If one were to compare this game to a Paul McCartney song, you could say that the first seven-and-a-half innings were “Maybe I’m Amazed”–slow and meandering and perhaps a bit frustrating as you kept waiting for something bombastic that never quite happened. Suddenly, you had Jason Bay going deep to put the Sox on top, and Fenway was all “Live and Let Die”–storming guitars, relentless percussion and a crowd of 36,000 flailing and screaming for a curtain call. But before we could even digest all the awesome placed in front of us, it dissolved into “Spies Like Us”–the sort of thing that makes you scratch your head, rub your eyes, and question exactly what the f@#k it is you’re hearing.
Yes, a pretty f@#ed-up analogy, but such diversions are really the only thing keeping me from putting my foot through the TV screen and running down the street, punching out headlights and senior citizens. What looked to be one of the more storied comebacks of the season–fueled by the new guy, no less–quickly transformed into a soccer ball to the onions. And justlikethat, the keys to first place were plucked from our mitts and tossed back into the visitor’s dugout.
The unbridled euphoria of Bay’s late game heroics make this loss particularly tough to swallow, inviting the sort of over-analysis that typically keeps me pacing the floor all night. For instance, in the bottom of the ninth, why did Ellsbury come in to run with two out and not immediately after Kotsay’s leadoff walk? Wasn’t there anyone off the bench better equipped to bunt the runner along to save us a wasted Varitek at-bat? And why, oh why, did Covelli–so hot over these last several games–pick that critical moment to revert back to his “pre-tear” self?
After a good night’s sleep and a couple Red Bulls, I’m sure I’ll be able to put this game in the proper perspective. Honestly, with Kazmir on the hill, I’d figured our bats would be tied up in knots. And since Paps is usually nails, it’s tough to get down when he coughs one up–that shit’s just gonna happen.
But right now? The Suck Factor is most definitely high. So it’s time for me to take the edge off the only way I know how: shotgunning a few Natural Lights, re-arranging my collection of Rick Burleson autographed rookie cards, and spinning the single most ’80s video ever made–”Look My Way” by the Vels:
Man, that works every time. All of a sudden, I’m back in high school, fretting over Roger Clemens and getting wedgied within an inch of my life.