One game left: Super Job!!!

A good day, and the last regular season game with any significance at all, thanks in part to J.D. Drew doing my initials proud with a blast of...power? Does that make...five, tools? (Stay tuned. Hell yes I want more!!!!!![?!?!])

So yeah, it's official. The possible ALCS matchup you probably don't really crave, Sox v. Injuns, would include four games in Boston. Best record in The league. And the leagues. Gold stars and scratch n' sniff stickers all around.

I'll take the time later to describe the greatest pitching performance I've ever seen live (and yeah, I saw me some Pedro) because a thing of beauty is a joy forever. My man John Keats said that. John Keats yo.

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.

GAME THIRTY THREE: Celebrando.

So that's a cool diagram of how a knuckleball works.



That's the weird way it looks as the former minor league infielder throws it; lately, no one can hit the damn thing. (Three hits last night, no threats at all after the 1st inning, AL best ERA.)



That's the 1992 Rookie of the Year's rookie card. Feeling good about that waive, Pittsburgh?



That's how the Blue Jays are feeling right now. Don't cry, Sal Fasano. Your mustache is reason enough to live, for people who aren't even you.



That's the hottest hitter on the Red Sox (three straight games with a HR...I still believe in J.D. Drew, but I think it might be time to bat Lowell 5th, yo) and one reason why the Josh Beckett trade is working out after all.



Actually, the Red Sox may be doing even more Awesome than this picture. Consider the team ERA, the fact that this lineup could still click even better than this. (This is true even after a series in which we scored 26 runs including a game in which we lit up gunslinger [Roy] Doc Halliday.) We've played 7 games more on the road than at home. 7. Remember that number.



That's our lead in the AL East. We ain't halfway through May, people, and I'm already considering putting up our magic number.



That's how I'm feeling. Azucar!