This is a work in progress. I’m working because I was listening to the Red Sox game in Anaheim and with a lot of nasty behavior that is all too familiar to New Englanders, the Sox gave up four runs in the ninth to tie the game. Someone I’ve never heard of loaded the bases for Albert Puhols and then a bloop, a hit, and someone I’ve never heard of threw an easy out into right field allowing the tying run to score.
So now I’m awake. It’s invitable that the Angels win now. Yes, there’s three up, three down, then a speedy Angel hits one on the screws into left field. Joe Castiglione is sounding like his lunch money was stolen. You can always count on the tone of voice, greek chorus effect from Joe. But wait. The next Angel can’t execute the bunt, strikes out, and then they pick off the speedy guy. Joe is positively ebulliant. Seven-seven in the tenth.
Someone named Breslow ( truly a science fiction name) is pitching for the Sox. Oops, a bullet is hit off of Breslow’s back and into center field. OK, can of corn, someone named Gomes actually catches it. Only a New Englander, someone who felt the architecture of Boston sag in 1978 when Yaz popped out to the hated Greg Nettles (the man who effectively ended Spaceman’s career), someonewho actually began to celebrate in 1986, personally causing the Bob Stanley Sox to give up four in the ninth to people named Mookie, can truly understand the physic acid reflux of caring for the laundry that is the Boston Red Sox.
Needless to say, the 11th went three up, three down for the Sox, making it even later and more painful when the Angels inevitably win. This will effect the entire next day, of course. So, the ridiculous error by the person I’ve barely heard of, just up from Pawtucket, becomes Biblical. There is always a reason why someone is in Pawtucket to begin with.
And there it is, a two run homer for Josh Hamilton and I can now go to bed to remain awake thinking about the bitter pill I’ve just been handed. It’s really beautiful in a hammering your finger kind of way. Not being able to sleep, I check the news. People have died in a SF plane crash. Such a luxury that my invited miasma always has a tomorrow.