1:28am: Sox win! I collapse. Drunk, bloated. Oddly satisfied. F@#k you, K-Rod. And piss on you, Rally Monkey. This is Red, signing off.
1:24am: YOUK makes an amazing grab of a foul ball over the camera pit and I just fell in love with him. I’m in love with Kevin Youkilis, people. Two out.
1:22am: Paps is making me nervous… a number of pitches in the dirt. Let’s just close ’em down, Bot.
1:20am: Back. And Paps gets the first out. Two to go, and we’re heading home with a 2-0 lead in the goddam ALDS.
1:11am: F#@KING JD DREW WHOM I LOVE LIKE A BROTHER OR PERHAPS A WOMAN OF QUESTIONABLE BACKGROUND AFTER I’VE HAD MANY DRINKS JUST DRIVES A TWO-RUN HOMER OUT OF THE PARK AND THE RED SOX TAKE THE LEAD HOLY SHIT I’VE LOST IT.
1:07am: Papi unloads for a leadoff double. Coco in to run. Youk at the plate. Rally Monkey curiously subdued.
1:00am: Angels tie it up. Dayam.
12:59am: Why won’t these announcers just come right out and say it? They want to f@#k Mark Teixeira.
12:57am: Wally > Rally Monkey
12:56am: Angels get a leadoff triple. I can’t imagine we’re taking this game… I expect a torrent of Anaheim runs to rain down upon us. But we’re heading back to Boston, and we’ve already taken one game… we shall see. Papel-Bot is in.
12:48am: K-Rod gets the final out, then pounds his glove like he just won the goddam World Series. Man, I really want to bury these guys. In a way, it might be even better if they take this one tonight, so we can flatten ’em in Boston. Where Angel dreams come to die.
12:46am: K-Rod coming in. If our bats are stifled–and we haven’t scored since the fourth–can we hold back the Angels offense? Also, curiously, the six beers and four fruit pies are not agreeing with me.
12:38am: Masterson gets the strike out. Sox maintain slim 5-4 lead. Let us see if the bats can give us some breathing room. For f@#k’s sake, please.
12:36am: Masterson walks one in. Sox lead down to one run. 5-4.
12:34am: Hey, how come the guy from Frank TV is at the plate? Oh. Sorry–it’s Mike Napoli.
12:31am: Angels have bases loaded with one out. Here’s where they tie it up, or possibly take the lead. We’ve had way to many chances to put them away and couldn’t do it. And how’s this for drama… Howie Kendrick, hitless in the ALDS, is up.
12:25am: As much as it pains me to say this, you can write it down now: We’re heading back to Boston 1-1.
12:23am: It’s official: we need to take that hit out on Teixeira. I have a bad feeling about this inning.
12:20am: Is it just me, or is the anti-Boston bias among the announcers a bit more palpable than it typically is? When Drew caught Anderson’s deep drive to end the sixth, I thought Caray was gonna start crying. Good thing I’ve got Remy and DO on the mental audio track.
12:18am: Heading to the bottom of the seventh and I’ve got that sick feeling in my stomach. Could be the beer-and-fruit-pie assault I’ve unleashed on my gut. But more likely the fear of another inning of those f@#king Angel bats. How long can we keep ’em down? If we lose this game, the LOBs will be what done us in. Weak.
Jason Bay for President. F@#k McCain.
Red here. Not sure what happened to Denton? Perhaps he took a wrong turn on a sammich run? Either way, I’ll try to keep things rolling to the end.
Top of 6th:
Dicey, but he escaped the 5th. Sox are into the Angel pen, let’s put this one away. Viva Viagra!
End of the 4th:
Dice-K simply cannot be rattled. But the Angels were one hit away from an ass-to-glass generating event at Red’s house. Craig Sagar is looking fly in his green “Easter Egg” collection jacket.
Bottom of the 4th:
Sox tack on a run, Angels pen warming, Hunter hurts is knee acting like a d-bag. Lead-off man reaches for the first time in the series, don’t like it. If the moon were made of BBQ ribs, would you eat it?
1st Inning, two outs, nobody on.
A-Hole Announcer: “Well the Angels saw a different Jon Lester and maybe the Red Sox are seeing a different Ervin Santana.”
Five minutes later: 4-0 Red Sox.
And f@%k Frank TV.
And Giambi.
