Remember back to the start of the season, when the Sox swept up in the Bronx and all anyone wanted to talk about was how the Yanks were toast? Their hitters weren’t hitting, their pitchers weren’t pitching, and then there was that Bernie Williams CD. Horrible!
Today, were not laughing so much. The Yanks, while no doubt having some problems, have gone from four-and-some-odd-games behind us to four-and-some-odd-games ahead of us. Their bats are clicking nicely, they’re getting timely hits, and, while not quite the juggernaut we fear they could become by mid-summer, they’ve been pretty much on cruise control since the Sox left the Bronx.
Meanwhile, our guys are struggling to achieve some sort of consistency. For too long now, they’ve been stuck in “win one, lose one” mode, showing occasional flashes of brilliance that make you think, “feck yeah, ten game win streak here we come,” then crashing and burning the following evening.
Such was the case last night. After a breathtaking Sunday night victory (“THE catch!”), the Sox landed squarely on their asses in Coors Field, leaving the bases loaded a staggering, obscenity-inducing three times. Nomar, Varitek and Youkilis left a collective sixteen men on base, and when that happens, no matter how hard ya try, yer not gonna win many games.
All around, it was a pretty lifeless game. We had no Pokey, because my man had a sore foot. We also had Millar batting in the three hole, which helped kicked my ulcer into overdrive. Watching Karaoke Guy ground listlessly into a double play to quell a potential first inning threat told me everything I needed to know about just how much I’d enjoy him batting in Ortizzle’s spot. Here’s an idea: Why not let Millar sit when Trot gets back? Give him a week off to find just where his stroke is vacationing. Just an idea.
Oh, and whadaya know. Tonight, Trot is back, his ass apparently feeling just fine, thank you.