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
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 #### 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
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!
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.
Don’t give up ‘cos you have friends. Don’t give up, you’re not beaten yet. Don’t give up, I know you can make it good. -Peter Gabriel
Public Service Announcement: Ok, here we go! That one hurt. That one was an attention grabber. That one was a statement maker. Back to back bombs in the first inning will do that to you. Not just any back to back bombs, but Carlos Pena and Evan Longoria now join Hall of Famers Tony Perez and Johnny Bench as the only players to hit back-to-back home runs in the first inning of a League Championship Series. Yowza! That’s saying something. That’s saying a lot.
These young Rays have had a lot to say this series. Nine days after his 23rd birthday, Evan Longoria became the youngest player in major-league history to hit five career home runs in the postseason. Teammate BJ Upton became the 4th youngest to do the same thing. With three bombs in Game two, four in Game four and another three last night, the Rays became the first team ever to hit at least three bombs in each of three consecutive postseason games. Ever. Holy Cow! So as much yipping and yapping I’ve been doing; saying history favors the Sox, these Rays have been making history of their own. Like the second-longest errorless streak for any team during one postseason. Just three games shy of the record set by the Cardinals in 2004. That’s how you win championships. I’m not going all Roberto Duran yet, but the Sox have their work cut out for them.
Just so you know, in major-league history, there have been sixty-six previous instances of teams taking a three-games-to-one lead in a postseason series. Eleven of those teams came back to win the series. Last year it was the beloved Dustin Pedroia who brought the adoring Fenway Faithful to its feet in Game Seven with a seventh-inning two-run jack off Cleveland Indians reliever Rafael Betancourt, who had been magnificent in the regular season and absolutely invincible in the playoffs. During the 2004 ALCS, Bob Ryan wrote, “They are down, 3-0, after last night’s 19-8 rout, and, in this sport, that is an official death sentence. Soon it will be over, and we will spend another dreary winter lamenting this and lamenting that.” That was before Joe Buck said; “Damon hits it in the air to right field. Sheffield back, in the corner, AT THE WALL, A GRAND SLAM! Johnny Damon and the Red Sox have blown it open early!”
I know things look grim Sox Fans, but if anybody can overcome, all the way to a World Series championship, it’s these Boston Red Sox. It all starts with Daisuke Matsuzaka Thursday. He’s delightful, he’s delicious, he’s delectable, he’s delirious, he’s de limit, he’s deluxe, he’s de-lovely, he’s D-Nice although he hates to admit it, he’s taking out you suckers and you don’t know how he did it. Roll Sox, roll!
I’ve been beat up. I’ve been thrown out; but I’m not down. I’m not down. I’ve been shown up; but I’ve grown up. And I’m not down. I’m not down. -Clash
Public Service Announcement: ok, here we go! I know. I know what I said. I said, “There aren’t a lot of sure bets in baseball, but you can bet your bippy Jon Lester at Fenway Park is one of them.” Can you blame me? Taking the loss last night, Jon Lester ended the Red Sox starting pitchers’ nine-game winning streak. Jon Lester ended the fifth-longest winning streak by a team’s starters in postseason history. I was just going with history.
And history is why I’m still not worried. I haven’t heard no fat lady singing yet. This thing is far from over. Nothing is over until we decide it is! Was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor? Hell no! Was it over when the Yankees’ offense erupted in the highest-scoring game in League Championship Series history to take a commanding 3-0 lead back in ‘04? Hell no! Was it over when veteran Sox starter Tim Wakefield was routed in a seven-run fifth inning to allow the Cleveland Indians to take a commanding 3-1 lead in the ALCS last year? Hell no!
So why do folks think it’s over now? To these guys? To this team who is one of only four active teams never to have even sniffed a World Series. That’s why I’m going with my guys. That’s why I’m going with the reigning Champeens of the World. That’s why I’m going with having been there. Having done that. That’s why I’m going with one very scary baseball team in the postseason. The never say die Red Sox. The punch you in your eye Red Sox. The when pigs fly Red Sox. That’s why I’m still not worried.
