With Dave Roberts, Eck and DO — who will be known as The Triumvirate of Awesome from this day forward — working the booth for NESN, Jon Lester reverting to Jon Lester v.2008, Scenic Lowell cracking a mighty home run in his first at-bat in the new Yankee Stadium, and the Sox whipping the Yanks for the fourth time in four meetings this season, it would almost seem scientifically impossible to insert any more excellence into last night’s game.

But it’s there, man, in the form of David Ortiz’ 2-for-3 night which featured two doubles, a run batted in, and the ultimate show of respect in the form of an intentional walk. With everyone asking just what the f@#k’s wrong with Papi, the Large Father bought himself at least a few days of reprieve from the slings and arrows with a showing against the Yankees that conjured images of Vintage Ortiz. Bringing bat to ball with extreme prejudice, hustling his oversized arse down the line like a trained bear chasing a motorized cookie tray, and surveying the damage like Zeus after a Mount Olympus bender.

One game doth not make a season, but for a few moments, it felt like 2007 all over again. And it didn’t suck.

Something else that didn’t suck was our handling of the Yanks, despite leaving 13 men on base. Lester was key, whiffing ten and allowing only three runs over seven. Ellsbury, AKA “the catalyst”, had a couple hits, as did Lowell, and Bay went 3-for-5 with a spectacular two run home run that ended up being the margin of victory.

Paps made us work for this one, loading the bases in the ninth but sacking up to K Teixeira and Cano to close it out. It was heart attack theatre at its finest, but we escaped with the W. And that’s what it’s all about, folks.

Lastly, nuts to whoever was working EEI’s soundboard last night. During two key moments in the bottom of the ninth — the pitch that ended up being Teixeira’s third strike and a long drive from Swisher that could have been a game-winning home run but ended up being a foul ball — station ID bumpers started playing, drowning out Castig and leaving me unsure if I should shit or wind my watch. Let’s not let that happen again, please. My Pabst-drenched heart can’t take it.