Back at The Ol’ Ball Yard By The Bay

Game 7 - Mets Home Opener 

Mets 5 - Blue Jays 0

Record 4-3

The personal odometer ticked past 50 earlier this year and in celebration of that my better half gifted me with tickets to the Mets home opener for the whole family.  She is clearly a keeper.

Living in DC, I don’t make it to as many games in Queens as I had in the past. 2008 was the high water mark where my ex wife (henceforth to be called Voldemort in this space) and I had season tickets. I made it to at least part of 61 games at Shea that year. The current, and much improved, Mrs. Marls and I try to make a few Met games a year and take our daughter to at least one game. However, this was our little one’s first time to a Met home game.

 At six years old, Claire’s fandom is really just beginning. She has been going to games since she was a baby but it was not until last season’s playoff run that she really started watching games with dad and rooting for the Mets.  Yesterday was her first game as a “fan” and it was fun just being along for the ride.

We took the Long Island Rail Road to the game from my hometown (staying with grandma). Even on the suburban platform there was opening day buzz.  Claire was excited to see so many people in Mets gear giving EVERY one a “let’s go Mets” as she walked by. In related news, Uncle Steve may be close to paying off Soto’s first year salary via merchandise - the number of 22 shirts and jerseys was staggering.

Arriving at the ballpark, we paid our respects to the original Home Run Apple and made our way through the carnival like atmosphere outside the stadium. 

Beers, chicken fingers, and lemonade secured we landed in our seats in time for the pregame festivities.  In true NY fashion, every member of the Blue Jays, including assistant coaches and training staff were booed, except for Vladdy Jr. who got a rousing ovation in a clear effort to woo the pending free agent.  

Along with higher payroll, Cohen’s ownership has brought a clear improvement to game day operations. The production value and quality of ALMOST* everything they do is an improvement over the old regime. Team intros, anthem, and first pitch by Al Leiter, John Franco, & Bartolo Colon were no exception.

With that, the game got underway. After a leadoff double in the first by Claire’s favorite, Frankie Lindor, the stadium was rocking for Soto’s first Met at bat at home. Juan popped up but Pete kept up his hot hitting with a wind aided blast to right. 2-0 good guys.  

Tylor Megill was sharp for 5 and a third with a little help from Reed Garrett after back to back walks in the 6th. In the bottom of the 6th, the Metsies stretched the lead to 4-0 courtesy of a walk to Lindor, doubles by Soto and Nimmo.  Marte made it a partay with sac fly to make it 5-0.  The crowd was in a festive mood and Claire joined into numerous rounds of “let’s go Mets” and “Pete A-lon-zo” 👏 👏  👏 👏 👏.   When Lindor caught a pop up off the bat of Will Wagner (son of the former Met closer, Billy), she asked if we could come back tomorrow.  Happy dad achievement, unlocked.

It was a tight 2:38 minute affair with the Mets winning 5-0 on a day where we celebrated my 50th trip around the sun.  The company and result were perfect.

*The Mets have introduced a mascot race this year with 5 costumed characters representing each of the five boroughs. Queens is represented by a subway car, Brooklyn by a slice of pizza, the Bronx by a slovenly giraffe (think Toys R Us Geoffrey in a marinara stained wife beater), Manhattan by a skyscraper, and Staten Island by a tug boat looking thing that is supposed to be a ferry.  Queens unsurprisingly won the inaugural race after a boastful Bronx fell just before the finish line.  In both concept and execution the whole thing is terrible and screams “Wilpon Mets”. I doubt this lasts more than a season. 

Miami Nice

Game 6 - Mets

Mets 6, Marlins 5 (11 innings)
Record: 3-3

As Marls texted at 8:10 last night, "Never in doubt."

High drama in Miami last night, the back-and-forth exciting saga of a Vice episode from 1986. As we mentioned here 15-20 years ago, Rob and I spent the summer of 1990 taking summer classes in Williamsburg, makin' it great and delivering pizzas, drinking copious amounts of cheap beer, playing entire seasons of Strat-o-matic, and watching the full run of Miami Vice episodes on the USA network. Those were not dog days, they were salad days.

