Live for Today

Game 22 - Mets

Mets 7, Phillies 4
Record: 10-12

Doing a little liveblogging from the MLC satellite office in Norfolk. And in the time it took me to type that, Jose Reyes grounded routinely to first. Nothing like setting a tone and sending a message. 26 outs left.

Chan Ho Park on the mound?? I . . . I'm gonna shut up. I want to say something, but I know it's gonna come back to haunt me.

After a four-pitch walk to Alex Cora, here comes Daniel Murphy. Really? Awesome. Love this kid. On a related note, David Wright has changed his at-bat music to Old 97's "The New Kid."

Home run, Daniel Murphy! 2-0, Mets.

I tell you again
Don’t get too settled in
Oh, you will be replaced
You will be replaced
By the new kid

Beltran walks, Dee-Dub walks on 4 straight. Good to hear you, Phillie phaithphul.

As an aside, I have the Phillie booth on Extra Innings tonight. They're fine, not bad, but not close to Harry Kalas. Weird not to hear him . . . and to know he's not just taking the middle innings off.

3-0 on Church. Makes you wonder what the hell Reyes was swinging at.

Two gifts from the man in blue. 3-2 count. Please, give to UNICEF instead.

And now a 3-6-1 DP. Only the New York Mets could get a mere two runs out of that debacle of an inning from Chan Ho. No, we couldn't possibly. All right, if we have to, we'll take 2. But that's it, okay?

Pelf on the hill for the Metmen, returning to the rotation after being injured/sucking. Pelf, in case it hasn't been made obvious, we need you.

And the Phils announcers show that a DW baserunning quirk helped the Phils turn the DP. Sweet, Dave.

Philly gets 1st & 3rd on an Utley plunk (heh heh) and a Howard hit, but Jayson Werth grounds out easily to third in the spot in the PHL order Pat the Bat used to occupy. Boy, am I glad Burrell's in the AL now. Inning over.

Tatis singles. Santos doubles. Ramon Castro gets on Orbitz for one ticket to Oblivion (airport code: OBL). 2 sac flies (including a near-the-wall shot by Pelf), and it's 4-0. THIS IS A LEAD OUR TEAM BLOWS.

Sorry.

But it's true. Up four runs early is like being down four late for the Mets.

Beltran walks (keep taking, lads), Wright offers a bad swing at a worse pitch and double to left-center. Booth boys illustrate that a half-decent curveball would've left D-W flailing.

Intentional walk to Tatis to get to Omir Santos. Wow. Castro now on Expedia. Nothing round-trip available . . .

Sac fly to shallow right. Awesome baserunning by Beltran to score, but he has the worst body English in baseball. He was clearly safe, but just got the foot in by a fraction of the second, then popped up and looked at the ump as if to say, "Was I safe? I honestly do not know." Get up clap your hands, make it no mistake that hell, yes, you were safe. Come on, dude. 5-0.

Shpeedy Shane Victorino singles. Pelf throws it away on a pickoff move for his first career error. Tatis looked as though 1B was not his natural position, although, to be fair, at this point in his career, I'm not sure he has a "natural" position any longer.

And Pelf gets dinged for three runs in bottom 3. Free passes hurt, but Pelfrey just wanted to fit in with the rest of the Mets' staff in the clubhouse. 5-3. The whole lead-blowing thing now seems pretty obvious, eh?

Mets come right back and go 1-2-3. A clockwork orange and blue.

Beltran doubles, and while stealing third, Dee-Dub singles him in. Bad acting job be damned, Carlos Beltran is starting to carry this club on his back, and I'm not sure I'd ever thought I'd say that. 6-3.

Raul Ibanez makes a second catch in left that Pat the Bat Not Glove . . . hmmm, no way.

David Wright tagged out trying to steal. Hey, gotta keep Chan Ho in this game somehow. Doing the little things, as they say.

And Tatis doubles again. Dave, what you're doing on the basepaths . . . I'm not seeing it.

