The Good Times Are Killing Me

Game 28 - Mets

Mets 6, Pirates 0

Record: 19-9

. . . and by "me,"I mean a certain husky outfielder who's spent the last few years being a day late and a buck short of locking in an everyday role for the New York Mets.

Take the case of Victor Diaz, if you will, a young outfielder who'd played in spots over the past two seasons with the Mets. Diaz had been unable to crack through an outfield roamed regularly by Cliff Floyd, Carlos Beltran, and especially Mike Cameron, who played Diaz's natural right-field position. Cameron's skills stood in direct contrast to Diaz's, and to some the two players complemented each other. Mike Cameron's stellar defense and speed on the paths were juxtaposed by Victor Diaz's plain lack of either. They did, however, both sport some pop in their bats without spending nearly enough time on base. In the end, Victor got the short end of the stick, notching regular starts in 2005 only when Cam leaped into Beltran's face and out of the lineup.

Last winter, I can only imagine Diaz was thrilled to hear that Cameron was dealt to San Diego, even if an outfielder was coming back in the trade. After all, the new Met was Xavier Nady, a guy that couldn't manage a starting role on a club with some of the weakest offensive numbers in baseball. Statistically, the two players had nearly identical '05 stats. Victor Diaz had to figure that as the semi-incumbent, it would be at the very least a platoon situation with an opportunity for him to win the job outright.

Wow, has the early-going unfolded in a vastly darker way for Mr. Diaz. Nady has been tearing the cover off it since his arrival, delivering timely hits and dramatic homers here and there as the starting RF for the Mets. Somewhere decidely south of there, Victor Diaz has been languishing for the AAA Tides, providing equally ineffective support during his scattershot visits to the bigs. It's just not working out the way he had to envision it so far in '06.

Last night in Columbus, Diaz sparked a rally with a leadoff home run in the sixth. The solo shot propelled his International League average up to .200, nearly 20 points higher than his National League figure. It was a start -- just back from his latest unproductive venture to The Show, it would be nice to think that he could get it in gear and make a run; as documented here, the Mets' bench could use a hand.

Then three things happened -- three things that were good for the Mets and bad for Victor Diaz.

In the seventh inning in New York, Xavier Nady turned a tenuous 2-1 lead over the Pirates into a 5-2 coast by crushing a pitch over the center field wall. Nady's 1-for-4 night produced four ribbies but lowered his average to a team-leading .310.

Next, Jose Valentin produced a pinch-hit. If Valentin continues his slow, calculated commando crawl uphill towards mediocrity, the woes of the reserves may not demand Diaz's promotion quite as desperately.

Finally, new Tide and longtime big-leaguer Michael Tucker homered, doubled, and singled, adding another wrinkle to the outfield picture, not to mention Diaz's furrowed brow. Victor needs more OF competition like a hold in the head; hoping against hope that it inspires him to play his best baseball is the straw at which we're left to grasp now. (Oh, and just to pile on, Lastings Milledge homered last night as well.)

And so goes the tale of Victor "V.D." Diaz, who, unlike his initials, can't seem to catch on and stay for the duration, but who does, however, respresent a painful tale that leaves the man scratching his head and wondering how it happened.

The story isn't through, though; a baseball season is an eternity, and we/he can expect many a twist and turn in the road before it's all played out. Victor, the time is now to bear down, keep the energy high, and think positively that a few will fall in for you before long. May your grounders have eyes, your liners have tails, and your flies have legs.

Woolly Bully

Games 27 & 28 - Red Sox

Blue Jays 7, Red Sox 6
Red Sox 7, Blue Jays 4
Record: 16-12

The Sox plated 5 in the bottom of the 1st last night, and I thought I was well on the way to dodging a marital spat. Then, the Sox' middle relief corps got involved, and damn near cost me my wife, my dog, and my pickup truck. It's possible that some of that last sentence is poetic license.

What is true, though, is that my wife turned to me at 8:50 or so last night with sad, puppydog eyes and said, "Can we please watch The Office tonight?". After a quick mental calculation, and calmed by the fact that the Sox led, 5-1, on their way to a 7-1 lead, I acquiesced.

As I flipped back to the game on a commercial break, Rudy Seanez (the Dwight Schrute of the Sox - at least in terms of annoying habits, primarily his penchant for giving up mammoth homeruns. 4 in less than 10 innings of work this season, to be precise.) served up a heaping helping of gopher to Troy Glaus in the top of the 8th. Terry Francona countered by bringing Julian Tavarez to hold the line in the 9th, but Eric Hinske made things interesting by drilling a ball over the Sox' bullpen to make it 7-4. After Tavarez yielded another baserunner, the Sox were forced to go with young gun Jonathan Papelbon.

One day after Papelbon finally succumbed to the same disease as the rest of the bullpen and gacked up his first run of the season, 36,000 Fenway faithful held their breath as the young fireballer entered the game. Fears were assuaged momentarily as Russ Adams went down on strikes, but Frank Catalanotto (natch) singled to bring Vernon Wells to the plate as the tying run.

Midway through Wells' at bat, Papelbon landed awkwardly on his left foot, jumping gingerly off the mound. The Sox training staff sprinted from the dugout, and cardiac trauma centers from Bangor to the Berkshires shifted into high gear. Somehow, I can't see the same reaction from the Sox medical staff should Seanez blow a hammy on the mound - more of a mild saunter, perhaps. Papelbon shook off the attention, declining even to throw a warm-up pitch, and closed out Wells on a meek comebacker to end the game and put an end to far more drama than this game needed.

Really strong effort by Matt Clement, who gave up just 2 hits and 1 run through 6. Youks hit his 2nd homer of the year, to give the Sox the 7-1 edge - and it was a bomb, clearing the Monster seats. 2 doubles by Mike Lowell give increasing credence to the idea that he may actually not be toast. Solid, workmanlike effort, except for the bullpen.

Which leads us to Wednesday, and thank God for the glories of recaptured youth, because beer league softball kept me from having to witness Keith Foulke's meltdown, and Papelbon's first remotely human moment of the season. Not much to say, other than to lament again the soft underbelly of the Red Sox bullpen and their seeming inability to dent the Blue Jays.

Last day today at my current job after nearly 8 years, so just an abbreviated post here - a colleague just handed me a bottle of 12 year-old Macallan, so the words may be flowing later. A final note of irritation in closing - regional cable here in DC is blacking out tonight's Sox/Orioles game, so it won't be available on the MLB package, nor on Comcast. Somewhere, Peter Angelos is cackling.

C'mon, Billy

Game 27 – Mets

Mets 4, Pirates 3 (12 inn.)
Record: 18-9

There were key hits, great glovework, wild pitching, and medium-high drama at the old park last night. Naturally, I am speaking of Rob’s and my night out at the Arlington softball park. What else could I mean?

