Like the Denny's breakfast menu, without the heart-stopping goodness.

Like Don Orsillo said, it's grand slam day at Fenway Park. 11-4 as I write this, thanks to 8 RBIs on two swings by J.D. Drew and Mike Lowell, and it's all almost enough to forget the sloppy, askew, and often wild day by Daisuke.

(C'mon, Matsuzaka, on three-ball counts it's okay sometimes to give a little; to Joey Gathright, anyway.)

What will either be the culmination of a 7-o homestand or cause for murder-suicide, either way, I've enjoyed wasting my work day watching it. The offense is clicking. We'll see if we can hit Rich Harden. If we feel like staying up late to watch it, anyway.

(Insert some headline involving "Masterful" or somesuch variation.)

Masterful. Mastered. Mastering. Master of the Universe. Mastermastermaster.

Although apparently newspaper headlines will speak of his mastery every time he wins regardless of caliber of start because, you know, name puns, Justin Masterson was very good, albeit with a walk or two more than necessary, and unlike last time, the bullpen was good enough to hold that lead, albeit barely.

Okajima wasn't all there, but getting the second out by strikeout (with a runner on third) was almost as important as Papelbon later getting the third out. (Coincidentally, by strikeout; it's intriguing to see what he can do against righties with creative deployment of this reintroduced slider.) Gil Meche was pretty great, but one inning capped with a Lugo sac fly and a Coco double was enough. And that was that. A losable game won. Nice.

Bartolo returns tonight. No idea what to expect, but at least we aren't exactly throwing him to the...Rangers?...his first start out. I do expect a Craig Hansen sighting at some point, which will both delight me and (if it doesn't come with at least a three-run lead) chill me to my very core.

Most interesting series against the Royals I can recall in recent times, I'll say that much.

Oh, Master of Puppets. Forgot that one. There's a keeper, o weary editors.

Cancer strikes out! (And fails to get a base hit!)

First off, wow. That was something, and in all fairness to Jon Lester, that was something I did not expect to see. Pitcher struggling with strike zone and walks hits strike one 20 out of 29 times, giving up 2 walks, pitching his first ever complete game. (Albeit with a dangerous 130 pitches. Tito, what were you thinking?)

And, um, oh yeah. No hits. None. Nine strikeouts, a lot of weak groundballs and popups, one of which nearly dived to the ground:



That was it. That was dominance. And no matter how bitter you want to be about it (see the comments turn tragicomical on Peter Abraham's blog around 9:45 p.m. here; thanks to the 45 King), no one else has no-hit the Royals since Nolan Ryan got his first, and no one has no-hit a major league team since that scrawny kid with the big curve and the Penthouse Pet girlfriend pulled it. Way, way back in September.

But, yeah, it was against the Royals. So what? Do it yourself. Fuck you, stupid bitter Yankee fans. If Wang no-hit the Padres in interleague play, I'd hardly mention that they were the Padres. The luck necessary alone with all the poorly hit balls that can end up in unplayable sections of the field (I remember a swinging bunt breaking up John Maine's no-no bid the next-to-last day of the season last year) or the killer bloop (akin to what Ellsbury somehow snatched) make any no-hitter against any team an accomplishment.



Having pitched a World Series clinching game and a no-hitter, I'd like to again suggest that this might be an opportunity for us to move on from the The Boy Who Lived plotline that the media have tacked onto him, and which Jon Lester himself desires. The first sentence of the Herald article on last night says all:

Ever since receiving word that he had defeated lymphoma a year-and-a-half ago, Jon Lester has been trying to do everything within his power to shed the unsought labeling of being the pitcher who survived cancer.

It says all especially because the fucking sentence does plenty to keep the unsought label on!

The AP's first two graphs:

BOSTON, May 19 -- Jon Lester has survived cancer and pitched a World Series clincher for the Boston Red Sox.

Now he can add a no-hitter to his already amazing list of accomplishments.

Accomplishments? That's survival you're fucking talking about, not an "accomplishment." Cancer didn't give him a trophy. He didn't get a Most Valuable Player Who Had Cancer trophy last year. (Mike Lowell would have deserved it more anyway.) To the Globe's credit, they did not mention cancer until paragraph 3, and again, in the "he wants to be remembered for more" context.

So, yeah, respect his wishes already and stop talking about his near-death experience so cavalierly and unendingly, Author. I mean, Arthur. Lester's pitched well enough to be more than a human interest story, okay? Find a boy in a well.

GAME NINETY TWO: You got K'd, son.

Hey, Kason, there's no need for that. I like you, in concept: drafted in the deep double digit rounds, a veteran in the system at 25 (just a year and a month younger than me, which makes any rookie sympathetic to my quickly-aging leather ass), Gabbard gets ground balls with a nice sinker. Last night he even struck some Royals out on his way to a complete-game shutout, an impressive game against any competition. (Kansas City is 19th in the majors in runs scored: not great, not shabby.) Whatever value you contribute, as a starter or maybe a long reliever, is nice, with whatever team you may ultimately land with if the Red Sox can trade you for value. I'm not a hater. I'm a hoper.

What I was hoping for is that Clay Bucholtz would rushed up to the majors for a cup o' coffee start, or that Jon Lester was pitching well enough in Pawtucket to get promoted already. Instead, Clay made his AAA debut yesterday (not great numbers, but he looked pretty good), and Lester is walking a ridiculous number of batters, 4+ per 9 innings. As a friend of mine put it, he needs to put the CAN back in CAN-cer recovery.