The Phils walk Santos intentionally, reading the lineup card right this time. Pelf comes up, and Uncle Charlie yanks Chan Ho. Not a lot of faith.

And Pelfrey knocks one into right off Chad Durbin for another RBI! Ha! Charlie Manuel will explain it later with a fishing analogy that has no analogous merits. 7-3.

Jose Jose Jose proves that he doesn't just open up innings with outs (twice tonight), he ends them, too. That is versatility, friends.

Did You Know??? Phillies GM Ruben Amaro Jr. used to be the Phillies' batboy. How about that?

Top 6, Beltran walks and steals with two down, DW grounds to third. Have a bad feeling about the bottom of this inning.

The Mets' 5-4-3 machine is missing 3's like Rob in our intramural days. Now with one out and runners on first & second, Jerry Manuel comes out and pulls Pelf.

. . . for Pedro Feliciano. Now I really have a bad feeling about this inning. Crap.

Weird play, and the Mets got lucky. Grounder to Reyes, who bobbles it and throws it hideously in the dirt near D-W and the sliding runner, skipping on by towards the dugout. But it stays in play, and Santos expertly snags it, so the runner can't score . . . unbeknownst to Greg Dobbs, who'd rounded second and found himself within a few feet of Chris Coste at 3B. After a horrible-looking pickle with nearly wild throws that was reminiscent of T-ball and followed not a single one of the fundamental rundown rules (let it suffice to say that they ended up tagging Coste out at home), the Mets are very fortunate too get that out.

And the Phils dribble that opportunity away. 7-3 after six, and only their dunder-headed play keep the Mets from proving my uneasiness more than just withdrawal symptoms.

Jerry Manuel bats Pedro Feliciano with one on and two gone in the 7th. Hmmm. And he walks! It brings Jose Reyes to the plate, who launches one to deep left pitcher's mound. 3 down. Jose knows how to book-end an inning tonight, baby.

Feliciano rewards Jerry's faith by hanging an 0-2 cheesy poof that leadoff hitter Chase Utley deposits in the right-field seats.

Did You Know??? Mets manager Jerry Manuel is going to be the Mets' batboy. How about that?

In Feliciano's defense, like Murph's HR in the first, that ball doesn't leave many parks in the majors, minors, or our men's softball league. In my defense, Pedro Feliciano does this to us seemingly all the frickin' time. 7-4.

Feliciano settles down and gets the Mets out of the 7th. Now someone get him out of the game before the 8th.

Uneventful 8th and top 9. Here comes Frankie. And down they go. A very nice lack of drama.

Drive On

Game 22 - Red Sox

Rays 13, Red Sox 0

Record: 14-8

It's been brought to my attention, once again, that my mother reads MLC (as does a Philly fan friend of hers, for what it's worth). That fact will necessarily constrict my choice of descriptive language for at least the few weeks it takes me to forget it.

Golly, but Josh Beckett sure looked dreadful last night. Ebby Calvin, we thought you were long gone. Not that it mattered, as Matt Garza dominated the Sox lineup, taking a perfect game into the 7th inning before Jacoby Ellsbury's weak single snapped the streak of outs. C'est la vie, I suppose - chalk up one of the 35 and move on.

Mom taught me not to say anything if I couldn't find something nice to say. About Boston, the nicest thing I've got is that last night's Celtics/Bulls was indescribably good. Just like 4 of the other 5 games in the series. I'm no NBA historian, but it would be hard for me to believe that any other first round series in league history matches this one for competitive intensity and drama.

The Red Sox? Meh. FIDO (I'd explain what that means, but, you know.)

Everyday

Games 20 & 21 - Red Sox

Indians 9, Red Sox 8

Red Sox 6, Indians 5 (10)

Record: 14-7

As @beardoftruth eloquently noted on Twitter this morning, "And for an encore, Van Every will save 27 orphans from a burning building, while helping an old woman cross the street, making a quiche."