Many of the same elements filled in the Mets’ win over the Bucs last night, but I didn’t get to see any of them until later. Rob and I were out there clinging desperately to the last threads of our youthful athleticism amongst “peers” who were in high school when the team formed. My wee cohort manned the 2B spot with as much range, reliability and flair as ever, while I typically started strong and faded down the stretch on the hill; meanwhile, our dinosauric duo collected 14 hits (all right, one or two might’ve been ruled an error if an official scorer had been around) and scored 14 times. Not bad for a pair of washed-up dudes with bellies full of beer.

At the same time, somewhere in the drizzle at William A. Shea Municipal Stadium, Pedro Martinez stymied the Pirates for six innings, Aaron Heilman threw two perfect frames, and Billy Wagner . . . made me the fool once again for applauding his recent performance. Whereas Pedro embodied all that I described in a recent "State of the Mets" post, Wags confounded me by handing the Bucs two runs to tie the thing, requiring a 12th-inning game-ending blast from (who else?) Carlos Delgado. C’mon, Billy, if you can’t handle a little praise, I’d be glad to lampoon rather than laud your work.

Meanwhile, the hitting isn’t exactly up to its projected form; the Metros went 10-for-42, not that terrible, but they posted 14 strikeouts to just four walks while leaving 12 men on base. Endy Chavez’s big night was overshadowed to some degree by batters 1-3 managing just two hits in 17 at-bats. Meanwhile, David “Something’s Not” Wright fanned three more times as his average dropped to .277.

Oh, and the Mets’ pinch-hitters were 0-for-3 on the night, continuing the dearth of timely insertions that’s a mirror image from last year’s club. Marlon Anderson led a brilliantly PH-balanced squad last year, but this team can’t seem to muster up the mojo from its subs. Jose “My Funny” Valentin pinch-whiffed yet again last night. I’d rather Pedro have hit for himself, and that’s bad.

Hitting slumps setting in, a wasted effort by Martinez, and another blown save for Wagner on a nasty night in New York. Could’ve easily meant a loss for the hometown team, yet it didn’t. There is plenty to be said for this team’s buoyancy. Shake it off, Billy, there’s a clubhouse full of guys to lean on when you stumble.

Bigmouth Strikes Again

Game 26 - Mets

Nationals 6, Mets 2
Record: 17-9

Like I was saying, the Mets are really great.

Not that I expected any less; conveying true, enthusiastic sentiment rather than superstition-tempered tepidity was destined to bring out one of the season's most lackluster outings. On a positive note, the Mets seem to be orchestrating their most atrocious games as a unit, sparking each other to victory most of the time and uniformly collapsing but once or twice a week. I feel like I've heard of this phenomenon, something about cycles synchronizing when you spend this much time together? Anyway, what most irks me is that I had hunkered down for an enjoyable evening of alternately TiVo-ing and toggling between the Mets-Nats and Sox-Yanks but came away with a Mets' turkey and a dramatic Braves' win. Ugh.

At least in my mind, John "Remember the" Maine was supposed to be the young pitcher in the news for a stellar performance last night. Fittingly, he blew up and sank while Mike O'Connor, the young local product for the Nationals, left the erstwhile powerful Mets' lineup scratching its collective head. Maine's outing wasn't so putrid it left nothing to salvage, but he issued doubles like it was Last Call all night, touched for four runs through five while stiffed on run support.

At least Jorge Julio pitched an inning and two-thirds of perfect ball right in my mug. He left a message on my cell phone late last night demanding my resignation on his desk by Monday morning. I'm still weighing my options and consulting my attornies.

Just in case the Pittsburgh Pirates and Ian "What's That" Snell have aspirations of building on the Mets' nine innings of crud, Pedro goes tonight for New York. If he can enliven my spirits with his mere presence 230 miles away, he should be able to easily jazz up the rest of the club, no?

Everyday Sunshine

Sox got rained out last night, meaning that they sweep the first series of the season against the Yankees, 1-0. Nice.

I'm leaving my job in 2 days, and my colleagues hosted a farewell Happy Hour for me last night, so a Sox rainout meant that I didn't miss anything. Even nicer, except for the hangover.

The rainout will be made up as part of a doubleheader, which means that the Sox and Yanks will play a 5-game series at Fenway in late August. Nicenice.

It's raining again today in Fenway, and the good people at weather.com indicate that it will continue to rain throughout the evening. Fortunately for me, I have a softball game - chalk up 1 more Sox game that I'll not miss. Even better, it's against the Blue Jays, who have been kicking the Sox' ass all over creation this season. A tidy little bow on this package of nice.

First good thing I've ever had to say about a rainout. How 'bout them meteorologists.

Rearviewmirror

25-Game Check-up – Mets

Time for a brief look back at the first 25, though I’ve been fairly prone to holistic glimpses throughout the first month. Let’s whip it around the horn quickly and get back to live baseball, shall we?

Pearls

17-8 through 25 outings – anyone who’s been with us on the bumpy ride of 2003-2005 can easily understand how excited I am about the way the Mets have led off in ‘06. There's a collection of factors great and small that have the Mets currently in a state of love and trust.

You can’t mention the Mets’ favorable fortunes without an immediate salute to Pedro Martinez. He’s been spinning the white circle in such a fashion that leaves opposing batsmen incredulous – they used to marvel at how a 95-mph fastball could move at or away from them, but now they just can’t understand how the 89-mph variety can still be so unhittable. That circle-slider or whatever the hell it is he throws is just freaky. He’s still good to serve up a two-or-three-run bomb once a game, but rarely does he seem fazed by any of it. At 5-0, with a 2.94 ERA and a 0.89 WHIP, he makes us feel pretty easy, too.

A quick second to Pedro’s April has to be that of Tom Glavine. In a true pleasant surprise, he seems to be improving with every season since he defected to New York. Glavine’s rediscovered curveball and a detour towards the inside rather than outside part of the plate has crossed up many a hitter. His five quality starts are tops on the team, and to have an aged, veteran lefty be able to lead by example means more than his surprisingly sharp numbers would even suggest.

Brian Bannister’s out-of-nowhere assimilation into the rotation has marked another windfall, though it’s an asterisked one. His hamstring injury and his proclivity for living dangerously on the mound (17 BB’s to 14 K’s don’t help) may darken the currently blue skies overhead, but so far he’s provided steady arm support as the Mets ascend the stairs into long-term contention. I’d think his a pseudonym if we weren’t already aware of his lineage.

Moments of reflection like this are certainly a time to give the New York bullpen a hail, hail in light of their first month on the job. You can’t, but if you could extract a certain right-handed chew toy’s stats from the rest of the relievers’, the figures would be dazzling (1.42 ERA over 66.2 innings). The story of the pen usually begins with the closer, paradoxically, and Billy “Save You” Wagner quickly shook off an early blown save and is now raining fire music all over ninth-inning batters. His looping slider counters his heat incredibly well, and he represents a noticeable change from Braden Looper’s struggles last year.

