Jed Lowrie and the Case of the Missing Arm Bone

The news about Beckett is excellent, even if the pitcher himself isn't pleased about it; the news about Lowrie has the potential to suck a high hard one, particularly if it means taking a bone out of his wrist.

Hold on a second: they want to take a bone out of his wrist? How much damage did Lowrie do to himself last year, anyway? Seriously? I'm glad the guy's got brass balls that would make Bronson Arroyo jealous by playing through kind of pain for this long, but let's all take a lesson here: if you're hurt, take care of it. Dragging ass for almost a season and then risking the removal of a bone from your arm because your wrist is ahurtin' isn't worth the loyalty you've proven.

If the worst is true and Lowrie and his dumb choices have taken him out for the better part of two seasons, I have a choice to make: since Green is still hitting above his (admittedly mediocre) career totals and Julio Lugo is the starter in waiting, do I give Lugo another chance, or become a Green man and help the mastermind fulfill his criminal dream? It's been almost a year since we started calling for Lugo's head and he's got a long way to go before he proves himself worthy...

Surviving Grady is Right...

...AJ Burnett and Bronson Arroyo really could be long-lost brothers. Maybe it's the angle - and props to them for finding one of the more unflattering pictures possible - but there's definitely something about the facial hair, chin structure, and slightly shell-shocked expression that speaks of a family resemblance to the dearly departed Brandon.

Speaking of Burnett (and thanks - again - to Surviving Grady for the tip), the NY Post reports that the righty chose New York due in part to the evangelism of Johnny Damon, who played up his view of the superiority of the Big Apple to the Hub and how he need not "fear the media unless [he] give them a reason," which I think is just precious. I have no doubt that the Post is reporting this story in an effort to give Boston fans a minor case of green envy heartburn, but I'd like to think Captain Caveman has done us Sox fans a good turn: when Burnett is turning in another mediocre season next year (and despite his high-quality career statistics in Yankee Stadium and even more impressive numbers in Fenway, I think Burnett is highly overated), we'll have ourselves a good laugh about how much he'll will have to fear from the New York media.

Game 6: Happy Trails, Franken-Bronson?

Final Score: Boston Red Sox 2, Toronto Blue Jays 10

The sign in the Fenway home clubhouse could read: "Truly Bronson-Free Since 2008," after the news today that Kyle Snyder may be not only out of a long relief job, but out on the waiver wire with a DFA to make room for the return of Josh Beckett. It's sad, really, that a man can't be giving up four runs in one and two-thirds innings without getting packed off to the nearest desperate team for a draft pick, especially when that man has such a wonderful resemblance to the much-loved (by college girls and Sox fans alike) Arroyo. But it was do or die time as regards to Beckett, and Snyder had the misfortune of opening the door for the Jays to change today's midday contest from close through trailing to blowout. Giving up two runs per appearance probably didn't help, either.

But I do have to wonder: why Snyder over Bryan Corey? Actually, that's a foolish question; Corey's not only been Francona's go-to guy this far (his four appearances topping anyone else on the staff), but he's tied with Delcarmen as second most effective reliever in the pen. Or at least he was until today, when he let Snyder's two base runners and four of his own cross the plate over the course of a third of an inning, making his own case for a demotion - or at least a cooling off period. I guess my point is that Snyder's DFA seems a little arbitrary, or maybe I feel like it's a gut decision (though I'm having a harder and harder time justifying it as I look at the relative numbers) because I enjoyed seeing him pitch. If he's really gone, though, good luck on the market. Thirty seems too young to let a career come to an end.

He's the Rocker, We're the Bloggers

Bronson Arroyo update: remember Covering the Bases (remember Bronson Arroyo?), the album that young Brandon released in 2005, covering a variety of 90’s alt-rock classics like “Plush” and “Everlong?” Apparently it sold pretty well or something, because Arroyo’s embarked on a tour of sorts, playing the Roxy in Boston and Mohegan Sun in Connecticut this January. I’m not sure whether to be happy for him or highly amused, so I think I’ll be a bit of both. Good job, Bronson; you rock on with your bad self. Also, it’s good to hear you’re not still bitter about the Sox trading you away from the hot co-eds of Boston or anything.

