December 2004. And also mentioned in November 2005 here. Back then, I wrote the following statement:

"So when you've got an even number of letters, unless you cut [the] third one in half, or leave a space on the overlap (easy when you've got a space to work with--'RED [space] SOX' on the home jerseys), the word can't be centered."

In other words, on a button-down shirt, the middle line is actually left of center, since there's the portion of the shirt where one half overlaps the other. With an odd number of letters in your word, you just put the fourth letter on the overlap--dead center--with three letters on each side, to center it. But the Red Sox obviously struggled with their six letters, and never having found a centering solution, they chose to go front-heavy, with the T in the center, or back-heavy (in '85 and '86)(edit: it started in '84, actually), with the S in the center.

Well, a few weeks ago at Fenway, Pat spotted an old Sox road jersey, where the third letter, the S, was cut in half. In other words, the word Boston was perfectly centered on this retro-jersey. To the left, you'll see a picture of the jersey, a Cooperstown Collection one, from yawkeywaystore.com. That's right, people, they took my advice: they cut the third letter in half. Wow. A centered "BOSTON."

That said, come on. The incongruity made the jersey. That old road jersey was so bland, it was only fitting that they just couldn't figure out--in fifty years--how to center the word "Boston" on it. And that's why we loved it so. So, the Cooperstown Collection people went off the board on that decision, but even worse, they put the name on the back. Those road grays (left, from Dressed To The Nines, '71 model pictured) never had the player name. In fact, selling a Fisk one doesn't work with me either, since he rarely wore that style. During most of his Red Sox career, he wore the pullover with the red letters and the red and black stripes.

So, Cooperstown Collection, you're welcome. However, I tricked you, since when we nerds want retro, we want exact. I hate to tell you this, but you folks just took the crack out of the Liberty Bell. You straightened the Tower of Pisa. Terrible job.

In tonight's game, the Sox won. Schilling's 200th should take Jeter's 2000th right out of the national headlines. I realized tonight that I saw Curt's 199th win and Pedro's 200th within a few weeks. Cool. Youk played well in left tonight. "Job, Terrible" Snow played first. Will he be around long? Eh...Snow, Peg. Loretta's on fi-ya. Still two games up. I'll be in Toronto on Tuesday night. Hopefully I'll get some blogging in before then.

I got a disturbing e-mail from Chan tonight. (He's my roommate, but we are in different locations right now. If we'd both been home, he would've just told me directly.) It contained a link to the obituary--of Craig "Ironhead" Heyward! The former football player died at 39 of a recurring brain tumor. Ironhead was best known, to me, as the guy who did a soap commercial which contained the classic line, "But Ironhead, what's with this thingy?" I've actually mentioned this commercial before. RIP Ironhead. And your thingy. Hey, wait, I also recently used the word "thingy," without even thinking of poor Ironhead.

Turned out to be a good night. Despite Wells falling to the ground like a turkey dropped out of a helicopter into a mall parking lot, we got the win, with a little bonus Papelbon action. And the Doobler has 22 doubles now.

Then the yanks, down 7-5 to the Royals (!), went into a rain delay before the bottom of the ninth. I watched the lightning on TV, and out my window as the Wayne Tolleson Yankeeography played during the delay. The game finally restarted around midnight. Baseball fans, you know what that means:

"This game started yesterday. Hahahahaha!"

"That's right, Michael. These guys have to play again tomorrow--or should I say, today. Ahhhh-hahahahahahahahaha!"

Well, the yanks tried their usual crap in the ninth: a bloop hit, a Jeter walk where he threw the bat away before the appeal call was made. (Seriously, this bothers me to no end. Here I just wrote a post making fun of the guy--see post below--knowing other Sox fans will write in and say, "Come on, you'd love him on your team, the guy's a baseball player. Admit you love him," and sure enough, he proves me right. The guy cheats. Cheats to win. Actually, I can't even remember the last time that team won it all, but he still cheats. I respect the fundamental play, but, hey, that's what you're supposed to do. If that guy played in Missouri, he'd be considered a slightly above average player. And if he had dreads and played in Boston, he'd be ridiculed for his one-handed catches of pop-ups, and his ongoing deception and chicanery* in the field and at the plate.)

