Wacky for Lackey

So...despite my vitriolic assertions to the contrary, I guess The Boof wasn't Boston's only off-season move for the pitching staff, what with the John Lackey signing and all. In fact, I might even be willing to say that I completely acknowledge the error of my ways and resolve - once again - to never criticize the methods behind the madness that is the front office, because - despite all of the odd experiments - the Sox keep making these deals that make so much sense. With Lackey, they now have:

• A superior starting pitching staff that's on the verge of becoming 2007-like godly if Matsuzaka carries his form from the last four starts of 2009 into 2010. We thought the '09 staff had an excellent chance of dominating the field in Spring Training, but the success of even that illustrious group required a blessing of the stars; besides the Dice-K question, all the 2010 Sox need ask of their starters is for health and consistency with their already established numbers.
• A trade piece in odd man out Clay Buchholz, who'll have the chance to become the "maybe he'll make it" ornament of some other team's staff. Buchholz becomes trade bait for the bat the Sox will need to replace Bay, now that they've elected to...
  
• ...sign Mike Cameron and choose defense over offense in left field. The deal has everyone saying farewell to the likable-but-expensive Jason Bay and those Gay for Bay t-shirts Robin planned to market, but frees up money for one of those expensive contracts the Sox will likely acquire with Bay's offensive replacement.

Of course, we can't celebrate a successful hot stove season just yet: someone has to agree to make the trade that makes the Cameron acquisition worthwhile at a price that doesn't make us cry for a mortgaged future or (even worse) a missed opportunity. Anyone got a player with .896 (or better) OPS they can spare?

ALDS Game 1: Mood for Trouble

ALDS Game 1: Boston Red Sox 0, Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim 5

Dedicated to Robin, who knows why.

Last night was all about trouble. Take the sterling effort by the defense, for example. Normally you'd write it off as first-time playoff jitters, except that every man, infield and outfield, behind the plate and on the mound, had been to the post-season before. Yet somehow, these experienced fielders who'd played together for half a season couldn't execute three times, chalking up three errors over the course of the game...

Oh wait. At least one of those "errors" was the fault of this guy. Poor execution doesn't help keep the pitch count low, but neither does blindness by the officiating. Maybe tonight they'll relegate Bucknor to one of the outfield positions where he won't do as much damage. So the defense was trouble, but the umpires were trouble, too.

The offense generally looked like the hacks they were taking, but that's to be expected: Lester might have pitched decently, but Lackey was generally on fire and with the exception of one jam that the Sox managed to waste by looking like Bucknor flailing in the wind, was pretty much unhittable. I distinctly remember one pitch to Ortiz where the bottom fell out of the ball right as he swung and while it broke my heart, it really was a beautiful pitch to see. You'll notice the pattern continues: the offense was trouble. Lester was trouble, because he gave up four walks.

There was trouble from all sides then in Game 1. Tonight they'll come back out and try things again and just maybe they'll look like they belong in the post-season. Because otherwise, we're in trouble.

No Shortstop Competition? No Problem!

Hey, so looks like Lowrie wins the competition because he's got better tendons...somewhere Robin is sighing in relief. Actually, I don't think this tough break for Lugo is the end of the fight for the starting job; Lugo's injury not withstanding, he certainly didn't sound like he'd back down from the fight, even if it means he has to prove himself after the season starts. Whether or not he gets the chance probably depends entirely on Lowrie: if he establishes himself from the get go in Kevin Youkilis in 2006 style, Lugo will find himself out in the cold faster than you can say "J.T. Snow." If he struggles...well, I guess the precendent there would be Dustin Pedroia, but I think if Theo was as high on Lowrie as he was on Pedroia, Lugo wouldn't be on the team.

In any case, I'm not worried. Lugo has a reason to come back strong and Lowrie is tearing the cover off the ball in Spring Training and setting himself up for a nice start next month. Let the competition continue, I say; we win no matter what.

RE: Jason Varitek

Robin and I on the phone, discussing the imminent return of the Captain:

Robin: "This really should have happened months ago."
Me: "Yes, it should. I blame Scott Boras."
Robin: "Yes, blame Scott Boras. He's Satan's minion on Earth."
Me: "It's true. Every time a player signs with Scott Boras, God brutally murders a kitten."