Well, its been building up inside of me for oh I don’t know how long. I don’t know why, but I keep thinking something’s bound to go wrong. But she looks in my eyes and makes me realize and she says, don’t worry baby. Don’t worry baby. -Beach Boys
Public Service Announcement: Ok, here we go! And here they come. Here come all the Tampa Bay fans. Or should I say, here come all the fans of teams who don’t have a horse in this race. All the fans of teams who don’t have a horse in this race are marching in the Ray Parade Pride. I don’t care. Let ‘em march. Let ‘em march the Bataan Death March. It’s their own damn funeral.
I know what happened last night. I saw what happened last night. Saw what happened to this generation’s Bob Gibson. All I know is, Boom Boom Beckett won all four of his playoff starts to lead the Red Sox to the World Series title last season. All I know is, Boom Boom Beckett entered this October with a 6-2 record and 1.73 earned run average in ten career postseason games. All I know is, Boom Boom Beckett still gets to toe the rubber. Bad oblique or no bad oblique, I still take my chances with Beckett. Give him another injection of painkiller. Give him some more of that anti-inflammatory medication. Put the rock in his hand and trot him out there. And ye without sin cast the first stone. Evan Longoria: “He’s tough. He battles. Whether he has his best stuff or not, he goes out and gives a solid effort. You could just see it in his eyes: He didn’t want to come out; he’s such a competitor.”
Even with Beckett’s sub-par performance, the Sox took this game to extras. On the road. They smashed four bombs deep into the St. Petersburg night. Three bombs in one inning. Yowza! Two bombs by Dustin Pedroia. Get the papers, get the papers. Todd Walker who? The Rays should consider themselves lucky Boom Boom didn’t have his good kung-fu. Very lucky indeed.
So now the Rays come to Boston. Now the Rays come to Fenway. Now the Rays come to Fenway Park in Boston to face the best pitcher in this here postseason. There aren’t a lot of sure bets in baseball, but you can bet your bippy Jon Lester at Fenway Park is one of them. Jon Lester, the very bester. The pound your chester. The bulletproof vester. Bulletproof at Fenway Park. 11-1 with a 2.49 ERA in seventeen starts at Fenway Park this year. Against the Angels, Lester did not allow an earned run in fourteen innings. Not one. The most innings for any pitcher in any Division Series. Goodness! You know what that spells? Sure you do. Bad news for the Rays.
Then it’s Dice-K. He’s delightful, he’s delicious, he’s delectable, he’s delirious, he’s de limit, he’s deluxe, he’s de-lovely, he’s D-Nice although he hates to admit it, he’s taking out you suckers and you don’t know how he did it. And after he does it, the Rays are down 3-1. So yes, Boom Boom Beckett lost a bad one, but I’ll take 3-1. Wouldn’t you? What, me worry? Roll Sox roll!
Our little Mikey is all growns up. He’s growns up and he’s growns up and he’s growns up. -Swingers
Public Service Announcement: Ok, here we go! Woo doggie! Here we are. He we are in round two. Round two, I’m down to, do, what it takes to make you understand I’m the Candyman and I melt in your mouth, not in your hands. The Boston Red Sox don’t melt in your hands. Not by a longshot. Good to the last drop. Good to the last drop against the best record in baseball. Good to the last drop as the Red Sox marched foward towards their third pennant in five years. And they’ll be good to last drop again against these upstart Tampa Bay Devil Rays.
Excuse me if I’m not ready to march in the Ray Pride Parade quite yet. Excuse me for not going all in with the kids. It hurts doesn’t it? Your hopes dashed, your dreams down the toilet. And your fate is sitting right besides you. Sitting right beside the Rays are the Boston Red Sox. Sitting right beside the Rays are the reigning Champeens of the World. Sitting right beside the Rays is experience. Having been there. Having done that. Sitting right beside the Rays is one scary ball team.
Take the Captain. Please. Take Captain Fantastic. Captain Dynamite. You saw him. No not the tag. The tag was big. No, I’m talking about the hit. You saw the hit. Saw it a little bit. You saw Jason Varitek stroll to the plate with one out and Mark Kotsay at first. Varitek fighting and fighting against Big John Lackey. Fighting his way to a full count. Fighting his way into a hit and run that put the runner on third. As a result of that fighting and that hit, the Red Sox got to play from strength for most of that ballgame. They never trailed. That’s experience. That’s big time at bats in big time moments. That’s what this Boston Red Sox baseball team is all about.
