Yeah alright, I'm a little...nervous isn't the word. Tired, maybe, since I'd rather be focusing on the amazingly entertaining mediocrity of that AAAA league we call the National League (the Rockies haven't lost since September 15th!) then semi-sweating the last three games. Sure, Joe Torre showed some nice signs of not giving a fuck last night (your closer for the night: Jose Veras...and Joba's pitching the 8th instead of the 9th in that configuration...why?), but teams can stumble into victory, especially when the competition is the Tampa Bay Rays nee Devil Rays.
(Incidentally, Paul Lukas' Uni Watch is right: Tampa's new, no longer devilish look is borrrring. At least a crazy minor league look would be entertaining...and appropriate considering the franchise history.)
It's a different scenario thanks to the playoff system and the fact that, really, the Sox can't blow what matters: we're in. But the difference between facing the wounded Angels and trying to negotiate the tilted-cap Scylla and young Charybdis is...significant. And boy oh boy do the Sox have a recent history of collapse.
A little funk to pep you up for tonight, which will hopefully be at least half-magical. We are standing on the verge of getting it on, my people. Hold on.
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