You know that scene in Star Wars where Luke and Leia and crew bust ass out of the Death Star toward the Millennium Falcon, stormtroopers blasting away at them and Ben Kenobi’s empty cloak still smoldering on the floor? That’s kinda how I picture the Sox leaving Toronto yesterday; Vernon Wells and Frank Catalanotto chomping their heels, everyone making a mad dash for the safety of their airplane, and Terry Francona having a quiet consultation with a couple droids in the back row.
Honestly, though, after Saturday’s pasting, it was nice to escape with the W. Now we don’t have to suffer through the dreaded “off day” with thoughts of a four-game losing streak dancing in our heads.
Even though we knocked in three runs in the first inning, I didn’t have a good feeling about this one until the bottom of the sixth. The Jays are pesky f–kers, and with one out and the go-ahead run on first, and Keith Foulke entering the game, I envisioned every worst case scenario my brain could conjure, from a three-run homer to Dick Van Dyke jetpacking his way onto the field to man-hug everyone in the bullpen. But Foulkie came through, striking out Adams and getting Catalanotto to pop out. Just like that, magic.
It didn’t hurt that the offense came up big as well. A first-inning home run from Papi, who will soon be voted onto Mount Olympus. Two hits apiece from Lowell and Youkie. Hell, even A-Gon chipped in with the bat. Man, that’s like finding a freshly-iced chocolate cake behind your sofa.
So tonight, we rest. We regroup. We prepare to enter the land of Coco. Oh, and set your clocks for the Yankees. One week from tonight.
