As much as I’d love to get the series back to Boston so that we can silence the Rays once and for all before the home town crowd, I’d feel better about ending it tonight. Let game three stand as the only aberration in our march to the postseason. I want game four. And I don’t simply want to win. I want Red Sox-inflicted carnage from start to finish. I’m talking rustlers, cutthroats, murderers, bounty hunters, desperados, mugs, pugs, thugs, nitwits, half-wits, dim-wits, vipers, snipers, con men, indian agents, mexican bandits, muggers, buggerers, bushwackers, hornswagglers, horse thieves, bull dykes, train robbers, bank robbers, ass kickers, shit kickers, and methodists.
In Peavy we trust. Because we must.
