I do the same thing. Except with my remote.

It is appropriate that our Chicago White Sox face ageless knuckleballer Tim Wakefield this evening in Boston. Like Wakefield’s clueless pitches, my hopes for and frustrations with our home nine have darted this way and that over the course of the last 126 games. If you asked at the beginning of the season where I thought we’d be at this point, I’d say .500. And here we are.

So why am I disappointed?

Because we are the most talented team in this division. Because up until this week, the Tigers did everything they could to hand us the lead. Because since June arrived, one week of five wins may have been enough to coast through the rest of the season.

Instead we currently sit 4.5 games back with a golden opportunity to gain a game back as the Red Sox bat in the ninth inning. Tied 2-2. Losing two of three at home to a weak Orioles team engendered very little confidence that we would find success at Fenway. And unfortunately my lack of faith proved accurate. Monday night, Jose and our defense kicked the game away like an empty can. Last night, Ozzie returned Scott Linebrink to the scene of many of his crimes this year. True to his habit, Linebrink let the game get away.

Bye bye season.

Unless. A win tonight would put us 3.5 back. Maybe. Just maybe.

Wakefield’s gives up more extra base hits to righties, and Ozzie’s lineup tonight leans heavily to the right. Thankfully, Rios returns to the line-up and the feel-good story of the season (Pods) sits.

Paulie got the evening off auspiciously with his second triple since 2000, scoring Gordon Bacon. While Paulie ran the bases, I walked to Lance Johnson’s and gave him a hi-five.

Second inning, Floydo gives it back with a bomb by supplement-whore David Ortiz. I used to really like the Red Sox. I don’t anymore. Not ever since they became the American League Cubs. ‘Cept they win. Screw ‘em.

Floydo settles down and starts dealing. The fifth sees Quentin scramble to third after stealing second when Martinez throws the ball into the outfield. Quentin earns a star for punching Youk in the dick. Good on ya, CQ!

Of course, Rios and Ramirez can’t drive him in. No, I don’t sweat Alexei. He’s on my first-place fantasy team.

Ridiculously, Wakefield has thrown 68 of his garbage for strikes. WTF? Why does he need to be Phil Neikro tonight?

Cub killer Alex Gonzalez greets Floydo in the sixth with a homer. D’oh!

PODS!! Picks us up in the eighth. So sorry I asked for you to be benched. So sorry. Tie game. Let’s hurt somebody!

Bacon gets on. Steals second. Sac’d over to third. Come on Jimmy!

Ick. Daniel Bard is a bad man. 99 mph fasties. Bye bye, Jimmy.

And bye bye White Sox. Papi again. Off Pena. Bottom of the 9th.

What we need next year? Some outfield help. Rios ain’t enough. Do NOT want to see Pods starting next year. Dye will be gone. We’ll get Thome back at a discount.

Bring in another DH/bench guy. Adios Dotel. Bring in a bullpen man to help out Thornton. Make Fat Bobby expendable, see what you can get.

And with the rest of baseball, search for a fifth starter.

Do all that, and we’ll see you next October Dodgers.

Rickey today is the greatest Rickey of all time!

Rickey would first like to thank Rickey’s God for putting me here on my earth. Also, Rickey would like to thank the Rickey Writers of America for honoring the Baseball Hall of Fame with Rickey. Rickey also wants to thank all these greats behind him who finally get to be immortalized with Rickey. What an honor!

Rickey never retired. So Rickey doesn’t know why people keep asking Rickey how he’s doing. Rickey’s better than ever. Rickey is the stolen base leader in the Vietnamese Baseball League. Rickey won a game for the Laos Landmines by stealing home. Rickey really stole home. Rickey went home with home plate.

Rickey would not be here today if it was not for Rickey’s wife [pulls out card and squints] Pamela. Yeah, Pamela. Pamela is wonderful. Pamela lives in one of Rickey’s homes. Rickey thinks it’s in California.

Rickey also wants to tell Rickey’s daughters how proud he is of them. Rickey can’t wait to have lots of Rickey Jr.’s to race around the block. Rickey Sr. will always win.

Growing up Rickey was great at everything Rickey did. Once Rickey ran back a punt 350 yards. Yeah, 350 yards. Rickey kept running back and forth and none of those motherf….none of them kids could catch Rickey. Rickey was asked to leave the Harlem Globetrotters ’cause Rickey melted four Washington Generals. Rickey can dribble.

But what Rickey has always loved is baseball. Rickey always loved sliding into those white, soft bases. They were so white. So soft. Rickey slid deep into them. Rickey loved them white…[looks again at card] Pamela. Rickey owns many records. Rickey’s favorite record is Thriller. Rickey taught Michael Jackson the moonwalk. ‘Cept Rickey learned it on the moon. For real. NASA covered it up.

Rickey’s other favorite record is his stolen base record. Rickey broke [again with the index card] Lou Brock’s stolen base record in 1991. Rickey then went on to steal so many stolen bases that all the Tim Raines, all the Vince Colemans, all the Willie Wilsons couldn’t get close to Rickey. You hear me, not even close! Yeah, Rickey’s talking to you, Rock.

Well, Rickey’s going to pass the mic now to Ed Rice, who will tell more Rickey stories. Happy Rickey day, Canton!

I mock only in jest. Rickey Henderson is the greatest baseball player I’ve ever seen. Ever. Michael Jordan. Barry Sanders. Rickey Henderson. Three greatest athletes I’ve ever seen. The greats also attract great writers. Rickey was no different. Please take the time to read both these peerless pieces of sports journalism. Have handkerchiefs handy, to wipe away tears of laughter.