Red: [Pushes TV out window.] Okay. Swept by Seattle. They’re done.
Red: No, they’re not.
Red: [confused] Who are you?
Red: I’m you. Your internal voice.
Red: Oh.
Red: I’m here to tell you not to give up on the lads so quickly. You’ve said that they were done before and look what happened. Greatest comeback ever. Ever!
Red: But that team was different. They had Pedro. And Damon. A healthy Wake. And D-Lowe. And the Magic that was Bellhorn. Everything clicked. This year… doesn’t feel the same.
Red: What, you’re not getting that Coco Crisp vibe? I’ve got it. And I know he’s gonna hit his stride come September.
Red: But that’s too late. We just got bitch-slapped by the Seattle Mariners. Not to mention our offense being no-hit through six by Cha Seung Baek (!?) and mustering a paltry two hits altogether.
Red: It’s all set-up. Setting the mood and the tone for another resurgence. Watch what happens in Oakland.
Red: We’re six-and-a-half games out of the running for the AL East and five-and-a-half out of the Wild Card. It’s time for the vodka and arsenic IV.
Red: Nonsense.
Red: You’re crazy. Anyone who sees a kickline of Coco Crisp, Kyle Snyder, Javy Lopez, Gabe Kapler, Keith Foulke and Alex Cora knows that these aren’t the guys who are gonna carry us to the Land of Free Beer and Loose Women.
Red: Okay. But say Tek gets healthy…
Red: Tek wasn’t breakin’ any records before he got hurt. This was shaping up to be one of his worst seasons ever.
Red: Okay, how ’bout Wake.
Red: He… well, I mean… then maybe you could spare the pen a bit. Wake eats up those innings like Fatburgers.
Red: Right. See? We win some, the Yanks lose some. Got a whole month of ball to play, my friend. Anything can happen.
Red: You know, you’re right. It is only six-and-a-half games. That’s like… nothing.
Red: Precisely. Here, have another Amstel.
Red: Thanks. Let’s roll! [Waves hands in air, puts Schilling jersey back on.]
Lucchino: [removes “Red” mask] Okay. [Checks “Red” off the list.] Nine million, nine hundred and eighty-six thousand to go.
