Red is the symbol of danger, evil, and death. In South Africa, red is the color of mourning. In Amsterdam, it loosely symbolizes prostitution, but is meant as more of a broader symbol of depravity. Red tape is being bogged down by useless details. Red Skull is the nazi-esque leader of Hydra. Red is the symbol of warning in traffic signs and terrorist attacks. When Pharaoh refused to let the Israelites go, Moses dipped his phallus in the rivers of Egypt, and out came the red blood of murdered baby children.
Red Sox are all of those things, but on feet. Male feet. Male athlete feet.
I hate the Red Sox. I have always hated the Red Sox because I have always hated sports teams dressed in red, my I have met a guy from Boston that I hate that is a Red Sox fan and I hate his happiness (fuck you, Jason), and I hate how much the media talks about the Red Sox like other people care about the Red Sox. I suppose you could say I care about the Red Sox, in the same way I care about not getting cancer, and since I don't want cancer in that sense I care a lot, but then at the same time, fuck Cancer.
Overall, this was a bad game, played badly. At times the Mariners threatened, but then these days their threats are essentially YouTube comment level, where "msplayer2015" writes "I am going 2 go 2 ur house and beat your brain in with a bat" and sure, on paper that seems scary, but think of the logistics:
Just to start, you have to find out who and where someone is. You then have to catch a plane to their exact location, wait until they’re home, attack them with the bat knowing that it involves significant personal risk, and then going all the way home as if nothing happened. I mean at some point you’re really just embarrassing yourself.
Here are thoughts to whet your whistle:
- Elias’ results were decent, but he had two strikeouts to go with two walks, 8 hits, and a 36% ground ball rate. His xFIP and FIP for the game were virtually identical at a little over 5. I don’t want to water down your arbol chili chocolate tequila , but don’t get drunk on his performance tonight.
- Here is a pun: "Boy, the Mariners will probably do great against this hard throwing, underrated pitcher" he said Joekelly.
- In terms of excitement, The first 8 innings of this game were an "i" on a scale of 1 to 10. They were the square root of -1. I have to explain this math reference because not everyone remembers math.
- Mookie Betts is an anagram for "I seek bottom."
- Dustin Ackley had a 3-1 count with the bases loaded. He then did something no one expected – he grounded it lazily to the right. I know, I was as shocked as you were. This one was slightly different though: Rather than ground it softly to the second baseman, he grounded it softly to Mike Napoli who then error scoop passed it to the Dustin the Better, who then passed it to first to get Ackley by a hairy mile.
- I switched to Bing for a while because they almost literally pay you for using them and I did a search to see the Red Sox record and I was presented with exhibit A of why Bing will never be Google.
- Dustin Ackley decided to grow his beard in about 2012. Dustin Ackley has sucked at baseball since 2012. Take a fucking hint, Dustin Ackley.
- I would like Chris Taylor a lot more if all of the Mariner announcers had rhoticism.
- What are you smelling, Carson?
- In the 8th inning, Cano took a 3-0 pitch the whole way. After it was over, Cano did a practice swing. The entire thing looked like a Bugs Bunny cartoon and I would be very much appreciative if someone could gif it, so I can use it any time someone is stupid late on a pitch.
Edit: Ryan Blake comes through in the clutch. This is how I picture myself against major league competition.
- Rickie Weeks Titanic’d a sac fly that ended up scoring the winning run in the 8th, and while the run was going to score anyway, that was a nice little middle finger to anyone that was invested in the game. Haha, you fools.
- Fernando Rodney is the pitching equivalent of a slap hitter. His persona, antics, and talent are only acceptable when he’s successful. As soon as he struggles, it’s worse than watching a giraffe stillbirth. You know who else shot arrows? Merida. You know what else Merida did? Almost turned her mom into a rabid death bear. Think about that for a second. You just wasted a second.
There is another game tomorrow. But baseball is for nincompoops. Here’s the thing about a 162 game season. Every single game matters, but every single game doesn’t, and while I can wax poetic about how the Mariners still have a lot of talent, or I can ramble onward with unrestrained emotion about the failures of this team as a whole, the truth is that reading that all year isn’t going to solve anything. It can make you feel better, or worse, but even that is fleeting, because there are one hundred and sixty two games in a season, and by tomorrow whatever I said is going to be irrelevant.
Every win represents hope. Every loss represents despair. Someone will be there to make you feel better or worse no matter what you’re feeling now. So instead of leveraging my writing ability to affect your emotions, here is a corgi puppy.