Game 45: The Rodrigo Lopez Club

Final Score:

Boston Red Sox 1, Toronto Blue Jays 6

Interesting analysis of the game over at The House That Dewey Built, especially the idea of a Rodrigo Lopez Club, "a collection of non-aces who pitch like Cy Young winners against the Red Sox," although Lilly only beat the Sox for the first time last year. Personally, I'm starting to get a mite sick of Toronto.

Arroyo, coming off of eight days rest so as to serve his six game suspension, was not the golden god of pitching he's been so far this year, so I guess we can blame Tampa Bay and the MLB discipline office for the end of a streak, dating back to Aug. 21, 2004, that saw Arroyo go 9 and 0 with a 3.48 ERA over 17 starts. Pretty disappointing, but there were other, mitigating factors that made last night's contest a memorable one.

As I mentioned yesterday, Robin and I planned to finally see the game at The Hairy Monk, scene of frustrations on the fourteenth. This time there were no such restrictions; we both arrived around 6:00 and sat down at a table facing the projection screen, got something to eat, something to drink and killed time until the game started at 7:07. 7:00 roles around and the TV switches from ESPN to NESN...and then switches to SKY Sports Network in Britain. A gentleman, who I believe was the bar owner, comes over and tells us that because Liverpool won the English Premier League today, they wanted to keep the TV on SKY for about 20 minutes, because there were celebrations on TV and people celebrating in the bar. In confusion, we agree with the terms...and spend 20 minutes watching commentators talk about the results of the game, without highlights or sound, while behind us in the front of the bar red-clad Liverpool fans make all kinds of noise. By the time they switch back to NESN, the Sox are down 2 - 0. Five minutes later, as the Sox get out of the inning, the TV switches back to SKY again, for more silent commentary. We complain to the waitress, who gets things back on track, but by this point the Jays are up again. The rest of the game is watched uninterrupted as the Sox fail to score,* Lilly pitches like he's become one with the ball and Toronto continues to find holes in the outfield to drop balls, while knowing exactly where to catch those balls when playing the field themselves.

In the fifth or so, we have a conversation with a English guy (or bloke, I believe they call them) who was not a Liverpool fan, although he was there anyway. I guess it would be like going out to celebrate the Yankees winning the World Series even if you hated the Yankees because your friends were Yankee fans. Maybe he really liked drinking and just needed a reason. We talked baseball for a while (and as it turned out, as little as he cared about baseball, he did like the Yankees), discussed English fanaticism for soccer and then he made his way back to the front. Good enough.

In the eighth, a group of four blokes sat at the table next to us. The guy next to me, clearly smashed out of his gourd, was staring intently at the screen, then asked me if I was for the Yankees.

"No," I said, "I'm for the Red Sox."

He took offense at this, telling us we need to leave the bar right now.

"No," said Robin, "but we'll leave in an inning and a half."
"I'm going to hit you in the face."
"I don't want you to hit me in the face."
"Stand up."
"Why?"
"So I can see how tall you are."

Robin told me afterwards he was about the same height as the drunk guy. My only thought was, 'if drunk guy has to get into a fight, let him wait until AFTER the game is over - I don't want to miss anything.'

"I'm going to hit you in the face."
"I don't want you to hit me in the face."

Drunk guy half reaches back to take a swing, waves, stumbles, catches himself on a chair and falls on the floor. His friends escort him to the front of the bar, where he calms down. The game ends and as we're getting the check, I hear he's getting into it with one of his friends, threatening to smack him on the face. "If you do that," one of the other guys says, "he's going to kick your ass." Drunk guy, being an intelligent individual, hits the other guy anyway and two seconds later, they're both grappling on the floor. Tables fall over. Glass breaks. Beer spills all over my bag and umbrella, much to my chagrin. Several guys are now trying to separate the two combatants, who are now locked in a wrestling match of epic proportions. I try to help at one point, but decide I'm much more interested in guarding my stuff against damage than I am in helping two drunk morons. Finally, bouncers drag the drunk guy out of the bar half naked and the combat ceases. Like I said, it was a memorable night.

I will be at Yankees Stadium tonight, watching Tigers versus Yankees (free tickets) and hoping that the Sox can hold on to their second place standing in the AL East as Wade Miller faces off against Gustavo Chacin. GO SOX!!!

* - Except a string of singles and a Johnny Damon sacrifice hit off Lilly in the seventh, eliciting my comment: only the Sox could hit three singles in a row and load the bases.