Return to Sender

Game 151 - Red Sox

Twins 7, Red Sox 3
Record: 81-70

I bathed my kids last night, read them stories, and put them to bed at about 8:15. I turned on the Sox game just in time to see the Twinkies go up, 6-0, on a Torii Hunter longball against the game but rusty Tim Wakefield. I spent the rest of the evening surfing between the Crocodile Hunter Memorial Service (did Anthony Wiggle really need to get into costume to emcee that thing?), Bobby Flay on the Food Network, and various National League games. Can you tell that the thrill is gone?

One more measly game and the Yankees clinch the division, and 2 or 3 more than that before the Sox are officially eliminated from playoff contention. I've heard that the New York Mets clinched their division this week, but I'm not sure if that's the case - if they had, I'd expect that my colleague would have posted something.

Speaking of Whitney, he cabled me last night from Waziristan, where he's leading a group of Pashtun tribesmen in a valiant effort to unearth Osama Bin Laden's collection of Whitney Houston memorabilia. It appears that the Whitneys like to stick together. Guess I would too, were I saddled with such an unfortunate name. Between that, the painful toe fungus, and the heartbreak of chlamydia, it's been a tough few months for my pal.

Lost and Found

In the interest of keeping the MLC readership informed, just wanted to let you know that I got a call from Whitney last night, so we can put to rest the rumors of his demise. He's deepinthehearta Texas, valiantly combatting the twin scourges of psoriasis and alcohol-induced anxiety attacks. He expects to post sometime in 2006, so until then, we'll do our best to keep you posted on his where- and whatabouts.

Am I Too Late?

Games 147 through 150 - Red Sox

Red Sox 5, Yankees 2
Yankees 7, Red Sox 5
Red Sox 6, Yankees 3
Red Sox 5, Yankees 4
Record: 81-69

Finally, a bright spot amidst the post-apocalyptic dreamscape that’s served as the backdrop to this season’s 2nd half. The scrappy, patchwork Pawsox hung just tough enough to sweep a doubleheader from the mostly disinterested Yankees yesterday and take 3 of 4 in the Bronx over the weekend. What a difference a month makes.

The ongoing theatre of the absurd opened to rave reviews in its off-off-off-off-Broadway curtain on Saturday, with Josh Beckett finally resembling the guy the Sox shelled out long dollars to retain. (The location refers not to Yankee Stadium, but the metaphorical site of the first Sox/Yanks series in nearly 4 years not to cause Tim McCarver’s eyeballs to bleed from overwrought dramatic tension.) Julian Tavarez tried gamely to lead the Sox to a sweep in the day’s 2nd game, but the Sox bullpen gave up 2 late runs to the Yankees after the offense had knocked Randy Johnson around – the more things change, the more they stay the same.

Young David Murphy led off yesterday’s first tilt with his first career homerun, a sure harbinger of things to come. Papi momentarily silenced his detractors in the Yankee Stadium crowd with his 49th homer of the year, and Kevin Youkilis ripped a 3-run 7th-inning shot to break the game open and lead the Sox to the win, guaranteeing that the Yankees would be unable to celebrate their division championship in front of the Sox.

The Sox scrapped back from a 4-2 deficit in the series finale to sweep a doubleheader in the Bronx for the first time in 30 years. Too little and far too late, indeed, but I suppose it’s better than the alternative. From the get your happiness where you can department, it’s been nice to see Murphy and Pedroia break into the bigs, even as the diminutive infielder’s struggled a bit.

Yankee fans are ticked at Ortiz because he publicly politicked for his primacy in the MVP race at the expense of Derek Jeter. I’ve been trying to ignore my obvious bias on the topic and really dig into my MVP choice. For me, the following criteria matter:

