Que Sera...

The summer of 1946 found my Aunt Jane bedridden for two weeks, during which time she began a love affair, through the magic of radio, with the Boston Red Sox that has endured to this day. As a young girl she thrilled to the exploits of a nine riddled with greats: Williams, DiMaggio, Pesky, Doerr... And though her heart sank when Pesky held the ball as Slaughter tore for home, she assumed every year would be that much fun. She knew a championship was inevitable.

The following season saw Jackie Robinson break the color barrier and as the rest of the majors slowly followed suit, that filthy cracker-ass cracker racist tree-hugger, Tom Yawkey, saw fit to stand firm. It wasn't until 1959, with the arrival of Pumpsie Green, that the Red Sox finally integrated, the last team in baseball to do so. Suffice to say, when you turn a blind eye to such a rich talent pool, you're gonna lose a lot of games. Unless you're the Yankees, the penultimate team to integrate, and you have the juice to sign all the big white stars and the Kansas City A's are your de facto triple-A team.

Anyway, through it all, Jane's love has endured and she helped foster my love for the Sox. As a "thank you" I treat her to a Sox-Yankees game every year for her birthday, the last three seasons down here at the Stadium.


JagPo joined us as we watched Friday's triumph at Chez Flavor. What a game. As soon as I saw Grand Tanyon take the hill I thought it was gonna be easy sailing, but I gotta give it up, the kid delivered, and for a while it looked like another gem from the Death Wish Kid would bear no fruit.

You never feel good when you're down a run and Mo-Mo's on the mound, but the memory of July 24th was still fresh and Michael Kay (a contemptible piece of shit who should be forced to listen to Vin Scully until he can do his job properly) pointed out that since 2001 Rivera has blown 21 saves, seven of them to the Sox. A walk, an HBP and two singles later Johnny Damon had pusehd th ego-ahead run across the dish. Foulke came on and made quick work of the Yanks. Suddenly the Sox were two-and-a-half back, with Lowe facing Lieber the next day.


We all figured the chances of this game being played were slim, as the forecast called for giant arks, but Jane had come down from New Hampshire and we had tickets, so we were gonna go. We met the Potseys at our seats and before I could open my peanuts, the Sox' half of the first was over. What followed was one of the ugliest things I've ever seen that didn't involve a mirror. Lowe just imploded as the Yankees peppered the outfield with line drives up the middle. And on the rare occasion when the ball stayed in the infield, Lowe couldn't throw to the right base. After one, 5-0 New York.

The second didn't go much better as Lowe put on the first two batters and was "relieved" by the troglodytic and porcine Terry Adams, who provided ample evidence that while the rest of the kids were learning how to cover first, he was huffing carburetor cleaner behind the dugout.

The next thing I know the Sox are down 13-0 and Lieber is tossing a no-no. I looked at my companions and declared "As soon as the Sox get their first hit, I am outta here." I wasn't going to walk out on a no-hitter, even one by the Yanks against the Sox, and at this point it was the only reason to stay. Shortly thereafter the Cookie Monster provided sweet relief, ending both the no-no and the shut out with a towering shot into the leftfield bullpen.


Sunday was even worse. When you read His obituary later today, don't blame me, blame Pedro. I needed comfort.


Monday finds the Sox 4 1/2 back of the Yankees, with 14 to play. Sad to say, but the Sox have to sweep the series in Fenway this weekend and win 8 of their 11 other games to make it happen. However, their lead on Anaheim is 5 1/2 and their magic number is 9. As the UrClwn wrote me last night "Enjoy the playoffs.... "