The Red Sox have won nine in a row. And the only thing standing between us and our tenth straight victory is John Wasdin, who faces Pedro tonight.
That’s right, John Wasdin.
What more proof do you need that God himself wants to see Red Sox Nation happy? Theo and the Trio handing $1,000 checks to fans as they come through the Fenway turnstiles? Mendoza and Foulke barbecuing steaks in the bullpen for the bleacher crowds? “Krisily Kennedy Watches The Entire Game On Your Lap” night?
Four weeks ago, we wanted to see Tito thrown into the gulag. Now we all want him to come over for dinner, get loaded, feel up our sisters, and take a few of our valuables home. He used to be Francoma. Now he’s a beautiful mind, concocting line-ups that are clinically proven to decimate opposing pitchers.
These are magical days, my friends. And now that I’ve gotten a taste of this long-ass win streak, I don’t ever want it to end. Why can’t we cork off twenty straight? Why must we ever lose a single game from now till the final out of the 2004 World Series, which you just know, the way this team is going, will be a fly ball to center that Damon gets to with godalmighty speed… but he doesn’t catch it! It flops from his glove into Kapler’s glove! But Kapler doesn’t quite handle it either, and it sails away again before landing in the mitt of Mark Bellhorn, who collapses, enraptured, enthralled and exhausted, on the short centerfield grass as his teammates and 35,000 others storm toward him.
