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From today's Boston Globe:
Wells took the loss (his fourth in six starts), took the ERA hit (his climbed to 6.75), and took no interest in whether he might have been better served making a rehabilitation start with Pawtucket.
"I'm going to let you guys write what you want," said the lefthander, who turns 42 tomorrow. "I'm not going to answer any questions like that because obviously you guys think I should have. I know what I'm capable of doing. Because the game looked bad today, you guys are going to decide I needed one. [...] You write what you want. Anything else?"
AHAHAHA.
Touch on the petulant side? Yes. One hundred percent true and thus hilarious? YES. How can you not love a guy who tells the obnoxious Boston sports media to shove it sideways?
***
In other news of today, here's a little moment that shows why being a sports fan is awesome, even after a game that isn't.
There are a couple regulars at work whom I always talk with about the previous day's Red Sox game while I ring them up. This morning, as one of them walked through the door, he just looked at me, rolled his eyes, and shook his head, and I did the laugh-to-keep-from-weeping laugh. And when he came up to the register, we talked about other stuff, because in half a second, we had said everything about the game that needed to be said.
***
And look! A story that has nothing to do with baseball! Not that I haven't already lost everyone on my friends list who got into the habit of scanning past my posts ages ago because they give a shit about baseball. Oh well.
So this guy pays me with a twenty today, which is nothing unusual, because everyone pays with twenties. Which reminds me: If you are in the habit of regularly paying for purchases of less than five dollars with a twenty, YOU SUCK. The cashier needs the change too, goddammit. Ever get a bunch of ones back for change? It was because the register just got wiped out by fifteen twenties in a row. Anyway. I glance down at the twenty, and oh look, nice little red BLOTCHES OF BLOOD.
I drop the twenty immediately. The customer, who is bleeding, is utterly unconcerned over the fact that he has just violated me with his bodily fluids.
"Do you have any that's not a health hazard?" Yes, those were my exact words. Because RANDOM PERSON'S BLOOD OKAY, that is a biohazard.
Luckily, he did. I don't know what I would have done if he hadn't; like fucking hell was I going to put that thing in my register, but I hate to start an argument with a customer. So, I put nice clean money in my register and scrubbed the shit out of my hands at the earliest opportunity.
GOD. I know not everybody knows about the twenties thing, and if a twenty is the only thing you have then it's not technically your fault (if it isn't, though, and I see you skip past a five and two tens to hand me that twenty, then fuck you) (oh, and if "all you have" is a fifty or a hundred, that is not my goddamn problem and I am not a bank and chances are I do not have enough money in my drawer so go get the fucking thing broken at a real bank and I hate you, got it?), but shouldn't the concept of not putting a perfect stranger in the position of touching your blood be common sense?
Wells took the loss (his fourth in six starts), took the ERA hit (his climbed to 6.75), and took no interest in whether he might have been better served making a rehabilitation start with Pawtucket.
"I'm going to let you guys write what you want," said the lefthander, who turns 42 tomorrow. "I'm not going to answer any questions like that because obviously you guys think I should have. I know what I'm capable of doing. Because the game looked bad today, you guys are going to decide I needed one. [...] You write what you want. Anything else?"
AHAHAHA.
Touch on the petulant side? Yes. One hundred percent true and thus hilarious? YES. How can you not love a guy who tells the obnoxious Boston sports media to shove it sideways?
***
In other news of today, here's a little moment that shows why being a sports fan is awesome, even after a game that isn't.
There are a couple regulars at work whom I always talk with about the previous day's Red Sox game while I ring them up. This morning, as one of them walked through the door, he just looked at me, rolled his eyes, and shook his head, and I did the laugh-to-keep-from-weeping laugh. And when he came up to the register, we talked about other stuff, because in half a second, we had said everything about the game that needed to be said.
***
And look! A story that has nothing to do with baseball! Not that I haven't already lost everyone on my friends list who got into the habit of scanning past my posts ages ago because they give a shit about baseball. Oh well.
So this guy pays me with a twenty today, which is nothing unusual, because everyone pays with twenties. Which reminds me: If you are in the habit of regularly paying for purchases of less than five dollars with a twenty, YOU SUCK. The cashier needs the change too, goddammit. Ever get a bunch of ones back for change? It was because the register just got wiped out by fifteen twenties in a row. Anyway. I glance down at the twenty, and oh look, nice little red BLOTCHES OF BLOOD.
I drop the twenty immediately. The customer, who is bleeding, is utterly unconcerned over the fact that he has just violated me with his bodily fluids.
"Do you have any that's not a health hazard?" Yes, those were my exact words. Because RANDOM PERSON'S BLOOD OKAY, that is a biohazard.
Luckily, he did. I don't know what I would have done if he hadn't; like fucking hell was I going to put that thing in my register, but I hate to start an argument with a customer. So, I put nice clean money in my register and scrubbed the shit out of my hands at the earliest opportunity.
GOD. I know not everybody knows about the twenties thing, and if a twenty is the only thing you have then it's not technically your fault (if it isn't, though, and I see you skip past a five and two tens to hand me that twenty, then fuck you) (oh, and if "all you have" is a fifty or a hundred, that is not my goddamn problem and I am not a bank and chances are I do not have enough money in my drawer so go get the fucking thing broken at a real bank and I hate you, got it?), but shouldn't the concept of not putting a perfect stranger in the position of touching your blood be common sense?
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From:
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How can you not love a guy who tells the obnoxious Boston sports media to shove it sideways?
Wells took the loss (his fourth in six starts), took the ERA hit (his climbed to 6.75)
;)
From:
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But I am still waiting for Wells to kick some more ass. And he will. And when he does, I will have spread my stuff all over the bandwagon so that there will not be any room when you guys decide to jump on. ;)
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Easy, he's starting to piss me off in a big way. If he's pitching, he can be an asshole-if he isn't, no. :P
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I'm serious about the reading suggestion, by the way. If you can stomach the Yankeelove, or at least skip a chapter or two, then it's a very engaging read that opened up my appreciation for pitching, among other things. Also, it ends with the ending of the 2002 season, so there's no need to brace yourself for 2003 from a Yankee perspective. *g*
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That's what's getting me-I know he wants to win regardless, but still!
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Anyway.
Wells has long since made it clear that he's happy with the Red Sox - he certainly fits right in - but that's as close as I can get to really arguing that point. I think we differ a lot on that, because while of course I love it when guys are committed to the team itself (Wake wins at life for pretty much signing the rest of his existence over to the Sox), and actually that's why I was so angry at Pedro for the way he left the Sox, I don't really require it. Pragmatically speaking, I'm not concerned about the love. That's why I wasn't angry at Pedro for leaving period; I understand that. It's business. These guys are doing their jobs, and I care that they do them to the best of their abilities. I believe in team chemistry, definitely, but I don't believe that it's the same thing.
I'm going to start repeating myself any second now, because that's what I do when I've figured something out and I am trying to put it into words, so I'll stop there while I think some more. Or possibly stare in frustration at the game. I haven't decided yet.
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