(Photo from Boston.com)
Sure, okay, great. We’ll play another one. I mean, at this point, I really should be thinking that any extra baseball is gravy since I absolutely did not expect the Sox to take both games in Los Angeles. Or Anaheim. Or whatever. So I should just be happy with everything. But now they’ve gone and got me caring. Got me invested. Given me Playoff Stomach. You know what that feels like. Playoff Stomach is when you’re in extras and the bases are loaded and you develop a sudden blinding, white hatred for Francisco Rodriguez and his ridiculous follow-through and you are willing Jed Lowrie to get a hit, just a little hit, and you might’ve yelled at the TV “Your legend begins now, Jedders!” and you feel a little nauseous and your fingers start tingling and you’re so full of adrenaline than when Lowrie doesn’t get the hit and strands the runners, you know you won’t go to bed despite the fact that you’ve been threatening to do so for an hour because don’t these people understand that you have to work tomorrow?
That’s Playoff Stomach. And it’s back.
Oh, also, can someone please follow Mike Lowell around with a La-Z-Boy? He just looks like he’s in some severe pain and while I admire his whole teeth-gritting, grinding it out mentality and the fact that he’s playing at all, it makes me wince every time he dives for a ball and has to haul himself off the basepath or when he swings and misses. Take care, Mikey, Boston needs you.
So…see you tonight?