Over the Thanksgiving weekend, we’re switching the site over to a new ISP. Anticipating that there’ll be a few hiccups along the way, we’re gonna “sign off” for the Thanksgiving weekend, so that everything is up and running by next Monday. Though you will no doubt welcome a few days off from our endless river of drivel, understand that it’s all part of our ongoing effort to service you better. And you know how we love to service you.
Of course, if anything exciting happens [Pedro signs with the Green Bay Packers, Scott Boras and Theo Epstein engage in dramatic light saber duel, Russians launch first salvo of nuclear missiles at the continental U.S.], we’ll likely chime in to say something strange and drop some innuendo.
In the meantime, as tomorrow is Thanksgiving, we wanted to note a few of the things we’re thankful for:
Dave Roberts’ fleet feet.
That Tony Clark’s drive in Game 5 of the ALCS bounced over the right field wall.
Big Papi’s menacing bat and general badness of ass.
El Bencho, for drawing the single most important walk ever issued to a Red Sox batter.
Christmas music. All the time.
Manny. For making it all look so effortless. And for embracing the fans and media in ways that no one ever expected. And for that swing. That! Swing!
That Theo and the Trio had the cojones to trade one of Boston’s most beloved sports icons for a shot at some World Series hardware.
Curt Schilling. For having king-sized pride and the talents to back it up. And for kissing Johnny Pesky full on the lips after we won it all. If you didn’t shed a tear watching that happen, you may be a replicant.
Tim Wakefield. For being Tim Wakefield.
The new CD from the greatest band in the world.
Foulke, Embree, Myers and Leskanic for holding the Yanks to 3 hits and no runs over 5 and 2/3 innings in Game 4, setting up Ortizzle’s late-inning heroics.
Foulke again, for becoming the Incredible Hulk in the postseason. And Bobby Orr, whose call to Foulke on the glories of Boston helped convince the closer to sign here.
Bill Mueller, for quietly making things happen, game after game after game.
Leeann Tweeden. Way cuter than Tom Arnold.
The Bell, who came here as Pokey’s backup but became a cult hero, Sports Illustrated cover boy, and post-season monster.
Johnny Damon, for putting Game 7 away early. And for bringing his impossibly fine girlfriend around so much.
Doug Mientkiewicz, who etched himself permanently into Red Sox history with his final out, arms raised over the head moment, which has already been played more than the Zapruder film.
That we’ll get to watch it over and over again.
That the 2005 title defense season kicks off in just five months.
