My post-game two anxiety officially reached the “unhealthy” stage sometime late last night on a long flight back from Texas. Today, I’ve tried to put it in the rear-view and focus on the only thing we can control: tonight’s game.
The last time Jake Peavy took the hill for us in the postseason, he had a meltdown of epic proportions at Comerica Park and I downed so much whiskey my urine actually started a fire. Tonight, we’ll be hoping for a better outcome.
I absolutely love the Peavs and the way he’s dug in his heels with his new teammates, becoming part of the machine immediately upon entry last July. He has the heart of a lion and the emotional drive of a winner; I just hope they don’t get the better of him as they did back in Detroit. If we’re going to hang tough in this World Series, we need something a little more reminiscent of his mastery of the Rays during the ALDS.
Peavy himself has called this the biggest start of his career. It may also be the biggest game of our season. A loss tonight sets us back 1-2 with a huge question mark awaiting us tomorrow in the form of Buchholz. And I don’t want any piece of that. So I’ll pray for some Peavy magic. And pray for hits. And pray that maybe game two fired the boys up just a little bit.
So here we go. Into that magical realm of the National League. Where pitchers hit! And DHs sit! And the booze flows free like a wild, wild horse. Named Albert.