Even better than Wags, hard to believe, Duaner Sanchez has shone brilliantly in his seventeen innings of lockdown work. Aaron Heilman, Chad Bradford, Pedro Feliciano, and even Darren Oliver have held down the fort with airtight aplomb. The one weak link . . . oh, we’ll discuss him in a second.

The position players have provided plenty to please us as well, perhaps none more pointedly than Carlos Delgado. He’s been an animal from the word “Go,” smacking balls over and out at precisely the right moments. Delgado’s been swinging and missing a lot – he already has 28 whiffs – but his 1.034 OPS dispels any notions that he’s all or nothing. The comparisons to last year’s collective 1B offense and what Delgado has already accomplished are a dime a dozen, but “upgrade” doesn’t do the change justice.

I’m not going to heap too much more adulation onto the left side of the infield. It’s not for a lack of material, as they’re worthy, it’s just that we don’t need either of those guys believing their own press just yet. Reyes has been slipping for a while, making up for a still low OBP with a ton of mercurial flash. Meanwhile, D-W has been slumping at the plate and stumbling in the field lately, swinging a bit too much for the fences and going for the super over the solid plays at third. This is not to say that these two guys aren’t Reasons #1 and #2 to tune in on a nightly basis; indeed, they really are. It’s just that I’ve heard and read a surplus of accolades from in- and out-of-market sources in the last month, and my extreme partiality towards this duo has its limits when they start to struggle.

Paul LoDuca and Xavier Nady have represented two more huge steps up in production at their respective positions. Both seem to have magnetic clubhouse personas, which is just gravy when they’re outperforming their league peers. The personality thing can’t be overstated, though – it’s easy to talk about “chemistry,” but the one thing to note about these Mets is that they have a spectrum of personable people; from the sage vets (Glavine, Julio Franco) to the respectful youths (Reyes, Wright) and everyone in between (Delgado, LoDuca, Nady), there doesn’t seem to be a bevy of bristling behaviors that will distract the team down the stretch. Clubhouses can evolve over a season, but I like the Mets’ gang as they’re riding now.

Cleaning up some loose ends to be tossed into this category . . . I’ll once again concede my misread of the Julio Franco signing. What he brings to the team can be summed up by something I accidentally (I promise) omitted from yesterday’s post – a rare compliment to a group of people I have historically berated mercilessly and, on occasion, baselessly. The crowd at Turner Field gave Franco a rather prolonged and poignant standing ovation at his insertion into Friday night’s game. It was something they didn’t have to do, but the tip of 45,000 caps was a classy gesture for which I give the Atlantans credit. It was also an obvious juxtaposition to the rightful Bronx cheer Johnny Damon got in Boston last night, as well as a definitive stamp on Franco’s value on the team, evident even after he promptly grounded into an inning-ending double play. (And even after he did it again the next night.)

A final positive note before giving some space to the downsides, I have to issue a . . . well, not an apology, damn him, not even an admission of wrongdoing. Let’s call it a “hey, I noticed you haven’t been sucking tremendously” to old Kaz Matsui. He’s dropped in a handful of timely hits and manned the 4-hole with a steady glove in the stead of bulging Anderson Hernandez. The “Nothingman” of the last two years is this year’s “Betterman” in the early-going. And I’ll say this – Kaz Matsui in the 8th spot of the order is actually a boon. Okay, that’s enough praise for this guy. On to the bashing.

Jams

Where else did you think I would start? There’s nothing that quite so common around here as writers rewarding their own accurate forecasts with self-congratulatory follow-ups, and Jorge “Pass the Don” Julio has been everything I announced he would be . . . and less. He still throws with great velocity, but he also finds the middle of the plate with the precision of a freakin’ compass, making for some prodigious blasts. Julio isn’t just murdering the Mets’ relief numbers (he’s surrendered more earned runs in fewer than 12 innings than the rest of the pen has in 66+), he’s skewing the already lopsided league-wide home run numbers. I feel for the guy, I do – every time he issues a catapulted meteor, he whips his head around and gazes wistfully as if to ask, “Maybe not?” – right as it clangs around seat JJ23 in the mezzanine. That Rick “Sergeant” Peterson can’t do anything for him is duly noted.

Speaking of Peterson, taking his place along the whipping post next to Julio is, of course, Victor Zambrano. He escapes further bludgeonry because of last night’s success versus the hapless Gnats, but he’s a problem in the 5-slot of the rotation. It doesn’t do much good to mention Kris Benson, much less Scott Kazmir here. It’s far more productive to think about who the Mets might get to fill Zambrano’s shoes. And then the Mets will keep trotting Victor out there, of course, frustrating me to no end. Let’s move on . . . quickly.

Cliff Floyd has been stuck down a well most of the season. Keith Hernandez notes his shoulder flying out early, others point out his trouble with the off-speed stuff, and MetsGeek aficionados fret over his frighteningly paltry .572 OPS. I still like the guy a lot, and he has done enough hard time in the Met-itentiary of the last few years to be given a break, but it’s all going pretty badly for Clifford so far. He has been good with the glove and plays hard every game . . . I’d like just to check back after 25 more and pray for a rebound.

Meanwhile, over in center, it feels like Endy Chavez has been logging more games than superstar Carlos Beltran. Beltran’s lingering hamstring issues, along with last season’s quad problems, have the word “fragile” being whispered around Shea all too frequently. It’s a helpless feeling for Beltran, to be sure, but we the fans are just as helpless. It does no good to holler at him for his injuries when he would so clearly rather be helping the team, especially because his skin seems to be thinner than the Mets’ bench.

Ah, what a nice segue. The biggest problem with the Mets right now – the one with the most long-term repercussions as I look at them – has to be a weak corps of understudies. Organizational depth cannot be underscored enough in a 162-game schedule. The Mets have paid good money for this starting lineup, and they have reaped the benefits in the early-going. The good times could be fleeting, however, if they continue to fill large voids with silly putty. I will grant them this: there has been an ever-so-slight uptick in the productivity of these role players, from Chavez having a few fall in to Ramon Castro hitting quite well to Franco’s wild ride. I guess the biggest problem is Jose “Elderly Woman Behind the Counter in a Small Town” Valentin, a guy who plays much older and more decrepit than his 36 alleged years. His 3-for-23 batting represents a significant improvement of late; somebody, somewhere on the bench should be a guy with some serious pop, even if he has a few holes in his swing. I don't see him when I scan the Mets' dugout.

Meanwhile, the Norfolk Tides are finding out that a roster of AA players + A players does not equal AAA players. The Mets mined some of the resources to pay for the big league talent; it’s showing early returns in the negative way as well. Unfortunately, as the next couple of months unfold, if the Mets are savvy, they’ll add another player or two to bolster their chances down the stretch, thinning out the farm that much more. The phrase “mortgaging the future” is a trite one, but no less applicable.

