I took a lot of photos of my blood orange San Pellegrino and it was absolutely delicious and then I Instagramed the photos and it tasted even better, because Instagram is weird like that, but the point is: none of that helped. Sadly, I am actually writing today to recall any advice I may have given yesterday. And I don’t even have any new advice. (Which is kind of pathetic.) Why? Because I’ve come to a realization. A disappointing realization, but a realization all the same. Here it is:
Nothing helps with the stress of ohmygodTimLincecumispitching.
I will give you a moment to recover from the mind = blown thing.
Ready? Okay. Yeah. I was pretty shocked too. I’ve gotten pretty good, over the years, at eating pickles and painting my nails and making frappuccino cupcakes and all that stuff that relieves the stress of the Giants being… stressful, for lack of a better word. I thought the San Pellegrino was going to help. But it didn’t. And if the best drink on earth (other than black coffee, of course) can’t help then absolutely nothing can.
We will just have to suffer. And bite our nails. And not have excuses to make cupcakes based on Starbucks drinks, which is probably the saddest part of all.
Still, the obvious brilliance of the Dodgers blockbuster deal is turning out a bit like Blockbuster the movie store, ‘member that? Didn’t turn out so well. I mean, yes, A-Gon hit the ball a billion miles in his first at-bat, but then Josh Beckett kindly gave it right back, allowing a homer to the first batter he faced in his first start in Dodger Blue. As of this moment, the Dodgers are losing 1-0 to the Rockies (I laughed uncontrollably at the writing of that) and the Giants are still two games up on ‘em. Heading to Minute Maid Park. Things don’t look so dismal after all.
In a shockingly good move for the post-Theo-Epstein Red Sox, they unloaded a lot of players on the Dodgers and then basically laughed all the way to the bank. They got James Loney, ‘cause he’s lonely and they felt badly or whatever and a nice quad of prospects as well. The Dodgers got one of the biggest busts in recent baseball memory, Carl Crawford, who also recently underwent Tommy John surgery. They got Josh Beckett, who’s not really (at all) that good and Nick Punto who’s probably extremely talented at many things, but baseball is not necessarily one of them. (I kid, I kid. All Major Leaguers are extremely talented, of course, Nick Punto included. But still). Last but not least, they got Adrian Gonzalez who’s batting .300, compared to the .254 average that Loney was sporting. It’s an upgrade, but with all the money the Dodgers are dropping – which, according the LA Times is over a quarter of a billion dollars – they could have gotten millions of tall Dark Roasts at Starbucks or hundreds of thousands of Victoria Beckham handbags or, say, some really good ballplayers. They did none of the above.
Never fear, Giants fans. The National League West did not just get significantly better. It just got significantly less coffee.
p.s. If you’re not really a coffee person, a) leave this blog now or b) imagine how much of that divine Iced Lemon Pound Cake at Starbucks they could also have gotten. I can’t seem to find the price of that online, but let’s just say they could have gotten enough to feed the entire crowd at Dodger Stadium for a hundred years or so. Especially considering the size of an average Dodger Stadium crowd. (Low blow? Yes. True blow? Yes to that too.)
You pay me (well, you don’t pay me. Hint, hint.) to be honest so that’s what I’m going to be: the band who opened the Home Run Derby was painfully bad. I don’t know who they are because I turned it on in the middle, but I promptly turned it off then and waited for the real thing to start. The pitchers who were supposed to be live tweeting from the sidelines had bad phone reception (think: roof closed) and so their tweets were delayed about an hour. Not so live. And the first round was mind-numbingly boring. I munched on my licorice and cherries and sketched heart shaped faces with different haircuts while I watched. All I remember is the strange broadcasters yelling, “Disgusting!” after one particularly impressive shot. They were… strange.
Then came the second round. That was a little better. Fewer people, more drama and the broadcasters had run out of home run calls so they piped down a little.
Then came the third round and that was actually way exciting. I have a bit of a Gonzalez vendetta (vendetta may be a strong word, but first he was on the Padres, now the BoSox. Needless to say, I can’t stand him.) and I really like Robbie, not to mention the sweetness of his dad pitching to him. So Cano’s come-from-behind victory was dramatic and lots of fun.
The other really sweet thing about the HRD was how many of the players had their kids on the field/in the dugout with them. Matt Cain, his wife Chelsea and their daughter Harley Mae for sure won the prize for Cutest Ever. Gotta love that darling headband.
This isn’t the first time Cainer or his fam have rocked the orange and black tastefully.
Maybe he’s a sleeper for the Best Dressed MLB’ers. Who would have thought?
Carlos Beltran is fueling his own little The Decision fire, dropping hints about teams he would waive his no-trade clause for but I think the absolutely beautiful way he says “Pablo Sandoval” is a sure sign that he’s harboring a deep wish to come to the Giants. I’ve read up about him a bit and I hope they let him sleep for part of the flight because he loves sleeping and I also hope they served him rice, beans and pork chops (favorite meal). Playing Marc Anthony wouldn’t have been too bad either. That’s his favorite singer. If the Red Sox get him or something, I will blame it on a lack of rice, beans and pork chop on the charter plane.
The main event is tonight. I think I need to go stock up on licorice. I already miss Ryan Braun.
p.s. Dave Robertson in the All Star parade. I’m not usually a squee person, but… squee.