Yesterday’s loss to the Os was a neat encapsulation of the season thus far. I went in with high hopes, thinking Aaron Cook might surprise us with something magical pulled from his ass (no-hitter? shutout? elaborate between-innings dance routine?). I witnessed at least one horrific event (Cook’s home-plate spiking and the video of his sliced-up leg that will haunt my dreams for months). And I was ultimately let down, kicked square in the balls and left for dead in a Kenmore Square alley.
Right now, I’m imagining two different trajectories for the remainder of this season:
One involves the team spiraling further downward into a cloud of doom and despair, Bobby V ousted by the All Star break, more infighting and rabble-rousing, and Tito renting a light aircraft so he can fly over Fenway and hang his bare ass out the window during a well-attended Yankees series.
The other involves a swift turnaround, a sudden injection of life and fire and piss and fury and caffeine and bullets that propels this team to the top of the East, where they spend the summer defying expectations, laying waste to the competition, and keeping the ladies smilin’ (you get me, chief).
The latter could start with a win today. Just one win. That’s where it starts. from there, the sky’s the limit.
No pressure, Clay. But, seriously. Don’t let the Os step on our nuts in our house.
This one’s for MCA: