Have you been watching the Red Sox the past few days? If you're planning on having a heart attack don't visit Boston. I hear the hospitals are already full and the bill has been shipped to John Henry. The Boston Globe reports that he's having Theo work it into the 2005 salary numbers.
The last two games have been perhaps the most thrilling baseball games that I have had the privilege to witness. Of course, my heart has stopped beating so they may also be the last games that I ever see.
Two games. 25 innings. Over 10 hours! Game 5, clocking in at 5:49, was the longest game in baseball's postseason history. It was uncanny watching game 5, because it was practically a mirror image of game 4. The Yankees take a 4-3 lead. The Red Sox make a move in the late innings to tie it. They have a perfect chance to win and blow it. Ortiz proves he's perhaps the clutchest hitter in the league right now.
But you know what? I'm sick of these "We still believe" signs. I, for one, will be honest. I do not believe. The only thing that I believe in is the fact that this team will break your heart once more. In my mind they are only prolonging the suffering by taking the Yankees deep in this series. They're just toying with the good folks of Boston; setting them up for more emotional injury.
Let's face it, losing in 6 games is harder to take then losing in 5. Why? Because they've given you new hope and then they dash it. Losing in 7 obviously is worse then losing in 6. Frankly, what could be worse? The only thing I can think of is having to watch Mr. "Who's Your Manny?" at the plate for another crucial at bat, with that look on his face like its batting practice.
Hey, Manny! These games count, you know!
But then there's Ortiz, who now owns Boston fans to greater extent than any New England athlete since Larry Legend. Big Papi! I knew it was only a matter of time before the Sox fans would come up with something clever to counter their counterparts' "Who's - your - dad - dy? - clap - clap - clap clap clap" chants. For an Ortiz at bat we got "Who's your Papi?" Of course, there were others, like the "Who's your dealer?" chants for Sheffield, referencing those Balco suspicions. I was waiting to hear the "Je - ter - has - AIDS - clap - clap - clap clap clap" chant, but I guess they leave that one just for the t-shirts (I swear I'm not making this up).
So now the Red Sox season rests on the ankle of Curt Schilling. Why don't I have that warm, fuzzy feeling?
3 comments:
Unfortunately, I go far back enough to remember the 86 World Series. My Arizona relatives think I'm crazy, all jumping up and down, screaming "Why did I have to be born in Boston?!"
I did realize last night that I am perhaps more focused when watching the Red Sox, than in watching or doing anything else, period. Focus!
Plus, the Yankees probably want to win in New York. But, you never know.
One down; one more to go. Believe me, I'm not getting my hopes up. At least you can say that they made it into the history books as the first team to come back from a 0-3 and force a game seven.
I'll be tuning in tonight.
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