Need more? Enter the new Sandman. Enter Jonathon Papelbon. Through four games of these here playoffs, Pap still hadn’t allowed a postseason run. Not one. Not now. Not in his career. Not ever. Not one run. Yowza!
What aabout the feelest goodest story of the year? What about the new Ace? Huh? What about him? Ace is the place with the helpful hardware. No one’s been more helpful than Jon Lester. The winning pitcher in last year’s final game of the World Series has been nothing short of lights-out in his first two starts of this year’s postseason.
Then there’s Gold Glove everybaseman. Then there’s Maude. Then there’s Kevin Youkilis. The Greek God of Walks. Youk has been piling up highlight reel after highlight reel. Web Gem after Web Gem. Hello, I glove you, won’t you tell me your name.
And… And, and, and… And, even though I didn’t like the way Boom Boom Beckett looked in Game Three, I’ll still take the biggest big game pitcher I’ve ever seen. The biggest big game pitcher there’s ever been. Bigger than James Dean.
Lastest, and far from leastest, my two favorite words in the Spanish dictionary. Papi Grande. The biggest baddest postseason player in these playoffs. When all has been said and done it’s usually Papi done doing the saying and the doing. Do the dew! It’s been Papi putting the fear of god into opposing pitchers. Knox Washington style. And don’t bother me about his wrist. ‘Cause it sure ain’t bothering him. During the AL Division Series vs. the Angels, his ability to turn on a pitch and pull it sharply was clearly evident. You know what that spells? Sure you do. That spells bad news for the Rays.
So you can take your kids. Your Evan Longoria. Your lollygagging BJ Upton. Your not as good as he used to be, Scott Kazmir. You can pack them up in your old kit bag while I smile, smile, smile. Roll Sox, roll!
Public Acknowledgements: Jed Clampett, Candyman, Maxwell House, Henny Youngman, Bea Arthur, the Doors, Rounders and Spike Jones
You’d better stop. Put on a kind face. Between a rock and a hard place. -Rolling Stones
Public Service Announcement: Ok, here we go! What’s a Red Sox fan to do? I have tickets for Game Four. At Fenway. The Sox are poised to sweep today. Sweep the leg, Johnny. The Angels are doing nothing to make me think they can prevent this. You know what I mean. They’re gone, and we couldn’t do nothing about it. They have now lost nine consecutive postseason games, dating back to 2005. That ties Texas for the longest current postseason losing streak for any major-league team. So what do I do? Do I do the unthinkable and root for my Game Four? Do I root for the sweep, thus preventing me from seeing my team clinch; live up close and in technicolor? 99 problems and a #### ain’t one. It could be worse, I suppose. I could be a Yankees fan. Ha ha ha! Roll Sox, roll!
Ace in the hole, lean on me. Don’t you know me? I’m your guarantee. -Paul Simon
Public Service Announcement: Ok, here we go! Woo doggie! Just a quick one today. Gotta speak loudly and smash you with a big stick one today. Jason Bay smashed John Lackey and the Angels with a big stick. Manny who? But as big as that bomb was last night, that wasn’t the story.
This was the story. Boom Boom Beckett pushed back to Game Three. Turn back Gulliver, we’ll never make it. Thing is, no one told Jon Lester. No one told last year’s World Series-clinching pitcher. No one told last month’s Pitcher of the Month. No one told the best left-handed pitcher we’ve seen in these parts since Bruce Hurst. Just so you know, this year, Lester became the first Red Sox lefty to win at least sixteen games since Bruce Hurst accomplished the feat in 1988. He also became the first Sox lefty to top 200 innings pitched since Frankie Viola in 1992. Pretty, pretty, pretty good.
So, Jon Lester now has won a regular-season no-hitter. Jon Lester now has won the final game of a World Series. Jon Lester now has won the opening game of a postseason series. Big deal you say? Who cares you say? I say, only one other pitcher in major-league history has done all of that before the age of twenty-five. Just one. Just Smoky Joe Wood. And that was nearly 100 years ago. Yowza!
With seven innings of work last night, Jon Lester showed the world what Red Sox fans have been whispering for a while now. With seven innings of work last night in which he allowed just one meager unearned run, Lester showed the world that he is the ace of the Boston Red Sox. Has been all year. Lester only seemed to get stronger as last night’s game wore on. He was still hitting 95-97 mph on the gun in the seventh. His nasty Uncle Charlie was utterly disgusting. Terry Francona: “He came with a vengeance.” Yes he did, Tony. Yes he did. But isn’t that what you expect out of your ace?
