Category : Baseball

in Baseball, Writing

Haunted

Mary Murray walked the halls of the house at night, and her eyes were accustomed to its many shadows. Six hundred and six pools of darkness on the ground, six hundred and six shifting with the moon. Mary walked, and she counted softly as she went.

Three hundred and thirty as her footsteps made no noise across the library floor. Four hundred and ninety at the end of the great gallery.

Mary turned and walked up the great stairs, and there were five hundred and fifty eight. She slowed as she approached the hall where they slept, and walking, counted five hundred and eighty seven.

At the end of the hall, she made her last turn and slowly took in the shadows of the last bedroom. Six hundred was the moonlight on the lamp, and one more was the toy horse by the little bed.

Six hundred and five, and she was nearly done. Six hundred and six, and Mary shut her eyes, breathed a soft sigh of relief, and turned to rest for the night.

Behind her, the little boy’s breath suddenly caught in his throat.

Mary whipped around, and saw another shadow emerge from behind the toy horse. She watched in horror as the shadow grew, and enveloped the little boy in its darkness. Her hands clawed the air searching for a hold in vain as she screamed. And screamed and screamed.

*********

The constable stepped outside the room, visibly shaken. He stepped aside as they took the small, sheet-wrapped body out of the room. Even so covered, he could see the red blood blossoming through, and felt his stomach turn again. He turned to look at his superior officer, and asked, “I don’t believe in ghosts, but what are the odds, chief? Happening again in the same house, and everything just like that Murray girl’s murder eighteen years ago?”

The inspector turned a stern eye on the constable. “Don’t you mention a word of that, or I’ll have you demoted. They’ve already had to call in a doctor for the mother.”

“Yes, chief.”

The two men walked down the hall, solemnly following the body movers. The door to the master bedroom was ajar, and as they passed it, the constable saw the mother sitting in the bed, rocking back and forth with wild eyes, thrashing at her husband, at the doctor, and shrieking at the top of her lungs, “Six hundred and seven! She counted six hundred and SEVEN!”

in Baseball, Writing

Bob and Nell

Far below, the waves were frothing against the rocks. From where she stood, Nell observed the sea churning, and smelled rain in the air. It’s going to be a bad storm, she thought. Sighing softly, she clenched her eyes shut and stepped over the side of the cliff.

Bob watched it all happen from below, and exhaled roughly, covering his face.

“Stupid, stupid girl!”

Cursing angrily, Bob wound his way through the detritus on the beach until finally he emerged from around the corner of a small sea cave. He glanced around him peremptorily and, not seeing her body anywhere, walked deeper into the cave to take advantage of the shelter.

He lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, and waited.

He was dozing off slightly when he heard the wet sucking noises of someone approaching through the quickly saturating sand. The annoyance came rushing back to him, and he turned towards her, shaking his head slowly.

“What are you doing here?” she asked darkly, glaring at him. He noted – not without satisfaction – that she was shivering.

“Serves you right,” he retorted. “Jumping off cliffs in the rain – isn’t that a bit overdramatic, Nellie girl?”

“I told you not to call me that,” she snapped. Wrapping her arms about her, she sat down on the sand and rested her head against the wall of the cave. She looked exhausted, and Bob felt a pang of pity for her in spite of himself.

“It’s no good, you know. Nothing works. You just create problems for yourself, and have a hell of a time explaining yourself to the mortals when they see you.”

She turned sharply towards him, “Don’t say that! I hate it when you say that word!”

Bob flicked open his lighter, and lit another cigarette. “Pretty, thick-skulled little Nell. You’re still in such terrible denial, aren’t you?”

in Baseball

*sniff*

They lost. :( I’m a little sad for me, and more sad for them. I have no commentary to make. I just look forward to next season, and another 150+ games of baseball goodness. Curt says we will now move on to hockey, but I suspect my heart is already given away for the year. Goodbye, darling Dodgers! I’ll be looking forward to seeing you in the spring. :)

in Baseball

“UP AND AT THEM!”

Dude, the Phillies are dirty. Since I was listening to the game and not watching it, I hadn’t realized that Myers threw behind Manny in Game 2. Nor had I realized that having that happen, Chadley hadn’t retaliated. I didn’t even realize that happened in baseball! It’s such a silly man thing to do, but damned if I don’t get my blood boiling to see it happen. Twice tonight, they have gunned at Russell Martin, once hitting him in the knee, and the second time right around the head.

And then Hiroki Kuroda sent one towards Victorino’s head, and I felt proud of my slant-eyed brother. You don’t come to our house and pull that shit, bitch! How are you going to throw at people, and then get all butt-hurt when you get some back? Take it like men, you pansies! I tell you, I’d be damned ashamed to be a Phillies fan, whining about that shit after what they pulled.

And then the bench emptied, and Manny was howling at someone across the line, and had to be held back by some teammates. They were about to go to break, and even the announcer had to call a hold to watch the benches empty!

It was awesome. All the passion and vitriol of hockey, but with more skin. Sexy!

I realize now I was sacrificing red vines to the wrong goddess. We don’t just want victory, we want revenge. UP AND AT THEM!

in Baseball

A chant for the two-nine

Thursday is my 29th birthday. It is also the first game of the National League Championship Series, in which my darling Dodgers face-off against those filthy Philadelphia Phillies. And so I offer up this prayer to the goddess Nike to ensure victory for my boys:

Please let them win. Please let them win. Please let them win.

I will continue to slaughter the office Red Vines in your name.

Please let them win. Please let them win. Please let them win.

in Baseball

One more to go, baby!

