Down to the wire, or just plain down the drain?
I’m not going to jinx it. I’m not going to say anything at all. You see, this season I’ve found myself prophesizing things that have turned out to happen in exactly the opposite fashion, and damned if I’m going to do it now; not when there’s so much at stake, and so little time left.
This week sees the major league baseball season come to one of the most hotly contested endings in recent memory. The AL East is a dead heat, as is the Wild Card, between the Boston Red Sox, New York Yankees, and the success story of the year, Eric Wedge’s Cleveland Indians. Meanwhile, the Chicago White Sox are on the verge of an historic collapse. Once leaders in their division by 18 ½ games, the team finds themselves looking ahead to a three game showdown with those pesky Indians, and merely two games separating them. The National League is a bit more predictable, but, with a team like Atlanta winning their division year after year, what can you expect? Still, there’s something brewing there, as well, especially if Houston hangs on to take the Wild Card. Imagine Clemens back in Fenw…nope. I’m not gonna say it.
So, while this is certainly an exciting time, and one that any baseball fan should be more than pleased to see unfold, I am not “any” baseball fan; I am a Red Sox fan. Red Sox fans don’t like things close. We don’t appreciate margins for error. We don’t merely see the cup as half-empty, we see it in glistening shards on the tile, as shattered as our hopes for post-season glory (pre-2004). So, while positive things happen that may make other baseball fans see rays of hope, we in Red Sox nation look at as a luminescent tease; summer’s goodbyes in the guise of ethereal harbingers of the dark of winter, and long cold nights without baseball. Like addicts, we want to make our “stash” last just a little bit longer; at least into early October, but like said addicts, we hold little hope that we’ll even manage to make it through the weekend.
Of course, if it was easy, we wouldn’t be like this, would we? No, if it was easy, we’d be like those folks in Atlanta, setting aside our fall jackets and plastic tomahawks for yet another post-season run, and casually enjoying the rest of the season. Instead, Red Sox Nation is jittery and worried and waiting for the other shoe to drop. We envision the worst case scenario to help us to cope if it indeed comes to fruition, however, even then, it stings like the death of a family member. As I look forward to the final five games of the season, I realize I’m not looking forward to them at all. I want to turn back the clock and give Schilling back his ankle, help Foulke find his form, and, for god’s sake, give Pedro whatever the hell it was he wanted to stay here!
So there you have it. It’s a gloomy column by a gloomy Gus. You’d think I was writing about a team whose season was over instead of tied for two tickets to October. But that’s just me. That’s just what it is to be a Red Sox fan. Will next weeks column be the first of a series in October, or the last of the season?
That, after a season long roller coaster ride, will be decided in just five games in five days.
Dear God, why can’t they just make it easy for once.
Damon Pulls a Pedro...
In the New York Post, Johnny Damon was quoted as saying that the Sox front office’s last chance at a “hometown discount” was behind them, and that he was offering himself out to the highest bidder. Damon has been a catalyst this season, seemingly thriving despite injury and off-field diversions, and, while his bum shoulder may raise red flags around the league, one can’t help but think that Damon’s agent, Scott Boras, will demand-and get-a king’s ransom for his client. Will Johnny clean up for a spot in the Bronx?
Schilling Schocked by Teammate Comments...
Curt Schilling, in an interview with a Boston paper, stated that one of his teammates asked why it was that the Fenway faithful haven’t booed the star pitcher, and even went so far as to hint that he deserved such treatment for his lackluster performance this season. Schilling refused to name the teammate but stated it was “someone who isn’t wired right”. Meanwhile, in a corner somewhere, Manny Ramirez and Kevin Millar giggled maniacally.
I’m not going to jinx it. I’m not going to say anything at all. You see, this season I’ve found myself prophesizing things that have turned out to happen in exactly the opposite fashion, and damned if I’m going to do it now; not when there’s so much at stake, and so little time left.
