Final Score: Boston Red Sox 7, New York Yankees 6I feel some deja vu coming on...something about...oh, yes: I can't believe we won this game. You know, just like yesterday. Schilling pitching like one of the many foul things I called him when he served up tasty white plate specials to A-Rod; J. C. Romero, Mr. Soft Underbelly of the Bullpen, pushing things further out of reach in the eighth and everything coming down to the placement abilities of The Machine...I would be lying if I said I hadn't written this game off as an unfortunate loss by the fifth inning. However, the ghost of Red Auerbach, conjured up by tonight's opening ceremonies, seems to have had the same psychic power over the field as filling Fenway with Red Sox legends and thus a win, no matter how fraught the contest.
Red's influence may have spread into other areas: along with the strange powers at work keeping Rivera from locating a pitch in the eighth, two events occurred that may mean new directions for two players:
- In his last at-bat, against the afore-vilified Romero, Alex Rodriguez hit a double. Yes, he had already hit home runs in his second and third at-bats and scored on a single to right on the next pitch, thereby carrying his team to six runs in the non-A-Rodian fashion we've become accustomed to in the past few weeks - the fashion that had Michael Kaye and John Flaherty panting at his every move like cats in baseball heat - but it was a double and not a home run, despite its poor placement in his wheelhouse. If Rodriguez has finally descended from his hitter's cloud nine and is back amongst the mortal superstars tomorrow, we'll know why: the gods have him hexed.
- The Captain went three for four, hit a two out home run off Pettitte to put the Sox back into the game in the fourth and started the scoring drive against Rivera with a single; a scoring drive that saw a triple from the hitless Coco Crisp and (again) the game winning RBI by Alex Cora. Tek hasn't had anything close to a breakout game before tonight; tonight marks the game where he turns around a year of bad numbers and questioning commentators and brings back, via counter hex, that sweet hitting groove.
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