• The MVP really must come from a team that’s headed to the playoffs or in serious contention until the final weeks. Value is in the eye of the beholder, but I’m a lot more compelled by performances that elevate teams from good to contender than efforts that make an awful team slightly less awful. Sorry to Travis Hafner and Ortiz (not to mention Manny Ramirez) on this count.
• The best MVP candidates have to stand out on their own teams, and if you could make the argument that their absence wouldn’t have much overall impact, then they’re not an MVP. While Derek Jeter’s having a very, very good year (although his OPS is but 3rd-best on his own team), I simply have a hard time believing that a team with Alex Rodriguez, Jason Giambi, Bobby Abreu, Johnny Damon, and Robinson Cano would suffer significantly with a lesser player at short. In this case, Jeter suffers because the Yankees are so damn stacked. Not his fault, but it does reduce his “value” in this context. Ultimately, to me, the single most important component of the MVP calculus is this: which guy would hurt his team the most by his absence.
• Fielding is most always a red herring, and the DH vs. field player argument makes little sense to me unless the fielder in question is outstanding. I fail to see the logic that defensive adequacy translates to additional value.
• Big-game, big-moment performance matters, because momentum is a real, if intangible component of a baseball season and standout performances in the clutch contribute significantly to that momentum. Jeter gets high marks here, as does Papi.
• Finally, pitchers are a part of every team’s roster, and they are arguably the single most important component of every single game, so to argue that they shouldn’t be considered for the MVP is ludicrous.
  

By my reckoning, Ortiz and Hafner lose out because their teams aren’t going anywhere. Jeter’s eliminated by dint of the overall excellence in the Yankee lineup. Justin Morneau’s got nice numbers, but they pale in comparison to a number of other offensive stars – he’s 9th in the league in OPS. So it’s down to Jermaine Dye and Johan Santana, and it says here that the Twins would be in deep nowhere without Santana, while the ChiSox would remain competitive in Dye’s absence. Johan Santana’s been the American League’s Most Valuable Player in 2006.

In a brief housekeeping note, Whitney's nursing a painful case of plantar fascitis and fighting off a recurring halitosis outbreak - we look to see something from him should the Mets ever clinch their division.

New York City

Games 144 through 146 – Red Sox

Red Sox 6, Orioles 5
Orioles 4, Red Sox 0
Red Sox 6, Orioles 5
Record: 78-68

The Sox overcame Mike Timlin’s one-man crusade to repay the Orioles for their generosity this season, taking 2 of 3 from the Birds despite the desiccated hurler’s best (?) efforts in the first and 3rd games. The Sox are now 13-2 against the Charm City 9, leading snarksters across the blogosphere to petition David Simon to set next season’s episode of The Wire in and around Camden Yards. The despair and violence wrought by the Sox is at least a match for that found on the Corner. The first episode will focus on the reunion of Kevin Youkilis and his long-lost identical twin brother, Det. Thomas ‘Herc’ Hauc.



(Note to self: a comparison of the Sox roster and the cast of The Wire is a splendidly hackneyed idea. Get to work on that. Big Papi as Stringer Bell, Curt Schilling as Tommy Carcetti, Jason Johnson as the hapless Prez – this could be interesting. Somebody alert Deapspin to watch this space.)

Hidden by the Sox’ dominance against the O’s is their 65-66 record against the rest of the major leagues. And, in the interest of further turning my stomach, let’s extricate Boston’s 16-2 interleague mark from that tally, which yields a ghastly 49-64 record against all teams not from Baltimore or the NL East. Gack.

Turning on a dime, does anyone else have a mental picture of George Steinbrenner sitting in a darkened control room, rubbing his hands and muttering a Burns-esque, “Exxxcelllent” as every other contender in the American League dashes themselves against a series of very hard, very unforgiving boulders? The Tigers are in freefall, the Twins – despite playing good baseball at the moment – have lost Francisco Liriano for the season (and with him any chance of taking a series against the Yankees, in my extremely unbiased and expert opinion), the White Sox are playing as if they expect someone just to grant them access to the postseason, and the A’s are quietly working to get just far enough to be exposed by the Yankees in October.

I’ve seen this train coming for some time now, and I’ve refused to acknowledge it, but the Yankees sure look unstoppable right now. Whitney would have something to say about that, but the stitches from the liver transplant/gender transformation surgery make it difficult for him to type. We’re tentatively expecting him back for October.

Distant Early Warning

Games 142 & 143 - Red Sox

Royals 10, Red Sox 4 (12)
Red Sox 9, Royals 4
Record: 76-67

Yayyyyy! We beat the Royals! I can die happy now.

For the record, the Sox and Kansas City now share identical 23-34 marks since the All-Star break. That's possibly the single most depressing statistic in a period of grossly disappointing performance.