Last night was that kind of fun. I watched a few innings, had a few beers, went and played some music with a makeshift dad band in town, and came back home to watch the recap of the festive conclusion. 

Clay Holmes -- I'm still workshopping his nickname "Adobe" to little fanfare -- pitched another iffy outing. Twice now he's had trouble finishing the fifth. Perhaps I can be a mentor to him. Speaking of which, the second reliever of the game, A.J. Minter, appeared as though he'd been nipping off a flask in the pen, as he tumbled off the mound for a balk. Sober up, A.J. And give up fewer runs.

So the Mets were down 3 and looking meager against the Marlins. The eighth inning rolled around, and with 2 out and 2 on and 2 balls and 2 strikes, erstwhile Gator athlete Pete "Sonny" Alonso tattooed one into the vegetation beyond the center field wall. 4-4. 

It didn't take very long to revel in the joy that the Polar Bear is still on our team when there were lots of avenues that would have taken him elsewhere. Hell yes.

More drama ensued in the bottom of that frame when an infielded-in (not a term) Brett Baty fired home on a grounder towards second. The throw went to the dark side of the plate as the speedy Xavier Edwards dove in safely. But then the band we were in started playing different tunes! Fortunately, we now have replay. After further review, Luis Torrens made one of the most skillful lean, turn, and tags I've seen in a very long time. 

Kudos to this kick-ass catcher who's been gunning runners and even putting bat to ball. That's condescending, but this is Alvarez's backup pressed into starting duty, and I'm just still stung from Tomás Nido and Omar Narváez.

In extras, Jesse Winker, whose bat-shouldering Marls and I cursed innings before as he was punched out with RISP, took a bases loaded walk to move the Metmen ahead. One Edwards error later, Mets are up 2. Yes!

Enter Danny Boy Young, who, like Mersh, needs to lay off the pipe. He handed the ball to Huascar Brazoban, however, and the door was shut. 6-5. 

Never in doubt. LFGM.

Templeton (and) the Rat

Game 5 - Mets

Marlins 4, Mets 2 
Record: 2-3

Lots to look sideways at on this one, from a pair of rare hands-like-feet moments from Francisco Lindor, to Senga opening his first with the 1-2 punch of 2B-HR, to Polar Pete staying chilly at the plate (.176/.333/.353).

Mostly I'm looking at you, Mark Vientos. 

The young third baseman for the Metmen has been toiling at the dish in the early going (2-for-19 thus far with a .401 OPS), but it was a particular play that rubbed us (us = Keith Hernandez and me, natch) the wrong way. 

With 1 out, top 4, tied at 2, a decently hit grounder to third off Vientos' bat was bobbled and dropped by Graham Pauley. Mark Vientos wouldn't know it until it was too late, because he put his head down and trotted down to first. Out by a half-step. 

Larry?

Lollygagger.

Keith mused that ol' Whitey Herzog would've had a word with Mr. Vientos at some point; a real sore spot with the White Rat. Which made me think, unfairly, of "The Garry Templeton Incident" when Cardinals manager Herzog dragged Templeton into the dugout after a profane flurry aimed at the angry fans, something precipitated at its roots innings prior by the soon-to-be-in-San-Diego shortstop not running out a dropped strikeout.

I remember that story vividly from childhood. A real cautionary tale for a hotheaded kid like... someone else, not me. I was docile. But real the full scoop here, well chronicled here by a St. Louis scribe thrilled with the end result (The Wizard), who says it best here:

Smith, of course, went on to enjoy a Hall of Fame career in St. Louis, where he helped lead the Cardinals to the 1982 World Series championship and National League pennants in 1985 and 1987. He won 11 of his 13 career Gold Gloves and made 14 of his 15 all-star game appearances while wearing the birds on the bat.

Anyway, this is not that. But man, let's see some crazy sprint Mike Piazza in those trips down to first, even the futile ones. 

2-3. Take the rubber match tonight, gents.

Segues

Game 4 - Mets

Mets 10, Marlins 4
Record: 2-2

I always enjoyed the component of the original Misery Loves Company days wherein the last line or two of the prior post is a perfectly correct or incorrect segue to the next. It most frequently resulted in our mantra -- something akin to:

The lesson, as always, is that I am an idiot.

