The motto for this year’s Red Sox team? What a Difference a Day Makes.
In yesterday’s post, I wrote them off for dead, refusing to watch our boys go down to the Yanks again. Today, I am enjoying a side of crow with my wheat toast. And I’m willing to do it three more times if that’s what it takes.
Last night, just when everything seemed lost, Dave Roberts, Minty and Mueller combined to pull another one out of Mo Rivera’s ass — something which has, oddly, become our speciality of late. Call me crazy, but as much as I’m willing to acknowledge Rivera’s status as the single most dominating closer of all time, I never truly discount the Sox when I hear those chords of “Enter Sandman” these days. And last night, we did it again, tying the game in the ninth before Ortizzle bought us all another day of Boston baseball with a towering two-run homer off Quantrill in the twelfth.
So now we get Pedro vs. Moose. Then, perhaps, Schilling (complete with robo-ankle) vs. Leiber. Are we crazy? Are we dreaming? Who knows. Who cares. Take it one day at a time and enjoy the ride. We’re already playing with house money. Maybe this will be the year after all.