Welcome back to the fold, Varitek. We're glad you got over your four-month hissy fit and returned to where you belonged.

“MVP”edroia, “KC”oco and a Requiem for My Dream

Let’s do things in order of importance here. First things first… Dustin Pedroia has finally finished his “I told all you doubting Mother#&%#s” tour around the MLB. The 2007 AL rookie of the year now has a gold glove, silver slugger and the 2008 AL MVP to place in his already crowded trophy case. No longer the Wonderboy… Dusty P is the prime time, Alpha dog that combines that amazing talent with a powerful will and a heaping pile of grit. He must have all these qualities… because why else would a 5 foot nothing bald guy be the MVP of ANYTHING?

Thinking back on his season, there are so many moments when I thought “what the hell is he going to do next?” His cockiness is hilarious, his energy is infectious and his hair was ridiculous. There were also hundreds of moments when I though he was going to have to carry this team himself. My favorite was that series with Chicago at the end of August when Dustin forgot how to make an out. Seriously, for 2 games the Sox second baseman was a wrecking crew. 8 for 8 with 2 walks!!!! They needed to douse him in ice water for fear he would light the rest of Fenway on fire.

So even though it was a weird year for MVP choices, I think Pedroia was just a valid as the others. The twin Twins had a good season and Youk was just as much as a banner carrier, but that scrappy (a hot button word I know) bastard deserved the award. Now I am excited to see what he is going to do to prove he’s even better than this.

Second order of business: wishing Coco Crisp a fond farewell. This needed to happen and the returns were nearly exactly what the Sox needed. Ramon Ramirez is a solid set up pitcher and fills a pretty big hole in the bullpen. As for Coco, her really went above and beyond this year and really helped along the Jacoby rebuilding process. He is a defensive wiz, a speed demon and really a hell of a guy… and will continue to be so in exile on the island of Kansas City. Thanks a lot Coco! Have fun on that perennial last place team. Really… hell of a guy.

Finally, the lame news. I am taking a step back from this blogging thing. Yeah big shocker if you looked at my last few weeks… but anyway this isn’t me giving up on the team or anything… I just don’t have the same need to freak out anymore. Let me explain…

When I was living in Brooklyn, if I talked about the Red Sox to a guy in line at a deli, first he would beat me senseless, then he would scream “GO YANKS”… not exactly the way to get things off my chest. But now that I’m back in Boston, I regularly accost hapless misanthropes about hot stove deals and they are happy to receive my insane ramblings… hell… they have some of their own! It is a relief that I cannot describe. Unfortunately, this leaves me at a loss for my venting in this forum or I feel like I am repeating myself. Now combine that with an added work load from my real job (and other normal excuses) and there isn’t much time or energy left for the blog.

So no more regular posts for me. I’m sure I’ll be back in some crazy form or another eventually (sooner if the Sox get Teixeira), but until then let me leave you with GO SOX and KEEP YOUR SOX ON. You know the deal.

ALDS Aftermath

I feel funny. Not “haha nice squeeze play Scioscia” funny, but unusual sensations and notions funny. After what proved to be an exciting, exhilarating and exhausting 4 game bash up with our angelic whipping boys from Anaheim, I am left with a new understanding and view of this 2008 postseason. What should be a familiar landscape for a Red Sox fan in this decade is most decidedly not for me and it really showed in my post game reaction Monday night. I freaked out! I mean almost to “2004 Ortiz becomes the Highlander” level of freak out.

Why did I react this way? Remember the whole “act like you’ve been there before” adage? Why has this escaped me?

And suddenly I knew. My freak out wasn’t the same sheer enjoyment and joyous surprise from 2004. Nor was it the pure happiness I felt that Sox had earned the fans in 2007 by proving it wasn’t a fluke. No… this 2008 victory freak out was some joy, mixed with a feeling of relief and then covered with a ripe sense of… practiced contentment. That’s right. I am content in knowing that the Red Sox experience in these types of situations will carry a team old and banged up farther into the playoffs.