* * *

Despite the last few paragraphs of what’s jamming me up, there’s just so much more in the prior segment that outweighs these concerns. We’re but a month in, but it’s been a fun month for sure, and there is reason to believe that more could follow. Jeremy spoke in a comment today with sheer confidence of a 10+ game division lead; I’m still a little trigger shy, but while the future looked Black at 25-game stopping points in years past, today the optimism is very much Alive.

Fortunate Son

Game 26 – Red Sox

Red Sox 7, New York Yankees 3
Record: 15-11

Have I mentioned that I love baseball? For sheer Aeschylean drama, it would be hard to match last night’s Sox/Yanks tilt. On May 1, no less.

Begin with an opening act recounting past epic battles between baseball’s 2 most prominent franchises. Athens versus Sparta, if you will. Spice that up with a villain, maybe a warrior that switched sides – a traitor to some, a mercenary to most, an idiot to all (even if that’s a good thing). Incorporate a surprising comedic/dramatic element, with a prodigal son overcoming all odds to join the fray, abetted by the authorities. Give the evil empire some early success despite the best efforts of the plucky underdogs. Spin a climax that features Adonis smiting his foes with a mighty club in the midst of a fierce, howling wind and close the action with the next generation’s hero dealing the final blow to the dying enemy. The Greeks couldn’t have written last night any better.

And if you think I’m being melodramatic, you didn’t watch last night’s game.

The first Sox/Yanks game of any season is highly anticipated, but last night also marked Johnny Damon’s first trip to Fenway in a Yankee uniform, which ratcheted the pre-game anticipation to post-season levels. Forgive the armchair psychoanalysis, but Damon looked uncomfortable from the jump, reacting awkwardly to the heavily negative reaction to his first trip to the plate and finishing the game 0-for-4 with a bunch of really ugly swings. After the game, Joe Torre expressed his “disappointment” in the fans’ reaction, which amuses me mightily. Cry me a freaking river, Joe, and buy a clue if you really believe that Boston fans should welcome Johnny Cakes (great Sopranos-related nickname courtesy of SoSH) back with open arms.

I can’t help wondering about Damon’s psyche after he saw the Fenway crowd’s reaction to Doug Mirabelli’s triumphant return to Boston. Acquired just yesterday from San Diego, Belli flew across the country in a race against time, allegedly disembarking from his plane at Logan at 6:48, and jumping into a police-escorted convoy to get to Fenway in time for the start – changing into his uniform on the way. Asked if he had ever ridden in a police car before, he replied “That was the first time naked.” I’ll leave that alone.

The NESN cameras recorded Mirabelli jumping out of his car and sprinting into the tunnel that leads to the Sox dugout, and the crowd roared as his name was announced as part of the starting lineup. He proceeded to drop 2 of the first 3 warmup tosses from Wakefield, but wound up backstopping flawlessly, even throwing out Bubba Crosby stealing on a well-time pitchout.

Aided by a 20+ mph wind that whipped towards the infield, Wakefield had no problems with the Yankees through the first 3 innings, but gave up 3 runs in the 4th, despite no solid contact. The final 2 runs scored on a dribbler through the infield that Mark Loretta shouldacouldadived to stop and save at least 1 tally. It was 3-1 after 4, with the Sox having left the bases loaded twice, and I had visions of yet another early-season game lost as a result of miserable clutch hitting. Entering the game, the Sox were “hitting” at a .690 OPS clip with runners in scoring position, a full 100 points below the league average.

The Sox did manage to string together a handful of hits in the 5th to tie the score at 3, setting the stage for the Sox’ Adonis in the bottom of the 8th. After a Mark Loretta single atoned for his mediocre defensive effort in the 4th (as did a nifty sprawling catch of a Jason Giambi liner) and gave the Sox a 4-3 lead, the Yankees trotted out former Sox pitcher Mike Myers to face Papi. It is only a slight stretch to note that Myers is on the Yankee roster specifically to minimize Ortiz’, so this at bat was freighted with longer-term meaning, even in the midst of this classic. Myers got 2 strikes on Papi, then let loose a fastball that got way too much of the plate.

All night long, seemingly mammoth blasts were kept in the park by the whipping wind – Giambi crushed a ball that settled softly in Wily Mo Pena’s glove in deepest center, and Mirabelli hit one that the camera operator expected to touch down on Lansdowne Street, focusing on the stands as the ball landed in Hideki Matsui’s mitt. Nature held no such sway over the mighty Papi on this night, as his ferocious lefty swing blasted a ball to deepest right center. As the ball bore through the jet stream, the crowd stood – at first silent, then in unified glee – and watched as it was caught. By Jonathan Papelbon, warming in the bullpen. As I said immediately to my wife, and as Jerry Remy echoed in the same words, it was just crushed. And so were the Yankees.

Papelbon applied the death blow in the 9th inning. Though no longer a save situation, the crown prince of the Sox pitching staff focused intently and simply dominated the Yankee 4 – 6 hitters. He struck out Alex Rodriguez on a high fastball, treating the reigning AL MVP with the same cool disdain he seems to have for all hitters. Hideki Matsui popped harmlessly to 3rd, and Papelbon sent the crowd home happy by whiffing Jorge Posada on another high fastball. Exit stage left, and curtain.

Homer himself would be proud of this one. Sure, 18 more to go, and I reserve the right to come back here enraged tomorrow, but that’s about as satisfying a result as I can ever remember in a May contest.

The Bottom Line

Game 25 - Mets

Mets 2, Nationals 1
Record: 17-8

These are the games that are "must-win" in a rather unorthodox sort of way. They defy the normal nature of the expression, of course. They aren't the back-against-the-wall, pressure-packed variety; instead, they're simply the contests that ballclubs with October intentions must win with consistency. Among 162 match-ups, there are going to be more than a few that appear to have your club predisposed to win; what your boys do with that advantage is what separates the wheat from the chaff, or the chafe as it pertains to the fans' experience. So far this season, the chafes of old have been properly soothed by these balmy Metropolitans. Those jock strap sand burrs of yesteryear have mostly been plucked and sent to far-off places from Missouri to Southern California, keeping that familiar winced visage and tender gait mostly absent from the denizens of Mets Township this year.

Let's examine how the Mets snuffed out the Nats last night, using MLC's trademarked 5 Steps to Beating Beatable Teams:

Step 1: Don't allow yourself to play down to the level of your competition.
Hmmm . . . well, the Mets didn't quite execute that. Victor "Sandpaper Underwear" Zambrano shed his nickname, his rough April, and his penchant for mediocrity to baffle the Nationals for six strong innings. It was a fair bit uglier than his numbers would indicate, but there are no style points in baseball. At the same time, however, Ramon "The Pest" Ortiz somehow convinced the Mets batters to look equally ineffective.

Step 2: Don't make foolhardy, overaggressive plays simply because you know you should win.
Nope, no check-mark here. Jose Reyes tried to leg out a triple on a ball to straight left field. After being offered the gift of Alfonso Soriano's misjudgment, Reyes handed it right back -- so silly that he stopped halfway to third. Jose, these guys are 8-18, they're not amputees.

