No Hollywood Ending

If Mystique and Aura are just dancers at a nightclub, as Curt Schilling once quipped, then perhaps History and Inevitability are just spoken word poets.

History doesn't repeat itself all by itself, and victory is never inevitable. It is not a given that once down 3-1, then 3-2, and then tied 3-3, the Sox will prevail. A Game 7 isn't decisive if it is already determined.

But it was an easy mistake to make, and many of us were eager to make it. The Rays were sloppy and spiritless in Game 6. Game 7 might have seemed like a coda, an epilogue. With a 1-0 lead in the 4th, I was guilty of the faulty induction; the future will resemble the past, and this will be enough. History and Inevitability take over, and carry the day.

But the agents in this drama are those not yet free agents, the players themselves, and their actions and their fates are coordinated not by forces named with capital letters, but by themselves and a manager too much concerned with the past.

Terry Francona made two terrible decisions in the decisive Game 7. First, down 2-1 with one out in the 6th, Tito sent Pedroia from first on a full count to Ortiz. Garza blew Ortiz away on a heater, and Pedroia was out by a yard. Instead of Youkilis batting with a runner on, inning over. Second, with the tying runs on base and 2 outs in the 7th, Francona let Varitek hit. He whiffed.

I imagine I am not alone in noticing the snafu, but as I am indignant, I will belabor the points. Firstly, Pedroia didn't wrack up 20 stolen bases in 21 attempts during the regular season by running in predictable counts. Secondly, I think the send-the-runner-on-the-full-count-with-fewer-than-2-outs is the single worst common strategic maneuver in the sport. I assure you, this is not simply hyperbole in the face of crushing, agonizing defeat, though that would be a reasonable assumption. Because second base is acquired on ball 4 regardless of whether the runner is off, the runner acquiring second on the 'steal' does not count as the play working. With nothing to gain, Ball 4 doesn't protect the runner, so there's no reason to go on that count as opposed to any other. But if there's a whiff, he risks being out- risk but zero gain. And if that base is so important, why not send him earlier in the count, when its less predictably fastball; because its better to run in non-fastball counts, but 3-2 is a fastball count, its a lower percentage steal to begin with. The play only 'works' if the ball is hit into the gap and the runner scores from first but wouldn't have scored without the head start, but this happens very infrequently, or if a double play ball is hit but the runner makes it to second. But in this matchup, Ortiz isn't likely to hit into a DP with the shift on, and Garza isn't a groundball pitcher. Instead, he predictably challenged Ortiz with a pitch he hasn't hit all year- the high heat. Huge risk, virtually no gain. The inning was over, instead of Youkilis batting with a man on. But Francona had to 'go by the book', you know, the one with many factual errors and unjustified opinions.

And for the 74th time, Francona didn't pinch hit for Varitek in the 7th inning of a postseason game. I speculated the other day that it was Theo's decision to carry 3 catchers so they could pinch hit for Tek as early as the 6th or 7th, and that way they could also PH for Cash in the 8th or 9th, but that Tito didn't like this move, and so continued to let Tek hit in the 7th. So naturally he came up with runners on the corners and 2 outs in the 7th, tying run on base, and whiffed badly. Casey may be the Mayor of the bench, but that's a small jurisdiction. As a further consequence, instead of a righty with power on the bench, there's an extra no-hit catcher; where's Willy mo Pena when you need him? Tek hit again in the 9th, and Lowrie had the honor of being the only usable right handed bat. His reward? Ending the season, matching Nomar in LA.

And don't forget that history and inevitability are no match for injustice; two atrocious calls contributed to the Sox' demise. Down 3-1 in the 8th, 2 outs, and the bases loaded, game on the line, Price threw a fastball about a foot outside. Drew checked his swing, but the home plate ump called him out! That's not even his call- there should have been an appeal to third. And in the 9th, Kotsay was called out looking on a pitch 4-6 inches outside. Its a shame to have the umps contribute so severely in the 8th and 9th innings of a game 7. Its infuriating, and may anger me more than losing 10-0. Of course, one may argue that the Sox had other chances, and should have rendered such umpirings irrelevant. But if it were a valid argument that one should have won by then to prevent umps tilting the outcome, baseball should just be 7 and 2/3 innings long.

