I, on the other hand, would have loved to see Beckett hurl one, if for no other reason than the post-game celebration/press conference, which likely would have contained more F-bombs per minute than a Richard Pryor routine (link NSFW, as if you had to ask).
Still, for seven and two-thirds glorious innings, we saw the return of Commander Kick Ass of the F#$k Yeah Brigade; vintage Beckett was in the house and got us all hoping that maybe, just maybe, he’s spent the earliest months of the season working out any kinks, and will be nothing but crapping lightning and bleeding vodka from here on out. Before Curtis Granderson — wasn’t that the name of Willie Aames’ best friend on Eight is Enough? — broke it up with a hit in the seventh, the closest the Tigers came to a hit was an attempted bunt by Gerald Laird, who, not surprisingly, got plunked by the Commander in his next at-bat. Which, of course, is Beckett’s subtle way of saying, “Don’t f@#k with the Maestro.” After the game, we can only assume, he tore the brakes from Laird’s car with his teeth and followed Granderson home to deliver a Louisville shampoo.
The game became an official Marx Brothers movie in the eighth, when the Sox scored six runs and the Tigers followed with five of their own–none of which, however, were earned thanks to a couple errors by Pedroia and Lowell. So Beckett and our bullpen officially had a “clean” night… at least as far as the game was concerned.
For me, the real star of the show was Eck, who not only broke the cardinal rule of baseball by mentioning Beckett’s no-no at least half a dozen times– to the point that I wondered aloud if Tigers management was handing him a crisp one hundred dollar bill every time he said it — but also seemed ready to gather a posse of NESN techies to storm the field and wedgie Laird within an inch of his life for attempting to bunt his way on.
This afternoon, we go for the sweep, with Timmy Wakefield against Dontrelle Willis. Taking all three would be nice, but as I see it, any win in Detroit, where they like to burn down their city for fun, definitely boosts our Tough Guy cred.
Side Note: If I was working the soundboard in Detroit, every time Curtis Granderson struck out, I’d play that sound byte from Fast Times at Ridgemont High where Spicoli yells at his brother, “Get out of here, Curtis, I don’t hear you unless you knock.” Dude, start up that petition!
