bwop: baseball without pitySix thoughts (mostly) about tonight's game, only one of which really matters:
1. PM and I were discussing how little we actually know about David Wells (turns out if we want to know more, we could always buy his autobiography -- I told her we should order it so we can sit it next to the self-help masterpiece Living the Life You Imagine by Derek Jeter on the bookcase), and rather than actually learn any factual information about him, we just assigned him a role in our Red Sox trailer trash universe. Uncle Boomer, the PM says, is the uncle who was telling baby Simba and baby Crab pussy jokes before they could even imagine wanting to see a naked woman, and who would have them over to his house to watch his bulldogs breed in the back yard. And it's all very jovial, but also creepy. And he's been on SSDI for his bum knee since 1988.
2. His longball power notwithstanding, Willy Mo looks like Papi's bastard child. I hope they stand side-by-side in the locker room manicuring their chin stripes, and then they spontaneously break out into that jubilation hand-slapping/interpretive dance routine they did after Willy Mo's homerun.
3. Did anyone else catch the conference between Dougie and Boomer during the Sizemore at-bat in the fifth? Did Boomer actually push Dougie away from him via a glove to the face?
4. The thing about NESN is that sometimes the commercials (the ones that don't feature Taylor Hicks or some crazy guy nonsensically screaming "we will protect this hoooooouse!" while wearing pec-form-fitting white work-out gear) actually improve my mood during rough spots. When Tito pulled Wells in the fifth, there was the double whammy of the Papi + Mayor Mumbles "Keep the Peace" ad (have two more incomprehensible people ever appeared together in speaking roles? is it possible to understand more than three words between the two of them?) followed by a Papelbon spotlight ad thingie where he knocks fists with the bullpen cop on the way out to the mound. These two so-called commercial advertisements are like a blood transfusion, and I am ready to face the rest of the top of the fifth.
5. The six, seventh and eighth (and top of the ninth) innings = a mixed bag of slow torture. Snyder settles down, strikes out six, has a couple 1-2-3 innings and the offense dries up after scoring six in the first four? It was like the opposite of Sunday's night's abortion, where the offensive signs of life in fourth were powerless against the relief (Taaaaaaaaaaavarez) shitting the bed in the fifth.
6. Youk walks and I say to the PM, "You know who's coming." PM says, "Loretta?" (Who we decided tonight really looks like a young Tim Robbins) and I say, "Well. After that." Right as he walked into the batter's box, Remdawg said there wasn't a person in that stadium who wasn't waiting for Papi to hit a three-run shot to end the game, but seriously, how does he do it? He is so clutch that the sheer combined expectations of everyone in New England can't jinx him, he just does it, and does it, and does it again. I can't even.
(P.S. -- The more I think about it, the more this Monday night game against a team that's about a zillion games out of first place in their own division was a semi-significant win, in terms of keeping your fans from killing themselves and starting a downward spiral of suck mentality. Theo resisted making any big trade moves because he believes that we've got guyus like Wells, Wakefield and even, God help us, Clement coming back. If the Red sox had lost Wells' first game back on the same day as the trade deadline, I'm pretty sure the fans would be screaming for blood right now. But the strong young relief and the offensive production -- because Papi's walk-off is a pretty depressing solo homer without the Greek God of Walks -- continue to pull it out of the bag, so everyone lives to nail-bite another game.)