Dumbest Possible Purchases from the Rays Catalogue

(Part 2/5. Much as I'd love to write about how fucking awesome the Red Sox are performing, the 500th sell-out festivities and that moment of child-like joy between Jason Bay and Bobby Orr, and the delusion I'm getting that we're somehow going to be able to fleece a catcher off the Rangers for Brad Penny and a C-prospect, this catalogs are fucking hilarious.)


Look, just because everyone hates the Yankees doesn't make it a good idea for any and every American League team to claim them as a "rivalry." Unless this shirt is not a shirt at all, but rather a 70% lead garment/weapon you can use to beat the octogenarian New York transplants into silence, this is dumb.

("Beat New York." Like, Beat New Yorkers. Get it! Huh? Hey, where'd you go?)



Three interlocking Rays rings. Why three? Cheap engagement ring he promises he'll replace once he gets his next paycheck, marriage ring you accept reluctantly, failed reconciliation gift. Seriously, this ring is sadder than the Hal McCrae years.



Your infant is not a fan of the Rays. She is a fan of breast milk, being burped, and that squeaky funny voice Da-da does, and branding your kid a Rays fan is about as natural as branding it a Republican. And you need to do something about that organic scent coming from your organic fan, too. This is an indoor stadium.



Back side of the frame reads, "And born to move to Vegas/Portland/San Jose in 5 years!"

"Huh. You have a blown-up ticket on your wall."

"Yeah, man, isn't it fuckin' sweet?"

"Yeah. Yeah. To an August game between the Devil Rays and the Indians. Huh. Is this pop art or something?"

"No way, dude, it wasn't just any August game, man."

"Well, the Rays sucked then, so it couldn't have meant that much. Um...were you there? Did they lose by some amazing number of runs? Did you meet your ex-girlfriend on August 7, 1999?"

"Nah, dude, I met Shawnee in the Sonic parking lot after a Jackyl show."

"So?"

"Wade fucking Boggs, man."

(Beat.)

"He played for Tampa Bay?" (Beat.) "Do you have that fifty bucks you owe me?"



At last, the carrying ability of a plate, the spinning sensation of vertigo, and the jarring explosive sensation of having your head ripped apart, all at once! What a deal!

You know, just because you can create a hat almost uglier than the original Rainbow Warrior team lids doesn't mean you should. One nice element: the arrows, which direct you to exactly where on the forehead to punch the head that dares wear this.

Rejected front of hat design: "Tampa Bay Rays: 2nd Place in 2008!"

Rejected back of hat element, in red lettering: "Tampa Bay 1, Philadelphia 4"

Seriously, I'm not belittling the Rays' accomplishment in 2008--they were certainly a frightening, frightening team when they were pummeling the Red Sox for 2.5 out of the 3 middle games of the ALCS--but people who wear League Champions hats wear Wild Card Champions hat, as though there is a championship of 2nd.




The notable feature here, in case you didn't notice, is the Removablity of the logo panel. This way, when you come to your senses, or at least get on another bandwagon when your team misses the playoffs, you can remove the Rays logo, trash it along with the baby Rays crap your kid outgrew, sit your big ass back on your bare recliner, and get on with your life.

In a matter of speaking.

Fuck it....just fuck it.

Get ready for Anaheim, people: unless this peppy little Little League team played themselves out in (AGAIN!) coming back from losing the first game in a Red Sox series to winning the series, we ain't taking no flag. What a miserable performance, although biggest demerits go to Wakefield, who had absolutely nothing, and Lopez, whose decision to field a weak dribbler from the side eventually allowed two more runs to score in a game already getting away from the Sox in the 3rd.

Who does Francona go with as his #4 starter in the playoffs? Count my vote for the weak-throwing guy who tips his pitches over the veteran who happened to throw one excellent 8 inning shutout start lodged between two turds. At this point, I'd rather see the shake than another knuckleball for the rest of the season; seriously. I'd almost rather see the Harlem shake for that matter.

Fuck it, we still got Beckett.

Last night I was pissed about...last night, but in the light of day, fuck it.

Fuck that we can't hit Andy Sonnanstine. (So long as he's given strike three on curveballs that dance around the plate while never actually breaking the strike zone....I want laser sensors that actually detect a pitch going over the plate if not robotic umpires, stat.)

Fuck that the Rays celebrate wins like a buncha little leaguers.

Fuck it that this lil' minimally talented douchenozzle jumped up and down in pain on a pitch that actually hit his bat. Guess what it was called?