Ah, yes. In our 1,000th post (a solid starter kit for any MLC newbie), we reprinted 11 instances of that refrain, but I'm certain there were many more. Because we were.

Well, as the Metsies entered into this series, I cautioned against relaxing too much in the later innings against the sparky Miami Marlins, they of the standard 7-inning siesta followed by furious fireworks. 

To wit, Met lefty Danny Young walked a man with 2 outs in the 9th, then gave up three consecutive singles before getting Miami CF Derek Hill to chase the would-be Ball 4 and end the game. I was right! These guys were mostly dead fish for 8 innings and then began to rally.

What I didn't foresee, of course, was the Metslaught before then. 10 runs on 11 hits -- including 3 doubles and four homers. The only Met starters not to hit an XBH were Luisangel Acuña and Juan Soto. Yes, I mentioned that the Marlins were slated for languish, but I didn't express much optimism for the Mets contributing to it. Positivity eras take time.

Pete hit a Grand Slam, and Marte and Nimmo added legit dingers. Luis Torrens got himself a bit of a Miami souvenir when Derek Hill gloved his flyball over the centerfield wall. It wasn't Hill's favorite night. And that HR counts all the same.

Fun Facts: the Mets torched Cal Quantrill, son of former Sock Paul. The Marlins lineup (eventually) also featured the son of original Marlin Jeff Conine (Griffin). Both of those dads played on the 2005 Marlins. Neat!

What's Paul Quantrill known for 'round these parts, though? Well, he came up with the Sox in '92. Yeah, yeah... oh, wait...

In the wee hours of Monday morning, October 18, 2004, he served one up that David Ortiz smashed over the right field wall at Fenway to end Game 4 and ensure a Game 5 in the ALCS. 

Ah yes, that's the one.

Stay hot, Metbats. Win the ones you're supposed to win, Play on.

What's the World Got in Store

Games 1 through 3 - Mets

Astros 3, Mets 1
Mets 3, Astros 1
Astros 2, Mets 1
Record: 1-2

And off we go. Not the best start in Mets memory, not the worst. It's just good to have the boys in blaze orange and royal blue playing baseball again.

Starting off 2025 in Houston was never going to be our favorite thing. They're a front-runner. And their arms are terrific. That the Mets got 1-hit last night (Cue the Harry Doyle) is less than ideal. But eh, it's chilly out in March (less so in Texas in a rather climate controlled facility) and the Mets are banged up (not that much, at least in in the lineup).

Lindor, Vientos, Nimmo, and Alonso went 4-for-42 in the series. Yipes. Meanwhile, on the hill, the Mets were sharp -- 1.80 ERA and 1.12 WHIP. Consequently, we had pitcher's duels in each contest for the fans to enjoy.

MLB.tv, however, tried to make it challenging for us fans on Opening Day. The entire network collapsed just before 4pm, according to a few searches. I had specifically congregated with some friends to launch the Mets season, and for a few brief moments (one Lindor AB), we were sunk. Soon enough, though, we pivoted, and His Eminence Howie Rose began keeping us posted on the doings in Houston. MLB.tv rebounded a few innings later, But still. What a gaffe.

Later on, our crew switched from Howie to Gary, Keith, and Ron. Ahh, yes. Feels like home. It's hard to believe that it's been 20 years of having these folks guide us through most Mets contests. I do not take it for granted, both because we endured some tough sledding prior to their arrival and because the other side of the MLC table used to have a terrific tandem that's no longer there. Don Orsillo is in San Diego, and Jerry Remy is in a similar climate somewhere in the great beyond. 

Off to Miami now. The Marlins, predicted by everyone to be in a state of languish for much of the season, took 3 of 4 from the Bucs in dramatic fashion -- all walk-offs. They scored 8 runs in innings 8/9/X across the series. Maybe let's not get lazy in the later frames, gang. 

Baseball is back. And there was much rejoicing.

On The Shoulders of Giants

It’s an odd feeling.  Starting a post here feels a bit like walking on sacred ground. 

