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have reported.

[joy]

so much for another trip to the world series.  boston played like crap.  frankly, we deserved to have our asses handed to us.  2 outs in the 9th, up by 2 and at home, with papelbon pitching?  yeah, if we can’t pull that off, we don’t deserve to win.

anyway, here’s hoping the angels beat the piss out of the yankees.

wait, we lost a game that, going into the 7th, we were leading 10-1?  with, arguably, the best bullpen in the AL, if not MLB?  to the Orioles?!?!?!?!

watching baseball is supposed to relax me, not piss me off.  damnit.

yes, i’d rather see my red sox in the world series, but you earned it.  that was a damn fine game last night, my personal feelings on the outcome notwithstanding.  now, go forth and beat the holy hell out of the phillies.

addendum:  reading the post-game quotes from the sox:

“We played as hard as we could, we just kind of ran out of magic,” said second baseman Dustin Pedroia [stats] in a tear-free clubhouse. “I’m very proud of everyone, we played hard all year long.

“We battled with (the Rays) all season long - they ended up beating us. They outplayed us. In October, the best team always wins. They move on. Good luck to them, they will represent the American League well.”

make me think even less of the angels, who whined about how they lost to a team they were better than. way to show sportsmanship, LA! anyway, again, go Rays, kick some Philly ass.

i’ll admit it: i was worried.  watching the rays tee-off on daisuke did not put me in a good mood.  nor did getting called by work help.  add a toddler with a cold (that he has kindly shared with me) and, well, the game faded to the background.  everytime my attention flitted over to the tube, despair seemed inches closer.  clock ticking, pendulum swinging, noose tightening and various other clichés come to mind.  resignation slowly started to creep in (cause, well, the rays are good).  i was distracted.  the game faded further into the background.

 should i have known better?  part of me did, i think.  i can never count them out, even when i should.  even if i do, i’ll still watch to the bitter end, unlike those undeserving fucks who walked out on earlier games: i’ve sat an hour in the rain in an empty ballpark, just because it hadn’t been offically called yet.  and that for a regular season game.  i’ve watched this team backed into a corner in the ALCS and seen what they can do.  still, i was distracted.  i had to work.  my attention waivered.  we were down 7-0.  shit.

still, i should have known better.  finished up with work, for the moment and, wait a minute…we scored!  then, papi.  holy fuck, that was beautiful.  the heart saw it half a minute before the eyes did.  after that, you just know.  there is no way a comeback like this starts and doesn’t get finished.  i still missed parts: drew’s home run, for instance, cause work called again and the boy was still not feeling well.

but i listened to the end.  outside, in the back yard, with radio, pipe and whisky.  usually, i’ll read while i listen to the games, but the book was closed for this one.  for a game like this, radio is the way to go.  you anticipate everything more, every moment holds more tension, more promise.  plus, you get to listen your team’s announcers and some good old biased commentary; rather than the hired talking heads on the idiot box.  the excitement is intoxicating.  tied going into the ninth.  masterson is on the mound and in a jam.  nerve-wracking.  but he’s there to throw sliders and throw them he does.  double-play, dear god that was huge!

bottom of the ninth.  pedrioia is out.  papi is out.  youk is…safe!  and an error!  bless you youk, for fooling longoria into thinking you run fast.  youk on second, 2 out, bay is predictably walked.  drew is up.  so am i.  you have to stand up for this sort of situation.  three balls.  one strike.  then, magic, again.  line, shot, hop-the-wall…double!!!  victory!!!  it always feels a bit silly to dance by yourself in the dark night air.  so what?  this deserves a dance of joy.

saturday is next.  doesn’t matter anymore if we win or lose (though i’d prefer a win), cause we sure as hell aren’t going down without a fight.  that’s the beauty of this game; you just never know what you’ll see.

even if you aren’t a boston (or new york) fan, if you follow baseball, you’ve probably heard about the highly amusing hijinks at the still-under-construction yankee stadium.  that is, that a construction worker and red sox fan buried a sox jersey in the cement of the visitor’s dugout, in hopes of cursing those damn yankees.  frankly, hilarious.

the initial, offical response was: “so what, we don’t believe in curses”.  sensible, since, despite its long and charming history in the sport, superstition is, well, superstitious.  on sunday, however, they reverted to a “better safe than sorry” philosphy and dug the jersey up.  thus making the prank even more hilarious.

now, though, it seems the yanks are taking this thing way too seriously, in that they are considering criminal charges against the guy who buried the jersey.  beyond being petty and vindictive, this also implies they really do believe the whole curse thing.  again, hilarious.

look, there aren’t any curses in baseball.  the “curse of the bambino” was made up by dan shaughnessy.  after all, why would babe ruth be so pissed at boston for trading him to new york (where he was actually paid what he thought he was worth and became damn famous and developed into the greatest ball player in history) that he’d curse the sox to never win the world series again until they did?  eighty-six years is rather arbitrary, don’t you think?  no, the actual curse of the bambino is this: bad trades and signings will fuck you over.  the cubs “curse of the billy goat”?  c’mon, it’s the cubs.  hell, they hadn’t won the series for nearly 40 years by the time that curse came around.  and the lesson from that is simply this: don’t let people bring farm animals to the ballpark in the first place.  these “curses” are brought to us by the same people who can’t seem to counter sabermetric bloggers with anything beyond anti-intellectual rants and cliches about nerds, basements and never watching games.  these are the same people who would rather have a scrappy, hustling david eckstein on their team, than a lazy, distracted manny ramirez.  despite the fact that manny’s worst season in a decade (last year) was still better than most player’s career bests.  the same folks who think being able to steal a base is more important than being able to get on base, despite the painfully obvious fact that you can’t steal second if you can’t get to first.  and so on.

there are no curses.  not if you don’t give them any credence.  the yanks have just done so and it’s funny as hell.  play ball!

well folks, the winter trade meetings are set to begin soon for baseball, and for those of you who haven’t been following the hot stove news, johan santana might be available.  as a result, perhaps in sorrow and lamentation, it seems someone has dumped a shitload of acid into the water supply for the twin cities.  why, you may wonder, would i think that?  because the good folks at firejoemorgan kindly directed me to this bit of sheer lunacy.

now, if you don’t know much about baseball, i’ll tell you why this is such a horribly, horribly, horribly bad trade.  here’s the proposed trade:

twins give:

• johan santana (very good lefty, free agent in 2008)
• joe nathan (good closer, but 33, free agent in 2008)
• carlos silva (um, filed for free agency already, so they can’t actually trade him)

sox give:

• jacoby ellsbury (potentially great center fielder)
• dustin pedroia (AL rookie of the year)
• jon lester (good 4/5 slot lefty)
• jonathan papelbon (great closer, better than nathan, also only 27)
• clay bucholz (pitched a no-hitter in his second MLB game, could be fantastic)

 so, for one year of santana, one year of nathan and no years of silva, the sox should, uh, trade 5 of their best young players, all of whom have had success in the majors?  and the writer of this article wonders why the twins GM hasn’t gotten this deal done?  um, cause it has as much chance of happening as i have of flying to the moon by flapping my arms rapidly?  perhaps that might be why.  what’s sad is that, despite this being on the “drunken call in to sports radio” level of trade ideas, this man was paid to produce this.  god help us all.

and young macduff is a happy, happy boy.  okay, his dad is too.

sox win!

we go for the sweep tonight.  keep track of the discussion at quiblit.com

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