And things just keep getting worse.

“Broadway” Charlie Wagner, the oldest living Red Sox player, the man who intoned “let’s play ball” at the Red Sox home opener every April, has died at age 93. 

BOSTON, MA—Charlie Wagner, who had been with the Boston Red Sox since 1935 in a number of baseball capacities, passed away early Thursday morning of an apparent heart attack. Mr. Wagner was 93 years old.

The Red Sox will hold a moment of silence prior to Thursday night’s game at Fenway Park in the memory of Charlie Wagner.

“Charlie Wagner was a beloved member of the Red Sox organization for more than 70 years,” commented Red Sox President/CEO Larry Lucchino. “As a player, executive, scout, and coach, his dedication and loyalty to the Red Sox were unmatched. In recent years, we had been honored with his frequent visits to Fenway Park and looked forward each opening day to his call of “Play Ball.

“Charlie was a legend in his hometown of Reading, Pennsylvania, and we share Reading’s loss with his passing. We extend our deepest sympathies to Charlie’s family on this sad occasion.”

Mr. Wagner was attending the Reading Phillies-Portland Sea Dogs Eastern League game on Wednesday night in his hometown of Reading, Pennsylvania when he was stricken. He had presented the 2006 Reading Phillies Unsung Hero Award in a pre-game ceremony prior to the game.

Mr. Wagner had been serving as special Minor League Spring Training consultant for a number of years. He was honored on opening day of this season at Fenway Park as part of a special tribute to the 1946 American League champion Red Sox.

Signed as a righthanded pitcher by Boston in 1935, Mr. Wagner made his pro debut with Charlotte in the Class B Piedmont League. He was promoted to the Red Sox in 1938 and compiled a 32-23 record and 3.91 ERA over six seasons. The righthander was 12-8 in 1941 and 14-11 in 1942 before serving in the Navy during World War II from 1943-45. Mr. Wagner returned to pitch in eight games for Boston in 1946 before injuries ended his playing career.

Mr. Wagner was appointed as the Red Sox’ Assistant Farm Director in 1947 and served in that role for 15 years before becoming a special assignment scout and minor league pitching instructor for the organization. He also served as Boston’s major league pitching coach under Eddie Kasko for the 1970 season.

The Red Sox honored Mr. Wagner in March 1998 by re-naming the entrance-way into the Fort Myers Minor League Complex Charlie Wagner Way.

Born on December 3, 1912 in Reading, PA, Mr. Wagner is survived by his son Craig and daughter-in-law Nancy.

A wake will take place on Tuesday, September 5 from 6:00-9:00 p.m. at the Kuhn Funeral Home, 739 Penn Ave., West Reading, PA 19611 (610-374-5440). The funeral will be held on Wednesday, September 6 at 11:00 a.m.at the Nativity Lutheran Church, 1501 North 13^th St., Reading, PA 19604 (610-374-3230).

The family requests that donations may be made in Charlie Wagner’s memory to the Jimmy Fund.

8/31/2006 2:20:07 PM by Mike Miliard | Comments [0] |  

Big congrats, Curt. That’s some rarefied company you’re in. 3003 sure is a big number.

Too bad it’s about the only thing we have to be happy about these days.

I don’t even mind that you didn’t get the win. Does winning even matter at this point?

This is really getting absurd. What the hell is happening to this team?

No one knows yet what Jon Lester’s diagnosis will be, but the very fact that the C word is being mentioned is deeply troubling, to say the least. Thoughts and prayers (if that’s your thing) to him and his family. Please be well, Jon.

Whether Tony Mazz should have screamed the word in his headline is another story. We know that there are many causes for enlarged lymph nodes, and count me as one who prefers the  much more restrained approach to the story taken by the Globe.

(Over on Sons of Sam Horn there’s an interesting discussion about the possible prognosis, and what the media’s responsibilities are with stories like these.)