Injustice is frustrating. A failure of ideals to manifest. The Sox pitcher met a similar problem; Lester was all too human. Giving up a hit to Baldelli in the 5th on an 0-2 count with a runner in scoring position is inexcusable. Terrible pitch selection; they went with the cutter in, and caught the plate, instead of dropping the curve in the dirt, which is how they whiffed him the next time around. No reason to throw a strike in that situation. Instead, Baldelli knocked in the eventual winning run. A similarly weak cutter was slammed by Aybar for the homer to make it 3-1.

Lester didn't catch the breaks. Longoria's RBI double in the 4th was an off-balance swing on a ball out of the zone, and Aybar's lead-off double in the 5th leading to the second run was similarly struck.

When the season has ended, its hard not to nit pick, to wonder what could have gone differently. But these are the breaks that emerge when History and analogies with the past aren't operative forces in the universe, when the simple narrative collapses into incoherent detail.

Ortiz was dreadful, and the Sox got virtually nothing out of their catcher and shortstop. Injury, old age and youth the culprits there. This is what can happen when it all comes down to game 7; the Game 2 loss looms ever larger. It's depressing and oppressive, the force of contingency and randomness. Its never an unimpeded march to glory, and the past cannot carry anything beyond the present. Loyalty to past efforts, the reliance on the habitual, all hindered the war effort. A history of comebacks can't do it for you; everything is in the hands of the players. And that, of course, is the fans' paradox: The universe of sport, and baseball in particular, is defined and governed by rules, creating the the feeling of control and the illusion of isolation from larger forces. Yet spectators, of course, can only watch, as heroes age, thoughtlessness is enacted, bad hops hop badly, and an expansion team with one slogan that's a false mathematical formula and another pilfered from a lame saturday night live skit triumphs.

Its quite humiliating, really.

- - -

I'll be back tomorrow with something with more perspective, my 'springer's final thought', if you will, and even if you won't. More preachy, less detail, more grand narrative. More big sweeping generalizations. I think I only had 1 or 2 in this post. Its the end of the year. That's not enough, by my count.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!; ALCS Game 5

An agnostic doesn't believe in God due to lack of evidence. I don't believe what the Boston Red Sox did Thursday night, despite all the evidence that could possibly be. A greater leap of faith is required than I am capable of.

The Sox dropped a heartbreaker in game 2, were demolished in games 3 and 4, and down 3 games to one in the series, the Sox were down 7-0 with 2 outs in the bottom of the 7th inning. And they won 8-7. They won. Astounding. Astounding.

I need all the reassurance I can get that this actually happened. Sometimes its thought the difference between a scientific and religious temperament is displayed in the reaction to the same set of facts- a scientist looks at existence and sees something explainable, a religious persons sees that same world as mystery. I'm trying to understand how this one really happened, but I'm not sure I can, so I'm just going to go over it again, and stare ga-ga at the facts.

Lowrie lead off the 7th with a long double to right. After Varitek and Kotsay failed to deliver, Coco slapped a 2 out single to left, keeping the inning alive. Dustin Pedroia toughed out yet another 8 pitch AB, fouling off pitches long enough for TBS to run out of ways of anointing Tampa and actually get to some relevant statistics, mentioning that Pedey was far and away the league-leader in BA with 2 strikes this year, at just under .300, until Pedey shot one to right in front of Gross. Lowrie scored, breaking up the shutout, and Crisp advanced, putting 2 runners on.

And up strode the man once awarded with the greatest Red Sox clutch hitter plaque, Big Papi, but who had really come up small in this years postseason. Now, you can always watch a baseball game hoping for a homerun, but they rarely happen. The very best home run hitters only do it every 15 plate appearances or so. And Ortiz had zero homers in his last 61 postseason ABs, and was 1 for 14 with runners on in this postseason. Down 6 runs, with the season on the line, with the defense of the world championship on the line, I cannot imagine a single person watching or playing in this ballgame that was thinking about anything other than Big Papi crushing one. Had he woefully continued, a 7-1 game goes to the 8th. But he got a fastball down and in- his sweet spot- from Balfour, and he absolutely hammered it. In a rare moment, Papi looked almost surprised at himself; he did not characteristically flip the bat in a signification of dominance, and only tentatively left the box. But Fenway erupted, as did my studio apartment. A blowout had just turned into a ball game, the Sox were only down 7-4.