Yea, verily, boys and girls, I will learn one of these days to stop doubting this early-season Sox squadron's capability to manufacture good from bad. If the President had their turnaround skills, we'd all be driving American-made plug-in hybrids on the way to our $250,000/year jobs in the healthcare industry within a few weeks. The Sox managed to transform a 5-0 deficit into a 6-5 last night, as Jonathan Van Every sparked a makeshift lineup by singling in a run during an 8th inning rally, clouting a 10th inning homer to provide the winning margin, and making several sparking plays in rightfield. Not bad for a late replacement for the banged-up J.D. Drew.

Kevin Youkilis joined Drew on the bench, leaving the Sox with a 7-9 of Jason Varitek, Van Every, and Nick Green. Murderer's Row, it wasn't. And with Jon Lester's command as fuzzy as his lastnamesake's memory of this weekend's events, it seemed as though the Sox were on their way to their first series loss in a fortnight. As has happened so many times with Terry Francona's squads, though, the Sox righted the ship, shut the Indians down, and chipped their way back. I'm used to it by now, I guess, but that doesn't make it any less fun.

Stop Me If You Think You've Heard This One Before

Game 21 - Mets

Marlins 4, Mets 3
Record: 9-12

Squandered starting pitching performance, blown save and a loss by the 'pen, wasted offensive opportunities, lack of clutch anything, manager questioned after the game about a decision, fans' malaise, losing to the Marlins, losing another series, guys in the lineup who have no business being guys in the lineup, wondering when the good Mets are going to show up?

Seen it. I don't really need to retype my thoughts, do I? Check out our back pages for that.

9-11 Is a Joke

Games 15 through 20 - Mets

Cardinals 12, Mets 8
Mets 4, Nationals 3
Mets 8, Nationals 2
Nationals 8, Mets 1
Mets 7, Marlins 1
Marlins 7, Mets 4
Record: 9-11

My insight has less depth than Rob's, since I saw not one frame of Metball whilst relaxing in the Crescent City. I caught scores of the first two victories over the Nats and nodded: as it should be. I read of Ollie Perez's further removal from anything related to a return on investment and shook my head. Taking two of three from the gNats is underachieving for just about any team.

David Wright's penchant for the whiff is going to new lengths; when your SO total approaches your Total Bases tally, things aren't quite clicking. My idea that he should take BP off Ollie Perez hasn't been met with much support. Most folks think Ollie would plunk Dee-Dub or at least get him swinging at wild pitches even more frequently. I sort felt like it might boost his confidence, and/or he'd hit a comebacker that would let Omar off the hook.

Carlos Delgado's hip. Luis Castillo's spasms. Alex Cora and Fernando Tatis getting more at-bats. The pen blowing up a la 2008 and prior. Groan.

Omir Santos. Santana throwing today. Sigh.

9-11 is embarrassing. Be better.

My Head Hurts, My Feet Stink, and I Don't Love Jesus

Games 16 through 19 - Red Sox

Red Sox 5, Yankees 4 (11)

Red Sox 16, Yankees 11

Red Sox 4, Yankees 1

Red Sox 3, Indians 1

Record: 13-6

I just returned to the real world after a weekend spent celebrating the 40th New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival. You might forgive me, then, for placing Trombone Shorty, Amanda Shaw, Wilco, crawfish monica, Igor's, and Abita above the Red Sox for a few days. And the Sox seem to have done nearly as well as I did during my sabbatical, so it would seem to have been a banner weekend all the way around.

Whitney and I did manage to catch the final few frames of Sunday's game barside at Igor's, but even then, I confess to having been far more entertained by his jukebox selections than by the baseball. (Jacoby Ellsbury's baseline gamboling notwithstanding. That was pretty cool. And will likely get him a fastball in the ribs next weekend.)

My brain's still in the Big Easy, along with several million brain cells, so how 'bout we call it a wrap? The takeaway: New Orleans, awesome. Sox, playing awesome. Me, getting too old for this crap.