This was a corner of the interwebs that I visited and lurked in almost daily, but without comment, enjoying the musings of real world acquaintances who shared a common love of baseball, the Mets and a dislike of TFY (The F#*%ing Yankees). It was a place that provided smiles during a divorce, levity during some rather rancid Mets seasons, and a shared joy in the rare year that the Mets things were putting it all together even when they couldn’t win that last game. It was your favorite local, where the game was always on and people always wanted to talk baseball.  That said, while I loved being there, I was the random at the bar that just enjoyed overhearing the discussion. 

In the years since the shuttering of MLC, the OGs have gone from acquaintances to close friends.  There have been concerts and beach trips. Weddings (so nice Whit did it thrice), graduations, memorial services, and births. Throughout it all, while maybe not as strong a focus as in the past, baseball banter has been a through line.  

For this reason, when Whitney tossed out the idea of a September mini-MLC over at Gheorghe: The Blog, I jumped at the chance to be part of it. It didn’t hurt that the Mets were having a bit of a magical run and I was getting see it though the eyes of my 6 year old.  Once again, the Metsies came up a few games short, as they have every year since I was 11, but the joy was back. I am very much looking forward to this season. 

Not many reboots work very well. Generally they’re a money grab with only a fraction of the creative effort of the original.   The money part will not be an issue, as by all reports the MLC monetization strategies have stalled a bit.  I’m hoping, but not betting on, the Mets play on the field to inspire the creativity. We shall see. 

In the end, I’m just happy to have a place to post some thoughts about baseball, the Mets, watching a little girl become a fan, and sharing it with a few good friends. 

Let's Play Two

What if the end isn’t the end? 

It’s a question that’s been posed by philosophers, parishioners, Wonkans, Cornucopians, and Limahl through eons upon eons, but what if a period becomes more of an ellipsis?

Many things come back long after they’ve been declared finalized. Just look at television series: how many classic TV vehicles have been resuscitated many years after they supposedly concluded? Some of them egregiously, with stars and plotlines that pale in comparison to the original. Some that include a fraction of the original cast, and not, for an array of reasons, the complete crew. Welcome to that crap television series reboot. it’s Night Court without Harry, Dexter without Deb, or Roseanne without Roseanne. A far cry.

In this particular case, it might be mostly like Frasier without Niles. Except that Frasier was the star of the show and Niles was the second fiddle, and at Misery Loves Company 1.0, Rob was our shining star. For a few reasons: it was his idea, he had the gumption to launch this thing with me riding shotgun, and especially because his team won multiple World Series while we wrote about it. Misery, my ass.

...ish

Anyway, this is where we are. Rob, for all the right reasons, is far too busy to spend countless, pointless hours, scribing about the Boston Red Sox’ travails. He’s a company executive and a badassed varsity soccer head coach, among other roles. Good on my friend. I, meanwhile, occupy a far lesser peg in the world.

At the same time, when we ran an MLC reboot at Gheorghe: The Blog last fall for a couple of months, the Sox spoiled his good time by fading into oblivion super quickly, while the Mets got inspired and defied lots of odds as they made their way into the penultimate series. So… between that and the fact that the Mets landed the best player on the free market in the off-season, I’m jazzed to write about the Metsies.

That means a couple of things: 1. Everyone will be underwhelmed by my output. It’s been a long time since I logged the dog days of my team’s season while representing Mets Township in these hallowed halls. Rusty doesn’t even cover it. I’m 22 years older and busier, sloppier, and mostly out of good ideas. 2. The juxtaposition that we used to enjoy will be missing. One off the other, the occasional barb ‘twixt good buddies, keeping one eye over our shoulder at each other‘s teams… that’s lost.

But… the door is always open for my good friend to waltz back through (he’s one hell of a waltzer, if you’ve ever seen him at a wedding) and go stride for stride with me. Or at least make a cameo. In the meantime, this is a passion project in an arena that once drew a fair bit of attention amidst the blogosphere, but now has more dust on it than Paul’s Boutique.

I don’t know … let’s light this candle and see what happens.