The Nation is breaking out the big guns on boy genius Theo Epstein and manager Terry Francona in a mad rush to assess blame. As therapeutic as such assignation might be, this corner of the blogosphere screams "Stop the everloving madness." The Sox will fail to make the playoffs this season, and 2006 will go down with 2001 as one of the most remarkably disappointing campaigns in memory, but the reasons are pretty goddamn simple - the Sox fell victim to extraordinarily bad luck. Period.

The same Sox team that was 65-43 in late July would have coasted to a playoff berth (or at least been in contention until the season's final days - and probably at a bare minimum would've kept me in the race to win free beer from Whitney) if they'd stayed even moderately healthy - that team was on pace to win 98 games, and they had the bulk of their remaining schedule at Fenway. We've been here before, so I won't belabor the details, but teams missing 3 starting pitchers and 3+ regulars for long, critical stretches simply don't win. Again, period.

There's a lot of "blow it up and start over" talk in the Nation at the moment, a notion that I find inconceivably short-sighted. I'll come back when I have the time and do a less half-assed (though not full-assed - perhaps 3/4-assed) look at the holes that need to be filled in the off-season. Suffice it to say, though, that any team that starts a season with David Ortiz, Manny Ramirez, Curt Schilling (in his swan song), and Jonathan Papelbon on the roster has a pretty decent core around which to build.

Finally, Whitney wants everyone to know that he's not been around for the last 2 weeks because he's busy composing his World Series Champion acceptance speech for the Mets.

All My Exes Live in Texas

Games 140 & 141 - Red Sox

White Sox 8, Red Sox 1
Royals 10, Red Sox 9
Record: 75-66

Title line today courtesy of Mike Timlin, in sincere hope that he returns home to his Texas roots after the season, hanging up his spikes and pursuing a long, healthy life of hunting, fishing, and conservative politicking. In short, I'd really love for him to be an ex-Sox, and soon. After last night, TImlin's been the author of 2 of the most painful Sox losses of the season, giving up 7 runs to the Yankees in the midst of the 5-game asskicking, and blowing a 9th-inning lead against Kansas City last night - topped off by a game-winning double by Joey Gathright. Joey Gathright, the worst hitter in the American League. Godspeed, and God Bless, Timmy - thanks for 2004.

In their last 9 games against the Devil Rays, Royals, and Mariners, the Sox are...wait for it...0-9. I really don't need to say anything else, do I? Still watching, still hoping until the good guys are mathematically eliminated, but it sure feels like play out the string time.

Hey, Whit - according to Thomas Boswell, your boys are all that stand between the Yankees and another championship (well, he included the Tigers, too, but c'mon). We're all counting on you.

Captain of Her Heart

Games 137 through 139 – Red Sox
(and yes, I realize I fucked up the count somewhere - my blogging has been as solid as the Sox' play)

Blue Jays 6, Red Sox 1
Red Sox 3, White Sox 2 (10)
Red Sox 1, White Sox 0
Record: 75-64

Jason Varitek returned to the Sox’ lineup on Monday night, going 0-for-3 in the Sox’ victory-from-the-jaws win. Coincidentally, the Sox haven’t lost since his return.

Or is it a coincidence? Consider the following: On August 1, the Sox woke up with a 63-41 record. They also awoke to the news that their starting catcher would be sidelined for 4-6 weeks. From that day until Monday, the Sox posted a 10-23 record, sliding 8 games behind the Yankees and nearly falling out of postseason contention altogether. (Cue chorus: “And nearly falling out of postseason contention”. Apologies for the very, very inside joke.)

Had the Sox merely treaded water in Varitek’s absence, playing to a 16-17 mark, they’d be 3 games in back of New York, and 1 behind the surging Twins. If ‘Tek hadn’t been injured, and the Sox could have maintained their .606 winning percentage, they’d be sitting at 83-54, with a 1-game lead over the Yanks, 3 games up on Minny. If my aunt had balls, she’d be my uncle, or a very, very successful adult entertainer.