House of Cards

Game 14 - Mets

Cardinals 5, Mets 2
Record: 6-8

from www.someecards.com

The Saints Are Coming

Games 14 & 15 - Red Sox

Red Sox 10, Twins 1 (7)

Red Sox 7, Twins 3

Record: 9-6

New birth, rebirth, indeed. The green-trimmed togs and kelly caps donned by the Sox last night were ostensibly worn to celebrate Earth Day, but they may as well as been symbols of the Olde Towne Team's own renewal. Not much more than a week after being composted by the A's and Angels, the Sox find themselves riding a 7-game winning streak, bolstered by suddenly scorching sticks and the continued sterling performances of Tim Wakefield and the bullpen. And the loamy, fertile soil of Fenway Park. (Stretching it a bit there, perhaps?)

Wake became the oldest pitcher since Charlie Hough in the early 90s to hurl consecutive complete games, and even though yesterday's was of the 7-inning variety, it once again paid massive dividends later. The bullpen, completely rested in the first game, turned in 3 innings of hitless work in the nightcap, backing Brad Penny's good-enough 6 frames. Knock (green, healthy, living, carbon dioxide filtering) wood, but Ramon Ramirez, Takashi Saito/Hideki Okajima, and Jonathan Papelbon sure look like game shorteners.

The bats stayed alive during yesterday's twinbill, as well, going long 4 times (Kevin Youkilis, Nick Green (!), Mike Lowell, and Jeff Bailey) and knocking both Minnesota starters out of the game short of the 5-inning mark. Papi ripped a pair of doubles on the day, continuing his own personal return from dormancy.

It's all enough to make a fellow breathe deep the clean, fresh air and feel alright with world.

Of course, the Yankees are coming to town tomorrow, a hypetacular pollutant that this correspondent doesn't need. And so I'm ignoring it.

Okay, that's not entirely true. Half of Team MLC is winging to New Orleans tomorrow to check out the Zephyrs and maybe catch some of JazzFest 2009. I may catch a Sox/Yanks score here or there, but it'll be coincidental, I assure you. Back next week with some largely unreadable, sleep-deprived ramblings.

April Skies

Game 13 - Mets

Cardinals 6, Mets 4
Record: 6-7

Ah, the newness and freshness of springtime. Still stretching out and finding yourself in the embryonic stages of the baseball life cycle. Deep breaths of fresh air and the not-quite-dead-yet optimism of a new season.

Hoo, boy, is Jerry Manuel lucky these aren't the dog days of summer. He'd be doing a lot of updating on Monster.com today.

I'm not knee-jerkishly calling for Manuel's firing because of one game. One hideous, poorly played, head-in-their-Clavins winnable loss of a game. Much like shaving your head when you're going bald, I'm not sure it's a great idea, but I'd understand it. Jerry's just lucky he doesn't work for a certain unnamed owner whose name rhymes with Swine-tenor.

Where to begin? Omar's Choice, Oliver Perez, couldn't find the plate with a trail of bread crumbs and a series of Clue® cards, but he managed four scoreless. Then given a 4-0 lead (and remembering his allergy to lead), he couldn't get through the fifth inning, coughing it up.

Well, almost. Up 4-3 with the sacks juiced, the Mets called upon Casey Fossum to lead them out of the jam. Casey Fossum, lauded in yesteryear by my cohort across the aisle. Actually, yesteryear goes as far back as May 2003, when Rob wrote:

"Casey Fossum, clap clap clapclapclap."

Reasons for hope! If not hope, the expectation that this wouldn't happen:

Pitch 1: Ball
Pitch 2: Ball
Pitch 3: Ball
Pitch 4: Ball

. . . and I don't have the energy to describe in colorful language just how north, south, and wide of the zone these four pitches were.

4 to 4. Casey Fossum, catchthe, catchtheclap.

Then there's the fielding. Daniel Murphy, once described by at least one overeager blogger as "Golden Boy II", made another costly gaffe in left field -- one that directly led to the game-winning run. Now, one thing that might separate me from my fellow blogsmen and blogswomen is that I have been in precisely the preacarious position that the Murph found himself last night. Well-hit ball directly at you in left -- often described as the toughest ball to read, and it's exactly right. And I remember at least once that I charged in a few steps, only to realize what a pea had been struck. And I remember once in particular that I slipped on wet grass when I hit the brakes and landed flat on my back, a la young Daniel-san. I've been there, Danny Boy.