So what of the Mets ‘25? Coming off the OMG season of note that was 2024, there is much room for letdown. Juan Soto takes expectations to the stratosphere. But the absence of a marquee pitcher we had all hoped to add, plus a spate of injuries in the spring, mean that all expectations get doused with a shower of salt grains like we’re the Morton girl. The NL East is Murderer’s Row, and most bettors have the Mets coming in 3rd place. I don’t care… Excitement is brimming in the Township, and that’s a very, very different feeling than it was a year ago. Steve Cohen advised us that we were in a rebuilding mode for a couple of years when he dumped Verlander and Scherzer at the deadline in 2023. But tomorrow happened much more quickly than we figured, and we’re back in business. Let’s go.

The Mets open in Houston-town this afternoon. Clay Holmes, reliever-cum-starter, takes the hill in a game that oddsmakers have as Astro-nomically in the opposition’s favor. Okay, it’s a run and a half, but the gag was there. I told you I was rusty!

I’ll talk more about what we need to happen in 2025 in the posts ahead. Don’t wanna come out with too much of a bang here, MLC fan(s).

At the very least, at the absolute minimum, as Del Griffith said, Roger Cedeno will log zero at-bats for the New York Mets this season. Here we go.

LFGM

Green Fields of the Mind

It breaks your heart. It is designed to break your heart. The game begins in the spring, when everything else begins again, and it blossoms in the summer, filling the afternoons and evenings, and then as soon as the chill rains come, it stops and leaves you to face the fall alone. You count on it, rely on it to buffer the passage of time, to keep the memory of sunshine and high skies alive, and then just when the days are all twilight, when you need it most, it stops. - A. Bartlett Giamatti, from 'The Green Fields of the Mind'.

It does break your heart, doesn't it? Most of the time, it seems. We named this blog 'Misery Loves Company' in recognition of the game's unique grasp on those of us addicted to its love/hate rhythms. And, at the time, because of a shared recent (and not-so-recent in one case) history of dismal returns.

We probably didn't know what we were getting into when we started this blog in the spring of 2003. We knew we loved baseball, knew that we had time on our hands, and maybe that we could write a little bit. But I don't think either of us expected that the simple act of writing it down would serve to enhance our passion for the game as much as it did. MLC helped us think about the game differently, to work for new angles and ideas about our teams. Didn't make us any saner - in fact, at certain moments, it probably contributed to a fair sight of irrationality. Game 7 of the 2003 ALCS, anyone? Or the 2006 NLCS?

In other moments, the game proved transcendent. Moreso for one of us (and then two others, after we expanded the masthead in 2008), to be sure. When my time here on Earth comes and I'm making the top 10 list to end all top 10 lists, that 11-day period in October 2004 will command one of the very top spots. Even today, rereading our posts from that time brings back smiles, the memories of that impossible run still vivid. Impossible is not nearly descriptive enough.

That this is a eulogy of sorts is probably obvious by now. That such a post is necessary has been obvious for some time. We're shuttering MLC not because we don't love the game. In a great many ways, MLC has helped us really understand how much we do love it. No, we're shuttering MLC because we haven't been able to put in the effort necessary to do it the way we want to for too long. MLC was never about pageviews or making money (good thing, too) or getting exposure. It was about two (then four) guys watching baseball.

Those guys will still watch baseball (maybe even write about it at Gheorghe: The Blog). But they both know when a good thing has come to an end. So long, and thanks for reading.

May the game continue to break your heart.

The End

Game 3 - American League Division Series

Angels 7, Red Sox 6

Angels win, 3-0

Not a ton to say, really. The Sox were beaten decisively by a team that played a lot better from the beginning of this series to the end. Sure, the last inning yesterday was hard to watch, but it felt a lot like a foregone conclusion. Fittingly for me after a season in which my baseball-related attention span was negatively impacted a dozen different ways, I turned the television on in time to watch that final frame meltdown and nothing else.

I suppose it's a measure of both my maturity and the complacency that comes with a pair of championships that my reaction was more a rueful shrug than destruction of property. More of the latter, for certain.

Valedictory to come as we exit stage left hoping that misery has plenty of company in a week or so.

Street Fighting Man

Game 2 - American League Division Series

Angels 4, Red Sox 1
Angels lead 2-0

Let's review the bidding, then. In two ALDS games, the Red Sox have one run. Okay, that'll be just about enough.

