Can’t Fault Him For Trying

(photo from Boston.com)

I just really, really like that picture.

Some notes on last night’s game:

When Keith Foulke is shown warming up in the bullpen and my roommate who, before living with me, was a bit of a baseball novice SCREAMS IN ANGUISH, that does not bode well.

You can tell rookies are still rookies when they listen to my entreaties to just “induce a goddamn double play already, I have to freakin’ pack and at this rate I’m going to end up in Baltimore wearing unwashed bedsheets!”

Further evidence that the end times are upon us happened when Kevin Youkilis stole second (safely) in the 9th inning. The following conversation took place between Marianne and me:

Me: Youkilis is stealing bases. We are all gonna die.

Marianne: Who? What? WTF?

Me: Exactly. I can see fire and brimstone outside my window.

Marianne: I smell sulfur and blood.

Me: Nice.

Marianne: Are we writing a death metal song or watching baseball?

Me: Some days, I am not sure there is a difference.

And then we find out that Wily Mo is out for 6-8 weeks after having wrist surgery (which is going to leave Coco considerably less time to work on his phat beatz since he’ll be spending his hours roaming the outfield and trying not to collide with Manny), Lowell goes down with a hamstring pull (argh), and for some reason Dougie? Was catching the newbie? Why? And if you tell me it’s because Tek is hurt, I will stick my fingers in my ears and sing loudly to myself and refuse to listen.

And really, didn’t that game kind of feel bigger than it was? Didn’t it sort of seem like, in addition to a big night for the rookie, the Sox were also fighting not to get swept, fighting to stay on pace in the division, fighting to beat Ted Lilly for once in the history of ever? Or did it just seem that way to me because it’s the last Sox game I’ll be able to watch until next Tuesday? When we play the…Yankees? Again? Already? Argh.

Anyway, as I said, I’m off to Baltimore this weekend where I shall cheer on said birds against the pinstriped ones, restrain Marianne from stalking Brian Roberts and do my level best to go to a local Baltimore strip joint with Kevin Millar and reminisce about the good ‘old days when the Sox won the Series.

Hopefully, I’ll have stories to share. But then, with the company I’ll be in, what happens in Baltimore may well stay in Baltimore.

Have a good weekend, everyone. See you Tuesday.

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