As mere spectators, there's not much we can do. Except this. Prove that we are the best fans in baseball.

When they take the field tonight — with or without David Wells — cheer them long and loud.

They’ve been playing horribly lately, but they’ve also endured more hardships than any team should rightfully be expected to soldier through. They deserve our support.

Get your brainwaves in harmony and your heart rhythms thumping in unison with overflowing goodwill. Because, as Dr. Eric Leskowitz, co-creator of the forthcoming documentary The Joy of Sox (a title obviously thunk up a long time ago), explains:

Invisible forces matter. There’s a lot of research from physics, electromagnetism, and holistic medicine that invisible forces, or what they call light energy, is a really important ingredient in human performance.... The idea that [fans] could influence the game sounds like science fiction or something. But there’s good research to back this up.

Read all about it here.

These are the times that try men’s souls. But we must be strong.

Do not boo this team. Cheer them. They need our good will. (And, hell, at least your tickets were cheap, relatively speaking.)

David is doing fine. Tek and Trot and Gonzo are coming back soon.  It's something, at least.

Let’s win tonight. We need it. For so many reasons.

8/31/2006 12:29:36 PM by Mike Miliard | Comments [0] |  

Busted up his shoulder, probably during that catch last night.

So that makes:

* Center fielder

* Left fielder

* Right fielder

* Shortstop

* Catcher

* Designated hitter

Never mind a few pitchers and a fourth outfielder.

When we finally finish this season in third place, at least no one can say we didn’t have any excuses.

8/30/2006 4:01:47 PM by Mike Miliard | Comments [0] |  

Please be well, Big Papi.

Nothing else matters.

8/29/2006 11:41:03 AM by Mike Miliard | Comments [1] |  

"Remember, guys. It's not whether you win or lose, it's how you play the game."

There’s a new billboard hanging over Brookline Avenue, at the mouth of Lansdowne Street.

It depicts David Ortiz, pointing to the sky, pointing at the camera, flinging his helmet gaily in the air. Above it all, in Red Sox font: “SO GOOD! SO GOOD! SO GOOD!”

Would that it were true.

Oh, David Ortiz is great. He’s having a career year, in fact. The road to 51 rolls on.

But the 2006 Boston Red Sox aren’t good. No indeed. They’re terrible

And, not to put a too fine a point on it, they’re fucked.

It’s not just the never-ending spate of injuries. (To last week’s long list, you can now also add Wily Mo, Jon Lester, and (again) Doug Mirabelli with a jammed ankle.)

Meanwhile, Javy Lopez has somehow transmogrified into the worst catcher in all of baseball.

Mike Timlin grows more delusional by the day. “I threw the ball exceptionally well,” he said Saturday night, after couging up a game-tying homer then a go-ahead sac fly in a very winnable game. Shut up, Mike. Don’t ruin your great reputation in this town with a few poorly chosen words. You’re pitching like dogshit. Admit it. (This was bad enough.)

Manny’s knees are still in pain.

And the strain is starting to show. “He said he couldn’t play. What the (expletive) do you want me to do?” snarled the manager. “If a guy says he can’t play, he can’t (expletive) play. …Go ask him. He said he can’t (expletive) play.”

Yesterday, Francona was “coughing up blood and spitting it into a towel while he answered questions after yesterday's loss. ‘I might have OD'd on my blood thinners," explained the beleaguered manager. ‘I think I took too much.’”

If that image weren’t so frightening I’d be tempted to say it’s about as apt a metaphor as possible about the toll this month has taken on this team.

Poor Tito. What must it be like to have to preside over a threadbare squad like this? Even worse, it’s a team which seems to be showing almost no will to win. On the field, these Red Sox look lost. Listless. Broken.

Bad.

Even our opponents feel bad for us. As one Seattle columnist put it, "these aren't the Red Sox we know."

Losing balls in the sun. Kicking it around the infield as if they were Manchester United. Making bad decisions on the bases. Making worse decisions on defense.