10-3, Dodgers! I expected the Cubs to be out for blood after last night’s 7-2 trouncing, but they just don’t seem to be able to hold it together. Last night, the pitcher walked 7 in 5 innings before Panella pulled him. Tonight, the Chicago infield made 5 errors which directly contributed to almost all the Dodger runs. It’s kind of sad, actually. Everyone was talking about how LA was outmatched against the Cubs, how the Cubs were basically going to wipe them down, but that is definitely not the team I’ve watched for the last two nights. I’m glad for my boys, but I feel a little bit for the crowd out there in Chicago. They all looked so sad.

But, as Curt has repeatedly reminded me, they would not feel sad for the Dodgers if the roles were reversed. Curt reminds me everyone underestimates the Dodgers, everyone assumes they will fight, but go down. Curt reminds me that even the announcers (and I can attest to this) are siding with the Cubs as they insist there is still hope, that the Cubbies can come back and sweep the remaining three games, even though two of those are in LA and the Dodgers are significantly better at home than they are away.

The Cubs, he says, have enough support. And why shouldn’t they? After all, that’s what October is to baseball, though I never knew it: it is a month of dreams, when there’s no harm in staring up at that big, bright, autumn moon and praying, praying, that somehow, your team is going to come back from a 2-0 count to win a series. I don’t begrudge them that.

I’ll just reel in my pity until AFTER the Dodgers sweep. ;)

in Baseball

It’s gone!

I found this entry in a sports blog last night. I often find my eyes straying to right field these days as well…must be something in the air… (And he shops at Target! OMG, if I ever met him at a Target, I would be content to…well, not die, but at least stub my toe real good.) (And, obviously, I am not so over my little Andre crush as I stated on previous posts.) (Although I did have a dream I was married to Blake DeWitt, so while Andre is still my favorite player, whenever I see Blake DeWitt on the TV, I sigh a little and think, “There’s my other husband.”)

They won last night, 7-2! I was sitting at my desk, quietly burning up with pent-up play-off fever when Loney hit his grand slam. I shouted (quietly) and spent the rest of the waning workday formatting a book with my hands while my ears were far, far away in Wrigley Field via the magic of my little $10 AM radio.

in Baseball

Momentito, por favor!

I was all set to write a rant tonight on various serious things like the $700 billion dollars we are all about to owe, the WaMu bank failure (it is official!), Sarah Palin, and other things that will soon have a very serious effect on the country – but then I watched the Dodgers lose a game against the Padres, and still not care because they just clenched the Division Title, whee! :)

They acted like idiots and poured champagne all over each other – even took it to the field and dunked some of the fans in it:

After they ran out of booze, it looks like they raided the water coolers and began pouring those over people. Manny Ramirez started throwing bubblegum out to the crowd, and Derek Lowe was pelted with sunflower seeds as he tried to give an interview.

The coup de grace had to be the rookies, though, who were forced to commemorate their first big year in the big leagues with outfits befitting their achievements:

There’s Clayton Kershaw, the 20-year old kid starting pitcher, and youngest guy in the majors, dressed up as Bo-Peep.

Here’s Corey Wade, a relief pitcher, dressed up as some kind of purple-haired genie.

Hiroki Kuroda, another starting pitcher, who, despite being a rookie in the MLB, was a veteran in the Japanese baseball league, so he was only forced to dress up as a pimp, rather than a nubile young lass.

And best of all, the lovely young Blake DeWitt. Someone walked by and tweaked his boob, and he giggled. The little tramp! ;)

Silliness, after all, must be celebrated.

in Baseball, Life of Giang

Rocky roads

So, it’s looking like Nomar might be out for the season after a pretty messy spill on the infield today. Will they pick him up after this season? Oh, it’s looking not so great for the handsome utility player. *sigh* Oh, Nomar, I shall miss you and wear your shirt with pride!

Anyway, HOLY SHIT did the Dodgers suck it tonight. I’d heard Curt’s rants about their all-too-numerous late-inning screwups, but I didn’t really believe until tonight. It’d been a pretty solid game up to the bottom of the seventh. They were playing a decent game against the Pirates (which, in and of itself should have told you something was up since they’ve basically spanked the Pirates the last two nights and it’s not like, you know, Pittsburgh is any good this year), when all of an f-ing sudden in the bottom of the seventh WITH TWO OUTS AND NO MEN ON BASE, whoops they suddenly sort of let

EIGHT

runs in.

Are you kidding me. I mean, as much as I am capable of caring for a group of men playing a sport, I support these guys, but letting in eight runs with two outs and no men on base? If I were a Pirates fan, I’d feel like I’d just won the lottery. These are the things you dream about at night and wake up yearning for in the morning.

I felt bad for them, but watching them make these errors, I realized that, as Curt had intoned a few weeks earlier, they were not playing play-off caliber baseball. They go out there, and win because they have fun, but they do not do well under pressure, no sir.

Anyway, Curt’s set up a blog about the Dodgers, so he has somewhere to rant about their shenanigans. He’s more technical than I am, having years of experience being mad at the franchise. ;)

in Baseball

Fanatical

Ah, there’s that handsome devil Mandre again. Getting to be quite the fixture around here. He’s so cute. :) Yesterday, Curt caught me giggling feverishly while watching Andre give an interview. He was like, “Look at you, giggling like some teenager. You’re so infatuated with him!” And I was like, “OMG I SO AM!”

/ giggle

I had something to say other than this ANDRE ETHIER IS SO FREAKING CUTE thing, but whaddya know? I’ve totally forgotten. Oh well! Time for bed!