After Tuesday night’s shyte show, I went into last night’s game wanting nothing but carnage and chaos, with the Sox whipping the A’s back into submission and correcting this gross imbalance of the baseball food chain. Instead, the Sox took it in the shorts, spotting Oakland five bloody runs in the first inning.
And our offense, for the most part, just sat back and took it. Youk, Tek, LaNewGuy and Bay–who has fallen to Earth in a manner not seen since Icarus–went a combined 0-for-15, leaving the job of run production to the guy with the gimpy hip. And Lowell came through, knocking in five of our six runs and hopefully embarrassing the beejezus out of those teammates with perfectly good hips.
The highlight of the game, for me, was when Joey Pants himself showed up in the NESN booth to discuss the non-profit movement he’s spearheading to remove the stigma attached to mental illness in all its myriad forms. Honorable work, to be sure, but Pantoliano basically hijacked the broadcast, rambling on and on and on and on and on as Eck and DO shifted their eyes back and forth nervously, knowing that there was action on the field to call but not daring to interrupt–thanks, no doubt, to the street cred Pants developed playing Ralph Cifaretto on The Sopranos. It was long and awkward and glorious, just like Bob Stanley. And it will stand as the counterpoint to the infamous episode in which Dennis Leary and Lenny Clark dropped in on Remy and Don.
Meanwhile, the countdown to the trade deadline draws closer. The Sox have to do something, but what will it be? We’ll be here if you need us, ears glued to the radio, eyes on the smoke signals from Yawkey Way…