Step 3: Don't rely on the long ball; stringing together a few rallies will unravel a subpar squad.
Entering the 9th inning, the only Mets run had been scored on a Carlos Delgado home run. That he muscled it through a swirling breeze to the opposite field did make it enjoyable enough to forget about those so-called "rallies."

Step 4: Get to their pen early, and inflict damage against some mid-grade arms.
Clearly, this wasn't happening last night.

-- Makes you wonder how the Mets won if you didn't see the game, huh? --

Step 5: If the other team is inclined to fall on its own grenade, start running and don't look back.
Check! In the bottom of the 9th (after an utterly dominant frame from Billy Wagner), the free-falling Nationals morphed an easy inning-ending double play into a blooper reel keeper. Gary Majewski gloved a comebacker, turned, saw both Royce Clayton and Jose Vidro running towards second, and hurled the ball towards both and neither of them at the same time. The end result was pinch-runner Endy Chavez trotting home to end a game that just didn't warrant going extras.

And people, this is what you have to like about the new, new Mets. They can go 1-for-5 but still find success on the bottom line. The horses are on the track.

Peaches

Games 22 through 24 - Mets

Mets 5, Braves 2
Mets 1, Braves 0
Braves 8, Mets 5
Record: 16-8

The Mets cruised through the series against the Braves – sure, they threw it on cruise control in Sunday’s game and dropped one, but it was as enjoyable a weekend in Atlanta as the team has had in years. It was a strangely breezy trio of games; for the most part, the Metmen continued a pattern of strong play that added some kind of rosy tint to the spectacle. When they were tied, it felt like they were winning; when their lead was slim, it felt like it was fatter; when they were losing, it felt like they simply shouldn’t be. Braves games are never this comfortable.

The vast exception to all of this was an episode we’ll call “What Steve Did” on the mound yesterday. Trachsel started the series finale because Victor Zambrano was shrewdly shoved back to tonight’s game against the Nationals, but then he went out and did his best Zambrano impersonation. His line (3.2 IP, 8 H, 6 ER, 5 BB, 1 K) was atrocious, and although he ended up with a modest amount of run support, he just didn’t have it this day.

Lending a hand to stoke the embers was, predictably, Jorge Julio, whose meatball to the heretofore grasping-at-straws Jeff Francoeur will indubitably rocket the young Brave into All-Star contention by Memorial Day. It’s fun to bash Julio in an old Benitez kind of way, and it’s more prudent to try to urge him on to turn it around, but we’re a month in, so let’s hope the Hour of Jorge is in its 59th minute. The Norfolk Tides, currently falling over themselves in deep last place of the International League, would welcome the chance to have the fireballer throw a few frames for them. I’d say something about the confidence boost it’d provide Jorge . . . except I already see that backfiring.

Speaking of the Tides and Julio, the other component in the deal that sent Kris Benson to Baltimore is headed to New York. John Maine and Zambrano will form the least-terrifying starters in a two-game series by a division leader. I’m optimistic that Maine can provide some salvation to this deal; at the very least, it’s the Nationals and the two arms they’re countering with shouldn’t dominate the New York nine.

Things are still rolling the New York Mets’ direction as April turns to May. The good habit of doing the little things and knocking off the league’s beatables needs to be kept up as a Shea two-fer against Pittsburgh follows the one against Washington. Stay the friggin’ course, lads – we’d hate to see the steady ascension disturbed by a couple of roller skates on the stairs like the Nats and Bucs.

More tomorrow in the 25-game glance, but just one question for Rob – if I assault Jorge Julio enough, will they trade him back for Kris Benson in an hour or two?

Feed the Tree

Any of you that might have been doubting MLC's influence on the Sox' front office, take a look at this. Mere hours after another electronic bashing of Josh Bard, the Sox have shipped the passed ball machine to San Diego for...wait for it...Doug Mirabelli, the once and future caddy. He'll start tonight against the Yankees, fresh off a coast-to-coast flight - that's certain to go well. Nonetheless, this makes me happy.

The Real Slim Shady - 25 Games In

Games 23 through 25 - Red Sox

Devil Rays 5, Red Sox 2
Red Sox 9, Devil Rays 6
Devil Rays 5, Red Sox 4
Record: 14-11

Midway through Saturday's game in Tampa, the Sox were on the short end of a 4-0 count, and in the midst of a 3 1/2 game run in which they'd been outscored 31-6. My impending temper tantrum was muted only by a soon-to-be-empty bottle of pinot noir. As the top of the 6th began, I told my wife that this was the Sox' worst 4-game stretch since Whit and I began this collaboration.

And then, thanks to some long overdue timely hitting and the implosion of the Rays' mediocre bullpen, the Sox plated 9 runs in the game's last 4 innings and Jonathan Papelbon capped things off with a dominant 9th inning, whiffing all 3 Devil Rays he faced. And I was just drunk, instead of drunk and angry.

Yesterday, though, Curt Schilling and Rudy Seanez each gave up 2-run homers by grooving pitches on 0-2 counts, and the Sox fell short despite 9th inning solo shots by Mike Lowell and Wily Mo Pena, and despite putting the tying run on 3rd with 1 out. The resumption of my recent irritation was exacerbated by the fact that Schilling's 133-pitch outing against Cleveland almost certainly directly led to his inability to pitch the 7th inning yesterday - which necessitated Seanez' insertion into a close game. Cause, meet effect.

So, 25 games into a season that started in sublime fashion, Eminem's musical question resonates - if a bit paraphrased: will the real Boston Red Sox please stand up, please stand up? The tail end of a 3-7 stretch may not be the best time to truly evaluate this team any more than the middle of their 11-4 season opening spree. That said, there's enough good and bad right now to puzzle even the most ardent Sox-watcher.

Good Shady

As I've detailed at some length in this space, Kevin Youkilis, the Greek God of Getting on Base, is contributing significantly in his first season as a full-time starter. It's gotten to the point where I'm surprised when he fails to come up big in a pinch, as he did yesterday with the tying run at 3rd in the top of the 9th. He's posted an .820 OPS, 5th among AL starters at first base, and has been errorless in 184 chances, rendering J.T. Snow as irrelevant as Tom Delay's ethics advisor.

It's hard not to get all hyberbolic about Papelbon's start, given that he still hasn't given up a run in 13 innings. Setting aside the inevitable regression (not necessarily to the mean, but he's not gonna be perfect all year) and potential that Paps joins the rotation sometime this season, his contribution in the season's first month is hard to overstate. Without Papelbon stepping up after Keith Foulke's early ineffectiveness, the Sox could easily be 3-4 games under .500. Just as the D-Rays how important late-inning arms can be.

