Okay, Red Sox, I have to admit. As much as I love you guys, you weren’t my first choice last night. I had originally planned to get my gnarly, inebriated ass to the U2 show at the Fleet Center or Fort BankNorth whatever the hell they’re calling it now.
Right around the time Aaron Hill knocked that triple, I should have been pumping my fist to “Vertigo.” When Greg Zaun homered to left, I should have been six beers deep, the veins in my neck puckered out from screaming for “Bullet the Blue Sky” or “40” or “Who’s Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses.” And when it all came to a messy conclusion [and not the kind they offer at the Shaunet Spa in Providence, mind you] I should have been riding the ecstasy of the first or second encore, head all spinning dizzy and firm in my belief that U2 will be remembered as the greatest band of all time.*
However, the cruel mistress that is TicketMaster refused me entrance. So I sat home, watching some truly ass-ugly pitching by the good guys. Though Wells’ performance was an upgrade over his “Instant Hindenburg” last week in Oakland, he still managed to give up a single, double, triple and home run in the fourth inning alone. It’s probably just me, but dude seems like he’d rather be cleaning out Bob Dylan’s used harmonicas than pitching in a major league baseball game. No spirit, no sass, just a longing for it all to end so that he can plunk his ass down at the bar at Daisy Buchanan’s. He was replaced by Mike Timlin, who promptly pissed gasoline on the fire, surrendering a two-run home run by Reed Johnson. Then there was Alan Embree, who gave up three earned runs over one-third of an inning, all coming on a walk-off home run, Johnson’s second of the game. And as we learned from Oakland’s last Fenway visit, being on the business end of a walk-off ain’t no kind of fun.
But I like to “find the happy.” So I’ll focus on Edgah’s triple and Papi’s two hits. Oh, and the Beer Girls in the stands behind the plate.
Coupla little things:
— I swear by all that is holy that Rush’s Geddy Lee was sitting right behind the plate in those luxury seats. Check out tonight’s game and tell me if I’m crazy; I’ve seen this dude every time the Sox have been in Toronto this season. He’s got the long hair, skinny face, celery nose, and sunglasses. Sunglasses in the Dome is the touch that gives it away. He’s either a rock star, or a f–king idiot.
— When Renteria made that sweet-ass defensive play in the first inning, charging a ground ball and throwing the runner out by a half-step, Remy referred to him as “Rent-a-Player,” then quickly corrected himself.
— Anyone catching the reruns of that ESPN gameshow Teammates? The one where they get all Newlywed Game on a pair of teammates from various sports, asking one of them questions like, “Does so-and-so snore on the road?” and “What’s so-and-so’s favorite cut of beef?” while the other sits offstage? I caught an episode this morning that featured Barry Zito and Eric Byrnes and can only be described as “unsettling.”
— Tonight, it’s Arroyo vs. Lilly. Screw Joey, man. This is must see TV.
*Not the most influential, mind you. I think the Stones, Kinks, Byrds and Beatles still battle it out for that title. But pound for pound, I think U2’s catalog will reflect more quality albums.