Think of it this way: The Sox are the old stallion on the farm. Sure there are young colts looking to get rowdy and stir up trouble, and hell, maybe some of these lean young horses are faster and stronger than that old stallion… but what they have in energy, they lack in sheer know-how. The stallion is still a powerful horse that can surely hold his own… and is the first to greet the old farmer for feeding time because he knows exactly were to be. He’s done it before and he knows the routine. Sure it might almost be his time to be put out to pasture… but not this year. Last time I checked this old horse still has some fight left in him.

Hmmm. I think I’ve carried that metaphor as far as it will go. To sum up: the Sox are the old dominant regime and the rest are just upstarts looking at the crown and wanting a piece. Again, a strange position to be in as a fan and I am certainly not used to this. God I hope this isn’t what Yankees fans felt like in 2000. Yeesh, just thinking about that puts chills up my spine.

Anyway, let’s go kick some Tampa Bay pony butt. AL winners 2 years in a row has a nice ring to it. GO SOX!

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.

Mark Bellhorn Lives!

Quick observation of joy: I'm in Providence, on a weekend jaunt enjoying what turns out to be one of the coolest cities in New England. More specifically, I'm at the Trinity Brewhouse, enjoying a local amber lager with a sandwich, when what should I see in front of me but a local sporting the jersey number of one Mark Bellhorn, one time member of the 2004 Red Sox and founding member of the Robin is Psychic Social Club. After congratulating the gentleman in question for his good taste, I returned to my meal, secure in the knowledge that there will always be a place in Red Sox Nation for second basemen with average defensive abilities, long hair, a twelve o'clock shadow, and a batting eye that's too sharp for the umpires of this flawed, flawed world. Hail Ding Honk!

Manny and Jason Bay: The Morning After

Robin was so overwhelmed by grief that he had no choice but to drown his sorrows last night in copious amounts of alcohol; he'll be back in action tonight. Instead, now that I've had a few hours to process, I'll give my thoughts. I'll start with a story:

Four years ago yesterday, I went to a party at the house of a friend from college in Swampscott, Massachusetts. Not seconds after I got out of the car, DC ran up and gave me the news: the Red Sox had traded Nomar in a three-way blockbuster deal that replaced our beloved OCD-laden shortstop with some guy from Montreal we'd never heard of. My jaw dropped and in shock, words traveled from brain to lips without filter: "How the **** can they trade Nomar?"

Thanks to advances in Internet technology, the end of trade season's falling on a workday, and an assemblage of friends with itchy text message fingers, Manny's impending demise in a Boston uni was easier to track, but I felt - I still feel - how I felt that weekend day in 2004: "How the **** can they trade Manny?" The answer's rhetorical, of course: hitting stud or no, it's clear Manny was unhappy in his current work environment. The press was against him, he'd bashed management far too many times to really hold their support, and from what we can tell from the papers, his teammates were tired of him, too (Interesting side note on the teammates thing: a friend I talked to this morning speculated that Papi's long absence might have removed some of the shielding that keeps Manny from being too much Manny). The end result was the logical solution and finding a replacement of any kind is an added bonus. Heck, we should be glad he's in the NL, on a team that's had a lot of trouble making it past the first round of the playoffs.

Will this trade kill our hopes for a 2008 repeat? Part of me hopes that this desperation move will be some more history repeating, spawning yet another magical August run up to October that will again make Theo look like a genius and Manny another addition to a string of players (Nomar, Pedro, Damon) who the Sox dumped at just the right time. However, there's another part of me that knows that Nomar was having a poor year in 2004 (WARP, to pick a good overall statistic, was far below his 2002 and 2003 totals), while Manny is hitting better in 2008 than he did last year. We won't really know until November, but yesterday's desperation move may be the dumbest thing the Sox have done in a long time.

So happy trails, Manny. We'll always have 2004 and 2007, the power combo with Big Papi, the high five on the Millar catch in May, the game winning single in 2006, the walk-off homer from the second game of the 2007 ALDS...on and on and on. Eight years of memories, some fun, some wacky, some glorious, some all three...we'll look back on them and forget the bad times like they never happened. Good luck in LA.

