I feel asleep in a NyQuil-induced haze around 9:45 last night. How did the Sox do? We won? Excellent.
On another note, when will the sportswriters and radio personalities in this town realize that no matter how much they wanna talk smack about Manny Ramirez, they won’t ever, ever, ever change the way we feel about him? Seriously, Manny could stop by my house, ruin all my meat, drain every last beer, set fire to my porno stash and feel up my ladyfriend and I’d be like, “Awesome. Hey, tell me again about that outfield assist to nab Larry Walker in the 2004 World Series.” He was one of a handful of signings made over the past decade that truly turned out to be “worth the money,” he consistently delivers the goods, and last weekend, during what was arguably the most important series of the 2006 season, he was one of the few Red Sox players to sound off like he had a pair. Considering his body of work and the results he’s conjured on the field since arriving in Boston, the continual desire by the media to paint him as some sort of self-centered twit is confounding. It’s also eerily reminiscent of the full-frontal assaults on Roger Clemens, which culminated in the Herald’s infamous “What Roger Said” bits, that transcribed Clemens’ post-game interviews verbatim, desperate to make certain that we all knew the guy could throw mad heat but wasn’t all that smart. If I’m choosing up sides for pub trivia, maybe Manny’s not the guy I go running for. But if I’m recruiting for the Legion of Unstoppable Ass Kickers, Manny’s the man. So to all those who insist on putting him down, who believe they can convince me to wring my fists in anger at his antics, I can only say that you’d better get a bigger gun. It ain’t gonna happen.
Here’s the part where we join hands and pray that today’s MRI comes up clean.