Who were those guys?

We’ve been swept by another cellar dweller. We've become sellers.

David Ortiz cannot win a World Series all by himself.

World Series? Ha.

“At this rate, the Sox will be lucky to finish with 85 wins.”

It was fun while it lasted.

Just remember to spare a little pity for your poor neighborhood blogger.

As HB reminds us all: “while the non-blogging fan can just step back from the season, start looking toward Foxboro and put the Red Sox on the back burnah, we bloggahs still have to to get up and address the dire situation game aftah game aftah game.”

It’s no fun.

8/28/2006 12:47:23 PM by Mike Miliard | Comments [0] |  

OK, I’m feeling little better now.

But, uh, that's sorta more than I can say for our favorite baseball team, which is starting to look like a MASH unit.

On top of the guys already languishing on the DL — Gonzo with his strained oblique, Trot with the strained biceps and elbow infection, Wake with his sore ribs (healing a lot slower than anyone would wish), Tek with a balky knee (can’t come back soon enough) — now we’ve got Mark Loretta with his bruised quad, Josh Beckett with a sliced finger, and Manny with his tendinitis-which-is-pretty-bad-but-a-whole-lot-better-than-torn-cartilege.  

And, ostensibly the least serious, but at the same time the most frightening, we also learn that Big Papi spent a night in the hospital during that heart-breaking Yankees series. (Please, please, please let Tony Mazz be right when he says it was “nothing more than a scare.”)

Things are tough all over.

But.

Papi can still can hit.

Wily Mo’s got a little pop in him too.

Papelbon seems back to his old nail-spitting self.

Mike Timlin continues to confound.

But Keith Foulke is picking up the slack.

And apparently all Josh Beckett needs to do to be effective is throw caution to the wind, throw the way he’s always thrown, and ... uh ... open up a big gash on his finger. (Ugh.)

We’ve got hustle.

And we’ve still got an ace.

We’re not out of it yet. This team is hurting. If we do somehow manage to grasp and claw our way into the postseason, it will be a minor miracle. Especially if Manny misses too much more time.

But we're not the only ones who are banged up.

It can be done. Half the fun is seeing if and how.

Let’s just be fans. Just sit back and watch. See what happens.

8/25/2006 5:51:49 PM by Mike Miliard | Comments [0] |  

I wish I had.

Remember this:

This is what rock bottom looks like.

(It’s blurry because you’re seeing it through my tears.)

The only way it gets worse is if this is more serious than it looks.

What a way to waste a gem of a pitching performance. Wow. Have a fun trip out west, guys. You’ll have lots of time to think about this on the plane.

8/21/2006 4:31:24 PM by Mike Miliard | Comments [0] |  

Me, I’m a little tired.

After last night's colossal gut-punch I was tossing and turning until almost five a.m., unable to erase Jason HGHiambi’s gargantuan, profusely pig-sweating gourd from my racing thoughts. It hovered in my mind, plaguing me like a phantasm, squinting and twitching that ridiculous half-grown mustache.

So I’ve decided something. I need to take a break from this team.

I might check Gameday once or twice this afternoon to see if Boomer is able to salvage some tiny shred of dignity from this awful, awful, awful series, but I’m not gonna watch.

I’m afraid Bob Ryan’s right: “It really doesn't matter what David Wells does today. The humiliation is complete. The Red Sox are now six games behind the Yankees in the loss column, so you can forget about the American League East.”

And I don’t think I’m gonna watch much of this long upcoming West Coast trip, either. Is a team with precisely one reliable starter, one good relief pitcher, and two great hitters really worth staying up past 1 a.m. to watch lose?

It’s just not good for my health. And, frankly, I'm running out of ways to write about about soul-crushing defeats.

I was so looking forward to this series. Ticketless, I traveled south to watch the first three of these five long games in a few of New York City’s finest Red Sox-friendly public houses.