Game 104: The Camel's Back

Final Score: Boston Red Sox 0, New York Yankees 1

That's it. We're done. Stick a fork in us; we're sick of this crap: losing close games, bitching about the bullpen, bitching about the offense, close games ending on a strikeout looking or a double play or whatever crap our team decides to throw up that night. We're tired of having games be seasons, of having a freak out over every loss and a far too self congratulatory win. We're tired of Manny's knees, Papi's wrists, Youkilis' theatrics (that's a lie: we're never tired of Youkilis' theatrics), Varitek's terrible slump, Beckett's 9 and 7 record that's a couple lucky breaks away from being 14 and 2, Wakefield's lack of run support (now in its sixth year!), and all of the other grief that comes with the "diehard Red Sox fan" label. And we're sick of having twenty regular readers after four plus years of writing this blog.

But these are just excuses. The love is still there; the desire burns fresh in our souls like Fenway franks on a grill (they boil those franks, don't they?) on Lansdowne street. To be brutally honest: there's so much we're glossing over because we're dissecting Buchholz's poor location and Ellsbury's wild swings. So here's what we're going to do: we're not quitting, so you can untie that noose and get down off that chair: your lifeline is still here. Instead, we'll be recapping series, not games. We'll be writing posts on things like Pedroia's height, random stupid statistics, and newsworthy dramatic garbage. We're gonna have fun, god dammit. So you'll be seeing a new format round here, and we think you're going to enjoy it. In fact, to quote Robin's impression of Terry Francona: "he's a good kid. You're gonna like him. As a matter of fact, he's a good person. I like to have him on my team, I like to have him in the clubhouse, and that's somethin' special. That's not somethin' you see every day."

So here comes the new boss, same as the old boss. Again. But first, we've got a wedding to attend. Eric and Petra, congratulations (about 12 hours early). We love ya, and wish you the best. We'll be back with the new version of fun on Monday. GO SOX!!!

Game 100: Not So Fun in the Sun

Final Score: Boston Red Sox 3, Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim 5

Hey, it's like deja vu all over again! With some variation, we had a staked lead, a meltdown, and - you guessed it - a loss! I guess we should be glad that the starting pitching and the relief pitching handed off the duties of blowing the game this time, and that the offense pulled their all too familiar road trick knocking in a small enough number of runs to try - and fail - to tip the balance between winning and losing. The Sox aren't the Angels, people; their pitching isn't good enough to win an obscene number of one or two run games. It's enough to give you hives, really, or maybe just make you homicidal. I'm sure Robin's drinking himself into a stupor right now just thinking about it.

Let me drop some knowledge on ya: on the road, the Sox have 300 more at bats, but only thirty more hits than they do at home. They're five percent (i.e., 50 points) more likely to get on base at Fenway; nine percent (or 90 points) more likely to hit for power. Boiling things down to my favorite metric, OPS+, the away version of the 2008 Red Sox are 13 percent above the average team, while at home, they jump to 22 percent above average. That's not the sort of difference you want to see at this point in the season, no matter how many home games the Sox have left. I'm not looking forward to these next three games against Seattle.

Game 91: Like These Games Aren’t Long and Aggravating Enough

Final Score: Boston Red Sox 4, New York Yankees 5

Everyone knows Sox/Yanks games go forever. They last about as long as South American Dictatorships plus or minus a rebellion or rival cue. The last thing we need is extra innings. I have places to be (sleep) things to do (sleep) and people to see (sleep).

The Sox managed to get a three runs off Joba (thanks to a 2 RBI single from a red hot Pedroia) and one off the Yank bullpen (that I used to know by heart, but now I have no clue) but that wasn’t enough.

Wake pitched a great game, gave it up to the bullpen and they proceeded to allow the Yankees to tie it up after a Cano triple. Thank you Lopez. Typical, typical, typical. As always Wake pitched well, Sox couldn’t score enough and the bullpen craps the bed. In fact, it took a GREAT play from Pedroia (a would be game hero) to get Cano out a home on a fielders choice to preserve the tie and keep me from freaking out early.

No… the freak out would come much later in the extra frames (AFTER MANNY STRUCK OUT ON 3 PITCHES LOOKING). Papelbon, looking VERY mortal this year, gave up an 0-2 single to Cano, had the runner moved over and then blew it by pitching 100 pitches to the nobody rookie Gardner. The hit up the middle deflected off a diving Lugo and a confused Pedroia.

