Curt’s blog has become my new obsession, and I only pray the guy keeps it rolling throughout the season. But I was even happier to learn that a number of other Sox players have also been keeping blogs that, for better or worse, have remained under the radar. I pulled a few sample posts today:

From Mike Timlin’s blog, Iwillcrushkillorpossiblymaimyou,

“So I wake up this morning and I find that the squirrels have been at it again. Tearing up the garbage bags, cutting up the roof of my shed with those goddam sharpie claws of theirs. Yet the wife still refuses to let me napalm the backyard for good measure. ‘Think of the kids… the neighbors,’ she whines in that petulant voice of hers and goddam, I say, better go outside and have another beer before I do something we all regret. My solution, I believe, will involve an elaborate array of crossbows linked into a remote video surveillance system. This will allow me to gain what I need most: intelligence. I don’t simply want to eliminate these squirrels, I want to know what their game plan is. The big one with the white stripe on his face is clearly the leader; I’ve encountered him before and I believe he may have also fronted those raccoons the cash for the “chewed up pool toys” caper. I’ll need to track him and watch his comings and goings because if he can be taken out, then I’ve effectively left the crew without any strategic guidance. Confused, they may leave for the MacKenzies’ yard down the street, as they’ve got all that wood and, let’s face it, far less heavy artillery strewn throughout the backyard. If it works, I might just hook up a similar surveillance system in the wife’s minivan. I mean, six hours to go grocery shopping? News flash: I wasn’t born yesterday, wench. I see the way that f–king bag boy looks at her. Let’s see how he likes smiling after I make a necklace out of his teeth. Also, Tito might be on to my clubhouse gun stash. More on that tomorrow.”

From Terry Francona’s blog,

“This new one, this Kathryn Tappen. I like her. Not ‘like’ in the bad way. The go to jail way. We don’t do that anymore. But like as in we could have something together. But the voice, the goddam voice just keeps coming in my head. ‘Touch her boob,’ it tells me. ‘Go ahead. Touch her boob.’ And I say no. No, we don’t do that. I don’t do that. We’re better now and we’re getting past that and we’re moving on but she stands there with that microphone and that tight shirt and all that blonde hair and the goddam voice just keeps telling me to touch her boob and I know it’s not right but the hand… it just does what it wants. So I have to tie it back with rope and twine, which is why I wear the long coat now on the field, at all times really, so no one can see the rope, and I think it actually makes me look a bit professorial. So the coat stays. But the bad thoughts… they remain. Gotta keep my focus. Stay cool. Also, finally tried Dunkin’s maple sausage biscuit today. Surprisingly satisfying.”

From Doug Mirabelli’s blog,

“Thought I’d take a ride down the coast today, but, as always, Timothy thought otherwise. Came down with another one of his lists, so next thing you know I’m taking his Porsche to the car wash and picking up his new golf clubs and then driving Mrs. Wakefield to her book club meeting. It’s slowly killing me inside but there’s not much I can do. We want that beachfront property and the kids have been accepted to Fellows Elementary and that tuition is like a king’s ransom. He’s the meal ticket, I understand that. But no one sees the hell this man’s putting me through. Parking cars at his family parties, installing the lawn sprinkler system at his grandmother’s, dressing up as f–king Abraham Lincoln for his nephew’s school play. And I’m helpless. There’s nothing I can do. So I can only suck it up, carry on, and get my digs in where I can. Like yesterday, when I dipped my balls in his fruit smoothie before serving it to him. That felt pretty good.”

From Dustin Pedroia’s blog,

“Another day, no interviews. No news at all really. Thought I might have had something when I saw the NESN camera guy at my locker after the game, but it turns out they were just doing a bit on Lugo’s favorite brand of socks. Played the third inning today without pants; no one noticed. Tomorrow I go with the chef’s hat.”

From Daisuke Matsuzaka’s blog, [this blog set to private]:

“Almost had my cover blown last night. I’m in the parking lot, loading up the car, when I hear, ‘Jimmy? Jimmy Yokohama?’ And I turn around and it’s — of all people — f–king Billy Trebbles from Paramus High School. So he’s all, ‘Jimmy, I know it’s you. Remember me from Miss Smith’s chemistry class?’ and I just do the polite nod thing and mumble something in Japanese and then I signal for Yago and Krinnick to take him behind the clubhouse and beat him with a tire iron. If I’m going to have my cover blown, trust me, it’s not going to be by Billy Motherf–king Trebbles. I’ve got way too much invested here, the whole Japan backstory, etcetera, etcetera. No one needs to know anything else. At least not yet. Anyway, I just shipped more microfilm. Same P.O. box.”