Wow.

Lime in the Coconut.

I was strolling through Stop and Shop yesterday when I noticed that Dustin Pedroia is shilling for a company that sells coconut water. The product is supposed to be better for you than regular water because it's packed with vitamins and minerals and better than a sports drink because it's natural. Or something. Anyway, the whole point of this post was to write that while Dustin looks both terrible and terribly photo-shopped in his publicity shot, Alex Rodriguez looks at least eight times worse. But then I was distracted by the marketing mumbo-jumbo and grew concerned. (What can I say? I'm a worrier.)

This product alone isn't likely to present a problem but given that his personality seems to lean itself toward excess (if the five Red Bulls a day is to be believed) he really ought to cool it with the potassium. One box of this stuff contains over 1000mg of potassium, he's got that big container of supplements in his locker, depending on what he eats in a day (and with the mineral's role in muscle health, it's probably safe to assume that he's on a potassium-rich diet), you're talking in excess of 5000mgs of potassium a day, which is pushing it. (The average person needs probably 2000mgs and starts to feel ill at around 4000mgs.)

Chronic high levels of potassium in the blood can lead to kidney problems and potassium overdose will cause heart failure. [Potassium overdose isn't really an issue here. Unless he's downing these drinks twelve at a time, he likely isn't ingesting it fast enough to stop his heart.]

Proof positive that, after all, coconut is poison.

The Bright Side.

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I know that I should be annoyed that they lost tonight and that New York will likely be in first place in the morning but TRIPLE PLAY! Usually one would be concerned when one's team plays two games and manages all of six hits but TRIPLE PLAY! Seriously: How amazingly fun was that?

Also, Jed's pissed off face when something doesn't go his away is absolutely adorable. TRIPLE PLAY!

I Dreamed A Dream (A Dream About You, Baby).

I had a bizarre dream last night (the sort of bizarre dream that ought to be recorded for posterity) starring, in large part, Marco Scutaro.

There was a very strange bit at the beginning about arriving at Fenway and parking my car and then having to change from my work clothes into more appropriate baseball game attending attire and leaving the work clothes at the coat check. So then I bought a seventy dollar ticket (It's weird that I remember that it was exactly seventy dollars) and talk about obstructed view, the ticket that I bought was for a seat on the first base side but the seat was turned one hundred and eighty degrees from the field and looking at a television. I was going to leave but then there were all these people I knew in high school, so I stayed. And then after it was an official game, they called it not because of the weather (it was bright and sunny) but because they were going to premier Marco Scutaro's movie. And no one had a problem with this.

I don't actually remember too much about Marco's movie other than at one point he was flouncing around a library, badly overacting, while wearing a too tight, bright blue, velvet smoking jacket. Anyway, it must have been a very long movie because when it was over it was already two in the morning but the people seemed to really have enjoyed the movie.

But then there was a snafu with getting my work clothes back from the coat check girl; she couldn't find them. After looking around for awhile they told me that if they couldn't find my clothes in two hours, then they would pay me $80,000 for them but I had to be there looking for them for two hours, if I left then they wouldn't pay me. The problem was that I needed to catch a train (which is weird because my car was right there) and if I waited for two hours, then all the trains would have left. I was in the middle of trying to decide what to do; wait around for two hours and be paid $80,000 or be able to get home when I woke up.

And since then I've had Ethel Merman stuck in my head, telling Marco: You'll be swell. You'll be great. Gonna have the whole world on a plate. Starting here, starting now. Honey, everything's coming up Marco.

It's very strange.

Open Letter.

Dear NESN CFO:

I realize that it must be expensive to broadcast a baseball game all the way from Minnesota. I also understand that your job is to keep your company fiscally sound. Broadcasting the game via a couple of tin cans a length of string is just not a cost-saving measure that is acceptable. I'm sorry.

Thanks in advance,
Liz

Aqua Sucia.

Here I was thinking, "Well, at least they still have moral superiority." (because when the team is losing as the result of a Brett Gardner home run, the game takes on a feeling of things are just not going to turn out well) so I switched off ESPN and turned on Uri Berenguer (I'd say that I get about 75% of the words unless something good happens and then they start going fast and talking over each other and then my understanding drops to 30 maybe 40%; I had no idea what happened in Adrian's at bat that inning, just that they'd gone to commercial) and presto-changeo, Marco (who clearly is not ready to sit on the bench) knocks one off of the wall and soon enough they're all tied up. And before you know it, Red's driven in the winning run. A most excellent win.

Wild Rumors.

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Do not trust this man.

Erik Bedard kicks puppies. He's been known to take a penny but he's never been known to leave one. He gives out raisins on Halloween. He doesn't turn his cellphone off when he goes to the movies. His favorite meal is veal tartar. He cuts the line at the post office. And he always takes the last slice of pie.