The tip’s get clocked, baby. The bond’s get stocked. My style gets rocked. Just like doors get knocked with legendary status like my name’s Lou Brock. -Everlast
Public Service Announcement: Ok, here we go! What’s crack-a-lacking sports fans? Another regular season in the books, another shot at the title for my beloved Red Sox. Top ‘o the world! Big Ticket style. I live for this. Wooo doggie! Like my main man Joey D always says: “You look forward to it like a birthday party when you’re a kid. You think something wonderful is going to happen.” Jacoby Ellsbury is making it happen.
I love the base stealers. I loved Lou Brock. Put you in shock. Stealing bases around the clock. A virtuoso like my main man Johann Sebastian Bach. I loved Rock Raines. I loved Willie Wilson. Looking good in those baby blues. Faster than Deja Vu. I loved Firecracker Vince Coleman. I loved Rickey Henderson. Probably the best lead-off hitter I’ve ever seen. The best base stealer there’s ever been. And I love Jacoby Ellsbury. Jacoby Ellsbury, the American League stolen base king. Long live the king!
Attention please, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, welcome to Fenway Park. Now leading off, Ellsbury, center field, Ellsbury. There hasn’t been this much excitement on the basepaths around here since 1973. Since Tommy Harper. Tommy Harper may never have been allowed to join the Elks, but in 1973, he led the American League and set the Red Sox single season stolen base record with fifty-four. Jacoby Ellsbury didn’t break Tommy’s record but he came close. Real close. The first Red Sox stolen base leader in twenty-five years ain’t too shabby. Neither is being one of only three Red Sox to record 50 steals. Tommy Harper (54 in 1973) and Tris the Grey Eagle Speaker (52 in 1912). Otis Nixon never did it. Harry Hooper never did it. And neither did good ole fightin’ Patsy Dougherty. Not bad ‘tall.
Woody Allen: “When we played softball, I’d steal second base, feel guilty and go back.” That ain’t Jacoby’s problem. Jacoby is stealing his way toward the World Series. Stealing his way into our hearts. His fifty steals far surpassed the Sox’ 100-year-old rookie single-season record. Far surpassed. He didn’t break Kenny Lofton’s American League single-season rookie record of sixty-six he set with the Tribe back in 1992 but he sure made it fun.
Joe Morgan once said: “A good base stealer should make the whole infield jumpy.” Ellsbury is making infields jumpy. When Ellsbury scores a run, Boston is 51-17. Yowza! Elllsbury is turning Boston into the new Go-Go Sox. The Go-Go Red Sox. Go-Go Gophers. Watch’em go go go. Watch the Red Sox go. The Red Sox are going like they’ve never gone before. This season they tied a club record with six steals in one game. Their total of 119 steals pits them in third place in the AL. When was the last time a Red Sox team could say that? But, make no mistakes about it, Ellsbury has been the straw stirring that drink.
Jacoby Ellsburyleads all rookies in runs scored, hits, stolen bases and triples and has a pretty, pretty good average. He’s played all three outfield positions and played them well. Rookie of the Year? I’m just saying.
I’m a Public Enemy, but I don’t rob banks. I don’t shoot bullets and I don’t shoot blanks. My style is supreme. Number one is my rank. And I got more power than the New York Yanks. -Public Enemy
Public Service Announcement: Ok, here we go! What a day, what a day! Sox in. Bombers out. One fell swoop. Happy days are here again, the skies above are clear again. So lets sing a song of cheer again. Happy days are here again! Yes they are, yes they are. The Boston Red Sox are back in the playoffs. Back in the playoffs to retain their crown. Playoffs, baby. Playoffs. Growed folks baseball. Not for the feint of heart. The thrills. The spills. Oh, the humanity!
The Spaceman once said, “There’s nothing in the world like the fatalism of the Red Sox fans, which has been bred into them for generations by that little green ballpark.” Not no more, Bill. Not no more. Curt Schilling changed all that. Dave Roberts changed all that. Big Papi, Manny and Johnny Damon changed all that. Now we’re like Schlitz beer. Now, we go for the gusto.