All of that happy horseshit ignores the fact that Varitek was far from alone during his time on the shelf. However, this being revisionist, speculative history, I choose to believe that the captain’s William Wallace-like leadership capabilities would have healed Tim Wakefield’s back, Manny Ramirez’ knee, Trot Nixon’s bicep, Wily Mo Pena’s wrist, Jonathan Papelbon’s shoulder, Mike Timlin’s suck joint, Dustin Pedroia’s inexperience, and Alex Gonzalez’ whatever-ailed-him. And certainly, just a kind word from Tek would have set Papi’s fragile ticker to beating at a firm and steady pace. Alas, no form of horse whispering can save poor Matt Clement’s spooked psyche – time for that sad nag to be taken out back and set free from its misery.

Still much ball to be played, with 23 games left to determine the Sox’ fate. Slim playoff hopes still abide, especially with guys like Julian Tavarez and Kason Gabbard pitching their figurative asses off while the offense tries to figure out what to do with all these guys back in the lineup. Unfortunately, the Tavarezes, Gabbards, and Kyle Snyders of the world will have to carry a sizable chunk of the load over the next month, making the current 6-game Wild Card deficit look daunting indeed.

Daunting, but not insurmountable. Once more into the breach, lads, with your captain charging into the opponent’s terrible maw.

Save a Prayer

Games 135 through 137 - Red Sox

Red Sox 6, Blue Jays 4
Red Sox 2, Blue Jays 1
Blue Jays 5, Red Sox 1
Record: 74-63

The Sox took 2 of 3 from the Blue Jays despite starting Julian Tavarez, Kyle Snyder, and Kevin Jarvis (yeah, I don't know who he is either, but thanks for asking) - a little tiny silver lining in a brimstone-black month. On top of that, Curt Schilling will miss his next start due to a strained back muscle. We're beyond the pale on the plague and pestilence stuff now, and that's before we get into the decidedly unfunny news about Jon Lester.

The young lefty went on the 60-day DL yesterday following his diagnosis of treatable anaplastic large cell lymphoma. No jokes to be told, no witty repartee, just positive thoughts and prayers and thanks that the physicians seem to have caught the disease early. The Sox have a long standing relationship with the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute and the Jimmy Fund - not a bad link to click on if you've got a few bones to donate to a good cause.

We're a Happy Family

Games 131 through 134 - Red Sox

A's 9, Red Sox 0
A's 2, Red Sox 1
A's 7, Red Sox 2
Red Sox 6, Blue Jays 4
Record: 72-62

Tropical Storm Ernesto's on his way to Whit's neighborhood a day or so after thrashing my parents' house here in Myrtle Beach, SC. The damage here was relatively minor, but like baseball, it was a game of inches. A 20-foot Bradford pear tree was cleaved in half by the winds last night and toppled to the ground, missing my folks' house by about 6 inches and avoiding my car by about 6 feet.

Apologies to Sebastian Junger and to literary devices everywhere, but the last 5 weeks of the Sox season have been the perfect storm of bad luck and bad baseball. If my vacation to see my Mom and Dad were recast as the Sox' season since the trade deadline, that tree would've crushed the garage, ripped the gutter from its mooring, and continued on to demolish the front half of my Durango. Then, Gabe Kapler would've been forced to hit in the no. 5 spot - oh, wait, that part actually happened.

Here's the lineup that backed Curt Schilling on Sunday in Oakland:

Youkilis LF
Cora SS
Loretta DH
Lowell 3B
Kapler CF
Mirabelli C
Hinske RF
Pedroia 2B
Pena 1B

Those of you scoring at home will note that exactly 3 of those 9 players are regular starters, 1 of 9 are starting in their optimal spots in the field, and 1 of the 9 is taking his regular turn in the order. Missing and conspicuous in their absence are the names Ortiz, Ramirez, Nixon, Varitek, Gonzalez, and Crisp (though I could be convinced that his absence is less than completely conspicuous). Note further that Gabe Fucking Kapler batted 5th.

The ever-frantic Nation is casting far and wide to find a scapegoat for this season, with Theo Epstein and the front office leading the early returns. From where I sit, there's not much Sox fans can do except sit back, accept the fact that the Sox had some really, really, really fucking bad luck and enjoy baseball for baseball's sake for the next 6 weeks. Sure, Theo missed on a couple of bets this year, but if the only bad things that happened to the Sox in 2006 were Julian Tavarez and Rudy Seanez' implosions, the Olde Towners would be cruising to their first division title in years.