Fuck it all. You can't win many games when you can only score one unearned run. This will be a mightier lineup with Bay and (perhaps?) Drew rather than the all-"scrappy" team of Ellsbury, Crisp, and Kotsay, who I'm already tired of and kinda missing Bobby Kielty, or even Brandon Moss.



Fuck it, cause we've got Beckett, and he is back. Eight innings, 95 pitches, 7 strikeouts, 3 hits. Second straight very good/excellent start against a top AL team.

I don't know if we're taking this series, because I don't know which Wakefield will show up. But I have an oddly good feeling about our overall perspective with our rotation in the playoffs, two top-notch starters coming righty-lefty (Beckett-Lester), one usually excellent five-six inning pitcher (Matsuzaka), and a crafty veteran who is baffling when on (Wakefield). I feel pretty good about this team, still.

Taking the series would be nice, though.

We're all tied, let it fly.

Look really closely at that image. Closer. Closer. See a little spec in one of those catwalks in the middle of this of this fucking awful 18 year old former hockey stadium? That's where Jason Bay hit his shot to begin the 7-run onslaught in the 4th inning that ended Scott Kazmir's terrible start, effectively ending the game and the Rays' divisional lead. Apparently the first of its C-Ring kind. (Nine years into Tropicana Field: The Baseball Years I still can't believe I'm talking about catwalks and baseball. This place and most of the thinking behind granting Tampa Bay a franchise into such a vacuum can suck a C-Ring (NSFW).)

Anyway. We're tied. Ladies and gentlemen, Sox and Rays we are unmoored from the chains of [#] GB, and are floating in space, respectively 12 and 14 games from season's end. Some say it doesn't much matter how this end and it just matters we prove we can beat up on Tampa wherever the game may be. I disagree. All I really want's a divisional crown to take the pain away.



Okay, right, I root for a team that has taken 2 of the last 4 World Series. Pain isn't really my power. All I really want's a divisional crown because I want a divisional crown and would rather let the Rays take their turn with the Angels first, damnit. The first round of the playoffs is the scariest one to survive, and the White Sox are the best possible matchup for the Red Sox in what would be a short, sharp shock of a series, while Rays-Angels seems like the definition of a 5-game series.

That and there's just something about pennants. There's no dishonor in taking the wild card, and we all know how far one can go off it, sometimes even for both Series opponents. But Wild Cards don't look right on a flag. You can't brag about second place as surely as you don't win friends with salad.



Beckett looked great last time out, and Sonnanstine is an old Irish term for "pushing one's luck. Grab that lead and let's start to hoist that rag, boys.

On losing 2 of 3 at home to the Rays....

I'm too sleepy, hungover, and pissed off to say much about a series I feel like we really should have won. Having such a glorious comeback crushed in game 2 was bad enough; being unable to get much together against Sonnastine, playing Jon Lieber to Josh Beckett's Pedro Martinez circa game 2 of the 2004 ALCS, just pissed me off. Now we've got four games with the hottest team in baseball. The wild card still looks good, but fuck that.

Fuck.

Fuckity fuck fuck.

Poop.

Back from break...a little late.

It has been a long time, barflies, but June became the month I squandered most of my vacation days while working double time at the road office to make up for it, so sadly, the ol' barangrill went a bit to seed. I'm also sorry to come back to this state of affairs.



Bullpens and relief pitchers are funny things. The relievers so critical to 2004's success, especially in the extra innings of the middle of the ALCS, fell flat on their faces in 2005, in no small part because Keith Foulke's knees died for our sins during said series.

The seemingly boffo (TM, Variety) Eric Gagne trade didn't work because...well, there's a myriad of reasons best summarized in the famed phrase "Gagne sucks" (or "Gagne suces" in his native tongue), but apparently saving meaningless games for a sub .500 team and holding leads for a World Series contenders are bananas and pomegranates.

And without even touching upon Jon Papelbon's uptick in blown saves, because he still looks quite right, it's apparent that Hideki Okajima's present fall from form has hurt the team immensely, because Manny Delcarmen has come into the set-up role, and Manny Delcarmen is no '07 Okajima. No, no, no, no.

Last night, in a game a frustrated Sox team really could have used to stay within 1.5 games of the best team in baseball/first place Rays (and no, I still can't believe I typed that phrase), the Sox got the best of the Floridians in the Inefficiency-Off between Daisuke Matuszaka and Scott Kazmir (5 IP a piece, 4 runs for Scott, 1 for Daisuke). That's the good part.

