After Coco flew out lazily to end the game, I figured it might just take more than a night with some Chelsea hookers to spark up our offense, which is apparently beaching it somewhere warm and dry and, one can assume, filthy with hot chicks.

But then something happened; a Doc-Brown-and-his-time-traveling-Delorean moment fueled by the umpire’s call of a balk on BJ Ryan during Coco’s at-bat. Suddenly, this game was not dead. We’d gone back in time to a point where the Sox could pull this one out. It was a do-over on a massive, mind-spinning scale and here we were, ready to correct the mistakes of the past, roll with the new, and pull a sweep of the Jays out of our collective arse.

Then Crisp got… a single! Literally rewriting history! And the crowd got torqued to life after being left for dead just a few minutes earlier. Ryan looked peeved. The Jays’ bench was rattled. The momentum was with us! And you just had a feeling that we were going to do it.

Then Jed Lowrie struck out, sucking all feeling and matter right out of the crisp night air at Fenway. And that was that.

Still, it was a cool way for the game to end, as you don’t, to paraphrase F. Scott Fitzgerald, get many second acts in a completed baseball game. It reminded me of a similar situation back in the day, when Greg Harris, the bespectacled wonderboy, was on the hill for the Sox at Yankee Stadium. Harris got the final out, securing the Sox’ win, but then an umpire ruled that a fan had been on the field, so the batter was allowed a “do over.” And the Yanks, as I recall, ended up generating the winning run.

That pretty much sucked, too.