A visual representation of the Red Sox after this past weekend.
I’m not sure what else there is to say. You’ve read all about it. You know what went down. You’re probably still sifting through the carnage. I think everyone in my office is giving me a wide berth because they assume I’ll flip out and commit hari kari with a stapler remover. (At least, I assume that’s why since I KNOW I showered this morning). But really, I’m not going to. I’m kind of preternaturally calm. Very Zen. Very “what can you do? ::shrug:: Perhaps that’s why everyone seems to be observing me warily. Maybe they don’t trust it. They don’t believe that I can really be this un-rattled by a five game sweep at the hands of the Yankees. And frankly, I’m not sure what’s going on here either. This is very unlike me. Someone must have put Valium in my yogurt.
I worry about the eventual fallout too. I worry about Manny’s hamstring and Papelbon’s sudden fallibility. I worry about Trot’s future and Hansen’s attitude problem and the fact that our best pitcher lately has been Julian Tavarez. I worry that, for the second time in five years, this team has proven that no matter what else happens, it cannot survive the loss of Jason Varitek. And yes, I worry about our playoff hopes but right now, I just worry about making it through the next series without anyone actually dying. And for my liver. I worry about that too.
So we roll on. We do what we can. We make jokes about Timlin having a hunting “accident” with his crossbow or someone “accidentally” making Dougie’s chicken parm subs with low-carb bread. Because it’s all we know how to do.
See you in Anaheim.