"Hell may have no fury like a woman scorned but heaven hath no sweetness like a sports fan vindicated." - Samcat

Tuesday, October 04, 2005

Deep Breath

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(A visual representation of the Sox in Game 1)


That was unpleasant. To the point of being downright funny by about the 6th inning. Thank god for beer.

The green shoe mojo didn't work. The Octoberfest mojo didn't work. The Dave Roberts T-shirt mojo didn't work (didn't help Dave Roberts either). But the thing is, no amount of mojo works if the team doesn't feel like executing and our starting pitcher mistakenly thinks he's still pitching BP.

I'd like to think that between innings, Tek took Matty aside and said, "Listen, buddy, you keep this shit up and I am going to let Millar and Wells give you those atomic wedgies they've been wanting to give you. I'm going to let them put Ben-Gay in your jockstrap. They're going to stuff you in the overhead compartment on the flight back to Boston and I AM NOT GOING TO STOP THEM!" Knowing that would make me feel marginally better. But only marginally.

While we're on the subject, I would also like to request something special from my brother for what was essentially Tek's bunt double. Because that's some special shit.

Wells needs to step up tomorrow. That's all there is to it. He needs to be the postseason pitcher he's been so many times in the past when I personally wanted to beat his skull in with a Louisville Slugger. Which I will do if he sucks it up tomorrow. Come on, Fat Man, I ain't got time for messin' around.

And now I need to turn off the TV and the computer and back slowly away as I just found myself agreeing with something Tim McCarver said. Granted, it was the assessment that Rocky V (Chone Figgins' favorite movie because Fox assumes everyone watching it's broadcast is functionally retarded and therefore, cares about that shit), is the worst of the Rocky movies. This is known fact. But still, you don't want to find yourself agreeing with Tim McCarver. From there, it's just a short bus jaunt to the nuthouse with the high-waisted pants and the socks and sandals. Sigh.

Tomorrow, boys. Tomorrow.