Thursday, September 27, 2007
Four games left: The Love Movement.
Fun fun game last night. The offense came alive, thanks in large part to another big game by Manny "Christmas In September" Ramirez's big game, and Dustin Pedroia and Mike Lowell, one coming out of a slump, the other becoming the drug-free Butch Hobson in tying his record for RBI by a third baseman.
So I'm in love. I know I won't feel this way later, and I'm not fully comfortable with our #2 and #3 starters (Schill and Monster Zero) (Oh, has any announcer pronounced Dai-SU-ke's right this year? Maybe that SportsCenter guy who loves pronouncing Spanish names properly?) (How many parenthetical statements can I make in a row? About three.) in the playoffs. But a healthy lineup that can bash like this every now and then, an Okey-dokey bullpen in spite of the the queasy bespectacled mad Canuck's struggles and, yes, the SI curse (excellent article, by the way; really explains why the hop in Pap's fastball makes him so unhittable), and enough starting pitching makes me feel infatuated with our chances again. These are good times and a true delight to watch.
Scott Kasmir and Josh Beckett willing, tonight might be the night we party like it's 1995, one of the years the title of this blog pays tribute to, and the first year I saw the Sox in the playoffs in my real first days of true baseball fandom. Beware, Anaheim Angels of Los Angeles. Beware.