Holy Testosterone, Batman

Jacoby Ellsbury and the Gun Show



Effing Bobby Abreu. I would have thrown at his head too, if I were Beckett.Granted the little troll had called time, and Becks probably could have stopped in the middle of his wind-up. And Becks PROBABLY SHOULDN'T have aimed at his head on accounta “The Code” and all, but come on... HE HAD IT COMING.

So yeah, Beck’s an emotional pitcher and there’s bad blood because Abreu is an ex- Yank and blah, blah, blah …

Becks can basically pound the little midgety fat ass into an even smaller miniature replica of his midgety fat ass Abreu self.

As I watched both benches and bull pens clear, and witnessed Jacoby, Drew and Bay descend on the infield to back-up Beckett on the mound, I had almost secretly hoped the melee would have turned into an out-and-out UFC, skull crushing, body slamming slug fest--resulting in Josh choking out Bobby at home plate. But then I started to wonder, pound-for-pound, how our team would actually measure up if it got to scrappin’ today.

I don’t claim to know my boys’ stances on fighting. But somehow I think we could hold our own if and when it comes to the tussle. I do however know from the A-Rod incident that Varitek will shove his glove in your face. Which seems very un-Christian like for a boy who prays before every game, but hey, no judgment--that’s nonna my bidness. That’s between him and God. But I’m pretty sure Jake and Drew could go toe-to-toe with anyone they’re up against. Jake’s got guns o’ steel (if you got a gander of the magazine spread he did a few years back--see photo image above) and Drew is just corn-fed and robust. Enough said. They’re like a soup that eats like a meal. I’d worry more about Pee Wee. He’s got MVP gumption and mad heart but he’s all of five feet six—maybe seven if he’s got lifts in his cleats. I’d bet my left arm that Youk can throw down. Most def. MiLo wouldn’t have a chance in hell. If you want to take him out, you just gotta sweep the leg, Johnny. Take his hip out and run. Jeddie and Green, depending on who’s playing short that day… Jeddie’s tall but slight. Even I could snap him in two. And Nick Green. If I were Tito, I’d steer this kid clear of any fisticuffs and/or shenanigans —that boy has a million dollar smile. Like a white picket fence, his teeth. If this whole “Red Sox Thing” doesn’t pan out for Nickie, he can always do Listerine endorsements. I’d protect that investment, but that’s just me. The Bon- he’ll eat you for lunch-au jus. He's a machine. I’d put all my money on him. Our Japanese pitchers, not so much. I have a suspicion their “code” in the Jap League is very different from American baseball. Round eye likes to fight. My people are more the pacifists. Or what I like to call the Passive Fest. Jason Bay is someone to watch for. He’s the quiet, unassuming type. Silent but deadly. And Rocco Baldelli? The name says it all. If you can’t scrap with a name like that, then you should just go home and sip on some chamomile tea in your finest china and then go hide under your bed. Cause we ain’t got time for you. Big Fatty—I’m thinking he could take someone out in one fell punch. But then he’s a teddy bear and our keeper o’ the peace. I’d have a better chance of dining with the president than seeing Papi inflict bodily harm on his fellow man.

And then there’s our fearless skipper, Tito. The only ass kicking Francona will engage in is a scorching game of cribbage.

I guess the moral of this story is my boys will most likely put the beat down on you if it comes to blows. And when we’re playing the Yanks or the Angels, you can rest assure that at some point, it WILL… cause we’re Boston. Buncha chowdaheads. Put that in your baked beans and shove it.