Speaking of Foulke, I'm hard-pressed to describe my surprise at including him in the roster of positives for the season's first 25 contests. He was awful during the season's first week, but has suddenly turned into a rock, and arguably the Sox' best reliever right now - even considering Papelbon. Foulke's ability to pitch multiple high-leverage innings will be a huge boost to the Sox' chances, so his health will be one of the major plot lines as the weather warms.

Despite misfires over the recent road trip, Curt Schilling and Josh Beckett have shown the potential to be dominant for the Sox. Beckett still needs to adjust to the American League and stop challenging hitters when he doesn't need to, but his makeup and his stuff are elite. Schilling just needs the manager to step up and use him judiciously, lest his arm and leg fall off in July.

After years of ham-handed defensive efforts (with one magic interlude in late 2004), the Sox have finally gotten serious about fielding the baseball. Despite Coco Crisp's injury, the Sox are tied for 3rd in the AL in errors with 11 in 25 games (and 4 of those came in the D-Rays series). They haven't hit consistently yet, but they have picked it, especially in the infield.

Sox fans were decidedly cool regarding Mike Lowell as the season began, considering him a necessary evil as a part of the trade that brought Beckett to Boston. And while I have doubts about his ability to ever be an elite slugger, the fact remains that his current .882 OPS is higher than his career high (if only by .001).

Trot Nixon's started quickly despite an early injury, Wily Mo Pena's shown promise, especially now that he's been in the lineup consistently for a few days, and David Ortiz has (mostly) been David Ortiz. Manny's starting to swing the bat after a slow start, elevating his OPS to .855.

Bad Shady

As noted above, the Sox have some reasons for optimism. However, they've got nearly as many reasons for the opposite emotion.

Each at-bat Alex Gonzalez gets in the 9-spot is equivalent to that of an NL pitcher, and in the American League, giving away outs puts a team at a disadvantage. As sublime as A-Gon is with the glove, his putrid offensive output (a .518 OPS!) is enough to make me long for the days of Edgar Renteria and his scattershot fielding ways.

The extreme shifts employed by most opponents against Papi seem to be getting into his head. This is purely anecdotal and observational, as I'm not inclined to do any analysis, but Ortiz' body language after grounding yet another bullet to an infielder stationed in right-field has been deflated. He's still leading the team in OPS, HR, and RBI, and he's still fearsome, but I worry about the long-term impact on his swing and his psyche if he tries to change his swing to defeat the shift.

As good as Papelbon and Foulke have been, they're in danger of being overshadowed by the mediocrity of their bullpen mates. Outside of Papelbon, the relief corps has posted a 5.14 ERA, and even more importantly, Terry Francona doesn't seem to trust anyone other than the aforementioned studs and Mike Timlin. And frankly, he's right. Julian Tavarez, Seanez, the recently recalled Manny Delcarmen, Jermaine Van Buren (of the Van Buren Boys) - none of them have been useful in any role other than cleaning up the messes made by...

...the Sox' 5th starters. Lenny DiNardo and David Wells have combined to go 0-2 with a 8.87 ERA in 22 1/3 innings. DiNardo's a nice guy, but as a member of the rotation of a team with playoff aspirations, he's...well, he's a nice guy. Wells, on the other hand, is a prick, but at least he's an out-of-shape, ineffective, and currently injured prick. Help, it appears, is not on the way.

Josh Bard has been, um, not so great behind the plate as Tim Wakefield's caddy, adding one more culprit to the list of guys victimizing Timmy Wake over the season's first month. He's pitched a lot better than his 1-4 record might indicate.

Running down the rest of the list, Mark Loretta's chipped in a couple of big hits, but he's been fairly awful with the stick for the most part leading the team in ABs with a .579 OPS. Jason Varitek looks hurt - he's been well below his usual standards at the plate. WillieHarrisDustanMohr are simply not big-league ballplayers and every at-bat they get makes the Sox a worse team.

Mash all that together and do a little back-of-the-napkin calculations, and you've got...well, I have no idea what you've got. And that's sorta the point. I know these Sox are capable of more, but it sure looks like they're capable of about 85 wins, too.

First of 19 against the Yankees tonight in Boston, with a little 2-game mini-series to ease the Nation into the angst. Bard gets to see if he can track down the knuckler, and Johnny Damon gets to see how he fares in the wrong uniform. I hear that the Sox are planning to sign Damian Jackson just so he can run out towards center in the first inning to scare Damon.

Turkish Song of the Damned

Games 21 & 22 - Red Sox

Indians 7, Red Sox 1
Indians 15, Red Sox 3
Record: 13-9

After completely missing Wednesday's game (and it seems I should be thankful) while engaged in recreating my youth with Whit, I tuned in last night just in time to see the Indians whaling away on the wall and the stands, battering Josh Beckett just like they did all Red Sox pitching throughout the 3-game set.

Sox starters gave up 16 earned runs (and 19 total) to the Tribe in 16 innings, for a tidy 9.00 ERA - guess my hunch about Cleveland's level of irritation following a series loss to Kansas City was accurate. All told, the Sox yielded 28 runs to the potent Indian lineup (as an aside - damn, but those guys can rake) and were lucky to escape the Jake with 1 win in 3 contests. The Cleveland offensive fiesta took a little bit of the bloom off the Sox' pitching rose, leaving Boston struggling now on both offense and defense.

I was well into a 2nd helping of whiskey in a jar before last night's game got out of the 4th inning, which helped a bit, I suppose. The Sox appeared as lethargic and hungover as I was, so we were good company. On the sunny side of the street, the Sox' performance allowed me to catch a new episode of The Office, so I've got that going for me, which is nice. On one channel, a comedy of errors involving urine testing, ill-fitting uniforms, and unrequited love - on the other, a sitcom.

3 games in Tampa Bay this weekend for the stumbling Sox, 2-5 over their last 7. The Devil Rays are beat up, and the Sox need to get healthy lest their early season success be worth nothing more than a bottle of smoke. The Yankees come to Boston next week for Johnny Damon's Fenway debut in pinstripes. The 2 teams are headed in different directions at the moment, so the Sox need to shake of their recent doldrums if they hope to recreate 2004's fairytale of New York.

I could go on, I guess, but it all sounds like so much yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah at this point, so I'll spare you.

They Might Be Giants

Games 20 & 21 - Mets

Mets 4, Giants 1
Mets 9, Giants 7 (11 inn.)
Record: 14-7

I wasn’t able to catch last night’s action, as I was in DC with Rob taking in a concert. (Guess which show?) Looks like I missed a dandy, with enough good in the destination (a huge extra-inning win after blowing the lead) to outweigh the bad in the journey (Brian Bannister strained his hamstring, David Wright made a crucial error, and Billy Wagner was taken out by that fellow with the 11 5/8 cap). Most of the Township seems to be in agreement on one thing: the Mets of yesteryear lose this game 10 times out of 10.

That the “new, new Mets” did not lose has been filed away in our Reasons to Believe folder. Just one game, sure, but it’s another sandbag on the wall of confidence.

