Is it wrong that I have a man crush on
David Ortiz? That I want to spoon feed him mango salsa while Johnny Pesky cools him with gently waving palm fronds and Kelly the Ball Girl massages his gargantuan feet?
Really. C'mon now. Is this dude for real? This is some next-level shit right here. We are witnessing greatness on a Yaz/Orr/Bird scale.
Sit back and watch. And thank the heavens that he is ours, all ours.
I admit it. Walking across the Mass Ave Bridge last night, listening to Joe and Jerry on WEEI, I nearly started to weep when Frank Catalanotto homered into the bullpen to make the score 4-1 in the fifth. First, because
I hate Frank Catalanotto. But mostly, because it was at that moment that our playoff hopes seemed ready to die. I looked back across the river at Fenway's glowing lights, and thought of them dimming for a long, cold winter.
For the third consecutive night, our starting pitcher was not doing the job we needed him to do.
Matt Clement was flat, and it looked like Toronto's relentless line-up was poised to score many more runs. Meanwhile, the Yankees were
romping in Baltimore and the Indians were on their way to shutout. We'd be entering this weekend's trumpeted series down two games in the East and one in the Wild Card hunt. To have it end like this -- to the Blue Jays! -- just hurt too much.
I never count this team out. But, really, what have they shown in the last week or so that indicates they've got the kind of fight in them we used to take for granted?
It looked bleak. We needed to do something.
So we did.
Clement got out of a hairy bases-loaded situation in the fifth, and then was pulled after the first batter of the sixth.
Mike Myers came on to close out the inning after intentionally walking the bases and inducing a fly-out to center.
In the bottom of the inning, Ortiz reached first thanks to a hideous misplay in the field. Scott Downs was pulled, and
Manny Ramirez welcomed Jason Frazor by flicking his second pitch effortlessly into the Toronto pen.
The guy making my sandwich flashed me a toothy grin. "Manny, man."
Down by one. We can do this.
I was home by now, watching on TV. Myers came out for the seventh, and got one out before being replaced by
Jonathan Papelbon. Suddenly, I was calm. I was happy. I had a feeling this worm would turn.
Ground-out. Double. Strikeout.
He came back for the eighth. Ground-out. Line-out. Ground-out. Seven (7) pitches.
He walked off the mound as if in a trance. (Or, as
this guy puts it, "like he just ate a plateful of nails.)
Then David Ortiz launched Vinnie Chulk's third pitch to deep left center to tie the game. Ho hum. What else is new?
Papelbon came back out. for the top of the ninth. A ground-out. Then another. A double. A pop-out.
In the ninth, we had to do something, and quick. An extra-innings game, win or lose, is no way to preface the biggest series of the year. Tony Graffanino didn't seem to get the memo, popping up Miguel Batista's first pitch. Johnny Damon (3 for 5 on the night) squeaked a single to right, and then stole second. Edgar Renteria walked on four pitches.
Batista was frightened. And well he should be.
He pitched to Ortiz: Fouled off. A ball low. Fouled off. A ball low and away. A ball low and away. A stinging single to left center.
Damon sprinted, hair flying.
And he crossed home plate. The field was a sea of red. And "Dirty Water" played.
He is inhuman. He is carrying this team.
And he is the
most valuable player in the American League.
And Jonathan Papelbon is to pitching what Big Papi is to hitting. And he's starting to remind me of
this guy. (Apparently,
so do they.) I'm giddy for the future, and so should you be.
But for the moment, there are more immediate concerns.
Like this.
And there are concerns.
Damon, Ortiz, and Ramirez do not an offense make. This lineup was tailor-made for Fenway Park. We've got to start hitting like it.
And we've got to pitch better. Much, much better.
Big Papi says so.
David Wells's knee feels like it's been hacked by Jeff Gillooly.
Curt Schilling is a huge question mark. (Maybe he should stop
kissing Yankee ass and concentrate on that big three-ring binder of his.)
And Papelbon pitched a lot last night. (Will
Mike Stanton help? Suppose he can't hurt. Right?)
But we can do this. (
We have before.)
Here's how it shakes out. Let's go with option number nine.
The most exciting weekend of baseball in a
half century.
Bring it on.
In the mean time... Hey ladies!
Need tickets for tonight's game?