Okay, we’ve got a rested and refreshed and no doubt alcohol-fueled Josh Beckett on the hill against a Tampa Bay team that’s earned the respect of baseball fans everywhere. We’ve got clear skies, steaks on the grill, and cheap beer on tap. We’ve got a full house at Fenway, college chicks in their Papelbon shirts, and guys hawking six types of sausage–not a euphemism–up and down Yawkey. There’s organ music in the air, El Tiante in the house, and Don Zimmer, Pedro’s favorite tackle dummy, on the field. Remy’s in the booth, Heidi’s on the third base line and Tito’s in the driver’s seat.
It’s the day we wait for all year, people.
And it starts. Right. Now.
PS: For those who keep e-mailing, the shirt can be had right here.
