At la casa de Red, we uphold the sanctity of Mother’s Day. Specifically, we clean up our act, particularly when it comes to watching the Red Sox. Players are referred to as “Mister Ortiz” and “Mister Gonzalez.” Beer is consumed from a chilled mug, thank you very much. Miscues and other gaffs by the hometown crew are met with a pervasive calm, as in, “Aw, heck. I was really counting on Manny delivering that pitch out of the yard. Perhaps his next encounter with this pitcher will yield more positive results.” And so on and so on.
Mom enjoyed her stay during the first of yesterday’s twin bill against the Mariners. And why wouldn’t she? We were on our best behavoir as Jeremi Gonzalez put in a fine performance and Kevin Millar launched a bases loaded double that, were it not for the wind blasting over the Monster, would have been a grand slam. Johnny Damon extended his hitting streak to 13 games, Mirabelli grabbed a couple hits, and our attempt at cooking pork chops didn’t result in a four-alarm blaze. That’s a good day.
The second game pushed our buttons just a bit. With Mom sitting there, it wanted to see us break down. It wanted to see a beer can go flying or a window kicked in. But we held strong. “I really wish the offense could get something going, Ma,” I noted while sipping my Earl Grey. “Taking both of these games would be impossibly sweet.” Later, the hand that typically would be used to punch in a wall was arranging sugar cookies on a tray. “Quite unfortunate for Cla Meredith,” I sighed. “Why, I’ll bet that grand slam proves the difference, what with the game already in the seventh inning.”
And it did. But you know what? It was a full day of baseball. Gonazalez and Miller looked sharp. And Trot Nixon treated us to one of the greatest “holy crap look what I just found in my glove” catches I’ve ever seen. Plus, Mom had a good day.
Aces all around, fellas. We’ll get ’em tonight.