So, where was I? Oh, right. Then Sheffanie hit a ball that the center fielder simply missed. Hit him in the glove. Royals up one, first and third, one out, other steroids guy up. It looked bleak. Classic TyR: Typical yankee Rally. But can you believe it, the Royals actually got the double play. Ending their 13 game losing streak, or whatever it was. No anemic royalty tonight. I'm happy with that. Another win in this series would be nice, but I really can't ask for--oh wait, we're talking about the yanks' pitching...sweep, KC!

Two games up now.


*Whenever i say "deception and chicanery," I'm imitating the Church Lady.

Also note: The Red Sox winning percentage actually was exactly .600 going into the game, but I thought of the joke too late. So, in the title of this post, I mean "roughly" 60%.

Wow. That was the most fitting moment in baseball history. Derek Jeter, master of the cheap hit, collects his 2,000th on a ground ball that travelled four feet and was picked up by the catcher, who threw the ball into the crowd.

Bloops to right field: 900
Seeing-eye singles: 600
Homers to the front row of the short porch: 50
Stolen ball-strike calls from the ump on your way to 2,000 hits: countless

Congratulations, Derek, you now have the "classiest" amount of hits. Only a few more and we can commemorate number 2,004!

So there are two Devil Ray players, Travis Harper, Travis Lee. Sheyeah, right, as if we wouldn't notice. Wait a minute. Travis Harper, Travis Lee...Harper Lee. Wow, that's weird.

Great 1st by Wells. I'm hoping Duh-nuh-nuh blows up tonight. Just take pitches against him, boys.

Here's one in Georgia. There are a bunch more. I like how second base is in this picture.

Here's a regional dialect thingy that's gone under the radar:

You know those flat, rectangular, paper objects with that stuff on them that you scratch off with a coin or fingernail to reveal symbols which, when checked against instructions printed on said object, determine whether or not you've won some currency or other prizes? Well, growing up in slightly south of western Connecticut, we called them "scratch-off tickets," or "scratch-offs." I've come to realize that people from north of there call them "scratch tickets." I remember hearing this for the first time and thinking, "Uh, terrible job by your brain for accidentally omitting the word 'off' from that phrase." It was probably my New Hampshire cousins--who, last I checked, have still not won the "Megabucks," which we called "Lotto."

My friend Jen, from south-central (Connecticut), says "scratchies." But that could just be her cutesy short-form.*

Please write in from your perches all over the world and tell me what you call them. Or just get back to work.

Note: I thought of this because I saw an ad where you can get scratch-offs and win Sox tix when you buy a smoothie at Dunkin Donuts, which "scratch ticket" sayers call "Dunkies."


*"cutesy short-form": from that Wayne's World book, "Extreme Close-Up," when making fun of bands like Enuff Z'enuff.

Missed the baseball action tonight. Was at the movie An Inconvenient Truth. My review: The Goriest film of the year.

Glad Beckett did great. And all nine dudes got hits. Good to hear.

I have cropped this Kapstein picture to make it better. Enjoy:

Terrible job, Karla. But I'm sure you'll fall for someone else because of what they look like, and then get screwed over in the end, left to cry while eating ice cream by the window in the rain in a big sweatshirt and legwarmers. Don't make that mistake, Karla.

Congrats, Theo.

Only briefly hung around the players' entrance, but had a rare Manny sighting.

Don't know what this person's deal was.

Ugh.

"It's a river of slime!"

This belt is too big!

Manny and Mr. April.

Papi.

These captions are boring.

Manny greets the ho. Also, Lowell and Mattingly.

Jeter nails Giambi in the back of the head with a baseball, knocking him out cold.

So Bernie wails away on him with his bat.

A couple o' teammates. Who make me puke.