Run scores, game over, I lose my cool. Insert closest roommate (happened to be DC) and I yell at him for no reason. Maybe it’s the fact that the Sox are in second and slipping, maybe it was the white wine (I know, high class right?) or maybe it’s because I couldn’t yell at Papelbon… but sorry DC… you deserve better.

At least you deserve closer that can punch out a wet behind the ears 3-for-forever rookie that will get a ticker tape parade by the over reacting Yankee fans.
See… these games bring out the worst in me.

Game 47: Entering Into History

Final Score: Boston Red Sox 7, Kansas City Royals 0

For my bachelor party almost two years ago, my friends brought me up to Cooperstown, NY, to the Baseball Hall of Fame. A couple of things come instantly to mind from that trip: the exhibit on Manny Ramirez's uniform and how he wears it at the largest size allowed by regulations to give him better freedom of movement when he hits; Robin finding Joe Morgan's picture and flipping it off in tribute to all of Morgan's "skills" as a broadcaster; seeing the championship ring display, finding the one from 2004 and reliving the good times all over again. But the section I always think of first, the place that really brings everything that the Hall of Fame is about home to me is the wall of no hitter and perfect game balls, each with the date, the score of the game, and the picture of the man on whom fortune smiled to deliver a night of truly devastating pitching. Pedro's up there, and Derek Lowe; Hideo Nomo back when he was good, A.J. Burnett when he was a Marlin and David Wells when he was a Yankee. Nolan Ryan has seven - more than anyone else - and now, after tonight, the Sox have 18 - or 26, if you believe ESPN - which seems to be more than anyone else [Edit: now that I'm awake, I've realized that 26 is for Boston teams as a whole, going back to the 1870s. Robin's got it right: the Sox have 18, the Dodgers have 20].

Many love baseball for the excitement of the big hit, the powerful smash over the wall, the crooked number inning with runners pilling across the plate so quickly you'd think the bases were on fire. I do not deny these moments their
ability to move us fans into transports of delight, but what I love most about baseball is the pitching: the strategy of pitch selection, the psychology of the guessing game between batter, pitcher, and catcher, the tension of a duel between the man on the mound and the man at the plate. The addition of the no hitter possibility makes these pitching moments that much more precious, adding in the dimension of necessarily superb defense, of a team uniting behind its pitcher to guarantee a moment in history.

Tonight's game had all of these rarefied elements, combined together into one noble gas that burned with a stark beauty upon the cold earth of the baseball field. At the plate, Manny battled Luke Hochevar with the bases loaded and home run number 499 looming large, fouling off pitch after pitch before settling for a walk, while every starter but Lugo found a way to get on base. In the field Jacoby Ellsbury saved the day with a second spectacular diving catch in as many days, delivered as effortlessly as his stolen base advance from first to second to third in two plays, channeling Rickey Henderson all the way. And astride the mound, befitting his stature as the star of the game, stood Jon Lester like a giant, flinging away the doubts about his abilities - doubts for which I now humbly apologize - and delivering strikeouts by the handful. It was one hell of a way to make an entrance into history.

Game 154: The Heroes Return

Final Score: Boston Red Sox 8, Tampa Bay Devil Rays 1

Robin called me earlier this evening, and made a deal with me - a win/win bargain with the Devil, if you will. "If the Sox win tonight," he said, "you write the post. If they lose, I'll take it, and you'll be reading the gibberings of a madman tomorrow morning." If the outcome of tonight's lopsided contest had been different, I can't say I would have blamed him for his choice. But the baseball gods had other plans; plans I might have tuned into from the beginning had I noticed that the Red Sox (90 and 63) and the Devil Rays (63 and 90) had polar opposite records as the night began.

Enter our heroes. David Ortiz, mighty slugger, bereft of his fellow sultan of swat but struggling mightily against the vicissitudes of New York and Toronto. Coming into tonight, he is one for his last fourteen with three walks and seven strikeouts. He's popped out against Rivera to end a tough game at home, then done virtually nothing against the surprisingly resilient Canadians. He's hungry for some good hitting.

