I want the opposite of Total Recall on last night’s game. I want to purge it completely from my mind, like the time I took my grandmother to the prom or when I woke up pantsless in the 7-11 dairy case.
It was certainly the biggest shitshow of this young 2012 season. Jon Lester gave up 7 runs over 2 innings, then gave way to a cavalcade of relievers who collectively surrendered another 11. Melancon was the worst offender, giving up 6 and leading us all to believe that he’d have been better off just setting up a tee and going out on Yawkey for a smoke.
Hey, you’re always going to have games like this. Ones in which it’s basically over by the third inning and you spend the rest of the game hoping for a bunch of naked sorority girls to storm the field on a dare. But after the feel-good vibe of the Rays series, this game was a bitter reminder that we’re currently a last-place team with a lot of question marks. For example, will our manager still be on the job after the All Star break?
It was as enjoyable as a prostate exam on a tilt-a-whirl. And let that be the last we ever speak of that game.