The Sox were 65-43 just a month ago, right before they dropped 5 straight to Tampa Bay and Kansas City. They've gone 7-19 since, losing one key cog after another. And there's not a damn thing they could have done about it. The pseudo experts in the media and the blogosphere have excoriated Epstein for not getting a starter at the deadline, but what starters of any consequence moved this year? The going rate was way too high, and the same guy that traded NL batting leader Freddy Sanchez for Jeff Suppan was right not to overpay when he knew (like the rest of us should have) that 1 starter would not likely have been enough to fill the increasingly large holes in the bullpen, the bench, and the lineup.

Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, sometimes it rains. And sometimes, despite your best efforts, it keeps raining and raining. As Whit's sage colleague from many years past once summed up, "Fuck it. Drive on." There's always next year.

Exactly Where I'm At

Games 125 through 128 – Mets

Mets 10, Cardinals 8
Mets 6, Cardinals 2
Phillies 4, Mets 3
Mets 11, Phillies 5
Mets 8, Phillies 3
Record: 80-49

Yes, it’s that time of year again when Whitney, weary of his Mets’ losing ways, grows complacent and allows some dust to collect on the blue and orange side of the MLC launch pad. Except, wait, this year I’ve grown complacent because of their winning ways? Shame on me.

There’s nothing like a pennant race to keep us blogging away, and this is nothing like a pennant race for the Mets. I’m beyond silly superstition at this point, free to talk about the Mets as postseason participants without jinxy repercussion. I’ll even agree – not boast, but agree – that the Mets are far and away the best team in the National League. You won’t hear me talk as if they’re a lock to move on even past the divisional series, because short series were made for underdogs and streaking inferiors (also what Rob, several others, and I were labeled as we dashed through the corridors of Monroe Hall in the 1980’s wearing only 12-pack cardboard helmets), but be happy for the baby steps.

I am reveling in the Mets’ season, despite my recent time AWOL. Since my last check-in I spent time in DC, Richmond, and Nags Head – watching or at least paying attention to the team’s nightly progress, but miles away from this keyboard and the philoso-babble that emanates from it. Today I got to watch John Maine and a host of pen-pals keep the Phillies mostly in check (excluding bombs from Met-killers old and new Pat Burrell and Ryan Howard) while the offense continued to utilize speed, power, and plenty of good fortune to pile up eight more runs at the Phils’ expense.

Even as a plumber dug a hole in my back yard, opened up sewer pipes, and attempted to snake out a disgusting problem 100 feet into the pipe, even as I sweated out the thought of tree removal and massive plumbing bills, even as the smells inside and outside my house made me feeling like Andy Dufresne during his escape, an afternoon taking in a Mets game such as this one propelled me to be Andy Dufresne in the river, arms skyward and free of the normal August/September doldrums of yesteryear.

Today’s worries about starting pitching are real, but what might actually be happening is that the key cogs are getting some late-summer rest before the autumn run. Pedro and Glavine missing time is troubling if there are larger problems at hand. For now, though, I am optimistic that the break in the action for these guys – and El Duque, for that matter – is a well-timed rejuvenator.

For now, I am looking for the Mets to continue to play solid baseball, the skipper to give all the right guys a rest (David Wright looks like he could use three or four days at Canyon Ranch), the injury bug to fly far away, and the Cardinals, Dodgers, and any other playoff-bound clubs to hit enough of a lull to award the Mets at least one advantage come October. There’s plenty of reason for me to still pay attention down the stretch; that was never really in doubt. But there’s also more than enough cause to keep me chiming in to chronicle whatever ups and downs remain in this regular season. See you soon.

Nevermind

Games 128 through 130 - Red Sox

Mariners 6, Red Sox 0
Mariners 4, Red Sox 3
Mariners 6, Red Sox 3

Well, I guess I'll just pour myself a nice warm glass of shut the fuck up and shuffle quietly off to bed.

Fight the Power

I've been meaning to stop by and offer my take on the recent and ongoing Manny vs. Boston Media contretemps, but there's really no need after the always-eloquent Surviving Grady took the words right out of my mouth. Legion of Unstoppable Ass Kickers, indeed.