Josh Beckett, prodigal son, ace of the staff, heir apparent to Curt Schilling's mantle. In his short career, he's come closer and closer to the vaunted - if meaningless - twenty win mark, sniffing the milestone in last year's wretched campaign but falling short at sixteen wins. A winner in his last three outings coming into tonight, he has not given up more than four runs since July, dipping under six strikeouts a game only once. He has become the pitcher the Red Sox traded for in 2005, and he's ready to halt the skid.

Together, supported by the odd cast of characters that now makes up the dysfunctional lineup the Sox send to the field every evening, they don't just beat the Rays. They outlast once and future nemesis Scott Kazmir and massacre the rest. Bullpen pitchers fall like ears of corn before the might of Sox bats, as Papi adds home run number thirty-two to his collection, joining Varitek and Lowell in the jack-fueled onslaught. Beckett throws 113 pitches over six innings, gives up four hits and two walks but strikes out eight, while his relief stays perfect over three innings and four pitchers to get him the vaunted twentieth win. Even better: a perfect storm, as those same deadly Torontonians beat New York in extra innings and extend Boston's AL East lead. Hope dawns again in the hearts and minds of Red Sox Nation, and all can go to their rest excited for the morrow.

Game 152: Pitching His Way Off the Post-Season Roster

Final Score: Boston Red Sox 3, Toronto Blue Jays 4

Words do not describe my level of rage right now. It's ridiculous, over-the-top two-thousand-frickin-four levels of pure, seething, burst your eyeballs, make the vein in your temple throb anger and disgust at the stupid, stupid stupid ending of that game. I've given Eric Gag Me a first chance. And a second one. I've dealt with his melt downs and moved on; I've accepted his explanations about tipped pitches and looked forward to a time when he could be as reliable as any other member of the Red Scare this year. But I'm done. With an AL East lead slipping away like water through our porous palms, with every possible win another struggled step closer to whittling that magic number down to nothing, this travesty of pitching cannot go on. Put Gag Me out on the mound if you must, Tito, but don't let him go out there without backup ready and waiting in the wings, so that when he gets two outs and his control starts to slip and a 2 to 1 lead disappears like so much sand in the wind, you can pull him before he gives up the winning run again.

Then again, I might not be bitching right now if the Sox had a lineup that wasn't one-third utility player and one-third tape and glue. A lineup that could score some runs when the opportunity arose, as it did more than the three runs scored might suggest. I had a metaphor ready for you all, about how the Red Sox are like the Scottish army at Bannockburn at the end of Braveheart (without the kilts and with a few more million dollars on hand): with fading hope, with few weapons, but still fighting like warrior poets (whatever that means). Manny would be our William Wallace, Youkilis would be Hamish...it was going to be great, especially after Tek knocked in the tying run in the fourth and Papi the go-ahead run in the fifth.

Instead, I taste the dregs of the bitter cup, contemplate how that win against New York on Saturday grows daily in importance, and dream of tomorrow, when Boston faces Jesse Litsch, who's gifted 8 runs on 16 hits over the course of two appearances against the Sox, for the finale. I'm begging you guys: score so many runs that it won't matter who we have on the mound. Do it for the sake of the veins in temples. Do it for the sake of Robin's liver. Just win the damn game.

Game 146: Red Sox as Tragedy

Final Score: Boston Red Sox 16, Tampa Bay Devil Rays 10

After Pedroia hit the home run that finally tied the game in the sixth inning, I called up Robin, who was busy dominating a trivia night at a bar, and compared this game to a Greek tragedy, a comparison stemming from the progression of stages in the classic tragic form, proceeding from the Aristotelian mistake (starting a seemingly ailing Wakefield, Wakefield's lifeless knuckleball, etc.) to the dramatic change in fortune (the comeback). Then we left the canon a bit for the glorious surmounting of all difficulties (Pedroia's homer; Youkilis's go-ahead triple) and resultant victory, but by that point it was clear to all we were witnessing sport as theater - and it was damn good.

The first stage was full of enough hubris to give income to whole host of book-writing, finger-wagging moralists, who would be happy to trot out all kinds of clichés about egg counting and chicken hatching. However, to expect any less of Wakefield would be inexcusable; the man dominates that team with a vengeance. True, he's more likely to hold them hitless in the Trop than at Fenway (which makes me wonder what his career would have been like had he been a Devil Ray), but the safe money was on a close game between the reliable Wakefield and Rays starter Sonnanstine, who had an ERA of around 1.50 in his last three starts.

