J Weaver (L, 4-4) 3.0 8 4 4 1 1 2 65-43 5.92 ( Read more... )

We're finally back in the city after that godawful road trip. I still can't get over the fact that we lost to my bitches, the Rockies. My lady knew that I was upset about the horrible embarrassment of having lost to my bitches, so she made an appointment for me to get a massage today. I'm feeling very relaxed. I'm so relaxed that when Omar ( Read more... )

Let's get one thing straight here: THE BALL DID NOT HIT ME. We're down, I work a leadoff walk (and yet they keep me on the bench because...?), Ray Ray singles.. we're rallying, right? NO. The fucking umpire says Ray's single hit me so I'm out. I think I would know better than anyone that the ball made no contact with me. I didn't feel any damn ( Read more... )

I had a shitty game today. I don't really want to talk about it. That fucking Ellison is really on fire so I'm starting to get really worried my minimal playing time will be reduced to almost nothing. I don't see Ellison hitting game-winning grand slams, but whatever man ( Read more... )

Jesus Christ, yesterday was one of the worst games ever. The weather was gloomy, it was muddy as fuck (I HATE MUD!), I batted with the bases loaded and didn't hit my trademark grand slam, and I made an "error." Somehow with rain pouring into my eyes and wind swirling around me, I wasn't able to catch a fly ball. Then, oh-so-conveniently, they ( Read more... )

It turns out my journal has been getting some attention lately. Not just from Red Sox bloggers, but also from my teammates. Today I showed up at the yard and Grip pulled me aside and said he signed up for a journal and wrote about his bad experience with Jason Ellison urinating on his bed. I thought that was exciting. Then he informed me that ( Read more... )

Today we had an off day and I thought I should take a break from plotting Omar Vizquel's demise and spend the day with the old lady. We go down to Union Square and she helps me pick out a couple of new suits at Armani store. Then we're at a spa waiting for our his-and-her facials when my cell rings. Guess who it is, VIZQUEL ( Read more... )

Oh God, someone kill me please. Mike Matheny hit a grand slam tonight and he will. not. stop. bragging about it. His hotel room is next to mine and I can hear him calling everyone he knows on his cell phone to relive it. Give me a fucking break, it wasn't even a game winner ( Read more... )

Vizquel is really worried about Jose Mesa throwing at him. He kept telling us all to wish him good luck, he ate four sandwiches from four different sandwich shops before the game, and he begged Tomko and all of our pitchers to give us a lead in the 9th so we wouldn't have to face Mesa ( Read more... )

Dear Jesus, Omar Vizquel is an irritating son of a bitch. The whole flight to Pittsburgh, I'm trying to sleep with my new satin sleep mask (wore the old one out) but he's yapping about how the meeting really improved morale, and we've won two games in a row, and yesterday I only had one hit because I didn't eat a sandwich, and blah fucking blah. ( Read more... )