I never want to be that guy. No, not the guy who trolls local high schools to check the female talent; I already am that guy. The guy I don’t want to be is the one who feels a sense of entitlement where his Red Sox are concerned. The guy who expects a Sox triumph every time out and stomps his feet madly when they don’t get it. That’s the guy I don’t want any part of.
But… I will say that, on a night in which Lester was repping his set for LiveStrong cancer awareness and mowing down the Royals with extreme prejudice and expertly working himself out of jams with finesse and composure, I would have been absolutely, punch-a-nun furious if our man didn’t get the W. So when it looked like our hitters might be shut down by Brian “Don’t call me Floyd” Bannister, I began quietly invoking the spirit of Mark Bellhorn to deliver us one of those out-of-the-blue, clanging-off-Pesky’s-Pole numbers to send us all home smiling.
We got the next best thing, however, in the form of a single by Kotsay, a passed ball, and a clutch double by The Elf, which gave us the lead in the bottom of the eighth. In the ninth, Papelbon, realizing that this game was far too important for one of those bullshit performances he’s been laying out recently, was all business. And that, as they say, was that.
I hate to think I’m getting that pumped up for a win against the Royals, so I’ll just say that what’s got me all giddy is another thrilling Lester performance and the joy of being alone on top of the AL East once again. Yeah, that sounds good.
