Foot on the pedal, never ever false metal.  Engine running hotter than a boiling kettle.  -Beastie Boys

Public Service Announcement:  Ok, here we go!  You can call him Bro Sweets.  You can call him Choo-Choo.  You can call him Dolemite Jenkins.  You can call him whatever you like.  But know this sports fans, you better be calling him the best running back in the National Football League.  Because, that's what he is.

Yesterday at FedEx Field, Clinton Portis gained 175 yards rushing.  Yesterday at FedEx field, Clinton Portis almost single handedly gave the Washington Redskins a 14-11 win over the Cleveland Browns.  Fumble be damned.  It was the fourth consecutive game in which Southeast Jerome rushed for at least 120 yards.  It was the second time in his career that Sheriff Gonnagetcha recorded a four-game streak of that kind.  Big deal you say?  Who cares you say?  I say, there were only two other players with two streaks of four or more games of 120 yards rushing in their careers.  I say there was Jim Brown.  I say there was O.J. Simpson.  I say that's pretty gosh darned good if I do gosh darn say so my own gosh darn self.

Portis is bringing back memories of John Riggins this season.  The 6-2, 230-pound Riggins was not a spectacular running back.  Not a flashy running back.  He was a lunch pail running back.  A classic workhorse ball carrier.  A Clydesdale.  Here comes the king, here comes the big number one.  One of the toughest summamabitches to ever put on cleats.  That my friends is what this Clinton Portis has become.  The later it gets, the more Portis carries the Redskins.  The more he smashes teams in the mouth.  The more he proves he's the best RB in the NFL.

Public Spectacle:

Peace out homies.  Six two and Even!

And now it's time to say goodbye.  Just walk away, try not to cry.  We'll love again before too long.  After the love, after the love has gone.  -Roy Orbison

Public Service Announcement:  Ok, here we go!  This story was not to be.  This time there was no rainbow after the flood.  There was no pillar of salt.  No burning bush.  No joy in Mudville.  Not for the Red Sox.  This time, there was no Johnny Damon grand salami.  No galloping Coco Crisp, crashing into the bullpen fence, holding the American League pennant in his hand.  Not this time.  This time there was only the Tampa Bay Rays.

Late Saturday night, standing in front of his locker,  Evan Longoria said, "Heroes are made in Game Seven."  Last night, that hero was born.  After Dustin Pedroia's shot over the left-field wall and a Big Papi walk, Matt Garza got to work.  In the biggest stage of his life, Matt Garza had the biggest games of his life and got to work by retiring fifteen of the next sixteen Red Sox batters.  That was all she wrote. You know what I mean.  He's gone, and we couldn't do nothing about it.

When all was said and done, Matt Garza threw seven-plus innings of two-hit baseball with nine strikeouts and three walks.  When all was said and done, Matt Garza was hoisting his ALCS MVP trophy high over his head in front of a capacity crowd at Tropicana Field.  When all was said done, it was the new Davids vanquishing the old Davids with a fresh lineup full of new heroes.

There was the Woonsocket Rocket.  There was Rocco Baldelli.  Baldelli, ailing with his mitochondrial disorder made an early running catch down the right-field foul line, then drove in the go-ahead run in the fifth. 

There was David Price.  Price, who has neither won nor saved a regular-season game in his brief career, saved the Rays' 3-1 win in Game Seven of this here ALCS after winning Game Two.  David Price joined Adam Wainwright and Rawly Eastwick as the only rookies to post a win and notch a save in the same postseason series.

There were the Rays young bats.  Fifteen bombs were already an LCS record for one club.  But that wasn't enough.  Don't stop 'till you get enough.  Willy Aybar didn't stop.  He added to that.  Added insult to injury.  He added to that by pouncing on a high fastball, smashing it to left for his second homer of the ALCS.  Northeasern's own Carlos Pena hit three jacks during the ALCS only to be outdone by two rookies.  Wunderkinds BJ Upton and Evan Longoria tied for the home run lead in this series with four dings apiece.  Upton drove in eleven runs, tying David Ortiz's 2004 mark for the most in an LCS.