Dee-Dub raised some eyebrows among the faithful not only for another costly bungle at the hot corner but also for a thinly veiled potshot at Carlos Beltran’s frailty. I was wondering how he’d take to all of the Golden Boy adulation; if this is the extent of how David Wright breaks bad, I think we can let it slide, no? Before any more is made of it in the clubhouse, though, let’s replay an old tape of Monsignor Mike Piazza: “Play baseball.”

Some exciting match-ups loom over the weekend. The Mets head to Atlanta in hopes of reversing the result of the Shea series – the only series they’ve lost this season. Tomorrow night’s Pedro v. Smoltz showdown has some major potential. Glavine and Trachsel have been moved into the next two slots, bumping Victor Zambrano out of the Braves series because of what Willie Randolph called “seriously sucking.” I’ll be honest: I’m excited about this weekend’s games. Almost as excited as my brother-in-law Patrick, who suggested that the Mets could “bury” the already-5-games-out Braves. Well, as much as you can bury someone in a foot of dirt, but I relish the notion anyway.

The next three days of Mets games could be riveting enough for me to actually be glad I’m tuning in instead of spending time in a sunny haze at JazzFest in New Orleans. That’s probably something of a stretch, but you loyal readers should at least be glad it means my next week’s worth of posts aren’t incomprehensible, sparse, babblings. Moreso than the usual twaddle, that is.

* * *

In permitting Barry “Big Sur-ly” Bonds to smack home runs numbers 710 and 711, the Mets have nudged me into addressing a man and a topic we at MLC have generally avoided. The media chatter about Bonds and steroids is deafening, despite the fact that it’s inevitably speculative and hypothetical at this point. Opinions on the matter generally fall into the categories of either trite or insane. I will attempt to capture a bit of both. Hey, if Wags fans him yesterday, we’re all out of here without further damage. Blame him.

I’m pretty sure we all agree that steroids are a bruise on the otherwise juicy peach of a game of baseball. I think we also share the notion that Bud “With My Head in the Sand I Just Can’t” Selig and the rest of the masterminds at MLB did everything but buy the drugs for the players by looking the other way for more than a decade. We’re glad to see that testing is finally taking place, we still don’t think it’s even close to being sufficient, and we have no clue what to do about the statistics of the last 20 years. Let’s just consider these a given in this discussion.

Oh, unless, of course, you are John Hieleman at New York magazine. My dad sent me this article, in which Hielemann suggests that we shouldn’t ban steroids in baseball. His article seems to be based on the fact that lasik surgery is legal and the supposition that surgeries of the future will enhance the body in much the same way that performance-enhancing drugs do. He missteps frequently, from suggesting that “the physical risks of steroids—taken under a doctor’s supervision and not in excess—are relatively mild” to touting “better coaching and parenting” instead of a steroid ban to completely ignoring the fact that steroid use is a federal crime whereas surgery is not. There is some tongue-in-cheek humor contained within, but nothing to lead me to believe that the entire article is a farce. Which means that it’s idiotic.

Among the statements that irritated me were proclamations like “The truth is that all the talk in baseball about the sacredness of its records is little more than another tactic in the long-running campaign waged by its overseers to mystify the game. To treat baseball as if it were something more hallowed than mere entertainment.” While there may be some truth in that statement, every baseball fan worth a damn buys into this practice 100%. Long-standing records and the players who set them are considered venerable, which seems silly to outsiders but makes every bit of sense to those sucked in by baseball’s charms.

A quote the author uses dramatically is “If fans like spectacular plays made possible by performance-enhancing drugs more than the loss of historical comparisons and the risks borne by the players, [then] allowing enhancements makes sense.” Again, this only serves to expose him as one of the mindless masses, one of the “fans” by virtue only of holding the ticket and not via any sort of dues-paying. There ought to be a creed for the die-hards, something that details, among many other facets, how our enjoyment of the game and the number of long home runs and blips over 100 on the gun are share no proportionate tie. The beauty of baseball isn’t in the flash and sizzle, clearly. The 11-9 slugfest, much like Top 40 radio, reality TV, designer drinks, and implanted breasts, entices hordes of peripheral fans with its accessible nature and eye candy but fails to impress us – that core contingent labeled “purist snobs” but who simply have the passion and patience to delve a bit deeper into the pastime.

There’s little point in continuing this barrage on such a silly article, but it did help to clarify in my own mind what my aggressive stance on the steroid issue is. I have a couple of points that I’ve not seen articulated, which isn’t to say they are therefore unique.

1. A New Record Book. Like it or not, casual fans, baseball’s record book is the sport’s Old Testament. There are historical accounts of baseball more colorful, descriptive, and telling than this compilation of long lists of accomplishments, but like America’s Constitution, this is the document most quoted, misquoted, and referenced in arguments. The problem is, of course, that there is zero context within these numbers. Jimmie Foxx, Mickey Mantle, Mike Schmidt, and Ken Griffey Jr. are all listed in a row as if they were peers in the same era, no matter that there was virtually no overlap of the four careers. And as much as baseball prides itself on being a game that has remained true to tradition over its history, it simply isn’t a fair comparison from generation to generation – especially in more recent times.

That Barry Bonds is about to pass Babe Ruth warrants attention, but even steroids aside, it’s not a one-to-one numerical accomplishment. With ballparks, balls, league size, and, yes, illegal drugs all tampering with the modern numbers, it’s just not a valid comparison, yet the sports world accepts it at face value. Sadaharu Oh’s 868 homers aren’t taken into any consideration when baseball records are discussed, but that figure has as much relevance as Bonds’ 711 or any other in today’s game.

This is why I believe in a revised record book, one that stresses the value of being the best of a particular time in history. I will give Bonds this: he is by far the best steroid-assisted home run hitter of this period. Bar none. Beyond focusing on different eras, when the inevitable quest for all-time domination comes about, league-adjusted numbers that take into account all that differs over the years can be drawn up with relative ease. Baseball boasts (kind of) the most geeks per capita of any major sport; don’t tell me it’s too complicated to execute. A new acronym appears every year that represents some stat with supposed insight into a player’s value. If the brainpower plugged into baseball statistics were channeled into economic growth, we have a surplus by the All-Star break. We can do it. I want a new, revised record book with entries that reflect with some certainty how the numbers stack up against players of different eras. This way, and only this way, can we celebrate the accomplishments of players in “The Steroid Era” without asterisks, exclusions, or just a whole lot of head-shaking doubt.

2. Keep Digging Up the Past. There has been some debate as to whether anything can truly be gained by rummaging around in players’ pasts to find evidence of steroid use. I’ll make this point quickly: at this moment, the threat of being caught red-handed with a positive drug test is almost no threat at all. The drugs usually can’t be detected; hell, human growth hormone isn’t being tested for at all. The stiff (finally – thanks, Bud) punishments would be a good deterrent if there were a chance of getting snagged, but there isn’t; all the teeth in a shark’s jaw mean nothing if he’s in a cage. What can bring these guys down, though, are investigations into such activity. Someone will always flip when squeezed by the right authority, and that will have guys sweating. Jason Giambi can take all the HGH he wants and it won’t show up in the lab, but he can ill afford another go-around of abuse if some scrub with a little scoop on him gives him up. And by digging into guys’ pasts, guilty players will never feel out of the woods. Look, there has to be something to make guys think twice. They will not do it on their own, that much we know.