In that moment when Ortiz connected, fantasy became reality, wishes were fulfilled. Baseball really does do that sometimes; it makes the trite tremendous. TBS appropriately showed the guy with the 'i like baseball' sign. Three simple words, and all was right with the universe.

With the metaphorical wind at his back, Papelbon went back out there for the top of the 8th, buried some splitters, elevated some fastballs, and took 2 K's with him back to the dugout, getting those Boston bats back out there to batter the bullpen some more.

Wheeler walked Bay to start the 8th, missing badly low and away on the 3-0 pitch. Clearly rattled, he fell behind J.D. Drew, who righteously rifled one into the right field seats. It was now just a 1 run game, with the Sox only trailing 7-6. Wheeler then feel behind Lowrie, but Lowrie helped him out on the 1-0, swinging at a pitcher's pitch and popping to left. Outs are precious, and that one was squandered. And when Casey, pinch hitting for the captain in what might have been his final fenway plate appearance had he appeared, chased a splitter outside for the whiff, the realization hit that scoring 6 runs is great, but when the other guys have 7...

But Mark Kotsay delivered with 2 outs in the 8th, driving yet another liner to leftcenter field. B.J. Upton, who plays the laziest center field this side of Andruw Jones, yet again nonchalantly glided after the ball, but this time coming up empty, and deservedly so, as Kotsay's double clanged off his glove. Miraculously, the Sox had put the tying run in scoring position just 3 outs after having been down 7-0.

The lineup turned over. And even though Crisp had lined a single his previous attempt, no Boston fan hopes that the man who strides to the plate in the season's most important at bat is Coco Crisp. But whatever Coco hasn't done in his time here in Boston, and whatever he does or doesn't do from here on out, that at bat with the tying run on second with 2 down in the 8th inning of what had rapidly become a one run game was legendary. He fouled off pitch after pitch after pitch, 4 after the count had run full, even some that may have been out of the zone, as Coco was determined not to let the ump make the call; this was in Coco's hands, and he put up a noble fight. Finally Wheeler gave up, conceded, threw the 10th pitch of the at bat down the middle and Coco earned that clean, pure, single to right, that beautiful soft line drive, that sent in Kotsay and tied the ballgame at 7 apiece.

The old Red Sox would have squandered it in the 9th, of course. Carlos Pena, who has been death to Sox pitching, came up with 2 on and 1 out. But the kid Masterson buckled down and got the 4-6-3, sending a tie game to the bottom of the 9th.

But Pedroia and Ortiz went down, the former on a great play by Bartlett in the hole on a sharp grounder that had deflected off Longoria. Longoria then made an amazing stab on the short hop off a Youkilis chopper, but he threw off balance in the dirt, Pena couldn't make the stop, and the Sox had the winning run on second base. Bay was intentionally walked, and J.P. Howell faced J.D. Drew, the man who had hit the 2 run bomb to bring the Sox to within a run just one inning ago. Drew, nearly motionless, poised and ready to strike, walloped a 3-1 delivery, a screaming sinking liner over the wild leap of rightfielder Gross, and Tampa walked off in defeat, acquiescing to a Game 6.

Watching this one, logic and law goes out the window (I should get better insulation.) My girlfriend Rebecca was sitting at the kitchen table when Drew hit the homer to make it 7-6, but then moved over to the couch. Lowrie promptly popped up, and I yelled for her to go back to the table. Later, she had to go get ready for bed, but I wouldn't let her. She must sit at the table and not move. She had already made Lowrie pop up. I blamed her. She stayed put, and we won.

I imagine millions of other people refused to move from their spots too. To think logically where it clearly doesn't apply, we might reason that our not moving cancelled out the Tampa fans' not moving, that the sit in your spot jinx is a zero-sum interaction, and the players took it from there. Or one might think, as I clearly did, that my actions and mine alone were responsible for sending out anti-rays metaphysical rays from Brooklyn to Boston. When the transpiring are just so fantastic, so utterly unbelievable and absurd, doing anything to disturb that precious, teetering balance the universe has so fleetingly achieved seems like a sin.