Insane in the Brain

Games 126 & 127 – Red Sox

Red Sox 5, Angels 4
Red Sox 2, Angels 1
Record: 71-56

I’m slowing regaining equilibrium after last weekend’s traveshamockery, but even as the good guys find ways to win again, the S.S. Red Sox continues to take on water. Last night, as the Sox played their second straight game with Manny Ramirez on the bench with a knee injury, Josh Beckett pitched like Josh Beckett for the first time in weeks. Right up until he cut his finger/incurred a blister in the top of the 7th inning.

All this on top of the news that David Ortiz spent Saturday night in the hospital with an irregular heartbeat that first surfaced after Friday’s twin-killing at the hands of the Yankees. (Insert joke about Sox fans experiencing heart pains during the Yankee series here.) This morning, Mark Loretta was seen walking around the team hotel wearing a dress and a Toledo Mud Hens hat and mumbling something about getting a Section 8 discharge. Hawkeye Schilling just sat back with a bemused look on his face, half-bombed on homemade gin, while Sherman T. Francona tried to figure out why the front office had called Gary Burghoff up from Pawtucket to play middle infield.

In the midst of all this carnage, the Sox picked up a game on the Yankees for the first time in a week. There’s a seed of something germinating deep, deep in the loamy soil of my imagination, and its microscopic form looks something like befuddling, illogical optimism. After spending the entire season riding high and then watching the whole thing come crashing back to the mean, the Sox suddenly find themselves in the often-enviable position of underdogs.

Realistically, these are still the same Sox that are 55-54 against American League opposition (in point of fact, these are a much weaker version of those Sox). The current roster, as related ad nauseum in this space, is a curious mix of stopgaps and prayers, with a still-healthy apportionment of studs (assuming Papi’s ticker holds out). As MLC regular (and that rarest of species, a Yankee fan without a sense of entitlement) Teejay Doyle noted to me Wednesday evening, the Sox thought they’d have an opportunity to let young arms like Manny Delcarmen, Craig Hansen, Jon Lester, and even Jonathan Papelbon gain some seasoning this year – not be forced into the breach repeatedly in high-leverage situations. And still, they’ve got a chance.

The psychology of teams has always fascinated me – some clubs excel as frontrunners, while others spit the bit and fade, or run better from back in the pack. Some clubs need a bit of adversity, need to get punched in the mouth and taste their own blood before they fulfill their potential – anyone remember the 2004 Boston Red Sox?

Maybe it’s the caffeine talking. Maybe I’m just compensating after the soul-crushing events of last weekend. Maybe the Sox will get thumped tonight by the Mariners and I’ll come back here tomorrow and disavow this entire post. But I’m starting to wonder if this team isn’t the personification of the old maxim: if it don’t kill you, it’ll make you stronger.

Yesterday

Game 125 - Red Sox

Angels 4, Red Sox 3

Last night's 10:00 EST first pitch and the culmination of Spike Lee's When the Levees Broke documentary meant that I didn't see more than a snippet of last night's action. Judging by the fraction of the game I did catch, it's probably best for all parties involved that my viewing time was limited.

While I was fortunate to see Dustin Pedroia's first major league hit (and am happy to see one of the important cogs of the 2008 World Series Champion Boston Red Sox get a taste of life in The Show), his effort was balanced by the Three Stooges routine performed by Kevin Youkilis, Mark Loretta, and Gabe Kapler. The trio converged on a Vladimir Guerrero popup in short rightfield before peeling off like so many Wallendas, knees banging into heads, hands getting smashed between body parts, arms flailing ingloriously. Oh, and the ball dropping harmlessly to set up the Angels' 2nd run. It was right about that moment that I decided to punt and give in to merciful slumber.