Sure, Josh Beckett and Jon Lester could've been a little better, but when you're pitching with a razor-thin margin for error, sometimes you get cut. Pretty simple game, baseball. You throw the ball, you catch the ball, you hit the ball. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. Sometimes it rains (snows, too, especially in Colorado). And the Sox aren't doing any of those things at a high enough level to beat a good Los Angeles team.

The Sox trailed the Oakland A's 2-0 in the 2003 ALDS after a brutal Game 1 loss and an indifferent Game 2 effort. I wrote the following then (Mom, parental guidance is suggested, as the next paragraph contains colorful language written by a clearly unbalanced person):

The Era of Positivity has not ended, goddammit. The Sox will win Game 3, they
will win Game 4, and Pedro will take the hill in Oakland on Tuesday like a
gladiator. I haven't given this much of my heart to this team to see them swept.
I remember 1999, and I remember the greatest comeback in my lifetime. Cowboy up, motherfuckers, because there's still a lotta ball left. Stay on goddamn target.

Now that guy was obviously a much edgier version of your current mild-mannered blogger. He probably wouldn't have believed you if you told him the Sox would have two championships before he turned 40. (Though he'd have been quite easily convinced that Grady Little would fuck up a sure thing just a few weeks later.) That said, his six year-older self still believes. The Sox are a hell of a good team in Boston. Terry Francona's still the best postseason manager in the game. Kevin Millar's not around to pass out bourbon shots and come up with pithy sayings, but Dustin Pedroia's got just as much redass. Pedro's not taking the hill in Game 5, but Jon Lester beat freaking cancer. You think Torii Hunter and his pole dancer's first name scare him?

Yeah, that's right. I can still talk tough and almost mean it. Let's hope the Sox have something left in them tomorrow at noon. Oh, and for the record, I'll be at my daughter's birthday party from then until about 3 o'clock, so I'll see almost none of the game. I really don't want to have seen my last Sox game of the year.

Enter Sandman

Game 1 - American League Division Series

Angels 5, Red Sox 0

Angels lead, 1-0

Yesterday I got up at 5:30 am, had three beers before noon while playing vaguely work-related golf, did a few hours of work, played softball, had another beer, and came home to watch the Sox play the Angels. Also, apropos of nothing, I'm getting old.

That's my litany of excuses for falling asleep right after Torii Hunter's homer gave the Angels all the runs they needed to back John Lackey. You may also accept: I knew the game was over because the Sox' bats looked so anemic so I didn't put up much of a fight against the Sandman, and dammit, these West Coast games start way too late.

I'll try to do better tonight. Though I'm not real optimistic about remedying the thing about the Sox' bats. The road, she is unkind to the Boston lumber.

Take Me Out to the Ballgame

Games 157 through 162 - Red Sox

Blue Jays 8, Red Sox 7

Blue Jays 12, Red Sox 0

Red Sox 3, Indians 0

Red Sox 6, Indians 2

Red Sox 11, Indians 6

Red Sox 12, Indians 7

Record: 95-67, AL Wild Card

While the Sox were winding down the season trying hard not to get hurt and playing Pawsox in random places (see, for example, George Kottaras spending the final half of today's game at third base), I took the opportunity to ignore them. And now, after they ripped off 4 straight wins without really trying, I'm a little conflicted about whether I should watch them in the ALDS against Anaheim.

Yeah, I don't believe me, either. Despite the fact that the intensity of my fandom has shown up only in fits and starts this season, I'm quite confident that come Thursday, I'll be finger-drumming, couch-gripping, superstition-embracing starkers. Like millions of other Red Sox fans, I probably don't know how good I've had it over the past 7 years, don't exactly recall what it felt like to wander through the relative wilderness of the occasional futile run, to know that the story of each season was inevitably foretold well in advance of the final out. That seems such a foreign land today.

I don't know whether to blame this unprecedented prosperity or my increased maturity for my struggles with focus during the Sox' 2009 season. (Yes, I do. My increased maturity can only be counted in years, not emotional intelligence.) I've declaimed otherwise, but it's a clear and indisputable fact that the losses don't hurt as much as they used to - at least not in the regular season.

