A wise man named Wesley Snipes once said, “Always bet on black.” If you can find Wesley these days, hiding from IRS agents in a Burmese foxhole, tell him we said hi. Also, tell him we prefer to always bet on Schilling. Because when it’s time for the big pants, nobody seems to wear them better than Our Man Curt. Despite the 9-1 score, this was a game that could have swung either way before the Sox blew it open in the eighth, but every time the Angels tried to get things rolling, Curt just stomped all over their good time, escorting them to the cheap seats, the rear of the theatre, the back of the bus, the special trapdoor we’ve built to escort them out of October whenever we face them.
And just like that, in a tidy, well-pitched, crisply hit and efficient three games, Anaheim gets swept away. And now have to endure what will be the longest week ever until the ALCS starts on Friday.
Meanwhile, speaking of ownership, Trot Nixon just homered off Roger Clemens in the Bronx. Man, it’s gonna be good to see the Trotter in the ALCS.
Update: Okay, so the Yanks live to die another day. If New York and Cleveland wanna bust each other up over the next couple days, I’m about it. I made the mistake of listening to the Yanks broadcast rather than the ESPN broadcast on the radio last night, and the way they’re talking about those bugs from Friday night and how “they never should have allowed that game to go on,” you’d have thought Rodan and Mothra themselves were taking turns nibblin’ Joba Chamberlain’s onions.
