Witness to a Murder

I feel bad for Baltimore. This was once a wondrous baseball town with a rich tradition of competence bordering on greatness. So when I see the Orioles limp into Boston only to get their collective bells rung, I almost feel sad… almost.

Thanks to a quick pick up by DC, we were able to snag some tickets to this midweek thrashing of the orange birds. If our crappy seats were not nestled deep under the right field grandstand I might have been splashed with blood from the slaughter.

Beyond the Papi doubles (breath taking), beyond the Pedroia love fest (the MVP could run or mayor of Boston right now) and beyond the Lester mediocrity (barely made it through 5), the expanded rosters let the Sox bring up every AAA guy available… and I think they all played in this game. I mean Van Every? Really? At one point I quipped that I didn’t know what was going to happen first: the Sox would let me pinch run, or Baltimore would let me pitch an inning.

It was a massacre. The only negative on the night was how fast the park emptied. I know it was a nothing game that was WAY out of reach by the 5th inning, but you gotta stick around people! This isn't LA... you don't have to rush to beat the traffic.

With a final of 14-2 and my beer consumption nearing that total, I was ready to finish off the night (and series) in style… I want a clean sweep so I can put these “might miss the playoffs” thoughts out of my mind.