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post #265
bio: chris

wish list
first post
that week

Previous Posts
On Sting (and other crap)
Things I Say to My Dad, Because (like myself) He Thinks, Irrationally, He's Going to Die Soon
Why Hipstamatic Was Invented
Happy Mother's Day, Y'all
Black Pear Tree (Guest Post from John Darnielle)

As most of you know, I get a bit obsessed when it comes to baseball. Last year, I slacked a ton for some reason. I just didn't care so much. Don't know why, just didn't. And I picked a good year not to get so involved, seeing as pretty much the entire Red Sox roster went through weird, bizarre injuries at the end and the team dropped of the face of the Earth – including MVP candidate David Ortiz being diagnosed with a potentially serious heart condition, Manny Ramirez going down with patellar tendonitis, and 22 year old stud pitching prospect Jon Lester being diagnosed with freaking CANCER! (The good news is that Lester successfully completed chemotherapy this off-season and, beyond all expectations, made it back for the start of Spring Training – and pitched well. He's currently making rehab starts in Single-A and absolutely pwn1ng. Granted its Single-A, but whatever. He's pitching well, with good command, and most importantly is healthy. He's expected back in the big league rotation by June.)

This year I'm making up for it. The Rusty Kuntz (my perennial fantasy team name) are playing in two fantasy leagues this year, though I handed off my commissioner duties to a fellow owner because I just don't have the time to babysit this year. And yeah. Baseball. All the time.

The first thing I do when I wake up in the morning is ask myself, "do you feel good enough to play center field for the Red Sox today?" because, who knows, they might need me. Coco Crisp kinda sucks, and top prospect Jacoby Ellsbury isn't quite ready. The answer, most times, is "yes". My legs are strong. My arm is strong. I might not be able to hit so well, but what the hell. If I don't swing at slop and make ‘em get their breaking ball over for strikes, I have a shot.

Also, every time I go to pee, I have to throw a few pitches in the mirror beforehand, just to make sure I still have good mechanics. Outside of Jonathan Papelbon, the Sox bullpen isn't much and I might have to make a few appearances out of the pen. And since Julian Tavarez blows donkeys as a #5 starter, I may have to fill in til Lester gets back. From the looks of things, I have a nice sharp break on my curveball and the grip on my changeup is much improved. As long as I have good command of my stuff, I should be fine.

Which gets me to thinking, if I'm going to be coming out of the bullpen, I need entrance music. You know, a lot of guys go for something that pumps them up. Mariano Rivera and Billy Wagner come out to "Enter Sandman" (LAAAAAAAME!)... etc. etc. etc. Not me. I want something intimidating. Something to scare the hell out of opposing batters. Something to keep ‘em guessing.

So I'm entering to "The Crying Game".

Just thought you all should know.

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