Such a curious thing, this 2006 Red Sox team. Last night’s offensive hero, Alex Gonzalez, began the evening hitting .167. Manny Ramirez looks like a guy who can’t find his ass with both hands whenever he steps to the plate (now checking in at a most un-Mannylike .200). Mike Lowell, who I previously feared would be the official team albatross, is absolutely crushing the ball at Fenway. The Mighty Wily Mo Pena is, as Men at Work once sang, “six foot tall and full of muscle,” but reduced to spare change whenever he takes a bat in his hand. And Curt Schilling has been reborn as the heart, soul and fury of the team.

After two games in which our starters got slapped around like a fat kid in a monkey suit, the Schill Dog reasserted himself as the Prince of Route 109, striking out seven — including a critical punchout of Ichiro with the tying run on third in the sixth. His ERA is a paltry 1.64, and in last night’s incredibly non-ankle-friendly conditions, he got more bad-ass as the evening progressed. When can we finally say it’s not a fluke? When can we finally admit the dude’s back in the saddle, calling the shots, lovin’ the ladies, and bringing the pain?

All I know is it’s early Saturday morning. We’ve got Timmy on the hill this afternoon. Then it’s hurry up and clear away the f–king Easter ham, Ma, because it’s Beckett vs. Washburn.

Tune in. Turn on.