While I missed most of last night's game, the good folks at Retrosheet.org helped me remember a game that I saw in its entirety. I was in Fenway with my dad and grandfather when Carl Yastrzemski hit his 400th career homer, back when that number meant something. As noted below, he hit it in the bottom of the 7th to break a 3-3 tie and propel the Sox to victory. We were sitting in the rightfield bleachers, about 10 rows back of the A's dugout - where Yaz's blast landed. We had a perfect view of the ball as it traveled a parabola from home in a straight line towards our seats. My other distinct memory of that evening is that the final score was a nearly perfect approximation of the 2 starting pitchers' ERAs entering the game - as a 9 year-old obsessed with baseball stats, I thought that was about the coolest thing in the world. The (probably brutally formatted) box score follows:

Boston Red Sox 7, Oakland Athletics 3
Game Played on Tuesday, July 24, 1979 (N) at Fenway Park
(25 years later - to the day - Jason Varitek would feed Alex Rodriguez a heaping helping of catcher's mitt, sparking the theretofore moribund Sox to a come-from-behind win over the Yankees and, eventually, their first World Series championship in 86 years.)

OAK A 0 1 0 0 1 1 0 0 0 - 3 8 2
BOS A 2 0 0 0 0 1 2 2 x - 7 10 0

BATTING
Oakland Athletics
AB R H RBI BB SO PO A
Henderson lf 5 0 1 0 0 1 1 0
Murphy cf 4 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
Page dh 4 1 1 0 0 0 0 0
Newman c 3 1 2 1 1 1 1 0
Revering 1b 4 0 1 1 0 0 10 1
Heath rf 3 0 0 0 0 1 0 0
Armas rf 1 0 0 0 0 0 1 0
Gross 3b 3 1 1 1 1 0 1 5
Picciolo ss 4 0 1 0 0 0 2 4
Chalk 2b 3 0 1 0 1 0 7 6
Morgan p 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 0
Todd p 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
Totals 34 3 8 3 3 3 24 16

FIELDING -
DP: 3. Picciolo-Chalk-Revering, Picciolo-Chalk-Revering, Gross-Chalk-Revering.
E: Newman (16), Revering (9).

BATTING -
2B: Newman (9,off Eckersley); Picciolo (6,off Eckersley).
3B: Revering (2,off Eckersley).
HR: Newman (19,2nd inning off Eckersley 0 on 0 out); Gross (10,5th inning off
Eckersley 0 on 0 out).
IBB: Gross (8,by Eckersley).
Team LOB: 7.

BASERUNNING -
SB: Henderson 2 (10,2nd base off Eckersley/Fisk 2).

Boston Red Sox
AB R H RBI BB SO PO A
Burleson ss 5 0 1 0 0 0 2 4
Brohamer 2b 4 1 0 0 1 0 0 1
Lynn cf 2 1 1 0 2 0 2 0
Rice lf 4 1 0 0 0 0 1 0
Yastrzemski 1b 3 1 2 3 1 0 13 3
Watson dh 4 1 2 0 0 1 0 0
Fisk c 4 0 1 0 0 0 4 0
Hobson 3b 3 1 1 0 1 0 2 1
Evans rf 3 1 2 3 1 0 1 0
Eckersley p 0 0 0 0 0 0 2 1
Totals 32 7 10 6 6 1 27 10

FIELDING -
DP: 1. Yastrzemski-Burleson.

BATTING -
3B: Hobson (4,off Todd).
HR: Yastrzemski (17,7th inning off Morgan 1 on 2 out); Evans (14,8th inning
off Todd 1 on 1 out).
Team LOB: 7.

PITCHING
Oakland Athletics
IP H R ER BB SO HR
Morgan L(0-6) 7 8 5 2 6 1 1
Todd 1 2 2 2 0 0 1
Totals 8 10 7 4 6 1 2

Boston Red Sox
IP H R ER BB SO HR
Eckersley W(11-5) 9 8 3 3 3 3 2

IBB: Eckersley (3,Gross).
Umpires: Dale Ford, Terry Cooney, Mike Reilly, John Shulock
Time of Game: 2:33 Attendance: 30393

RED SOX 7TH: Brohamer grounded out (second to first); Lynn
reached on an error by Revering; Rice forced Lynn (third to
second); Yastrzemski homered (unearned) [Rice scored
(unearned)]; Yastrzemski becomes the 18th ML and 7th AL with
400 HR; Watson was called out on strikes; 2 R, 1 H, 1 E, 0
LOB. Athletics 3, Red Sox 5.