Then came the odd but not wholly surprising appearance of Hideki Okajima in the 6th inning. Tito gets 3 points for putting him into a clean inning (Okajima's ERA is deceptive, since he's allowing more inherited runners to score than even Mike Timlin did in a similarly deceptive [recurring theme] 2005 season) but -5 points for the earlyness of this. Unless the plan was to pitch Okajima 2 innings, I just don't think he's the 6th inning pitcher. Hansen or Aardsma, anyone?

And then came the 7th.



And there went the lead. Craig Hansen ultimately took the loss because in a reversal of order, Hansen relieved for Delcarmen (supposed new 8th inning man, in for an ineffective Aardsma, who probably shoulda been pitching the 6th...) because Delcarmen could get no one out. Six pitchers in all, essentially the whole bullpen minus Papelbon, got into this game, with only Javier Lopez and Okajima somewhat undisgraced. And there's your game.

Four of the five losses the Medias Rojas have currently strung together are of the one-run variety, but although the sabemetrician's maxim is that one-run games are something of a matter of luck, these particular losses have either been caused by

a) Blow-ups by the setup men, or
b) Games made close by not-quite-successful 9th inning rallies. In other words, the sort you can't expect to win.

What it all adds up to is that it feels like it's 2005 all over again to me. My hope is that Big Bartolo comes back good and healthy, so we can throw a new set-up man into the mix. Here's a hint who: newspaper headlines can't help but call him Masterful.



And, oh yeah, in schadenfreude news, the above happened. A few things to note:

1) Cynthia and Alex's children's names: Natasha Alexander and Ella Alexander. Want a son much, Alex? That's not naming, that's branding. The only thing possibly dumber would be if both the Rodriguez girls' names had the initials HR in them. But even that arrogant stupidity wouldn't be original.

2) Cynthia may have left Alex for Lenny Kravitz. Alex might be shacking up with (swallows a small bit of throw-up) Madonna. This would mark the first time a marriage broke up and the shattered pieces both went to (considerably) older mates. And as far as Madonna is concerned, this would again mean that, if you believe Jose's tales of hooking Alex up with a PED dealer, A-Rod is just following Jose Canseco's lead. Years after the expiration date, no less. (Shudders again.)

Get A-Good lawyer, A-Rod!

(Shudders again at bad joke.)

GAMES THIRTY ONE- THIRTY THREE: That's more like it.

Back to the top of the league. Now let's see if it can continue on the road; the Sox schedule has been home-heavy, and the Tigers have come a long ways from their start.

No more for now. Sorry, it's one of those days I've gotta, y'know, keep my day job.

And on the 21st day, after the 5th loss, they rested.

“When they make the schedule like this, it’s not just that we play 20 in a row, we play (expletive) 8 o’clock getaway games in Oakland (sic), so there’s not enough (complaining) and moaning that goes on to get it changed, I don’t know what the (expletive) we need to do,” said Josh Beckett after a really amazing start spoiled by, you know, a complete game shutout by James Shields.

The schedule has been fucking brutal (you'd be a wee bit cranky if you had to work 20 straight days, no?) and the results have been accordingly flat. Two great starts wasted in a three-game sweep by Tampa Bay (and a winnable one by Tim Wakefield, if the Sox had exploited Garza's allergic reaction to the strike zone a bit more), part of a strange and dramatic death of the offense, which went sharply from an 8-game streak of scoring 5 runs or more to 4, 1, and 0 runs.

Enjoy the day off, Sox. Don't stay up late waiting for GTA IV to come out. And then please, please stop playing like this.

Tampa Bay's for real though, I should note. Let's go on a quick journey through great moments in D'Rays history:



March 9, 1995: Vince Naimola's Tampa Bay group awarded a Major League Baseball franchise.

April 27, 2008: Tampa Bay defeats Boston to end up in a three-way tie for first in the AL East, marking the latest in a season Tampa has ever been in first place.

That's all I've got. Kudos, again.

GAME 118: Love of my life since 1995.

I know I loves you, Wake. Winner of 7 of his last 9 starts (and with the weird kinda amazing distinction of getting a decision every time out, which combined with poor run support some games and the fact that a bad knuckleball start is a BAD start swells his ERA and makes his W/L of 14-10 look much worse than it should), Tim played tourniquet last night, and really had to with James Shields on the mound. Tampa Bay is gonna be better sooner than we think. But we've been saying that for 3.5 years. As long as they don't get good any time soon, maybe it'll be Galaga "Challenging Stage" time. But Scott Kazmir's a-coming.