Flaherrible job.

Kapstein.

Kapstein and Torre.

Kapstein and Johnny Dollarsigns.

American hero, Jeremy "Former Drinkwater" Kapstein.

Ahhhhh! I must kill...the queen.

If you have a World Series ring, take one step forward. Not so fast, Mr. Mattingly.

Trot hits the ball and these such things.

Manny crosses the plate on his homer.

About tonight's game: terrible job. Still in first, though, and Randy's still droppin' deuces on the hill. Great moment when the yankee announcers talked about "buzzing" Manny when Proctor came in, once he got ahead in the count, and Manny took him deep yet again on the first pitch. Lots and lots and lots of talk on Hell, No, about Manny watching that homer last night. (Literally no mention of how he just put his head down and ran on both homers tonight. Maybe because they were all too busy talking about their plans to hit Manny.) Bobby Murcer was *appalled*, even--he who played with both Reggie Jackson and Dave Winfield. He must have spent the entire 1981 season in an appalled state.

A dinosaur somewhere in Jersey.
Philly's so clean, you can eat off the sidewalk.
Sal's pals. These dudes all make themselves look like Fasano, and actually turned their backs to the field when he got pinch-hit for (prompting all the Sox fans to chant Sal's name, pissing them off even more). Sorry about the blurry, I was trying to take this without them noticing, as they were not the types to cheerfully smile for a photo.
Manny signs for kids.
Pap with Manny, Ortiz, and more in the background.
Tito talks to a poor(er) person's Millar.
The Phanatic conducts an orchestra.


The 1980 (my favorite year) flag flies in front of Philly.

Sunset in 'delphia.

"I've done a lot of special things in this game," [Alex Rodriguez] said. "For none of that to be considered clutch is an injustice."

In the words of Michael Leggett, A-Rod's a five-tool tool.

So I guess if A-Rod hits a two-run homer when his team's up 14-0, and they end up winning 16-15, then he has officially "come through in the clutch," become a "true yankee," and we will all recognize it, and justice will be served.

Fine, A-Rod, have it your way. See you in October. Maybe.

Great job by Schill last night at my game. I think Varitek finally had a chat with him, and I'm almost positive it went like this:

"After reading that dude Jere's blog, I've realized he's definitely right about you wasting pitches. I know you hate it, but it must be done. So here's some motivation for you. On 0-2, you can waste one up and in. See where I'm going with this?"

"Hmm, you mean I can throw one under Giambi's chin and no one will care?"

"Exactly."

"Okay, I'm in for that."

"So, are we gonna lay it right over on 0-2 anymore?"

"Eh, NO, Peg."

And it worked. Pics from that game to come soon. I had a really long day, involving broken down buses, old people, roulette, and sand in the ears, so I'll post those tomorrow.

We made up for having to warm up Pap after having a 9-1 lead by making Mo actually come in after trailing 7-1. We almost got those bastids tonight. Oh well. I think America has realized the regular season doesn't mean much now that everybody makes the playoffs anyway. Still, that never makes it any less sweet to beat Mr. Dunbar.

One thing about Papelbon. People have been saying for a while now (including Kay & friends tonight) that the Red Sox, and everyone else, are still waiting to see how the kid will respond to getting beat around. Well, let's think about what he's done. He's stepped into one of the most pressure-packed jobs in all of sports, succeeded at a level no one could have imagined, and has loved every second of it. How will he respond to a bad day? I've got a guess...

If he ever goes into a funk, I don't think anyone will be able to blame it on his make up.

Terrible job by Steinbrenner's-butt-kissing player turned Steinbrenner's-butt-kissing announcer tonight (and I paraphrase): Manny watching that home run would be the equivalent of a pitcher doing a dance after a strikeout." No, boob, Manny doing a dance would be the equivalent of a pitcher doing a dance.

