Against my better judgment I decide to stay up to watch the D-Backs/Dodgers game on MLB TV. This means high amounts of caffeine and the hope that there is some seriously good TV on leading up to 02.40 first pitch. Luckily "Stop! Or My Mom Will Shoot" is showing (one of Sylvester Stallone’s best comedies) and I have no problem in laughing my way through to the anointed hour.
Anyone familiar with MLB TV or even the much vaunted MLB Mosaic will be all too aware of the recent "Pong/Pacman" controversy, and I am still too traumatized to discuss the "****’s Sporting Goods Disaster of 2007". For those of you who are not aware then you should count yourselves lucky, suffice to say there is only so many times you can watch the same pacman animation between innings before you leave fingernail marking on the walls. But, as always, those wonderful people at MLB listened to the fans and we now have the safe image of diverse MLB merchandise that is for sale on the website. Obviously this is primarily Yankees, Mets, Red Sox stuff and includes a Boston bobble-head doll that may possibly be Josh Beckett(although at this time in the morning it could be David Ortiz for all I know).
The game begins, and a good Arizona first wakes me up slightly and the first four innings pass in a blur with the teams tied at 5-5. It’s then that the trouble starts; in the commercial break at the top of the fifth I find myself staring at that **** bobble-head doll. Is it my imagination or has it moved? By the next break I am ready for it, it’s definitely moved and I’m sure that it hadn’t got that menacing grin on it’s face before. I’m scared, but being British I decide that the best thing to do is ignore the problem. Still no scoring in the game and the caffeine is wearing off, and not even the thought of Sly Stallone’s hilarious antics can stop me from drifting into a state of half sleep, half waking. The only thing that keeps me conscious is the thought of that doll (I am convinced that during the top of the 7th he was holding a knife). I now have visions of a Barbarella style demise at the hands of a posse of little plastic Red Sox dolls, and to my horror the game goes into extra innings, if this doesn’t end soon then that doll is going to make his move, I believe that they go for throat when cornered but have been known to launch unprovoked attacks during the breeding season.
Finally one of the Abreu family hits a Home Run, and even though this means likely defeat for the D-Backs I can’t hide the relief. Arizona fail to score and lose a vital game, but the sun is starting to creep through the window and my fears are beginning to seem like the imaginings of a lunatic. I switch off the computer and head downstairs desperately trying to ignore the scuttling that seems to be coming from the basement.