Thursday, April 20, 2006
Our First Blowout
Sure feels good.
So good, in fact, that I deserted the game in the middle of the fifth to hang out with some friends who came acallin'. I know the game was still young and Schill was not at his sharpest (although I'll take a blunt 2006 Curt Schilling over a sharp 2005 one any day.) AND it's the Devil Rays, who have that nasty little habit of creeping up on a big lead... but they didn't, did they? In part due to something we seem to have this year called a bullpen.
There is no decent explanation for the lack of posting here on Reb Sox lately, except for the fact that our team has been leaving me in a speechless bewilderment on a daily basis. I was watching on Sunday, when a gift run and another balls-solid performance-of-insanity by Beckett teamed up for a win. On Monday, hanging my head as I watched for that third out until suddenly... scaring my cats and neighbors with all my jumping up and down and yelling, scaring myself with a sudden overwelming love for Youk and Mark Loretta. On Tuesday- noting that it was about time our Pappy was less than perfect, pounding the couch cushions with clenched fists as I hoped it would not cost us the game. Yearning to smack Adam Stern and maul him with kisses and hugs simultaneously for that spectacular-but-crazy-risky catch to end the game. Yeah, I was there. Watching on the telly. At a loss for words. And yet here I am, finally posting, on a game I didn't even stick around for. tsk, tsk.
It's only April, as I keep telling myself. Back when I lived in seacoast New Hampshire I was a less-than-faithful fan, giving *the hand* to enthusiastic diehards each spring with the words "talk to me in August". Those were the days of the Duke, when it seemed an annual Boston tradition to soar the hopes of new life in the Nation with a fast start, and slowly watch it wither in the dry summer sun. But that was then. Our young stat-geeks now running the FO have already trained us to believe in a team built to last not just long enough to sell the seats for the season, but into the post-season. "It's only April" is not quite the shrill warning it used to be.
April is a time of appraisal for a new team. March was scaring me, I admit, for despite attractive new parts and pieces our boys did little to try and actually win. That's ok; they used the time for what it was for, and saved the wins for when it counts: NOW. Now is when we see what we really have. Although the words SMALL SAMPLE SIZE keep screaming in my head, what we seem to really have is a pitching staff. Sure, there is that "little" problem of Wells, and it really would be nice to have Bronson right about now... but don't you think this little "gap" in our pitching staff is is positively tantalizing to a certain unemployed Texan right now? I can just about guarantee the guy is hitting the gym with new vigor as wife Deb calls old friends and hunts rentals in the Boston area.
Tonight we welcome Willie Harris as we say a fond farewell to a very funny guy who's truly won our hearts this spring - we have not seen the last of Adam Stern, I'm sure. We hope to break out the brooms to end the homestand tonight: 7:05, Wakefield. Be there.
So good, in fact, that I deserted the game in the middle of the fifth to hang out with some friends who came acallin'. I know the game was still young and Schill was not at his sharpest (although I'll take a blunt 2006 Curt Schilling over a sharp 2005 one any day.) AND it's the Devil Rays, who have that nasty little habit of creeping up on a big lead... but they didn't, did they? In part due to something we seem to have this year called a bullpen.
There is no decent explanation for the lack of posting here on Reb Sox lately, except for the fact that our team has been leaving me in a speechless bewilderment on a daily basis. I was watching on Sunday, when a gift run and another balls-solid performance-of-insanity by Beckett teamed up for a win. On Monday, hanging my head as I watched for that third out until suddenly... scaring my cats and neighbors with all my jumping up and down and yelling, scaring myself with a sudden overwelming love for Youk and Mark Loretta. On Tuesday- noting that it was about time our Pappy was less than perfect, pounding the couch cushions with clenched fists as I hoped it would not cost us the game. Yearning to smack Adam Stern and maul him with kisses and hugs simultaneously for that spectacular-but-crazy-risky catch to end the game. Yeah, I was there. Watching on the telly. At a loss for words. And yet here I am, finally posting, on a game I didn't even stick around for. tsk, tsk.
It's only April, as I keep telling myself. Back when I lived in seacoast New Hampshire I was a less-than-faithful fan, giving *the hand* to enthusiastic diehards each spring with the words "talk to me in August". Those were the days of the Duke, when it seemed an annual Boston tradition to soar the hopes of new life in the Nation with a fast start, and slowly watch it wither in the dry summer sun. But that was then. Our young stat-geeks now running the FO have already trained us to believe in a team built to last not just long enough to sell the seats for the season, but into the post-season. "It's only April" is not quite the shrill warning it used to be.
April is a time of appraisal for a new team. March was scaring me, I admit, for despite attractive new parts and pieces our boys did little to try and actually win. That's ok; they used the time for what it was for, and saved the wins for when it counts: NOW. Now is when we see what we really have. Although the words SMALL SAMPLE SIZE keep screaming in my head, what we seem to really have is a pitching staff. Sure, there is that "little" problem of Wells, and it really would be nice to have Bronson right about now... but don't you think this little "gap" in our pitching staff is is positively tantalizing to a certain unemployed Texan right now? I can just about guarantee the guy is hitting the gym with new vigor as wife Deb calls old friends and hunts rentals in the Boston area.
Tonight we welcome Willie Harris as we say a fond farewell to a very funny guy who's truly won our hearts this spring - we have not seen the last of Adam Stern, I'm sure. We hope to break out the brooms to end the homestand tonight: 7:05, Wakefield. Be there.
# posted by Rebecca @ 8:14 AM 
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Well, the Rays finally beat us as the no-run support rule for Wakes continues in effect. But we are just fine, and there IS an open spot for a certain 40 something year old Texan who has kids whose names start with K and has a few carreer strikeouts himself. Nice to see you back typing again Reb.
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