In 3's

Game 124 – Mets

Mets 8, Cardinals 7
Record: 76-48

They say that good and bad luck occur in threes; before Carlos Delgado could saunter to the plate with a chance to win the game with his third home run of the night, the other Carlos did it for him. Symmetry be damned; my leap off the couch was abbreviated only by a sure calculation that my face was destined for unpleasant contact with the ceiling fan. Aside from that, there was the usual muted but otherwise unrestrained bedlam here; the relative silence (to include a booming clap of hands and a holler that was demoted to a whispered shout by the time of its emanation) was necessary to preserve the slumbers of the wee Met fans of the house, but the flood of fist-pumps and some kind of white boy boogie mixed with an excited few laps around the den more than informed any nosy neighbors of the game’s outcome.

Triumph in triplicate did take place for the Township today, however. As documented earlier, short of learning that the clot in his shoulder was a subcutaneous hope diamond whose removal would add 12 mph and a little movement to his every pitch, Tom Glavine received about the best diagnosis possible. Just when many of us had begun scraping together an image of what a rotation minus Glavine might resemble, it became a needless notion.

Then, somewhere in the middle innings with the score Pujols 7, Mets 1, the booth boys announced that the deal for Shawn Green had become finalized. Time will tell if this middle prong of today’s three-tined fork of fortune can penetrate the porterhouse (honestly, I have no idea, but you know what I mean . . . maybe), but somewhere amid my grumbling in the dark about a certain unnamed St. Louis first baseman’s circumstantial connection to illicit performance-enhancing substances, this trade’s news generated a smile and a nod. It’s nice to see Omar, far from complacent, making the low-risk, high-potential moves. It gives us a sense that he has a master plan out there at Shea; if I recall, we weren’t even sure that Jim Duquette had a master key. (As always, we disparage Duquette only with the appended acknowledgement that he was on the recipient end of a “Muppet Special” by the Wilpons, mind you.) But Green seems to fit into the Mets Needs category nicely, checking off the corner outfielder, left-handed bat, and Judaism (in case Denis Leary and Lenny Clarke drop by the booth) boxes nicely.

The third tier of the trifecta was, of course, the game’s conclusion. John Maine actually pitched a fairly decent ballgame tonight, minus his lack of respect for Albert Pujols. He showed little concern with keeping Pujols’ plate predecessors off the paths, and even less for avoiding chucking something even mildly meaty in his direction. He didn’t walk the MVP candidate with men on second and third, and he paid for it. Then he did walk the two batters before him to load the bases, and he paid for it. Two swings, seven runs. Even as it was happening to the Mets, I was feeling more tip-the-cap than gnash-the-teeth. The dude is good.

Carlos Delgado, who seems to have swum upstream the length of the river to fight through a bad slump, is looking a whole lot more like that beast of the first six or eight weeks than the free-flailing, shoulder-pulling, befuddled fellow of more recent months. It’s as welcome a sight at this time of year as I can think of, along with Duaner Sanchez warming in the pen after applying a balm and healing magically. His solo shot opened the scoring; his grand salami made the game worth sticking around for.

Carlos Beltran has been far more consistent all year long, but in the bottom of the ninth he entered the box with an 0-for-4 night. Speaking of his consistency, how is he still hitting just .288? He’s been steady all season, and he’s not over .300? Meanwhile, David Wright has been dying a slow death at several intervals and he’s been perched above .300 all along? (Okay, I just checked, and the latest collar Dee-Dub took tonight edged him down to .299.) Regardless, with Beltran up, nobody out and Paul LoDuca on first after a single, I felt curiously comfortable – even down a run with three outs left to play with and Jason Isringhausen on the hill. This lineup will do that to you.

One pitch later, the game was over and I was in mid-air, moreso than a guy of my poundage can usually muster.

There were more things to praise, with new Met (and old enemy) Guillermo Mota looking sharp in his debut for New York, Chad Bradford drawing Pujols into a 6-4-3 inning-ender with a couple aboard in the eighth, and Aaron Heilman shutting the Cards down in the ninth to enable the heroics and earn the win. There’s more minutia to discuss, such as Bill Clinton in attendance (where he goes, drama follows), Delgado hitting his 400th career homer, and the Mets reaching a double-digit lead in the National League.

But I’m content to focus on the trio of excitingly positive events in MetLand today. Tomorrow’s another day and the Mets could just as quickly find themselves in triage rather than triumph. Tonight, however, these three developments have made me one happy man.