It’s an embarassment of riches! It’s El Bencho and The Magic Helmet… together at last! In the same line-up! On the same night! And they, like, totally carry the team, accounting for 5 of the Sox’ 10 hits, with The Helmet blasting two home runs over the right field fence. Two home runs and muthafriggin’ six RBIs for the Helmet last night?!? Man, that’s six more RBIs than I knocked in, sitting on my ass eating Fritos and drinking Hamms and yelling through the walls to anyone who’ll listen that no, I will not be turning down my stereo anytime soon, because when the Red Sox start rolling, I cue up the Foreigner. And it blasts blasts blasts until I damn well feel like shutting it off. So just deal. Or move. You could try that also.
Anyway, this was one of those games that gets me all hot and bothered for the stretch run. The crisp autumn air, the streets dark and empty at 7:00pm ’cause it’s Remy Standard Time. These are good things.
And staying true to form, the starting pitching decides to put us through hell early, then let us down gently into the easy chair. Our Man Bronson looked positively pinata-esque during the first four innings, giving up two home runs and hitting two batters. But then he settled down, striking out four over the next three innings without allowing a run. And by the time Papelbon came in and struck out the side in the eighth, my mind was already wandering to October. And thinking about how this guy could be nails coming out of the bullpen.
All this and the Yankees lose. Man, that’s like slipping on your favorite jeans and finding a twenty in the back pocket.
So here we are, people. Second of September. Winners of five in a row. Three and a half games between us and New York. I don’t know about you, but I feel like pouring myself a tall, cold glass of Happy. And drinking freely.
See you at 7:05 for the Lenny DiNardo show. Oh, and Tito, don’t be afraid to use Manny tonight. Boy can hit. Yes sir.