This newfound perspective was foreshadowed in my final post of 2008, when I found myself far more appreciative than irrational. And that's where I am today. The Sox won 95 games - exactly Theo Epstein's mythical target - and they did with contributions from all corners of the locker room, with consistency from some and flashes of brilliance from others. They're in the tournament, with as good a chance as anyone, especially if October Josh Beckett hitches up his pants and comes to the party. They've got a deep lineup, a power bullpen, and in Jon Lester, Beckett, Clay Buchholz, and Daisuke Matsuzaka, enough talent in the rotation to match up with anyone still standing. Anyone. And that's all any fan could ask.

Won't stop me from breaking stuff when the Angels are running wild on the basepaths and the Sox are stranding runners all over the Anaheim basepaths. But it might help me sleep better.

Before we roll the balls out and talk about the targets, I note with deep regret and substantial respect the fact that Tim Wakefield may have thrown his last pitch for the Sox. I hope his back heals in the offseason and that I get to lament watching him take the mound for a few more years. But if not, it's been a privilege to root for one of the finest people to ever play the game.

Okay, then. The best time of the year is right around the corner. Roll 'em out and play the game. Lotta ball left. Stay on target.

Slowly (Oh So Slowly)

Game 156 - Red Sox

Blue Jays 11, Red Sox 5 (6)

Record: 91-65

Careful. Careful. That's it. Just a little more to the right. Back it up...back it up. Aaaaand...almost there.

The Sox are treating the season's final week like a gang of furniture movers carrying a Louis XIV armoire up a narrow flight of stairs. Tito's nursing starters, coddling relievers, resting the weary, and generally behaving like things are in the bag. Fortunately, Texas is playing along nicely.

But recent misery in this very space tells us not to count any chickens before they've seen the light of day. So a clinch tonight would be nice.

And then we can commence the babysoft treatment.

Whistling in the Dark

Games 153 through 155 - Red Sox

Yankees 9, Red Sox 5

Yankees 3, Red Sox 0

Yankees 4, Red Sox 2

Record: 91-64

Let the record show that I watched a total of approximately 10 pitches from this game, all Saturday, and all while the college football games that were the primary focus of my attention were on commercial breaks. Let the record further show that I'm the better for it, in terms of both my blood pressure and my marital/parental status.

The Sox started the season 8-0 against the Yankees and ended it on a 1-9 streak. And that means exactly squadoosh starting next week. Terry Francona's studied indifference (or impression thereof, in any case) to the Sox' fate in New York this weekend is all the cue those of us inclined to step out on ledges after the sweep should need. Brian Anderson got meaningful at-bats against the Yankees. Jason Varitek played in 2 of the 3 games. Jed Lowrie made an appearance. Rocco Baldelli started a game. Okay, man, we get it.

May Jon Lester's leg heal and Josh Beckett's redass return. And, while we're at it, how 'bout clinching the Wild Card here soon so all this whistling past the graveyard doesn't come back to haunt me.

Evenflow

Games 150 through 152 - Red Sox

Royals 5, Red Sox 1

Red Sox 9, Royals 2

Red Sox 10, Royals 3

Record: 91-61

The Sox awoke from their Greinke and Manny-induced coma to salvage a split against the suddenly frisky Royals and endow this weekend's series in the Bronx with at least a scintilla of intrigue.

Clay Buchholz' 10th consecutive 'quality start' (and 7th straight outing allowing 2 runs or fewer) paced the Sox last night and lowered his ERA to 3.21. Fingers, toes, and other appendages crossed, but if this is the guy the Sox get in October, no team in either league has a better 1-2-3 in the rotation.

The playoff-clinching Magic Number is now 3, while the Sox trail the Yankees by 5 1/2 games in the division race. It's still a longshot, for sure, and it doesn't matter all that much, but it'd be nice to make the other guys sweat a little. After the first 2 games of the Royals series, a rabid Yankee-fan friend of mine posted the following on his Facebook page, "Do(n't) hear too much chatter from the "Nation" about making a run at AL East title...how bout them Royals?". My gleeful retort, "maybe the yanks can put the 2009 al east champs banner right next to the one from 2004". He still hasn't responded. Odd.

Almost as odd as a 3-game set in late September with the Yankees that doesn't feel like Armageddeon crossed with Normandy.