So, just as the Red Sox were the running gag in times like this for oh too long, the Rays rose from the ashes to shed that label and are now headed to their first World Series. There may be no miracles left for Boston, but Tampa might just yet have some more water to change into wine.  Elvis Costello may know that walking on the water won't make him a miracle man, but don't tell that to the Rays.

Public Acknowledgements:  Dan Shaughnessy, Goodfellas, Michael Jackson and Jim Hickey

Peace out Red Sox.  Six two and even!

Here you come again, just when I'm about to make it work without you.  You waltz right in the door.  Just like you done before.  And wrap my heart 'round your little finger.  -Dolly Parton

Public Service Announcement:  Ok, here we go!  What's crack-a-lacking sports fans?  How about that?  How 'bout them juggernaut Boston Red Sox?  Them sluggernaut Boston Red Sox.  Them punch you in the muggernaut Boston Red Sox.  Jason Varitek will punch you in the mug.  Punched A-Broad in the mug oh so many years ago to get this whole party started right.  Got this party started quickly.  Punched the Tampa Bay Rays in the mug last night to keep this party going.  We don't need no water let the motherfucker burn.  Move over Jim Harbaugh, there's a new sheriff in town and his name ain't Reggie Hammond.

You saw the Captain last night.  Captain Courageous.  Captain Fantastic.  Captain Marvel.  Shazam!  You saw the Captain take Big Game James deep for the winner winner chicken dinner.  You saw the Captain snap an 0-for-14 streak in this here ALCS.  Snappped an 0-for-14 streak to not only put the Sox into yet another Game Seven, but to also put himself into the record books.  That solo jack gives Tek eleven bombs in the postseason.  Big deal you say?  Who cares you say?  I say, that sets the all-time postseason record for catchers.  That puts Tek ahead of Johnny Bench.  Puts Tek ahead of Javy Lopez.  Puts him ahead of everybody.  Yowza!

We've come to expect big things from Varitek.  Of his previous ten bombs during the postseason, three were game-tying shots.  Seven came in the sixth inning or later.  Only two came in blowouts.  Varitek was the epitome of what these new look Red Sox have come to be about.  Big time at bats in big time situations.  Never say die.  We shall fight on the beaches.  We shall fight on the landing grounds.  We shall fight in the fields and in the streets.  We shall fight in the hills.  We shall never surrender!  However, Varitek had only gone yard once since the 2004 ALCS.  He was due.  He did not disappoint.  He made sure his first hit of the series counted for something.  He made sure the Red Sox would not go gently into that good night.  He made sure there would still be some baseball left to play.  So, take your shoes off.  Put your feet up.  And be a Sox watcher.  Tonight!  Win or go home!  Roll Sox, roll!

Public Acknowledgements:  48 Hours, CC & the Music Factory, Rock Master Scott & the Dynamic Three, Rudyard Kipling, Elton John, Billy Batson, Winston Churchill and Dylan Thomas

Peace out Homies.  Six Two and Even

You must not surrender!  We must never surrender!  Keep hope alive.  Keep hope alive! Keep hope alive!  On tomorrow night and beyond, keep hope alive!  -Jesse Jackson

Public Service Announcement:  Ok, here we go!  Wooo doggie!  What a game, what a game.  Like my main man Moonlight Graham always says, "This is my most special place in all the world, Ray.  Once a place touches you like this, the wind never blows so cold again. You feel for it, like it was your child."  That's how I'm feeling right now.  That's how I was feeling back in 2004 when Joe Buck said, "Ortiz fights it off, center field!  Damon running to the plate... and he can keep on running to New York.  Game 6 tomorrow night."  That's how I was feeling last year when your Curly Headed Girlfriend wrote, "Football, basketball, and hockey will have to wait.  Cancel that weekend foliage tour of North Conway and don't lower the storm windows just yet."  And what a feeling it is.

It's hope.  Hope is the feeling we get when what is wanted can be had, or that events will turn out for the best.  Events turned out for the best last night.  Last night, the never say die Boston Red Sox overcame a 7-0 deficit in the seventh inning.  Last night, the punch you in your eye Red Sox beat Tampa Bay in Game 5 of the American League Championship Series.  Last night, the when pigs fly Boston Red Sox became the first MLB team in history to win a postseason game in which it faced elimination and trailed by a margin of six runs or more.   Hoorah!  That's hope. 

