Tuesday, July 6, 2010

My Money is on the Locust.

*Image courtesy of Kelly O and*

Pedroia. Lowell. Ellsbury. V Mart. Tek. Beckett. Clay. Hermida. Cameron. Jack McCormick, the traveling secretary.

Now Youk. Sometime between the first pitch and the 4th inning, HE gets hurt and all of a sudden Papi is getting Intentionally walked the rest of the night and Nuiman Romero is hitting in the clean up spot. I consider myself a pretty rabid Sox fan and until tonight the only Newman I knew of was Jerry Seinfeld's neighbor.

To call this development "ridiculous" would be an insult to the word ridiculous. At this point I'm convinced George Steinbrenner made a pact with the Devil and before the year is out there won't be anyone left standing.

All night long I kept waiting for a river of blood to run in the outfield and frogs to start jumping out of the NESN booth.

If they somehow can stay afloat through all these injuries and make it to the post-season, Tito should win Manager of the Year in a landslide.

In all the years I've watched baseball I've never looked forward to the All-Star break.

Until now.

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