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

Wednesday, May 20, 2009

Lovefest for Wakefield

(Photo from Boston.com)

Awww, there's a smile. Who's our cream puff? We love ya, Timmy, you know we do. You do know that, right? Despite the whole "trading away of your personal catcher, no, wait, he's back, actually we think we'll just let him retire and become a realtor in Michigan" thing, right? Doesn't mean we love you any less.

You're Mr. Reliable. Mr. Steady-As-She-Goes. Mr. Dependable. You're Tim Wakefield, practically a synonym for steadfast stoicism in this town. That young fellow George seems to be taking to you rather well too, I'd say. Not that there's anyone around these parts who wouldn't personally strap on the tools of ignorance to give it a go should you need a personal catcher in his stead. And this is even after witnessing what trying to harness the knuckleball can do to the likes of 'Tek during 2004's ALCS Game Five, colloquially known as the never ending passed ball-a-thon. But we love you, Wake, so for you, we'd happily chase errant knuckleballs all over the infield.

Why the lovefest, you may ask? Could be last night's masterful eight innings against the division leading (?) Blue Jays. Save one Kevin Millar home run (and you can hardly fault the guy, he does know you well), it was a virtuoso performance. Could just be that it finally, finally, finally feels like springtime and I was able to watch the game with all the windows in my apartment wide open. Could be that with the Celtics and Bruins eliminated from contention, the Red Sox are back to being the only show in town and, same as it ever was, we've got Timmy Wake to count on. Whatever it is, consider this era of good feelings out in full force.

Bradley Wayne Penny? You are obliged to keep it going, sir.