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.

WEEKEND POST-GAME: First we cook, then we chill.

Alright. Nice Sunday. Ate at Joe's, wandered and discovered that if "Williamsburg" isn't dying, it's at least being pushed further and further South. Drank a couple beers here as the Angels hung tight and then got absolutely manhandled. Enjoyed the company of an Ozzie Sox fan among others. Wrote a couple rewritten lyrics.



gooooodbye anaheim angels...
I can't hang a name on you...
when it changes every new day...
I'm not gonna miss you...

Took the train. Heard via cell phone by field reporter Nay Ratzoo, #3 Marmaduke Fan in the world, that Clemens was down, Clemens was down, and Trot hit a homerun. Good.

(To my field reporter: give me a better name than what I just spat out there. Any name.)

Saw a brilliant show by a brave woman.

Passed by Slainte and saw that the Yankees were...ahead? Whatever. No, not whatever. Good. May as well see if anyone knows how this happened. Explained a bit of baseball to a dude from the U.K. because he asked me. Apparently I know more about cricket than I thought.

(Hello, across the pond: Jen, Dan, and Lil' E.)

Ordered a club soda just to be a customer. talked a bit of Chicago with some Bears fans, talked a bit of...business? with Packers fans. Fun.

Far as the [New York Highlanders] versus the [Cleveland Spiders], I have three words for you. Blood, blood, blood.

I'm cooked, now I chill.



And then I listen to this. Gorgeous song by a brave man composed as he lay dying, mainly just with some records, samples of which may never have cleared to my knowledge. Played by a Korean punk-rock band. I have been over this before. Wow. Wow. Wow.



Then I sleep. Bar's closed on "Columbus" Day. Um, enjoy it. But stare at this a minute and think. I'd love to know what you think, because...zzzzzz....

NLDS REQUIEM: WHO GIVES A SHIT, IT'S GONE!

Yes, the National League still has great players in it. Yes, I'm supposed to enjoy...what am I doing here?

I don't care. St. Louis was a good team (yes, they caught a young, rusty team on too much rest at just the right time...I feel for you DJ Canoli) ...but... I still don't care.

Cubs. Done.

Phillies. Done.

Rockies. (My sentimental favorite...the team name was an NHL team once too.,..try Uni Watch on the sidebar) Still Alive.

Two sweeps. Great. Fuck it.

I really like the designated hitter, and I also enjoyed David Ortiz playing a good enough 1B in the 2004 World Series.) Oh, and remember Reggie Jefferson? Liked that guy too. Boss Vaughn rarely DHed.

And I'm a designated hitter. (Or at least this article got me a job at Air America Radio...that network had no real plan though.)

This ain't no threat. But hey, take it personal:



(DJ Premier is spinning at the Knitting Factory tonight, New York beat junkies...I'm not going because I have to go to a more personal show...and God, I hope she's healthy and putting the CAN in CANcer.)

A TRIBUTE TO BARRY BONDS, PART FOUR.

"Man, all he's doing is sitting around on his ass." (On his father Bobby, as he lay dying from cancer.)

(Barry Bonds. He doesn't want to hear about yer cancer, ya lazy bastard. And why did you shave your head?)

The Cancer Equation: Hodgkins= Pathos, Lymphoma= Comedy!

Listening to the Dan Patrick show, now cancer-free lefty Jon Lester talks about the humor required to get through lymphoma, or better still, the IMMENSE comic potential yet untapped in cancer. Unfortunately, Lester doesn't really relate much of how they spun tumors into ticklers: all that's really notable is that apparently Josh Beckett was the first to play the cancer card, saying something like, "Hey, some time when you don't have cancer, we need to go hunting."

Now, anyone who's read Bang The Drum Slowly knows that you go hunting with your teammate when he first has a fatal disease, or lie to your manager about having gone hunting with him when really you were at the Mayo Clinic, but that's not the point. The point is, Beckett has discovered a pretty good excuse for putting off anything.

"Hey, Jon, some time when you don't have cancer, we should really give you a contract extension."

"Hey, Jon, some time when you don't have cancer, we should talk about that other guy I'm bonestorming."

"Hey, Jon, some time when you don't have cancer, I should give you a hug. Not before then, though. I know it's not contagious like that, I just think cancer smells like day-old donuts and one of those gross new Doritos flavors. Like, ewww."

"Hey, Jon, some time when we finally come up with a cure for cancer, I'll pay my half of the rent. I mean, some time when you don't have cancer. Whatever."

I could go on for days, but I've got a headache. (Finish tired Kindergarten Cop joke here.)