Nothing To See Here
Last night after the Red Sox went down in defeat, I called The Bunny on my way to the car.
"Well that sucked," I said without any preamble and we launched into a venting conversation that was probably necessary for the continued mental well-being of both of us. The details of our talk are unimportant; I have no doubt that thousands of such conversations took place last night and this morning, all across Red Sox Nation.
Too many ghosts from Yankees games past today, especially in the wake of Francoma's baffling Rainmanesque decision to 'rest' the bullpen on Thursday, essentially surrendering the game to the Orioles, followed by his hesitance to go to said bullpen with a struggling Pedro Martinez on the mound in the 8th inning last night. Shades of 2003.
In the end a potential Red Sox rally fell into the hands of a slumping (4 for 39) Jason Varitek. His recent struggles at the plate have been painful for both the performer and the audience, and last night was no different. Watching him ground out into the game-ending doubleplay was like coming across your sainted grandmother, sweaty, disheveled and hung over, tossing her cookies into a stained toilet bowl. In either case the best thing for both parties to do is to shut the door, walk away, and pretend the whole evening never happened.
"Well that sucked," I said without any preamble and we launched into a venting conversation that was probably necessary for the continued mental well-being of both of us. The details of our talk are unimportant; I have no doubt that thousands of such conversations took place last night and this morning, all across Red Sox Nation.
Too many ghosts from Yankees games past today, especially in the wake of Francoma's baffling Rainmanesque decision to 'rest' the bullpen on Thursday, essentially surrendering the game to the Orioles, followed by his hesitance to go to said bullpen with a struggling Pedro Martinez on the mound in the 8th inning last night. Shades of 2003.
In the end a potential Red Sox rally fell into the hands of a slumping (4 for 39) Jason Varitek. His recent struggles at the plate have been painful for both the performer and the audience, and last night was no different. Watching him ground out into the game-ending doubleplay was like coming across your sainted grandmother, sweaty, disheveled and hung over, tossing her cookies into a stained toilet bowl. In either case the best thing for both parties to do is to shut the door, walk away, and pretend the whole evening never happened.
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