It didn’t take long to get an idea how things might go. At 1:17 p.m. on Friday, stuck in Bronx traffic on the bus, I got a text from my friend Will, who was watching at Professor Thom’s: “This game is already over.”

Jason Johnson, who was to be cut loose by the team as soon as he’d finished throwing himself to the wolves, had allowed a Johnny Damon triple and an RBI Derek Jeter single right off the bat. Then Bobby Abreu singled. It took 20 pitches for him to record the first out.

Compare that to the bottom of the same inning, when it took precisely ONE PITCH for Chien-Ming Wang to get an out after Coco decided to drop a bunt. The fact that the first time a Red Sox bat made contact with a baseball this series was an unsuccessful bunt attempt tells you pretty much everything you need to know.

(Coco, so far, is 1-15 for the series. Says Rotoworld, brutally, “The Red Sox would have had to overpay to keep Johnny Damon, but they also overpaid to bring in Crisp, a decision that seems especially costly right now. Giving up Andy Marte's potential for such an unexceptional player is going to haunt the team long after Damon's contract expires.”)

Anyway, somehow Johnson got his shit together after allowing just that one run, turning in three scoreless frames. Then, an hour or so later, I disembarked at Port Authority Bus Terminal and headed to the nearest bar, just in time to see him completely implode, giving up a two-run homer to Damon and two consecutive singles before Kyle Snyder came on to surrender another run.

It just got worse. By the time I made it to Professor Thom’s across town, Snyder and Manny Delcarmen had combined to give up another four runs. Rudy Seanez coughed up another four in the ninth.

We got one back in the bottom of the inning, but it was far too little, far too late.

Hey, I said to Will, this was the one we expected to lose, right? Johnson sucks. Chin up, we’ve got another one in less than three hours. The kid'll make it right. Right?

The $3 Harpoon draughts were flowing freely. The fried macaroni and cheese was really, really good. And the place was getting packed for Game Two. People were pumped.

Well...

This one was worse, not least because it looked like we might win it. They led 5-1 after an inning and a half, but we scored three in the second, and another in the third. They got two back in the fourth, but we answered right back with two in the bottom of the inning, then three more in the fifth.

Hey, 10-7! We’re not pitching great, but at least we’re swinging the bats.

Then, uh, we gave up seven runs in the seventh. Thanks, Mike. Your middle name is August. Why can't you pitch better in that month? (Karma is a bitch?)

Just when you think this rivalry can’t get more ridiculous (remember all those records we set back in '04?), it does just that. Four hours and 45 minutes. The longest nine-inning game in history. Following close on the heels of a day game that was 3:55.

Am I allowed to say that I was quite drunk at this point?

The teams combined for 41 runs and 61 hits. Twenty pitchers -- that's counting Mike Myers and Scott Proctor twice -- threw 783 pitches. In all, the teams played 8:40 minutes of baseball, from Jason M. Johnson's first pitch at 1:10 p.m. until Mariano Rivera covered first to retire Wily Mo Pena at 12:52 a.m.

"We kept looking up and it kept being the fourth inning. It was nuts," Yankees manager Joe Torre said. "I'm proud of it, especially in this ballpark, where every game seems like it's the longest game in history."

"I don't even remember half of it," said Derek Jeter.

Uh, yeah. Me neither.

But Saturday, was a new day. The sun shone bright, and New York City was resplendent.

Little did I know that the sole bright spots of the day would turn out to be a) the awesome brunch deal at the Hairy Monk (entrée of your choice, including two drinks, for $10.95!) and b) seeing Peter Gammons at Fenway.

Josh Beckett? I don’t wanna talk about it.

At all.

And so on to Sunday night. Schilling is dealing. We’re up 2-0.

Then, of course, the heavens open up. The deluge arrives, the sky is riven by lightning, and rain falls in sheets.

So Schilling waits for 57 minutes before venturing back onto a soggy mound. Suddenly, he’s a little worse for the wear, giving up two singles and a two-run homer to start off the fourth.

