You Gotta Have Faith.

Knowing full well that I can't turn it off, I'm sitting here watching this game wondering why I'm torturing myself. This team seems to have dug itself too deep of a hole to fight it's way out of and even though Theo thinks they can still compete, I think he's peddling pyrite. And then Jim Leyland walks Kevin Youkilis to load the bases to get to Ortiz and instantly I believed. (How much did I believe? It was then that I took the television off of mute.) They can (and probably will) break my heart tomorrow but today was delicious.

Please, sir. I Want Some More.

Surely I can't be the only person who felt compelled to yell "Kaaaaaahn!" at the television every time Don said "Kohn." (Maybe the kid pronounces his name differently but a good German accent would put it closer to 'Cone'.) Really? Just me? But you know what? On a night when they don't lose, I'll be alright with my geekiness. Although in my defense, I don't think I've ever actually seen "The Wrath of Kahn".

Also, the Angel's new Fransisco Rodriguez either needs a new hat or a bigger forehead.

Things were a little dicey (Get it?) for Clay in the beginning but he was able to survive -- which is astounding considering that the Clay of a couple years back likely would have become absolutely distressed and crumpled to the mound in a ball of anxiety had he loaded the bases with nobody out. A pair of David Ortiz home runs, the return of Victor Martinez, and a JD Drew two-run double made for a good night. Especially when you've decided to not write about losses and consequently haven't had much to write about all month.

A Revelation.

Dear John Lackey,

I'll admit to not having been your biggest fan this season. You were just so unlikeable with the Angels; the stomping around, the whining, the chin, the underbite, the pointy teeth, the mole, the mouth-breathing, and if I had known I probably would have added the voice and the tendency to use the phrase "for sure" as punctuation to the list of things wrong with you. Plus, you weren't exactly a bad pitcher.

Then you came over here and I set about trying to convince myself that you didn't spend your free time kicking puppies. It was difficult, though; the dislike was deeply ingrained. And then, I'm sorry, you hadn't exactly been fantastic to start the season. But last time out against Texas you pitched pretty well and tonight you pitched wonderfully. In fact, in the middle of the ninth inning I started a post in which I pondered the question: I like John Lackey?

Then things went haywire; I swore a blue streak at the television, threatened to kill some people, and did a little stomping around of my own. My point: I'd like to apologize for the group of doofuses (doofusi?) around you. And if you felt the need to administer several swift kicks to the groin to certain numbskulls, I don't think that anyone would blame you.

And honestly? I think that, if nothing else, today's game may have actually resulted in my coming around to like John Lackey.

Golden Slumbers.

*Bangs pan with wooden spoon*

Nothing?

*Enthusiastically crashes cymbals*

Still nothing?

*Pulls fire alarm* *Runs like hell*

Did I wake you? Sorry about that. Anyway, while I've got you: Did you boys have a nice break? Yeah? That's good. I'm super glad. Did you spend some time with the wife and kids? Sleep in--well, that's probably not such a big deal for you--go to bed early, then? Watch prime time television? Veg out on the couch? Yeah? That's fun. Everybody deserves a break once in awhile.

Here's the thing, though, sweetpeas: Vacation's over. As much as going back to work sucks, and believe me I understand, you need to wake up and start playing better baseball. It doesn't get any easier from here on out. Thanks in advance.

Love and kisses,
Liz

Silver Linings.

I know that THIS ONE COUNTS and all that jazz and should they make it to the World Series they'll now have to start in a National League Park (horrors!) but, to be perfectly honest, I was practically giddy at the outcome of that game. There are much more important things: Namely, Joe Girardi and Phil Hughes stinking it up. It has a nice ring to it: First American League Manager to lose the All-Star Game in thirteen years, Joe Girardi.

I prefer road games anyway. It's much better to have the opportunity to strike first.

No Respect.

What exactly did Victor Martinez do to piss off someone at Getty Images? Because it must have been bad. Flipping through the thumbnails of the pictures coming out of the All Star game in Anaheim and the above picture is labeled as being Victor Martinez. Even in its miniaturized state, you can tell that it's actually Slimy McSlimeball. It's one thing to label Dustins as Justins (as they did a couple of years ago) but to completely mistake a nice guy like Victor Martinez for a creepy, horrid character like Alex Rodriguez, really should be unacceptable. Someone owes Victor, and me--for forcing me to look at that jackass, an apology. Stat.

Baby Face.

I suppose that picking on babies under a year old for their looks might be a little harsh and probably doesn't fit into my resolution to try to be nicer but what the hell, right? Really it's just about sharing the cuteness that is D'Angelo Ortiz.




Young master Beltre, does not wish to be here but does wish to take a nap. Thank you.



Aw. Except for his nose, Dylan Pedroia looks like his dad; the same giant forehead and pointy little chin, the same frown, the same sleepy eyes, the same baldness. Poor thing.



But then there is the utter adorability that is D'Angelo Ortiz. I can't pinpoint exactly why but that boy is the clearly cutest boy ever.

Zombie.

David Ortiz was left for dead a year and a half ago but tonight he proved just how undead he really is by winning the home run derby. Or it might have been just a little bit of stolen Dustin Pedroia swagger because as he said, it was a "laser show." Congratulations to David.

Those sunglasses are regrettable, though. (Please don't eat my brain.)

Om Mani Padme Hum.

Reuters Pictures

I like John Lackey. I like John Lackey. I like John Lackey. I like John Lackey. I like John Lackey. I like John Lackey. I like John Lackey. I like John Lackey. I like John Lackey. I like John Lackey. I like John Lackey. I like John Lackey. I like John Lackey. I like John Lackey. I like John Lackey. I like John Lackey. I like John Lackey. I like John Lackey. I like John Lackey. I like John Lackey. I like John Lackey.

When It Rains.

There comes a point when you just have to laugh. Earlier today word came down that Manny Delcarmen was headed for the disabled list with a strained forearm. And now it appears that Jason Varitek has broken his foot and will soon be joining him. I've got to admit that while I wasn't looking forward to the painful experience of watching Varitek bat most nights, it would probably have been better than watching the newly re-acquired Kevin Cash or Gustavo Molina; although it's probably unfair to Molina, having never actually seen him.

I guess you tread water until the all-star break and hope people start coming back toward the end of the month. But then you've got Jon Lester, John Lackey, and Clay Buchholz and their respective wives not understanding human gestation, with each due to give birth in the month of August. If Jonathan Papelbon can figure out how to get his wife pregnant so she doesn't end up giving birth in the middle of a potential pennant race, you'd think that the slightly smarter ones could too.