3. Barry Bonds Is Being Singled Out, But Not Unfairly. Barry Bonds’ portrayal of himself as a victim may make for good reality television (a contradiction in terms), but it doesn’t actually have any proximity to the realm of truth. He is being singled out for a crime hundreds (or thousands?) of baseball players have committed, but it’s not because he’s black. It is because he is close to overtaking – by the archaic methods of record-keeping (see above) – the Babe’s once-sacred apex, but there’s more to it than that. He can’t understand why America embraced Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa (another person of color, mind you) but turned its back on him. It’s very, very simple. Mark McGwire is a nice guy. Sammy Sosa seemed like one at the time. The world responded accordingly. You, Barry, are a Grade A douchebag. You are recognized as a douche the world over, except in France, where douche means “shower.” There you are a merde-tête. And so we root against you. I don’t like the jackass in my office to get the promotion, I don’t like the conniving bastard politician to win the presidential election, and I don’t like the arrogant prick of an actor to take home the Oscar. When Good Things Happen to Bad People is a pet peeve. There’s no conspiracy, there’s no racist agenda (except by the bigot letter-writers who actually serve to make you seem a better guy), and there’s no victimization here. It’s grade school backlash against a bully, and you’re the cheating, lying, whining, pouting, no-good bully here. Except the recess bell just rang, and there’s a gang of schoolkids looking to see you bleed this afternoon. Batter up.

So that’s my foray into the world of steroids. And that’s all I have to say about that.

Desperate Times

No, not in Red Sox Nation, just in my own little parcel of it. See, I lost my SoSH password, and the email account I used to register it is no longer active, so I can't use the lost password function on EZBoard. No big deal for a while, as I never post much (at least much of value) anyway. But the SoSH Dopes (not an insult, to the uninitiated) recently closed the game threads to non-members, and I'm dying - last night's game put me over the edge, as I would love to see the gnashing of teeth after the baserunning free-for-all.

All of which lead me to this - if any SoSH member lurks here at MLC, I'd appreciate your help in getting me in contact with a Dope so I can figure out how to log back in, if only to see the Game Threads. I promise I won't make any trouble.

Oscillate Wildly

Game 20 - Red Sox

Red Sox 8, Cleveland Indians 6
Record: 13-7

I had a good friend over last night with his wife and 3 month-old daughter, which - in addition to the several pale ales I consumed - went a long way in helping me maintain a facade of sanity watching the Sox careen from the sublime to the mind-bogglingly absurd and back again in the span of 9 innings. He's an Indians fan, so I suppose I got the better end of the deal, seeing as how the Tribe deserved to win this one 4 times over. Let me recount the ways:

1 out in the top of the 3rd, score tied 2-2, Indian pitcher Jake Westbrook struggling with his control and the recently hot Mike Lowell at the plate, Manny chose to be Manny, and Varitek thought it looked like so much fun that he joined in. Westbrook wheeled from the rubber, catching Manny mesmerized by the lazy flight of a low-flying bumblebee and snaring the Sox leftfielder in a rundown. As Aaron Boone ran Manny back to 2nd, he suddenly threw the ball over the head of his nearest teammate - just in time to catch Varitek, who was trying to sneak into 2nd on the back end of the play. And since Manny was 3/4 of the way back to 2nd, he was out easily when he headed back to 3rd, giving the Indians the routine 1-5-4-6 double play and killing a rally against a scuffling pitcher.

Varitek played a role in another Alan Quatermaine-esque adventure on the basepaths in the 7th inning with the Sox up, 5-4, and runners on the corners. Willie Harris grounded to 1st, Varitek edged off 3rd but held. After Indian first-sacker Ben Broussard threw to 2nd for the force, Varitek pointed his leaden feet towards home and was out easily on the throw from Jhonny (too easy) Peralta, ending another inning with a runner in scoring position.

That run became important in the bottom of the 7th, as Curt Schilling returned to the hill to protect the slim lead. Schilling had battled his stuff (and the tiiight but consistent strike zone of plate umpire Bruce Dreckman) all night in the 40 degree chill, having thrown 110 pitches through 6. Done for the evening, you'd say, right? Silly mortal. Schill went back out for the bottom of the 7th, throwing 23 more pitches with limited effectiveness, and yielding a run on a Grady Sizemore single and failing to get out of the frame. 133 pitches in the cold in April after 4 straight 100-pitch starts is a great recipe for destroying a 39 year-old pitcher 1 year removed from a major leg injury.

The magical baseball stylings of Willie Harris continue to confound those who wonder why Adam Stern's not on this roster. Harris, presumably in the game for his mastery of fundamentals and defensive capabilities, meekly popped a bunt attempt up to Westbrook in the 4th, and then cost the Sox a run in 8th by dropping a fly ball - yes, he made a diving attempt, but it wasn't a difficult dive, and the ball hit him in the glove. Top that off with his robust .079 average and .349 OPS, and it's hard to imagine a worse option for the Sox in centerfield.

And with all that crap going on, and carrying the dead weight of Alex Gonzalez and the aforementioned Willie Harris, the Sox still managed to plate 8 runs off Indian pitching, because they finally delivered a handful of clutch hits. Mark Loretta backed up Kevin Youkilis in the top of the 2nd after the Greek God of Having an Awesome April struck out with the bases loaded and 1 out. Loretta's 2-out single scored 2 and got the scoring started. After the Indians had taken a 4-2 lead, a Youkilis sac fly (he wound up 2-3 with a walk) drew the Sox to within 1, and then Papi hit Scott Sauerbeck's only pitch of the night waaay into the rightfield stands to tie the game at 4. I knew that Sauerbeck would be valuable to the Sox someday.

After the Indians had tied the game at 5 in the 7th against a tiring Schilling, Youkilis singled and stole second (his first big-league steal - the kid is doing everything for the Sox right now). The open base at first tempted Indian skipper Eric Wedge into walking Papi to face Manny. Cue the Jaws music. Guillermo Mota put the chum in the water, throwing Manny a fastball, and Manny, being Manny, hammered it to right. As he struck his now-familiar I-just-hit-the-shit-out-of-that-so-I'm-gonna-stand-here-for-a-second pose, I shot out of my seat. 8-5, Sox.

The rest was relatively academic, despite Harris' best efforts. Foulke keeps looking better and better, whiffing Sizemore on a sick changeup to end the 8th, and Jonathan Papelbon brooked no trouble in the 9th to end things. A 'W' in the standings for the Sox, and the Indians were left wondering how the hell they blew that one.