After watching what can only be described as a lethargic performance by the Red Sox, I casually flipped through the channels and stumbled upon the last few minutes of Troy. Right after Brad took a few arrows in the chest, I promptly fell asleep…OK…passed out. In the Red-Bull-and-vodka-induced dreamscape that followed, somehow the Red Sox ended up battling Troy.
Big Papi was wrecking shop on the Tigers; the last I saw of him he was holding Magglio Ordonez by the hair and brandishing a giant silver broadsword. Julian Tavarez charged into the Tiger bullpen with his shield held high baring his teeth, but otherwise weaponless. Dustin Pedroia – looking quite fetching in his skirt…I mean tunic – was picking off the enemy mercilessly with a bow and arrow, Orlando Bloom style. During the mayhem, Johnny Pesky stood on top of the Red Sox dugout, ensconced in velvet, calling down the power of Zeus. Under the stands, Red Sox minions were busy constructing a giant George Steinbrenner statue to bring into Yankee Stadium next week.
Then I woke up, feeling like I slept with Youk’s old socks in my mouth, and the Sox had still lost the game 7-2.
In Wake we trust tonight.