Of course, safe money was wrong money tonight and as the full extent of the damage unfolded, I will confess to more than a little frustration at the situation. Scott Kazmir is one thing, but losing to the worst team in baseball two nights in a row at home is a disgrace for any team with playoff pretensions. Ellsbury's home run in the third shone a small ray of hope and made Sonnanstine a more human target, but the Rays quickly extinguished that hope by doubling their score in the top of the next inning. Hopelessness settled in and settling for another loss seemed likely.

The transition to the second stage, the change in fortune, came slowly, as the Red Sox slowly drove the Rays' starter to the showers by singling him to death. Four runs score and the light of hope flickers. Tampa Bay answers with another run in the fifth, but Boston comes roaring back with another four in the bottom of the inning and pulls the seemingly insurmountable lead down to one run. There's momentum now and with four innings to go, the truth is inescapable: the Red Sox are going to win this game, no matter how many times Rays manager Joe Maddon stumps out to the mound, looking like he wished he'd never heard of baseball, to switch relievers in an effort to put out the fire.

Boston can't get it done in the fifth, but Dustin Pedroia takes the third pitch he sees in the sixth and hammers it into the Monster Seats to tie things up. Single, single and a walk follow and with do-or-die on the line, Youkilis comes through, just like we knew he would, and drives a ball to the left of the triangle for a bases-clearing triple. Boston's finally back in the driver's seat, avenging the dearth of runs last night and the humiliation of tonight's early setbacks by piling on sixteen runs in five straight innings. They pulled off one hell of a win tonight and left no doubt as to how these games should end.

Game 136: A Moment of History

Final Score: Boston Red Sox 10, Baltimore Orioles 0

Robin wanted me to let you know that he made Clay Buchholz's no hitter happen. He called me last night in a state of high excitement and insisted that I let all of you know that his sacrifice meant that Clay could become the first Red Sox rookie in the history of some truly great Red Sox rookie pitchers to throw a no hitter. Sacrifice, you say? Yes, truly a Devil's bargain: Robin moved to Boston during the day, turned on the TV in the seventh, saw that Clay was knee-deep in a column of zeros and then made a willful decision to turn the TV off, to ignore the reams of voicemails and text messages spewing into his phone from excited family and friends looking to point out the possibility of a no-no and get on with it until the game was safely in the bag, with a ball on the way to that rack of no hitters in the Hall of Fame. He keep the jinx away and we salute him.

Ironically enough, after Clay hit Nick Markakis with a pitch in the first, my first thought was, "well, there goes the perfect game," a (admittedly weak) joke my friend Alan and I used to make whenever a pitcher didn't have a 1-2-3 first inning. Then Boston scored their first run in the bottom of the second when Coco FC'd Youkilis in from third and I had the odd fantasy that I always do whenever Boston goes up 1 - 0: what if Clay (and maybe a couple of relievers - let's not get greedy here) pitched a complete game, fraught with the tension of the close score and maybe a runner or two in scoring position. What can I say: I love the stomach-twisting anxiety of a pitcher's duel.

A couple of hours later, I watched Clay sit by himself in the dugout, while the Red Sox tacked on two more needless runs in the bottom of the eighth. The string of zeros had continued for much longer than any pitcher has the right to expect, Dustin Pedroia had made the incredible diving stop to keep the sliding Tejada from taking first in the top of the seventh and Clay was contemplating the field and the final three outs he had to make to enter history. He looked like he had swallowed a snake. I'd like to say that Clay's anxiety struck a chord with me and that I knew he'd get the job done so effectively that the last batter of the game would go down looking, but all I could think of was how human he looked just then and how wonderfully that contrasted with the machine he'd been on the mound. Who knows? Not to jinx anything, but one day we could all look back on this game the way we look at the two 20 strikeout games Clemens threw in 1986. And that would be very, very cool.

Game 125: Chairman of the Board

Final Score: Boston Red Sox 6, Tampa Bay Devil Rays 0

Remember when Scott Kazmir owned the Sox? Yeah, that sucked. Was it already (over) a year ago that Kazmir's final 0wn4g3 of Old Towne Team took place? How time flies...just like the ball off the Boston bats tonight. High-O!

