Running late and running a fever, so it’s a quick one today. But really, what is there to say after last night’s loss to the Yanks? At first, last night looked like another one of those textbook “Wakefield’s pitching so, dudes, let’s stop hitting” gigs, where the offense strands runners left and right and Wake sucks it up and takes his medicine, wondering what he did to piss off his mates. But then we got within two, and I started wondering if these guys might have somehow uncorked a little 2004 magic. But then the ninth inning just dried up and crumbled like a pile of old leaves. And you’re left sitting there wondering what might have been.
This sets up a critical rubber game tonight. If we can somehow thump the Unit, then expect a plague of locusts from Steinbrenner HQ; an absolute torrent of insanity that will make the New York Post essential breakfast reading for the next month. However, if the Unit shuts us down, well… it’ll be just the sort of boost they’re looking for.
The time is now. As Mike Timlin would tell ya, when the bear has one foot in the trap, it is essential not only to taunt and belittle it, but to also make off with its baked goods and expensive stereo equipment. If we can take 2 of 3 from the bear, I’ll be a happy guy.
Tonight, it’s Clement vs. The Bear. Who do you love?
