I understand that the regular season is a gut-wrenching affair; my life-long love of the Sox has helped burn a hole through my stomach and has almost certainly shaved precious years from my life.
But at this point in time, when the Sox need some fire and brimstone and Wolverine action to claw their way into the postseason, I find it increasingly disturbing to be greeted at the Sox’ home page with that video clip of Teets Francona and Joe Torre talkin’ tea like a couple retirement home fellas.
I won’t deny that green tea is good for you. Hell, I’m known to kick back in “footy” pajamas with a couple steeping pots of the stuff. But for christ’s sake, man. We’re in a fight for our lives. I don’t want opposing teams thinking that when the going gets tough, we put the kettle on. I want them imagining our boys drinking whiskey from a boot and mainlining lion’s blood, all under the watchful eye of their clearly inebriated manager. If there absolutely, positively has to be some tea drinking, it should be one of two flavors: Soul of My Enemies, Pulverized and Liquified into Drinkable Form or I Tear Off Your Head and Crap Down Your Throat. With Just a Hint of Lemon.
Look, when the post-season ends, whatever fate befalls us, you can have all the tea and biscuits you want. Scout’s honor. But for now–please. Let’s put sleepytime on hold and just focus on one thing–kicking copious amounts of arse.