I'm still out on the idea of retroactive meaning, both enhanced and diminished. If we lose Game 6 or 7, does that take away from game 5? I don't know. I'll cross that bridge after I pay the toll. For now, even after 2 rings in 4 years, and considering all the differences between now and '04, baseball, out of all the things in the world, still has this unique ability to perform the alchemy of turning despair into nervous hope into sheer delight, of creating a little universe where things can go right.

I like baseball.

Bullp*n!

They say baseball's relationship to time is unique among sports; only a baseball game can be infinitely long, where it's merit, and not time, that continues or ends the game. As such, predictability goes out the window, as we could be here awhile.

Not so when watching an archived game on mlb dot com; the video player likes to say how much time is left in the file. So when I can't watch a game live, mlb punishes me, destroying the illusion of infinitude, endless possibility and unlimited expanse; they insist on not just finitude, but the precise amount. They say if you can't quantify it, it don't exist, but, well...

So it wasn't enough that after missing the live game after teaching, avoiding newscasts and emails to watch the battle for first unencumbered by what was by then historical fact, free to revel in my own narrativologizing (not a real word, methinks), that the internet had to crash in a game tied at 1 in the 8th inning, and I had to wait until Wednesday morning to see the predetermined conclusion. No, I had to sit there, watching the Rays get the lead runner on in the 9th, and see that there was about 3 minutes left in the video file of the game. When you can see the end of the tunnel and there isn't any light...

Now of course they can't hear you when you scream at the tv, and they really can't hear you when the game isn't live, but that swing and miss by Pena on a 1-1 count with a runner on in the 9th that got reversed like a McCain policy in a campaign (ha), because apparently an umpire had called 'time', not simply to name it but to stop it, because Tampa's answer to 'what part of 'bullpen' don't you understand?' is 'pen', you know, the 'enclosure' part, because a stray ball just moseyed onto the field just before the pitch, though unbeknowst to the relevant parties, and so the strike didn't count and Pena ended up walking on a full count instead of whiffing, well, i still yelled 'horsesh*t' at the computer and its stupid finite video file. Or horsepen, or whatever.

In any case, Beckett was fantastic. Threw two tons of curveballs, with great command. Got some called third strikes on fastballs after setting them up with a curve. (See how that works, Josh?) Beckett and Tek even seemed not to bicker, for once. At one point, (the 4th?), Tek went out to the mound on a full count to Hinske, 1st and 2nd one out, and Beckett threw his first changeup, to get the whiff. Good communication, good strategy, not a law of nature that Beckett has to throw a fastball there. He's ready for the playoffs.

Reduce-K

People don't like their higher emotions "reduced" to something else, by which they typically mean "explained", either at all, or by something less noble than the thing to be explained (the fancy term for that being 'explanandum').

So when someone says "you only love me because I remind you of your favorite tv show", or "you just say that because you think it will get you elected", the noble love or ideology is 'reduced' on account of explaining the base genesis of the sentiment.

I'd like to think Remy just loves the Sox. After a particularly stirring rendition of Sweet Caroline during Saturday's game (I think), Remy said something to the effect of "If that doesn't get you going, nothing will", and then added gung-ho-ly, "C'mon Sox!"

Bay then promptly ripped one off the monster, and Remy brilliantly punned 'Bay just sweet carolined it off the wall.' (At least I think he said that; maybe I misheard.)

In any case, passion begets punnery.

And tonight, in the Sox' dismantling of Scott Kazmir, leading to a blowout 13-5 victory behind now 17 game winner Dice-K, in a game for first place in the A.L. east, Remy was in a state. After Kazmir hit Tek with a pitch leading off the second, the ump issued a warning to both sides, thereby making the next HBP confer an ejection on the offending pitcher. Remy spewed and ranted, calling the decision "absolutely absurd", and accusing the ump of having "no feel for the game."