The thing is, it was softball. So the other thing is, we had four outfielders. The even other thing is, my good friend Cliff was playing left-center and had been playing alongside me for many moons, and he knew my tendencies, so he was on his horse from the crack of the bat. And he caught that ball, saving my ass.

Carlos Beltran, hamstrung by the fact that it was big league, big park baseball and too far away to save his comrade, did not catch that ball. I'm not sure he even ran in that direction; I don't remember. Teamsmanship doesn't seem to be one of this club's strong suits, as evidenced in . . .

~ segue ~

. . . baserunning! It was the topper on this night. Daniel-san was picked off in the 1st inning, a frame in which the Mets would eventually notch a few 2-out hits and plate a run. Ugh. Picked off by? Yadier Molina. Now punting into my groin, Carl Birdsong.

Several innings later, Murphy was waved home into an easy out by 3B coach Razor Shines. Razor's been pretty Bic-like thus far this year. His name is lots of fun, but here's hoping he doesn't seem quite so disposable as he does right now.

And then, the doozy. 8th inning, tie game, flyout to right, Beltran tags and advances, but the throw gets away. Razor sends him home, and Beltran races home, where there's a close play. Does he take out Molina so that millions of us could live vicariously through him and feel our bitterness melt away? No! Does he slide to avoid the tag! No! Does he run home, step on Molina's foot which is blocking the bag, get tagged out, and job back to the dugout??

Yeah. That's what he did.

Where was the on-deck batter? Animatedly flopping to the ground to indicate to Beltran that he should slide? No, apparently not. That's not what we do, so say the Mets. It was all fairly inexcusable. It's still spring, but Spring Training ended weeks ago. Come on.

And there it went. Leaked away like Beer 17 in a stadium urinal. This JV style of play is going undo Mr. Manuel if it continues. On the plus side, I have lots more to say when it happens! Enjoy!

The Sunny Side of the Street

Games 11 through 13 - Red Sox

Red Sox 6, Orioles 4

Red Sox 2, Orioles 1

Red Sox 12, Orioles 1

Record: 7-6

So many different ways to go with today's post. How 'bout we let you decide? Do you want to hear:

A) Yet another academic treatment of the Orioles' woes under Peter Angelos, to include various statements of my glee at defeating the toxic Greek's minions and mitigating sentiment regarding my affection for the O's franchise pre-Dark Ages, baseball-style and for Adam Jones, Brian Roberts, and Nick Markakis. Also, Dave Tremblay's hat.

B) A meditation on the joys of Patriots Day, chief among them 11:05 am baseball on a day when I was (coincidentally, honest) working from home.

C) Contrarian waffle/whining about Papi, who went 2-for-4 today with a triple(!) and a pair of ribbies, but didn't convince me. Yet.

D) Praise for Kevin Youkilis, off to a sizzling .469 start at the plate, and inspiration for Beard of Truth. You should click that link. It'll make you happy.

E) Praise for Justin Masterson, a very undersung and entirely critical component. The Young Master gave the Sox 5 1/3 very good innings in an emergency start today.

F) Praise for the entire Sox bullpen (not so fast there, Mr. Lopez), which has been sublime of late.

G) Disappointment at the Baseball Gods, for failing to go all the way yesterday and give Carl Pavano a victory.

H) Appreciation for the healing balm of a homestand, especially one kicked off with a set against the Orioles.

We're accepting write-in candidates, as well. We're nothing if not lazy bloggers of the people.