But Kason, you proved me wrong for a start. My bad. I won't miss you when Curt finally takes his slot back in the rotation, but I won't mind seeing you again either, in Boston or elsewhere.

GAME THREE: Enter Monster Zero, exit Kansas City.

"I can't say that my overall condition was that great today, but I think the role of a starting pitcher is to set up the game and give my teammates the opportunity to win."
--Daisuke Matsuzaka after yesterday's game, giving up one MFing run in 7 innings and striking out TEN; this is about the third time I've heard him quoted as being only semi-satisfied with his performance while everyone else was wowed.

"I'm not really a rookie, so I wonder if perhaps I didn't have as good a season as some people told me. Still, small air of insult though I breathe here, I suppose this is something of an honor."
--upon receiving the 2007 AL Rookie of the Year

"I really wasn't throwing that well today. The ball was there to be hit, they just failed to."
--after throwing a no-hitter against the Washington Nationals, August 2008.

"I really failed to establish my slider this season, but I suppose I found ways around that. Still, it was disappointing to lose that pitch."
--receiving the 2009 AL Cy Young Award.

"I could have gone 11 if I'd only induced more groundballs. Why didn't I throw more sinkers? Stupid, stupid, stupid!"
--receiving the 2010 World Series MVP, after a 10-inning shutout in Game 7 against the Arizona Diamondbacks.

"I have a stomachache. I should really eat better. I'm getting fat. This upsets me. Perhaps my wife doesn't love me anymore? And is anyone going to hire a pitcher whose first language isn't English as a Major League manager? The future seems bleak."
--Hall Of Fame induction speech.



So, yeah, I like the Kaibutsu's apparently inability to be satisfied. This bodes well. But yes, it's Kansas City. I know I'm getting ahead of myself. Just let me, okay?

One more fun bit before I go. From the ever-entertaining Fire Joe Morgan...

"Visit the Ritz Carlton Three Hole Resort and you will have answered the question: 'Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio?'

The Ritz Carlton Three Hole Resort sounds like something a frat guy would call a hot rich girl.

"Dude, I totally spent the night at the Ritz Carlton Three Hole Resort, if you get what I mean!!! I mean I fucked a girl."

Beer, high fives, exeunt."

That's staying in my slang dictionary. Monster Zero is a work-in-progress...if anyone has anything better, particularly a more ideal match for Daisuke from the Godzilla library, let me know.

Travels With Manny

Buster Olney noted in his blog yesterday that the Red Sox have one of the worst April schedules: 14 out of 26 games on the road, 15 games against teams that finished over .500 last year, including home and away series with the Yankees. (One at the Stadium; wonder if my least favorite Yankee fan will be in attendance.) That's a lot of traveling for the beginning of the year, when the team is getting to know its strengths and weaknesses, finding its footing, and getting Julian Tavarez to stop killing the teenagers of Elm Street in their sleep; maybe some Opening Day field trips are in order?



Kansas City: April 2-5
Good for: BBQ

Sooey! Keep Curt Schilling away and don't let David Ortiz stuff himself into Mo Vaughn/Kevin Mitchell shape! FIORELLA'S JACK STACK is reputedly the best in the area, out in Martin City. And other than groupies, there is nothing else baseball players could possibly want to do in Kansas City. Nor is there anything else for anyone else to do in Kansas City, unless you consider going to a Royals game "doing something." Except when the great Gil Meche is pitching, of course.



Texas (Dallas area): April 4-8
Good for: not much in particular

May as well go for the dumbest event possible: the EDIBLE BOOK FESTIVAL. No, seriously, there is one on
April 4th. The Stuffed Tortilla(s) Flat are obviously going to be good, but stay away from the Under the (Jalapeno!) Volcano; the combination of molten cheez and peppers could fuck up J.D. Drew's new macrobiotic diet, to the point that he might hit the DL with broken ribs. That's how hot these nachos are, and what a pussy J.D. Drew is. He'll still hit a ton this year unless he discovers Cholula or water skiing.

Additionally, by this point in the trip, the Red Sox may have eaten themselves into a losing streak. It may be time for something more active.




Toronto: April 17-19
Good for: women

I couldn't tell you if SkyDome nee the Rogers Center is good for beaver shooting, but I can say that Toronto, in my couple times there, has an underrated female populace, especially for those who like their women of indeterminate race. National health care does a body good. If downy innocent Dustin Pedroia hasn't lost his cherry yet, this could be the place. I'm just saying, he looks the part. A place named BODY ENGLISH sounds like a place where even non-baseballers get balled.



Baltimore: April 25-26
Good for: thriving drug trade

Just stay the fuck INDOORS, unless you know Avon Barksdale personally. Or at least Emiliano Fruto. For obvious reasons.



New York: April 27-29
Good for: Making a wish?

There's lots to do, obviously, but you never know when you'll run into some asshole in a Jeter jersey out clubbing. To try something off the beaten path, I'd recommend MY APARTMENT in Greenpoint, Brooklyn. Hey, Manny, if those dreadlocks don't just signify your sympathies with Rastafarian culture, well, I lost the number to my delivery service, but I know a guy who knows a guy. Future Hall Of Famers have to be careful they don't get glaucoma during their playing days, man; ask Kirby Puckett.

Oh, it soothes glaucoma rather than healing it?

Whatever, man. I'm so hungry I could eat a whole food court.