GAME EIGHTY FOUR: C is for Cookie, TB is for 15 runs.

Oh, what a sweet sweet act of total brutality we inflicted upon the dorsal-finned. I've got a belly ache. There are four basic kinds of victories:

1)The squeaker/thriller, everyone's favorite because it follows the dramatic structure (Mamet, David, Three Uses Of The Knife, page 8.) Comes in comeback variety, the Cadillac of victories, and "phew" form, where victory seems certain, then less certain, then not at all certain until it's over at last.

2) The hard-to-remember game: your team takes lead, wins, maybe by three or four runs. Drama-free.

2a) The comeback turned "eh" game: often memorable, so it should be noted even if it is just a variety of 2.

3) The fantastic blowout (Night, Last, Red Sox 14, Devil Rays 4).



The blowout has a special place in my heart. It's like the bonus round in a video game, where you just shoot the targets knowing the targets won't shoot back; it's like the home run derby, only it counts for a win. I'll forever remember the Sox's most notable blowout as a sort of apex in one period of my life, post-college in New Haven without real plans but without real cares, writing at home when my girlfriend of the time called me from the game to tell me the Red Sox had scored 14 runs in the first inning, 10 before the first out was recorded. It was still early in the year, not even the midpoint (6/27/03), but it was a moment when I really thought this team could be not just good but special. (Of course, the Sox lost the game after, seemingly exhausted by all the swinging and running around the bases, a la the New York Yankees in the 2004 ALCS, where Game 3 bizarrely took more out of the Yanks than the Sox; I probably cursed their inconsistency again right then and started doubting the bullpen. You can't fight your nature.)



All hail Coco Crisp, even if we needn't all cover him in milk, which could be considered rude when not performed by a 6'4", 230-pound (listed weight) Dominican. Then again, if any baseball player could stay crunchy even in milk, it would be Coco Crisp, now with 14 essential vitamins and 5 RBIs in the same game! (Additionally, hail hail Mike Lowell; it shocks me to type this since it was the last thought on my mind when the Beckett trade went through, but I sure hope we can resign him.) (Wipes eyes in broad comic "Wha??" fashion, like the tap dancing cat in the clip below.)



I was considering doing a post consisting entirely of me typing "Coco Crisp hit a grand slam" over and over, so shocking was the event, but Coco is genuinely come alive. .265 is an accomplishment when you start off the way Crisp did, when Coco wasn't even hitting his outs particularly hard. J.P. Howell served 'em up, with extra chocolate chips, but it takes a genuine offense to knock any starter out in 0.2 IP. Beckett's back on a 30-win pace...in my own mind. Onto a real challenge, in Le Tigres. I'm at once bemused and repulsed by Gary Sheffield much as I am by Le Tigre, but I sure hate to see that goddamn bat waggle sending a threat with every wave at the Green Monster. Remember how he started this year? Where'd those 20 HRs come from? My guess: Jim Leyland ashed his 40th cigarette of the day on his locker, or did something else to jump start his pissed-offed-ness. All I know it's there's a lion in his lumber, baby, and it's ready to roar.

Keep the ball down, Julian. Way down.

GAME EIGHTY THREE: Mmmm...cupcakes.

(Preliminary notes: a) I've fucked up the game numbers before now, if you care. I'll try not to do that again. b) Have you voted for Okajima yet?)

Tampa Bay is not the chump team they once were. Carl Crawford reached 900 hits before his 26th birthday with three hits yesterday; B.J. Upton's bat was never in question, and now he's found a position, enjoyable as it was to watch him play SS in a Jose Offerman/Gary Sheffield sort of way. Delmon Young has not threatened any umpires' lives in the majors. (Looking over that old clip, though, at least you can't question Delmon's eye...it was waaay outside.) James Shields could be the genuine article; Scott Kazmir could be too, if he controls the strike zone and stops regularly throwing 100 pitches in four innings. And Al Reyes serves a valuable service to us all, reminding us of how useless the Save is as a statistic. Not that I mean to insult ya, pal. You know me, Al.

So Tampa Bay are up-and-comers, and that's not the euphemism it once was in speaking of this moribund franchise. A "developing country" as opposed to an undeveloped country that falls under the same label. As long gone Rays GM Chuck LaMar put it, "The only thing that keeps this organization from being recognized as one of the finest in baseball is wins and losses at the major-league level." (Chortles.)