Went for the gusto last night. Just clinching the playoffs wasn’t enough. The Red Sox clinched a spot in the playoffs by beating world beater Cliff Lee. Cy Young Cliff Lee. 22-3 Cliff Lee. The first time in thirty-five years that a team clinched an appearance in the MLB postseason by defeating a pitcher with at least twenty wins. Yowza! The first time since the A’s clinched the 1973 American League West title with a win over the White Sox and my hometown hero Wilbur Wood.
The Red Sox now have two straight playoff appearances and five in the last six years. The new face of October. Ready to make a run at their third World Series championship in five years. Hoorah! Unless the Red Sox finish 5-0 and Tampa Bay goes 1-4, Boston will play the Angels in the Division Series and I like the Red Sox chances. Pitching wins championships. Pitching most definitely wins short series. The Red Sox have pitching.
The Red Sox have Boom Boom Becket. In the post season, there is Bob Gibson. There is John Smoltz. There is Curt Schilling. And there is Josh Beckett. The Red Sox have Dice-K. Matsuzaka, Matsuzaka, Matuzaka! The new king of old Fenway Pahka! Dice-K. D-Nice. He’s delightful, he’s delicious, he’s delectable, he’s delirious, he’s de limit, he’s deluxe, he’s de-lovely, he’s D-Nice although he hates to admit it, he’s taking out you suckers and you don’t know how he did it. 18-2. Nuff said. The Red Sox have Jon Lester. One minute he’s staving off the cancer, the next he’s one of the best young pitchers in the league cracking the 200-inning mark for the season. And the Red Sox have Jonathon Papelbon. You can K-Rod me all you want. Pap is the most dominant closer in the game. So send me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses, your Los Angeles Angels and we’ll drill ‘em in the ####. Pardon my word. Roll Sox, roll!
Public Acknowledgements: Barbara Streisand, Herbert Morrison, Bill Lee, Cole Porter, D-Nice, Emma Lazarus and Pedro Martinez
It’s your thing. Do what you wanna do. I can’t tell you who to sock it to. -Isley Brothers
Public Service Announcement: Ok, here we go! First thing’s first. I’m a Manny fan. Like Neil Young always says: The king is gone but he’s not forgotten. But once you’re gone, you can never come back. When you’re out of the blue and into the black. No Manny Ramirez is not walking through that door, fans. But I like him still.
I don’t like the way he went out. Not one bit. I do like the two rings he brought to Boston. I did like having the best right handed hitter in baseball backing up Big Papi. Liked it a lot. But now he’s gone. That’s life, that’s what all the people say. You’re riding high in April. Shot down in May. But Manny changed that tune. Now that he’s back on top, back on top in June September.
Know this, Manny was brought to Tinseltown for one reason and one reason only. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, involves catching the Diamondbacks. As always, should any member of your team be caught or killed, the Secretary will disavow all knowledge of your actions. This message will sel####estruct in five seconds. Mission accomplished.
August 1st, the Dodgers were sitting two back of Arizona with a .500 record. Today, thanks to Mr. Ramirez, LA is four games over .500 enjoying a 3 1/2 game lead in the NL West. 3 1/2 games up because Manny rakes. Cleveland. Boston. LA. Manny rakes. Good times. Manny rakes. Bad times. Manny rakes. Business bad? #### you, pay me. Oh, you had a fire? #### you, pay me. Place got hit by lightning huh? #### you, pay me. That’s what Manny being Manny is really all about. You do the Hokey Pokey and you turn yourself around. That’s what it’s all about!
Check this out. Last night, Manny had two bombs and four RBIs in the Dodgers’ 7-2 win at San Diego. That brings Manny’s numbers up to fourteen bombs and forty RBIs in his thirty-eight games with the Dodgers. That makes him the first mid-season acquisition to put up such gaudy numbers in his first forty games with a new team since 1949. Since 1949. Since Hank Sauer. Since the Mayor of Wrigley Field. Da Mayor don’t bother nobody and nobody no bother da Mayor. Nobody bothered da Mayor back in ‘49. Da Mayor had fifteen dings and forty-seven RBIs in his first forty games with the Cubs after coming over in a mid-June trade from the Reds back in ‘49. But that’s only half the story. Half the story morning glory. You need a little time to wake up. Wake up and smell the Manny. Over the last eighty years or so only eight guys have ever had those kinds of stats in their forty games with a new team. Manny’s done it twice. Twice! Get the papers, get the papers.