Remy was grumpy, with a capital 'grump.' After the Sox went homer, walk, and another homer off the Tampa southpaw to start the 4th, making it 7-1, Ellsbury, in classic Ellsbury form (see yesterday's post), ended up with what was called an infield single to first. But what it was was Kazmir running to cover first on a ball that took first baseman Pena off the bag, and then stopping a few steps short of the bag, allowing Ellsbury to reach. Remy, disgusted with Kazmir's utter disregard for all that is righteous, spat that Kazmir's head just wasn't in the game, and what was he thinking?, and then, seeing Kazmir look over to the Tampa bench for just a moment, decided to play 'projected thought-bubble'- 'Oh, take me out, I want out', he suggested Kazmir was whining to himself.

As I said, I'd like to think Remy just loves the Sox, and is pumped up for the pennant race. But really, I think he just needed a smoke. Ah, sweet reduction satisfaction.

Meanwhile, the Sox just reduced their deficit to Tampa to virtual nothingness, and plan to thwart the erstwhile young soon to be wild card leading Rays again Tuesday evening.

Tampararily Resting... [ugh]

1-1 after 3 innings, 1-1 after 13 innings, a 4-2 loss in 14. Tension so thick you could cut it with a cliche.

What a couple of games. If you have to do anything, you have to hand it to Tampa. A gutsy team, they.

Such baseball games are so plump and juicy, meaning just oozes out. The universe in cleats. This time, though, there's just so much to say, and I'm just too tired to say it. Regroup, revamp, revitalize. In the meantime, I'll take my 5 game lead in the Wild Card race, and my deficit in the division of fewer games behind than games we have left against the Rays (2.5 and 3), and be begrudgingly satisfied.

Yup, folks, I'm phoning this one in. In lieu of whatever I'd say if I wasn't so phoning, may I recommend the most interesting and profound article I've read on politics and morality in a while, or perhaps a report on a study on the psychological and economic benefits of being a sports fan, with Bostony examples?

Bonus points if you use the theories of one to explain the other.

Logical Fallacy of the Week: Says Me

It won't be until the next generation of Sox fans that the Schopenhauerian pessimism and anxiety that comprised the Sox fan identity before '04 will really be cured.

But as a positive, self-affirming, Stuart Smalley step in the here and now, to combat the scars, I'm simply going to assert that the Sox will win the division, sweep Chicago in the ALDS, beat Anaheim in 6 in the ALCS, and then win another world series title against whoever that quadruple A league throws to us lions.

And I'm going to go all zealot on this one. I'm going to say providing evidence and argument in favor of this conclusion is to concede and sew seeds of secular humanist doubt, and that real faith is just saying something and deciding it's true. Yup, I'm committing the fallacy of assertion here- that I say it, I say, is an argument for its truth.

Of course there are reasons for doubt. The Sox only scored 3 runs against Tampa's, what, number 4 starter? The pen's put the 'argh' in 'inconsistent' all year, and obviously the coin has landed heads for Anaheim in our recent head to head.

But I won't put my critical period pre-rings pre- everyday sellout psychology as a basis for worrying about the future; I'll emphasize Lester's nastiness, his season high 9 ks, his beautiful sequences, like getting a called strike two on a backdoor curve in the 2nd to Navarro, and then dropping the slider in the inside dirt, inducing a meager half swing that died and went to limbo, or a fastball for a called strike on the inside corner to Baldelli leading off the 5th, followed by a cutter further in on the hands, off the plate and on Baldelli, chopping him down as he hacked, and then freezing Rhode Island's Own on a paint job, 93 mph outside corner at the knees.

Yeah, all that instead of the 1-0 fastball Lester grooved to Pena with 2 on and 1 out, as the tying run in the 6th, that Pena just got under and skied to center, or that Perez' scorcher to lead off the 8th was caught at short, that Zobrist missed a dong by about the length of the word 'dong' two batters later, and that Pena's double that knocked Lester out of the game bounced into the stands, saving a run, or that Francona doesn't trust Okacarmen in tight spots and had Lester start the 8th already having thrown 105 pitches, ultimately tossing 119 before going to Papelbon.