But he calms down. Guts it out, allowing just two hits the rest of the night as we get three back to take a two run lead.

He tips his cap. Walks into the dugout to loud cheers from the grateful crowd.

You know what happens next.

I’m sick of it. I’m sick of this unholy “uber-team,” with their corporate pinstripes and fascist moustaches, thoroughly embarrassing us in our own park.

I’m sick of abysmal relief pitching. I’m sick of not being able to hit with runners in scoring position. I’m sick of Derek Jeter’s fisters and fist pumps, and Johnny Damon’s power stroke, and Bobby Abreu’s OBP. I'm sick of the towering arrogance. (“This ballclub just won't be denied," says Ol’ Joe.)

I’m sick of heightened blood pressure and sinking depression.

I'm sick of losing.

But, hey, don’t blame the Manager of the Year. Sure, it would have been better if Papelbon had started two innings clean last night, and if Youk had swung away, and if Kapler had been playing just a little more shallow.

But by and large, our present predicament is not Terry Francona’s fault. What does he have to work with?

(At least Hansen’s just been sent down to the PawSox before he can get any more shell-shocked, thus possibly harming the "long-term plan.")

Should we blame anyone? Or everyone? We’ve seen the enemy, and it is us. Unlike ’03 and ’04, this team -- at this point in time, at least -- is just manifestly inferior to the Yankees. Very. And there’s not a whole lot we can do about it now except, like, play better.

The good news? Theo Epstein, who built this team, expects us to “storm back” in September. Jeez, I sure hope he’s right. But I thought he was of a much more rational mind than that.

8/21/2006 1:01:53 PM by Mike Miliard | Comments [0] |  

OK, now that’s good. Something to build on, perhaps, and take with us into the weekend?

Thank you, Davids, for pitching well and hitting well.

We couldn’t have done it without you. (Big ups to you, too, Coco and Craig.)

And now we’ve got reinforcements.

Welcome Eric Hinske.

Welcome home, Carlos Pena.

Nice moves, both. Solid pickups with little downside and plenty of upside. Good depth for the bench, good back-up for Lowell, Youk, and Pena, good insurance in case Trot doesn’t come back, and some much-needed lefties for a very right-handed lineup.

I’d rather have a pitcher, of course (contrary to what Mike Timlin might think, we’re not “throwing the ball realy well”) but, hey, this isn’t a perfect world and you make do with what you have.

Win this weekend. And again and again. And then once or twice more. We’re not done yet.

Phoenix cleaning guy Pat D sure as hell doesn’t think so. YESSAH!

8/17/2006 3:13:19 PM by Mike Miliard | Comments [0] |  

"I've seen Youkilis in the shower, and he's not the Greek god of anything."
-Terry Francona

Playoff hopes hanging by a thread? Let's laugh a little. It's good for the soul.

EDIT: Clip removed by YouTube, because NESN, like NBC, does not recognize great free publicity when it sees it.

8/16/2006 3:15:22 PM by Mike Miliard | Comments [0] |  

“Carlos Guillen,” said Tigers catcher Vance Wilson, who applied the tag, “is the most alert infielder I've ever played with.”

Well, good for Carlos Guillen.

Thus was the wind sucked out from our sails. We coulda had the bases juiced with one out, with Wily Mo primed to hit one out.

In the event, we did not.

But Demarlo Hale is not the problem.

Josh Beckett is.

Is he tipping his pitches?

Does he need to learn another pitch?

Does he need to grow up?

Or is he just mediocre?

Either way, this is getting really, really old. A 5.74 ERA post All-Star break. A 12.00 ERA in his seven losses. He’s won just a single game since we inked him to that three year contract extension. When does this ostensible number-two start putting it together? Do we really have to wait till next year?

Please win tonight, Curt.