And a little bit of dirtdogness. I'm proud of myself for having stayed away for the most part lately. Tonight, though, after not having checked for awhile, I peeked, only to find an email he posted from a reader. It was from before Monday night's game with the yanks, and said that Sox fans should take the opportunity to cheer Johnny Damon. What's going on here? If this guy is so hell-bent on hearing cheering for Johnny Damon, at this point, he should head down to One Beacon Court and wait for the guy's limo and clap as Johnny is whisked inside. I'd love it if dirtdog would come out and tell people to bring up the steroids thing regarding Shef and Giambi, instead of doing it for Bonds, and repeatedly trying to get us to cheer Damon. Note: Without the aid of DD, Fenway was chanting the classic "you're on steroids" at Shef, and of course, booing the crap out of Guilty Johnny. Actually, due to my crazy day, I missed the first few innings tonight. Somebody tell me Johnny came out for a curtain call after his homer, maybe figuring the hearing impaired TV audience would think he was getting cheered.

Okay, before I say good night, here's a teaser pic:
Taken across the street from Fenway Park, I call this photo "Classes." From top to bottom, literally, the business world, spiffy apartment living, urban blight, punk kids.

(Note, they're probably rich kids, and I really don't know how nice, if at all, those apartments are, but, for the purposes of art, just pretend. It's supposed to be symbolism or something.)

Oh, and I guess that wasn't much of a teaser, since the rest of the shots from Monday are baseball-related. My mistake. Will I go back and change it, though? Eh...no, Peg.

...what would we do with the summer?

Okay, so the Mets got game three. Barely. The A-Rod DP in the eighth was a nice touch. I guess if the Mets had to pull a Mets in one game, I should be glad it wasn't the third one. Now there's no yankee faux-mentum as they come into Fenway.

We don't have much momentum either, with Non-son Arroyo (this is my name for the fifth starter role, not Lenny specifically) losing game three in Philly. But we should be gold just seeing those tattered pinstripes tonight. Vera against Schill tonight.

I'm in the midst of a whirlwind tour. Philly Friday and Saturday, a brief stop home and then onto see the family in CT Sunday, here in Boston today. After tonight's game, I fly (figuratively) back to NYC, sleep, get up at 8 and get on a bus for Atlantic City. It's for work. I love my job.

This sweet sky was over Long Island Sound yesterday. A few minutes later a rainbow appeared. See below. Look to the right of it to see vague evidence of another rainbow.

Pics from tonight and more from Philly coming tomorrow night-ish.

Papelbon comes in the ninth on Friday night.

Two rarities on one night (Saturday). Above, Ortiz records the putout at first. Below, Josh Beckett crosses the plate on a homer, then gets surrounded by teammates in the dugout, after the initial silent treatment. (I got a pic of the silent treatment, but it's blurry and not nearly as exciting.)





Will post more later. But, just have to say "terrible job" to the Mets. I was sitting their in the ninth inning on Saturday, saying, Okay, they've got two games, but they still have to beat them tomorrow. They can't let up likie usual. I have a feeling they'll find a way to lose game three, though. And before they even got that far, they ended up blowing the four-run lead in the ninth. (Kind of like my very, very easy prediction from Friday's entry, huh?) I imagine Willie talking to the team before the top of the ninth yesterday:

"Okay, guys. We are the only team capable of this. Of giving a tired, old, injured, depressed yankee squad new life. You guys are thinking tomorrow...I'm thinkin' RIGHT NOW. Gimme Wagner!"

At least the Sox are taking care of their own business. And at least the Mets still have a chance to win game three, so the yanks don't have any kind of momentum going into Fenway, where I'll be on Monday night(!)

It's "amazin," how these Mets-yanks series always go. The Mets look at the pinstripes, and turn to jelly. You could put uniforms on nine scarecrows (that's not such a stretch--Randy and Torre, I'm looking in your direction), and the Mets would still find a way to lose one of three. It just kills me, because the yanks get this added motivation of beating another rival, twice a year, whereas the Red Sox just get some random National League teams. I've always hated inter-league play. And they've done nothing to make me start liking it.