Actually, it was Blogger, sophisticated piece of machinery that it is, that swallowed things up good, forbidding me entrance this morning, and reducing me to posting today’s rant in yesterday’s comments section. For those of you who appreciate the full “post format” reading experience, I’m happy to present it here.
Swept up in the whirlwind of walk-off homeruns, game-saving catches and Rene Russo strolling around the Fenway green, I’ve been feeling like the President and CEO of Feel Good Inc. But a loss like last night’s is kind of a slap back to reality. It’s waking up and finding myself back on an assembly line, rolling sleeves of Necco Wafers. A reminder that there are some concerns which could be chomping at our heels come August. I mean, a 6-4 homestand? How can that be? Didn’t we kick the Mariners’ collective arse but good? Didn’t the Rays implode right before our eyes? Didn’t Schilling just turn everyone around at the front gate, explaining that by virtue of his feather-light ERA and general badness of ass, there was no real reason to actually play the game he was scheduled to pitch, and that he’s simply taken the liberty of assigning himself a W?
Bottom line is while the pitching has been spectacular — and even sweet Timmy has put on a much better show than his 1-3 record would indicate — the hitting has been pretty weak, eerily reminiscent of the 2001 model, where if an opposing pitcher could get past Manny, he could basically sleepwalk past the likes of Chris Stynes, Mike Lansing, Brian Daubach and Troy O’Leary. Kevin Youkilis has been an offensive surprise, but, as Bob Ryan points out in his excellent piece in today’s Globe, do we really want to be relying on Youk’s bat all year?
Last night, in the ninth inning, I started to get that 2004 vibe. The Sox were down, 5-1, but the chipping away began. With one out, Manny gets a single. Then Lowell gets on base, thanks to the 428th Ty Wiggington error of the series. Then Willie “Who?” Harris laces a hit. And it’s bases loaded and fans screaming and people from Hyde Park to Marblehead wearing holes in their carpets pacing back and forth. A couple key hits away from pandemonium in the stands and a 7-3 homestand.
But it doesn’t happen. Nixon Ks. Tek flies out. I open the bottle and swig prodigiously.
Tonight, we get Beckett vs. Burnett. Strap yourselves in, and watch for Geddy Lee, typically seated to the left of your screen in the Rogers luxury box.