Thanks in advance,
A fan

8/15/2006 1:17:34 PM by Mike Miliard | Comments [0] |  

Not a bad weekend of baseball, eh? Looks like that little pep talk might have actually worked. There was a bit of everything: beanings and bruisings, errors that ended games and errors that prolonged games when they should have ended, some big homers and some big pitchers coming up big. We gave up a lot of runs, sure. But we also scored a lot of runs. In the end, three different times, that was enough.

We needed a win Friday like we hadn’t in a while. Sp we got things going early. And, of all people, David Wells rose to the task of making that lead stick, lasting seven strong frames (about time someone besides Schilling did that) while giving up just a single measly run.

Kudos, Boomer. I wish I could say I never had a doubt, but that would be very untrue. Nonetheless I am thrilled to see you back.

I was in the park on Saturday, which was about as pleasant a day as can be (sunny, 74 degrees) and a great day to check out the Monster seats for the first time.

It was ugly at first, though, with Jason Johnson digging us a hole from the get go. But, piece by piece, we fought our way back. We got one back in the second, then Johnson gave up three in the third.

Then, in the fifth, Wilfredo Modesto Peña launched a towering blast, right ... over ... our ... heads. It was an astonishing thing to see, screaming right at us, although seemingly in slo mo, and then arcing above us, clearing Lansdowne Street, and bouncing off the edge of the garage. Amazing.

If you don’t believe I was there, just check the tape:

(That’s me and my girlfriend at the top of the frame, in the black Foulke t-shirt and green Sox cap respectively, using up precisely one second of our 15 minutes of fame.)

Anyway, two batters later, Coco hit one out to center-right to put another run on the boards.

Johnson got in more trouble in the fifth, loading the bases with a walk and two singles, before Julian Tavarez came in to relieve him. He got a K looking before giving both the runs we’d scored right back with a Brian Roberts single. Groan.

No matter. Wily Mo wanted to hit for the cycle. So after Manny walked and Mike Lowell singled, he followed up the double he hit in the second, and that prodigious homer in the fifth, with a booming two-run triple to bring us back within two.

(He never did get that pesky single. So what? If he keeps learning from his elders, he’ll have many more chances to try again.)

Then came Doug Mirabelli. He doesn’t hit all that many homers, but when he does he makes ‘em matter. Kapow. Another one over the Monster. Tie game.

And so it would stay. Hansen pitched a perfect seventh. Timlin pitched a perfect eighth.

And our boy Papelbon came on to see about exorcising the memories of Kansas City and keeping the score as-is until the bats could nail down a win.

In the ninth, Brandon Fahey got a little greedy but was cut down at third trying to stretch a double into a triple thanks to a bang-bang play from Manny to Gonzo to Lowell. The crowd held its collective breath, then erupted in euphoric cheers.

But in the bottom of the inning, nothing much happened. Mirabelli flew out to left. Gonzalez grounded to short. Coco lined out to short.

Papelbon came back out for a perfect 10-pitch tenth.

Then it was over.

Old friend Bruce Chen walked Loretta. He walked Ortiz on five pitches. Then Manny Ramirez laced a single into left to keep his streak alive. Fahey, perhaps remembering what Manny had done to him the inning before, bobbled the ball, then just held onto it as pinch-runner Gabe Kapler jogged home to seal Manny’s first walk-off hit since 2003.

What a day. What a game. Great seats, gorgeous weather, a walk-off win, even an extra inning to soak it all in.

My only complaint? The beers on the Monster aren’t on draught. They’re in cans. No problem there. But whereas a 16-oz. draught beer in the downstairs concourse costs $6.50, a 12-oz. can on the Monster is $6.25. My math might be off here, but seeing how 12 ounces is a good 25 percent less than 16 ounces, the price should reflect this accordingly, right? Why not $4.88? Hell, I’d even settle for an even five bucks.

Anyway, on Sunday, Jon Lester did what he does. He labored. Hard.