So, say what you want bout Manny. The greatest right handed hitter to ever don a Red Sox uniform has done did it again. The greatest right handed hitter in the history of baseball has done did it again. Manny Ramirez has done did it again. Last night, his pair of two-run home runs crushed over the fence in right-center 400 feet away from home plate proved what a difference maker this guy truly is. MVP! MVP! MVP!
Public Acknowledgements: Rick Pitino, Frank Sinatra, Mission Impossible, Do the Right Thing, Oasis and Goodfellas
Feelings, nothing more than feelings. Trying to forget my feelings of love. Teardrops rolling down on my face. Trying to forget my feelings of love. -Albert Morris
Public Service Announcement: Ok, here we go! Geez, I’m gone a coupla weeks and see what happens. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times… It was the season of light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to heaven, we were all going direct the other way.
The Red Sox creeping towards first place. Down goes Brady! The Red Sox are Stormin’ Norman Schwartzkopf back into the American League East race. Matt Cassel is the Patriots’ new number one quarterback. This isn’t how it was supposed to be. No, this isn’t right. I was supposed to be watching Dustin Pedroia and the Red Sox destroyers play deep into October without a care in the world. Top ‘O the world! Big Ticket style. Then catch up with Tom Brady and the good ole Patriots at 5-0 heading into San Diego. My arch nemesis. The New York Yankees. They’re out of it. Really out of it. Truly out of it. Their ship has sailed. Heck, their ship has sunk. My pistol is loaded. I shot Betty Crocker. Delivered Colonel Sanders down to Davey Jones’ locker. But can I revel in it? No I cannot. There is no joy in Mudville. The best quarterback who has ever been borned is out for the season. Three rings and a season that was one victory shy of unprecedented perfection is now on the sidelines. Jason Bay may have prevented Manny Ramirez from ruining my summah, but Chiefs safety Bernard Pollard just may have ruined my wintah.
I was in Hobson’s Bar & Grill in Hoboken when I saw it. That’s when I saw her, ooh, I saw her. She walked in through the out door, out door. I saw it with my bald friend Jerry. The shock waves that pulsed out from Brady’s spot on that field to me watching the television screen was mesmerizing. Tantalizing. Captivating. Devastating. I tried with all my might to stay in my happy place for just as long as I possibly could. I can’t think of any athlete that I’ve watched, not Larry Bird, not Cam Neely, not Manny, not nobody, that I have enjoyed watching more. He makes good teams great, and great teams special. And now this. Like my main Yogi Berra always says, “It sure gets late early around here.” Now it’s circle the wagons time.
No time to speak softly and carry a big stickie today. Gotta yell and throw a cement brickie today. Got my Patriots hoodie on again. Circling the wagons again. Waving my red white and blue flaggons again. Slaying some dragons again. Never started a game this. Out of the Super Bowl that. Sit on it, Potsie. F ‘em. That’s what I say. The Patriots are all through cry is a desperate cry by desperate fans without a horse in the race. I liken it to the relentless 1918 chants. The relentless 1918 chants pre-2004. Before we evened the score. Before we slammed the door. Get a Yankees fan in an argument. Smash said Yankees fan in said argument. The argument inevitably went to 1918. 1918. 1918. But then along came 2004 and that was that. The Pats need this one. Shut everybody up with this one. Punch ‘em in the mouth with this one. Who’s gonna stop them? You? C’mon now. Even you don’t believe that. The Patriots are circling the wagons, and you wouldn’t like them when they circle the wagons. This is what Matt Cassel and the Patriots do to New York’s Favreite team on Sunday:
Public Acknowledgements: Charles Dickens, Beastie Boys, Prince, Hulk and Goodfellas
What are these dopes cheering about? Down goes Crawford! Down goes Longoria! Well, it was a nice little run while it lasted. A cute little run while it lasted. It’s over now. All over now. He gets it out deep and Havlicek steals it! Over to Sam Jones! Havlicek stole the ball! It’s all over…It’s all over! Johnny Havlicek stole the ball. Just like the Yankees playoff run is over. Ha ha ha! Roll Sox, roll!
josh q. public. For the public, by The Public. Irreverent sports opinion from a Bostonian in New York. The one blog to read, when you’re reading more than one. Good to the last drop!