Nothing to Believe In

Game 12 - Mets

Brewers 4, Mets 2
Record: 6-6

According to wire reports, his Facebook page, Dear Diary, clubhouse interviews, Bill James, and my own personal opinion, here are

20 Things Jerry Manuel Doesn't Believe In:

1. Sasquatch
2. The Loch Ness Monster
3. Tipping more than 15%
4. An apple a day keeps the doctor away
5. Voodoo economics (the "trickle-down effect")
6. The Tooth Fairy
7. Scientology
8. "Beer before liquor, never sicker"
9. The death penalty
10. Coincidences
11. You have to wait 30 mins after eating before you can swim
12. Vampires
13. Ghost . . . as a Best Picture nomination-worthy film
14. That you should never split an infinitive
15. "that whole Punxsutawney Phil bullshit"
16. The Dark Side of the Moon matches up to The Wizard of Oz
17. If you shave it, it comes back thicker
18. Mallory Keaton never wore underpants on "Family Ties"
19. It's the distance between the tip of your thumb and the tip of your index finger
20. Seersucker after Labor Day
21. Reincarnation
22. Long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days
23. The Godfather Part II as a better movie than The Godfather
24. The G-spot
25. The platoon advantage!

#25 became apparent before and during yesterday's game. I know Suppan has a slider that can -- when executed perfectly -- jam lefties a bit. I know you had to get Tatis some AB's so you "know" and don't just "think" he's got zippo in the tank. I know Sheff also needs his time. I get these things. And I get that some managers don't put an intensely high amount of stock in the whole "lefty hitters do better against righties and vice versa" phenomenon. (Also, some guys also think dinosaurs never existed because they're not in the Bible.)

But to bench the very hot (in the baseball way, TJ, you lout) Ryan Church, only to PH him against a long-arm lefty who K-ed him with little effort? To sit the startlingly decent switch-hitting Luis Castillo and give Tatis his first-ever action at 2B against a RHP? To ignore platoon advantage entirely -- to almost go intentionally against the grain, in fact -- and wonder why this lineup of sluggers could muster but a pair of runs against the reeling Brewers . . . well, that's something I am having a hard time believing.

Dr. Seuss

Games 10 & 11 - Mets

Mets 5, Brewers 4
Mets 1, Brewers 0
Record: 6-5

The Mets have pulled off a pair of impressive wins after I inspired the club with a Morris Buttermaker special to close my last post. I might have to dust off the DVD and dredge up some of his other rallying cries. In the meantime, the seasonable manufacturization of crucial runs late in the game to go alongside stalwart pitching performances . . . well, that there's a recipe for good times.

Of course, quite naturally, I saw neither of the past two games in real time. I recorded Friday night's action, then foolishly stayed up to watch. I peeked and knew the final score early, then cursed my DVR skills as the recording stopped with the game tied in the 8th. Poor play all around for this kid.

And then yesterday, what with it being a Saturday afternoon game and thanks to Rupert (Murdoch, not Holmes) and his empire of blackout (apparently this expression isn't reserved for my Friday night roundabouts), I was precluded from seeing any of it. I was left to witness my own dominance over Red Stripes instead of Johan Santana's mastery of Milwaukee's best. (I did tune in to the tail end of the Bombers game, can't-look-away train wreck style.)

But come 1:10 PM today, I'll be eschewing the bright, beautiful sunny afternoon here in southeastern VA for the couch and Game 3 of the series. Half-Nelson Figueroa is up in lieu of Pelfrey, and he's going against . . .

. . .

. . . Jeff Suppan. I do not like that Jeff Suppan.

I could not, would not, on a boat.
I will not, will not, with a goat.
I would not like him in the rain.
I would not like him on a train.
Not in the dark! Not in a tree!
Not in a car! You let me be!
I do not like him in a box.
I do not like him with a fox.
I do not like him in a house.
I do not like him with a mouse.
I do not like him here or there.
I do not like him ANYWHERE!

I do not like
that Jeff Suppan!


Oh, here's hoping my post-traumatic stress disorder doesn't come rushing back with images of a certain 2006 autumn night. That venue has vanished into the ether by now, but the memories were apparently constructed of a more permanent material.

