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

Wednesday, October 03, 2007

Josh Beckett would like you to know that those 20 games were no fluke.

(Photo from Boston.com)

Does anyone else keep hoping that Doug Mirabelli or Bobby Kielty or some other smartass on the Sox will walk up to John Lackey and say, "We are the Knights who say Ni!" Does he not look like a Monty Python character? I think he does. Fortunately for the Sox, he also pitched like one. Assuming British comedians aren't good at baseball? I don't know. Cut me some slack, I'm marinating in Octoberfest.

Also, Josh Beckett, I'd like to apologize for calling you hungover and bloated earlier. Not that it wasn't true because, dude, seriously, look at that picture, but you done well this evening. That is how we sack up for the postseason, sir. That is an excellent precedent to set. Here's hoping the rest of your teammates follow suit. But for tonight, go drown yourself in Jaeger bombs and sorority girls. You deserve it. Just please make sure Paps keeps his pants on. Tito is getting really tired of those 2am phone calls.

That was, without a doubt, the most mellow, least stressful playoff game I've ever witnessed. Even including 2005 when I was pretty sure things against the White Sox weren't going to end well. It was just like, "Yeah, okay, Beckett's on. We're cruising." Which is not to say I was overconfident. That doesn't happen because I am all to familiar with how quickly everything can fall to shit and the wheels can come flying off. But it didn't happen tonight because Beckett wasn't about to let it. Jerry Remy just said it best, "It's an easy game to recap. 'Josh Beckett was great and they hit a couple of home runs. The end.'" Indeed, RemDawg, or should I say, "Mr. President."

You know, Tom Caron just made the point that Youkilis's first-inning home run was his first major league postseason hit. To which I say..."really?" I certainly remember the enduring image of Youks in his grey hoodie leaping out of the dugout at Yankee Stadium in 2004 but I guess it never occurred to me that he wasn't really a big part of that run in the postseason. Which, insane, right? Because I kind of feel like Youks has always been here in some sense. And then I remembered, before Youks, we had Millar and his ridiculous tonsorial transgressions manning first. It all makes sense now.

Also, you know you might watch too much baseball when, in the postgame press conferences, you say things like, "Beckett wore that damn shirt three weeks ago" and you recognize the voices of the different reporters. These are print reporters, mind you, and you're recognizing their voices. At what point does one seek help?

I also voiced to the assembled masses this evening how fond I've become of John Farrell. He just seems like such a nice man who somehow, against all odds, has managed to remain relatively normal and balanced when surrounded by the complete insanity of this team and this pitching staff. Sure, he doesn't have to coach Manny and his pet unicorns on a daily basis but he does have to deal with Beckett's harem, Timlin's deer carcasses, the fact that two of his most important pitchers don't speak English, and, you know, Julian Tavarez. And yet he hasn't gone insane and gone on a three state killing spree with Tim Wakefield riding shotgun. That we know of. I just really think that says something about the man's character.

So we roll on. We roll on to watch the Indians take on the Yankees tomorrow and hope that Trotter remembers his vengeance and fury and ratchets it up for the postseason. And we keep the good times going here in Boston. We keep rolling along.