Wakefield came into tonight's game with an 8 and 0 record with a 2.33 ERA in 18 games at Tropicana Field; an 18 and 2 record with a 2.83 ERA in 33 games overall against the Devil Rays. He is, as per Robin's witty quip from a conversation this afternoon, a shareholder in the Tampa Bay front office. He comes to the town, Red Sox in tow, and demands the respect accorded to the chairman of the mutha-frickin' board. Who cares if Doug "Chicken Parm" Mirabelli, the only catcher alive who has a hope of wraslin' the bounding puppy we casually refer to as a knuckleball to the ground in good order is nursing a messed up leg and can't play? It matters not that secondary option Kevin Cash is a fall guy in place to keep the Captain from looking ridiculous chasing bounders back to the backstop; Wake's here, he's ownin' some Ray ass, get used to it.

It didn't hurt that the Sox offense sweetened the deal by winning the game before The Chairman even took the mound: single, walk, two-run double by Lowell to score Pedroia and Youkilis took the lead in hand right from the get go, setting the stage for seven innings of Wake dominance where Tampa Bay managed to a runner to third once, but no further. Kevin Cash even managed to catch the ball when it really mattered, turning a possible Achilles heel into an afterthought in the path of victory. Now's the time to pave that path with some more Rays losses and turn this first win into a steamroller streak.

Game 117: I Am Sorely Disappointed

Final Score: Boston Red Sox 3, Baltimore Orioles 6

Deep breath.

Count to ten.

Put down that chair; neither it nor the wall you're about to break it on ever did anything to you.

Ok, I'm pretty sure I can type rationally now. I've accepted that Eric Gagne has proven once and for all that he can't come into a game with less than a five run lead to protect. Because now we all know Francona won't go to him in situations where there's even the possibility of a blown save - he'll put someone off the bench on the mound first. If he's lucky, Gagne will have the opportunity to earn the trust he brought with him back bit by bit through some sort of cleanup program. If he's not...well, there's always designation for assignment. To the fifth circle of hell.

Watching Gagne's second game-losing meltdown in three days brought to mind another pitcher who came to Boston with high hopes in the spring of 2006, one Rudy Seanez by name. You might remember Rudy from such tragi-comedy works as "I Put the Game Out of Reach" (staring the Detroit Tigers), "I Nearly Lost the Game for Us" (with Atlanta's Jeff Francoeur) and "Yes, I Just Walked the Winning Run." Or, if you're like me, you blocked out Seanez's second coming to Boston
just as hard core as you did the first time he wore the red stirrups. Except now Gagne's pulling the exact same stunts in the exact same role and I'm starting to get PTSD flashbacks.

Let's wind up this little Gagne hate fest with Robin's theory, which he imparted to me to share with you, dear reader, after he called me up in a blind rage this afternoon. In his opinion, the Yankees actually did win the Eric Gagne bidding sweepstakes, but somehow bought Gagne's silence in the process. Much like Ramiro Mendoza, Gagne's actually an embedded Yankee, determined to bring the Sox down enough for New York to win the AL East. So far, I'd say he's succeeding.

Like A Swallow Returning to Capistrano… Only Without Birds

You may (or you may not) have noticed a slight change to the banner on this site. I must confess that it’s all my fault. For too long have I suffered behind enemy lines, gutting out Red Sox commentary in the trenches of Brooklyn surrounded by pinstriped enemies. I needed a respite, a return to my native land and a chance to recharge my batteries in friendly confines. Doing so, I leave Eric behind to fight the Yankee masses with his keen intellect, jaw dropping wit and oblivious straightforwardness while I hone my craft of debauchery and putdowns back in Boston.

Besides the small residence change, this site will remain mostly the same except I may have a chance to report right from Fenway with some frequency… if I can scrounge up some tickets. Anyway, if you want inside scoops and snide comments, you are gonna be talking to me. If you want an outsider’s opinion with facts, figures and the NY spin… check with Eric. Ahhhh who am I kidding? We aren’t reinventing the wheel here. The fact that I’m moving to Boston only really affects the title of this thing… and we already fixed that didn’t we?

“Here comes the new boss. Same as the old boss.”

Keep those Sox on… wherever you are.