Everyday Sunshine

Game 10 - Red Sox

Red Sox 10, Orioles 8
Record: 4-6

I really should spend a lot of time on last night's game; it was fairly epic, and I was exposed as a grumbly little bitch. It's such a glorious day here in Northern Virginia, though, that keyboard time really is criminal. So, the Cliff's Notes, then:

Brad Penny was awful, Sox went down, 7-0, in the second inning. I whined via text to Whitney. Sox climbed back slowly. Orioles gave and gave and gave, both in the field and on the mound. J.D. Drew was a stud, as were Jason Bay and Mike Lowell. Sox bullpen was even more studly, especially Ramon Ramirez and Jonathan Papelbon.

Sox win. I'm an idiot. I'll make that trade every time.

Sky Blue Sky

Games 8 & 9 - Mets

Mets 7, Padres 2
Padres 6, Mets 5
Record: 4-5

If it weren't for some Opening Day charity from the Reds, each of the New York Mets' first three series would look like this:

Game 1: Lose a squeaker
Game 2: Win fairly convincingly
Game 3: Lose a squeaker

I'm no math major, but it seems to me that's a pattern not geared for success in the standings.

The good news: The losses are squeakers. The five losses were by six runs. Something falls in here, something gets through there, it's another story.

The bad news: Winning losable games versus losing winnable games is the difference between 1st place and 4th place. The Mets are in 4th place. (Thank the Lord for the Washington Nationals.)

Oh, and Pelf has tendinitis, Schneider's out for another game or two, John Maine didn't look as sharp, Nachos Bell Grande exacted a bit of revenge... again, Ron Darling wrote a book, Gary Sheffield is trouble on layaway, the Mets can't seem to come up with a timely hit (D-W's 3-run bomb the other night notwithstanding), and they keep losing close games.

Other than that, we're fine.

In truth, I'm not all that worried yet. Sure, if it keeps happening, I will be. But a good core of guys are hitting the ball very well. Other than Pelf, each starter's shown flashes of competence, if not brilliance. And the pen looks wholly different than it did a year ago. Plus, other than Sheff, I like this team all right. Eminently rootable. It's no Idiots or '93 Phils dirtbags, but I'm getting into them, and that makes a big difference night to night.

Brewers in town tonight . . . should anticipate a visit from me. Oh, and Milwaukee plays the Mets. You know what that means -- bad news for the Brewers.

Everybody Wake Up

Game 9 - Red Sox

Red Sox 8, A's 2

Record: 3-6

Forgot to mention yesterday that I'm also thankful for Tim Wakefield, who recorded his 179th career victory yesterday, and has only his teammates to blame for falling 5 outs short of a no-hitter. If the Sox offense, so dormant heretofore, hadn't exploded for 6 runs in a 25-minute top of the 8th inning, it's a statistical near-certainty that Wake would've kept his rhythm and finished off the baffled A's. At least that's how I see it.

As it is, Wake's complete game was a godsend for a bullpen that threw 10 innings on Tuesday and has been bailing out ineffective starters at an alarming rate. So once again, we celebrate Timmy Wake (a picture of whom looks down upon me from my office bulletin board even as I type) for his oft-overlooked contributions. From this morning's Boston Globe: “I understand the circumstances of today,” Wakefield recalled telling his manager. “No matter what, don’t take me out.” Studly bastard.

The 8-run tidal wave marks a high-water mark for Sox bats this season, surpassing by 3 their previous best. The trio atop the lineup (Jacoby Ellsbury, Dustin Pedroia, and David Ortiz) are carrying a combined .264/.238/.492 OBP/SLG/OPS line into the campaign's 10th game. Of the 3, only the reigning MVP is immune from a substantial amount of brow-knitting worry. For Ellsbury, it's a question of whether he'll ever be patient enough at the plate to justify playing him every day. For the sainted Papi, though, the growing fear is that he's done, completely fallen off the cliff from age and injury to his wrist. Even typing it makes me feel dirty and sad.

We're gonna forget we said that. Three cheers for Timmy Wake.