This is not the image you want to see in the 5th inning; Tito coming to get The Commander out of the game. I'm not really sure what's going on with Beckett; could be he's still feeling the oblique thing or he's just rusty from the layoff of not pitching much over the last month. Whatever it is, I imagine several water coolers, a couple of bats and possibly a toilet or two got trashed after he left the field.
All I know is after watching him scuffle, the game go back and forth with us taking the lead and the Rays getting it right back inning after inning was tough enough; to lose it in extra innings at the ungodly hour of around 2 a.m. and me blinking blearily at the television like some sleep deprived mole left me with the feeling I'd just been kicked in the gibleys with a pair of Beckett's cowboy boots.
The practical part of my brain knows getting out of that stupid dome with a split is good; considering the way they waxed us down there all season it's actually freaking fantastic. But the irrational part? I wanted to go back to Boston with those dinks down 2-0 and looking for Jack Kevorkian to put 'em out of their misery.
Fenway Park in October is different than the regular season; I found that out last Sunday night. And come tomorrow, so will the Rays. It's louder, somehow smaller, and the electricity in the air is UNREAL. Combine that with the cold weather, the absence of 35,000 stupid cowbells, and the magic of Fenway and I'm pretty sure those boys are gonna figure out they ain't in Kansas anymore.
Oh yeah. That guy we've got pitching tomorrow?
He's pretty good.
Pack a sack lunch, boys. It's gonna be a long day.
Surrender the Farmhouse Sink
1 day ago