Please tell me that Bobby Kielty is still nursing a bad back, or was tied up in the back of a van somewhere in Chelsea as part of some bizarre police training exercise, or was busy fighting Doctor Octopus in the Prudential Center during last night’s Sox/Jays game. Because if the guy was anywhere in Fenway Park and could stand on two legs without the assistance of crutches or medical droids, he should have most definitely been sent to the plate instead of J.D. Drew in the bottom of the seventh. So I’ll just assume that Kielty has been kidnapped by radical Muslims or mutant squids or Ray Romano. Because that makes me feel better.
But, joking aside, any game in which you have the bases loaded not once or twice but thrice and can only conjure two runs in those instances, you’re basically giving it away. And we did. So there you have it.
Getting back to Drew, the guy just can’t drop any lower and continuing to send him up to the plate in key situations is just setting him up for getting taken out by a sniper or, at the very least, a group mooning. Last night, he went 0-for-4, leaving five men on base, but nothing stung worse than his whiff with the bases loaded in the seventh. Why not pull Pedroia from the Sleepytime Cryogenic Chamber for that critical at-bat? Matt Clement’s supposedly feeling good these days; give that f@#ker a bat and let’s get it on. Honestly, I do believe that the Drew thing will eventually pan out and we’ll see “the real deal” in 2008. But, man, we gotta chalk this year up to “the season that was lost due to a league change and unfortunate family health situation” and roll the credits.
Also, if anyone needs a bit of rest, how ’bout Youk? Guy was all piss and vinegar early on, swinging the bat like some deranged hillbilly swatting at a ham-filled pinata. Now he looks a bit lost, confused, in need of a hug and a plate of cookies. If for no other reason, we’ve got to seal up the division as soon as possible to get this guy some critical rest before the playoffs. I want full-on “Imma get drunk, punch a bear in the nuts and pick a fight with the ocean” Youk, not this “I may have a Zima and speak ill of my neighbor’s lawn” guy who’s taken his place. Seriously, folks, deranged, would-be murderers win ballgames. Just look at the 1982 Milwaukee Brewers for christ’s sake.
We still have the six-game lead. We still have the best record in baseball. Me and Lou Gorman are putting our pants on one leg at a time, and having lunch as the sun sets and rises. It’s a beautiful thing.