If last night’s 6-3 victory over the Angels were a movie, it would be Return of the Jedi. If it were an album, it would be Zooropa. If it were one of Tommy Lee’s wives, it would be Pamela Anderson. Each quite good in their own right, yet not as altogether smashing as their predecessors — The Empire Strikes Back, Achtung Baby! and Heather Locklear. And, let’s face it, it’s tough to beat any game that features a walk off home run from David Ortiz and Eric Frede accidentally launching spittle at Papi’s face during the post-game interview.
Tuesday night was a taste of pennant fever on an autumn-crisp evening and it’s the sort of thing that makes you want to call Bud Selig and just say, “Dude. Just shut it down now and start up the playoffs.” Because we’re ready.
Seriously, nothing short of carting out Hazel Mae for a seventh-inning rendition of “The Boots Are Made for Walking” could have slathered more awesomeness on last night’s game. Not that it would have been a bad idea, mind you.
Still, while not as stop-yer-heart dramatic as Tuesday night’s game, last night was a win. And a win against a Potential Playoff Partner, so we’ll take it. It also allowed us to keep 4 games up on the Yanks, and I want as big a cushion as allowed by the FCC before we head into the Bronx tomorrow.
We had Arroyo going 8 innings and, being true to his Arroyo-ish nature, he looked positively sketchy over the first two before finding his happy place for the next six. His overall performance was so nice, in fact, we’re willing to overlook the fact that during the post-game he looked like he’d just stumbled in from a photo shoot with Velvet Revolver.
We had Papi getting another big hit, driving in a couple runs. We had El Bencho dropping more home run science. Even l’il Alex Cora knocked in a run with a triple to the triangle. And, man, I loves me some hits to the triangle. Sure, I dig the home runs, the Monsta shots off the Coke bottles, and the screaming drives down the left field line that just die right out in the corner and set Dale Sveum into full flap mode. But whenever a Sox player rips one into that triangle, that’s a thrill. And, unless your name is Ortiz, Ramirez or Millar, an easy three-bagger.
The only smudge on an otherwise excellent evening was the continued concern about Manny. Dude’s bat has left the building and he’s playing the field like a guy in a horse costume. Hey, if he’s saving up for New York, I have no problem with that.
Tonight, The Emancipator goes for his 14th. Grab an ice cold Gettysburg and we’ll see you there.
