I lost my Dad, the man who lived and breathed Red Sox and made sure his daughter did too, three years ago today. It never gets easier, but I’m sure I’m spending the day the way he would want to; Red Sox baseball and a good beer.
The Scots are never going to let us live down the fact that an American named Jake Burger exists and he lives in Texas and he looks exactly like you think he would.
A baseball game after 7pm EST on a Sunday is a war crime. What the fuck else am I supposed to do with my Sunday afternoon? Chores? Let me watch the Red Sox on this beautiful sunny afternoon like God intended.
(Been running 1-3 miles every now and then but never really pushed myself to adjust to running at altitude after moving to Colorado. I settled for other cardio instead but man, it turns out I fucking missed running)
I also want Breslow gone but trying to second guess the Crochet trade because of an injury, a middle infielder that was always going to be a trade piece, and a walk-off homer is insane.
In fact, if you want to use the Crochet deal as part of an argument about why he should be fired, it should be because he couldn’t actually make it and it took someone else to push the deal over the line.
What gets me the most down is the young guys aren’t allowed to struggle. Tolle and Early should be able to have bad games and get picked up by the offense. Marcelo and Roman should be able to start slow and learn. But, with the way the team is built, they just can’t.