David Ortiz is hope.  Papi Grande.  Senor Octubre has been the poster child for hope in so many of these fall contests.  Down.  The paint is peelin'.  Now.  When the chips are down.  Down.  You gotta lose all feelin'.  Now.  Your head goes round n' round.  Senor Octubre crushed a Grant Balfour offering deep into the right field bleachers for a three-run yoke.  And from there on in, you knew how this story would end.  It would end like the Red Sox have been routinely ending do or die situations in recent postseasons.  It ended in do.

The upstart Rays blew their chances to take their first trip to the World Series in franchise history.  The upstart Rays added to the mystique of a ballclub whose mystique just keeps on growing and growing and growing.  The upstart Rays just gave the Boston Red Sox hope.  And you know what the man says.  The man says, "Once you choose hope, anything's possible."  You better listen what the man says.  Roll Sox, roll!

Public Spectacle:

Peace out homies.  Six two and even!

It's something unpredictable, but in the end is right.  I hope you had the time of your life.  -Green Day

Public Service Announcement:  Ok, here we go!  I've been an ardent supporter of Manny.  I truly have.  I've said he's the best right handed hitter I've ever seen.  The best right handed there's ever been.  Bigger than Yitzhak Rabin.  But, like my main man Popeye, I've had all I can stands and I can't stands no more.

Manny Ramirez could have gone down as the most important player in Red Sox history.  The most important player in Red Sox history.  More important than the Splendid Splinter.  More important than Yaz.  More important than anybody.   A World Series MVP will do that.  Two rings will do that.  Two rings in four years with a team that has won bupkus for eighty-six years prior, will do that.  Three or four rings?  Fuhgettaboutit!  But instead, Manny bailed on his team.  Bailed, just when they needed him most.  He complained of a Sonny Liston knee injury and pulled himself out of games.  He shoved aged Red Sox traveling secretary Jack McCormick to the ground.  He lollygagged the ball around the outfield.  He lollygagged his way down to first.  He lollygagged in and out of the dugout.  He lollygagged his way right out of Boston and I'm just sick about it. 

Now, I ain't giving up quite yet, but after watching Tuesday night's shellacking at the hands of the Tampa Bay Rays I've come to my wit's end.  My wit's end!  Manny Ramirez's fifth-inning single Monday, gave him seven hits in eight at-bats with runners in scoring position this postseason.  Only two other players in history have had seven hits over eight postseason at-bats with runners in scoring position.  Meanwhile, the Red Sox are 6-for-34 in those situations against the Rays.  It's a travesty.  It's a travesty of a mockery of a sham of a mockery of a travesty of two mockeries of a sham. 

Manny went 2-for-3 with a walk in Game Five.  He concluded the postseason with a .520 batting average, a .667 on-base percentage, and a slugging average of 1.080. He had 13 hits in 25 at-bats with two doubles, four homers and 11 walks.  Big deal you say?  Who cares you say?  I say, each and every one of those averages is the highest by a player in a single postseason.  Yowza!  Think the Sox could use that bat?  You betcha!  But noooo.  Manny had his mind on his money and his money on his mind.  Are we surprised?  After all, he did leave Cleveland's love for the love of Boston's money.  It's just deja vu all over again.

So has been his prowess this post season.  Manny's .520 batting average is the highest for any of the 1,118 major leaguers who had as many as 25 at-bats in one postseason. He beat Billy Hatcher's old record by one point.  Ramirez's 1.080 slugging average is the highest among the same group of 25-at-bat players, surpassing Carlos Beltran.   Manny's .667 on-base percentage is the highest among any of the 1,352 players who had at least 25 plate appearances in a single postseason, surpassing the Big Hurt.  That's what makes this all so frustrating.  I love Jason Bay as much as the next guy, but, Senator, you're no Manny Ramirez.  Don't believe me?  Just ask Big Papi.  Senor Octubre is mired in the slump of all slumps without Manny's big bopper of a bat proticting him in the line-up.

I understand I am still bitter by the way things went down.  I understand baseball is a business.  I just wish things went down differently.  I just wish Manny were still around to keep the Red Sox in the business of winning. 

Public Spectacle:

Peace out homies.  Six Two and Even!