For 14 more dates with Tampa (yup, 14; I too didn't notice we'd yet to play them this year), the Sox get to dine on sweet, sweet cupcakes, and they aren't even pretentiously flavored and overpriced. Or so I hope. Never underestimate a team with young talent and a Gene Hackman doppleganger manager.

But you know what thinking of the Delmon Young bat incident makes me think fondly of? Izzy Alcantara. And to think, the Sox thought Hanley Ramirez had an attitude problem:

GAME EIGHTY ONE: Go outside.

Stop reading this now. Go outside. Go set off some Chinese firecrackers, or watch a hyperbolic adaptation of Japanese cartoons, or vote online for one Japanese Sox pitcher while reading about how good another one is, or even watch on TV as a Cuban, a buncha Dominicans, and a Texan are among those destroying the D'Rays. But better still, go outside and almost blow your hands off. It's your duty.

Delmon Young had a dream.

And now, as promised, something funny. I wrote this for a girl I met once who works here, who claimed Comedy Central connections and told me to write some webisodes. I haven't found her since. Your gain, their loss. And my bank account's loss, I guess. Whatever.

Oh, the inspiration came from a real quote. Guess what.

The Tampa Bay Devil Rays’ clubhouse, pregame. Devil Rays manager JOE MADDON is talking to outfielder DELMON YOUNG, who clutches a bat, angry.

MADDON
It’s just a slump, Delmon.

YOUNG
It’s the most frustrating thing, skip. The swing has been there, you know? I’ve been swinging the bat real good. Hell, if there wasn't nine guys out in the field, I'd have a hit every time. Except when I strike out.

MADDON (amused)
Well yeah, that’s obvious.

YOUNG
How d’you figure?

Beat. Maddon, not sure how to respond, pats Young on the shoulder, walks away.

YOUNG (laying his head back)
Yeah. If it wasn’t for those nine guys I’d have a hit every time. (drifting to sleep) A hit every time…every time…every time…

Cut to the baseball field, inside Delmon Young’s dream; it looks like a baseball game on TV. Young is at the plate against a Toronto Blue Jays pitcher. We hear a radio announcer, and the action unfolds just as he calls it.

ANNOUNCER
Up steps Delmon Young. Here’s the pitch.

Young hits a hard fly ball to center field. Toronto centerfielder VERNON WELLS ranges back.

ANNOUNCER
This one has a chance. Way back! Way back! Wells is at the wall, he might bring this in!

Wells jumps up, but before he can make an amazing catch, he vanishes into thin air. The ball goes over the wall.

ANNOUNCER
Gone! Home run!

Quick montage of at-bats, possibly to “You Got The Touch” from Transformers: The Movie, or something equally awesome yet inspiring song.

1. Young hits a hot ground ball to short. SHORTSTOP dives for the ball, comes up with it, but as he’s about to throw to first, he vanishes; the ball and glove fall to the ground, Young is safe at first.

2. Young bunts down the first base line. Ball is about to go foul, but before the UMPIRE can call it foul, Young waves his arms in the air; UMPIRE vanishes, Young is safe at first.

Music stops. Delmon Young at the plate. His statistics briefly flash on the bottom of the screen: he’s batting 1.000 with 85 home runs and 500 RBIs.

ANNOUNCER
Oh, what a game! Bases juiced, bottom of the 9th, D’Rays down by three, and up steps Delmon Young. Here’s the pitch.

Young barely hits the ball. Rest goes exactly as announcer says.

ANNOUNCER
A weak groundball back to the pitcher, but wait, what’s this? Yes, the pitcher has vanished! The pitcher has dissipated into the moist Tampa Bay air, oh, doctor! One run scores, two runs score, three runs score, and in comes Delmon Young! D’Rays win! D’Rays win!

We hear the crowd chanting M-V-P! M-V-P! as the dream fades. Back to a sleeping Delmon Young in the clubhouse, with Joe Maddon hovering over him.

MADDON
Delmon. Delmon.

YOUNG (mumbling in his sleep)
M-V-P. M-V-P. M-V…

MADDON
Delmon!

Young wakes with a start.

MADDON
It’s game time, Delmon.

Beat.

YOUNG
Scratch me.

Young closes his eyes. Maddon shrugs, erases his name from the lineup card, walks off

YOUNG (closing his eyes)
Batting title, here I come.

End.