No, all that con stuff is for ol' timey Sox fans, and that pro and con stuff in general is for rational people. Funk dat. I don't care about bases of inferences, only bases and outs. Sox all the way. Woo. I believe it, therefore its true.

So there.

Forward, not backward, upward not forward, and always whirling, twirling, towards freedom

The problem with living for the moment is that some moments are boring. And when some such moments contain portents of an imminent and interesting future, I get a little antsy.

I'm bored with Texas. Crappy pitching, violent but shut-down-able hitting. Everyone knows ahead of time how tragedies end (the guy dies), but the unfolding is the good stuff. Beating Texas- with the outcome inevitable- is more like unfolding laundry. You'll look crappy if you don't do it, but, geez, do I have to?

As an impatient Milhouse lamented during Poochie the Dog's meandering, filibustering debut on Itchy and Scratchy, 'when are they going to get to the fireworks factory?'

I love Paul Byrd, who's second in wins to Cliff Lee since the all-star break, with 8 (4 with the Sox); he's always a treat. But I'm ready for the pennant race; bring on Tampa, where each pitch's intensity is concentrated like Tropicana orange juice, and when squeezed, oozes out juicy juicy meaning.

The Sox have closed to within a game and a half, as the Famous Original Rays have lost 5 of 6, coming off a sweep from Toronto. The Rays have lost 8 straight at Fenway; all their wins vs. the Sox this year have come at Le Trop. I'd use a tennis break serve metaphor here, but blech.

The Rays look ripe for the picking, and dizzy and confused. Sunday's hard luck 1-0 loser, Tampa starter Matt Garza, said of the Sox "Right now, we're up top and they're chasing us. If we can keep playing our ball, this thing will turn around." Poor guy doesn't know which way is up; if we're chasing them, they're ahead, not on top (we don't run up.) But if they are on top, he shouldn't want anything to turn around, or else they'll fall on their heads. But it's natural for such an inexperienced team, unused to their position in the midst of a pennant race, to bungle their spatial metaphors.

Here it comes, Tampa, a fight for borders, for territory, for space. You may have drawn the line in the sand, but your expected wins based on +/- is only 80, behind our 87, and even Toronto's 82. Regress to the mean, b*tches!

(If I'm ever a pro wrestler, or a cartoon dog, that'll be my catchphrase.)

Sense for a dollar?

So I get back from vacation and Pedroia's batting cleanup and hitting bombs. Makes sense. Drew, Lowell, and Beckett are on the DL, and the Sox are taking names. Also makes sense. It's September, and Tampa Bay has the best record in baseball, and an 11 game lead over the Yankees in the division.

???

Some sympathetic to religiousish worldviews dwell on the very fact of existence- isn't it amazing that anything exists at all!?!?, they wonder. It doesn't seem to make sense. Often, they think that the question 'why is there something rather than nothing?' demands an explanation called 'god'. And either that makes sense, or else it makes such much no sense that it must go beyond all sense and reason, and be true.

Others, though, have a handle on facts, and think that there is anything at all is no big whoop, as I used to say when I was 8, (the expression, not of the universe), or that labeling some mystery 'god' is no explanation at all, or that those other guys should just get over it- this whole existence thing- and stop dwelling on unanswerable questions and do something practical, like increasing bandwidth or cleaning in those hard to reach places.

But me, I can't help but dwell at the amazingness of this tampa bay leading universe in which I find myself. And that involves repeating facts, but this time with exclamation points. 11 games up on the Yankees! Best record in baseball! Existence! Something! Not nothing! Pretty amazing stuff, really. I can't get over it, and I just can't make sense of it.

Others, though, would simply point to a Tampa team ERA of 3.70, and a bullpen ERA of 3.41, and a Yankees team ERA in August of 5.09, among many other things that would serve as a perfectly reasonable explanation of the phenomenon in question.

Not me, though. It's inexplicable, really. Tampa Bay!

And yes, the Yanks beat Tampa today, and even have 8 wins vs. Tamper on the year. And that makes it all the more amazing- Yankees beat the Rays in September, with one team out of the running, and the other tuning up for the playoffs.

Makes sense after all.

Pulp Pulp Pulp; Sox swept at the Trop, 7-6

Foul balls are not do-overs. There are no do-overs. Time goes forward. Thermodynamics and such.

After Varitek fouled off a hit-and-run attempt with 1 out in the 9th, trailing by a run, Lowell on first, Tito tried again.

But a hit-and-run that is fouled off is not a case of the play neither working nor not working. The law of excluded middle is not violated; there is no third option. Logic is immutable. Don't fuck with it. A ball fouled off on a hit and run is a failed hit and run. Though no out is recorded, the play happened. It existed. Adjustments will be made.

That, and Varitek misses pitches like they're his long-distance girlfriend.

Perhaps Tito Jr. was desperate for control; he had seen his hurlers throw almost 50 pitches in Tampa's 6 run 7th inning, a mere 20 for strikes. The Sox had left 10 men on base. Perhaps he felt he had to step in there and do something. But there are no do-overs, and sometimes it's best to do nothing. Or pinch hit Casey for a struggling Captain. Where's Damian Jackson to pinch run when you need him?

3 losses to Tampa, by a total of 4 runs. Not necessarily projectible; a Lugo slide here, Hansen throwing a strike there, all within the realm of possibility (it would seem), and the outcome is different. But you can't go back, there are no do-overs.

Also, I have to dust off an old one. Varitek hits like he has 20 in blackjack.

Choosing a pitch from the list; Tampa squeezes Sox, 3-1

Connoisseurs are selective, discriminating. They distinguish between the good and bad, the worthy and the base, and select only the finest. What is common and bountiful is vulgar. Only the perfect sample will do.

There are plenty of pitches. Pitches are common. The selective hitter, especially when in a hitters' count, discriminates between the pitch of his liking, and everything else. He knows what is worthy of his swing.

In two crucial at bats in the 6th inning, J.D. Drew and Manny Ramirez opened the wine list, couldn't read French, and pointed randomly.

Two runners on, Sox down 2-1, top of the 6th. Drew up with a 3-1 count. He hacks at a fastball on the inside corner- a pitchers' pitch- shatters the bat, and pops out. Manny, up next with a 2-1 count, chases a high fastball out of the zone, fouls out to first.

Foul indeed. Gauche, even.

The 3 and 4 hitters, on a championship team, down by a run, late in the game to the division leaders, have to show poise and selection. They have to be connoisseurs. When the pitcher is ahead in the count, they take what they can get. But this wasn't one of those times.

The Rays come away with the victory. They came through in the clutch. They chose the right pitches, they attacked the strike zone with fastballs, forcing the Sox to take what they were given.

This is going to be a race.

Lord of the Orange Groves

Wade Boggs would be rolling over in his grave.

If he were dead.

How else to express the betrayal by his beloved Tampa Bay Famous Original Rays?

In first place. Widening their lead, even. They're spitting on Bogg's legacy. And Fred McGriff's. And Brent Abernathy's. How could they?

People love an underdog. Speak truth to power. The meek shall inherit something or other.

I used to tease a friend of mine who would always root for the underdog by saying he had to switch allegiances with every lead change.

Nietzsche saw 'master morality' as the identification of strength and goodness; virility and virtue are one. Slave morality is the inverse; power is oppression and subjugation. To automatically root for the underdog is to identify weakness with goodness. It's a sort of slave morality.

Tampa's a good team. They are strong. James Shields has great 12-1 movement on his fastball (tailing back into a righthanded hitter.) Javier Lopez should not have thrown a fastball strike to the righthanded Gomes on an 0-2 count with the sacks full of Rays, but they earned it. The Sox are no longer the underdog. That aspect of the narrative has played out.

What we have here is a rivalry. When Gerald Williams charged Pedro, I was indignant. How dare a commoner? I took umbrage. That was a peasant revolt. He should have known his role. But now, well, the 3rd estate is moving up in the world. The Rays are contenders.

Sox fans who were in it for the underdog story, the plucky rag tag fighters against the Evil Empire, might have a hard time making the transition to playing the bully, the establishment, the $140 million juggernaut, squashing the upstart Rays and their impossible dream.

Not me. Last I checked, the point was winning. That master/slave thing is for losers anyway.