Luckily, our offence did not. We scored 11 runs that day, and we’d need almost every one of them. (No thanks, alas, to Mr. Ramirez. So long, streak.)

Papelbon had to work hard for it too. A shame. since he shouldn’t even have had to enter the game. (Thanks, Craig.) But, excruciating as it was, he got the job done, even if I was watching the last two outs through parted fingers. When it was finally over, we was as relieved as we were.

(Not so fast, Wilbur. We gotta keep this guy at closer next year. Hansen isn’t ready, and won’t be by then either. And even though I still wear his t-shirt, Foulke seems less likely to revert to ’04 form every day. Don't expect to see him on the roster.)

Anyway, well done, Mikey. Wow. What a weekend! Beaned on Friday, an amazing, painful looking, dive-into-the-seats catch a few innings later. Kick off the game with a grand slam on Sunday, then slam the door shut with an incredible diving grab. (Hearing that David Ortiz use Nelly Furtado’s “Promiscuous Girl” as his at-bat music on Saturday was great; Discovering that Lowell uses Black Sabbath’s “Iron Man” was even better.)

It wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t pretty. But, Bob Ryan reminds us, this is the way it has to be done.

Yeah, it was just the lowly O’s. But they played us tough. And I’m inclined to agree with Red that this was “most cathartic series of the 2006 season.”

So far.

We’ve got work to do. One game back. Not bad. (It could be a lot worse.)

Just keep playing like this.

We need the good Beckett tonight, to start with, and we’ll go from there.

8/14/2006 1:30:14 PM by Mike Miliard | Comments [0] |  

8/11/2006 12:56:35 PM by Mike Miliard | Comments [0] |  

8/10/2006 10:15:17 AM by Mike Miliard | Comments [1] |  

I’m running out of ways to say I’m deeply concerned but not panicking yet.

So corny inspirational bromides will just have to do.

But it’s getting harder and harder to write posts like these after games like that.

Could this be rock bottom?

Bad starting pitching.

Bad relief pitching.

Bad base running.

Bad throwing errors.

An offense that relies far too much on Dominican sluggers.

Oh, and more injuries!

This is no way to win baseball games. Especially against soft-serve opponents like these.

“We have to win to get to the playoffs, and we're not playing against a first-place team," said the man who homered again last night (his 1000th hit) and looks well-paced to set a record of sorts. "We've got to try to play better. There is a reason why they are in last place."

Not to, like, hurt the Royals’ feelings or anything, but he’s not lying.

Hey, at least the Yankees lost, right? Right?

For all the ledge jumpers, here are some more trite but true words of wisdom from Eric Mack, in his Sportsline power rankings (still in fourth place!): “If they can just remind themselves you're never as good as your highs or as bad as your lows, they'll be fine. If this is really their low, they're going to be due for some serious high soon.”

And if we needed one more reminder that hope springs eternal and sometimes good really does triumph over bad: Gammons is back on the field. Where he belongs.

Let’s be happy. There’s another game tonight.

8/9/2006 11:00:03 AM by Mike Miliard | Comments [0] |  

Yes, I am as depressed as anyone. The past few days have not been kind to this team or its fans.

This sucks. So does this. And this. And this.

But, as Chad Finn reminds us, it’s time to take a deep breath and take stock of the situation. Things are not quite as dire as they might seem. "[A] quick glance at the standings tells us the Sox are 20 games over .500, two back of the Yankees, a half-game out in the wild card. In other words, right where we expected them to be back in Ft. Myers. Don't you know this is how it happens every damn year? The Sox lead the AL East through much of the summer, the Yankees take it back late, and then all important matters are settled in the postseason."

This too shall pass.

In the mean time, there are reasons for hope.

David Ortiz is a damn good hitter.

So is Manny. (Seth Mnookin tries to look on the bright side of things here and here.)

Jason Johnson might just be coming around.

Maybe — maybe! — Keith Foulke could end up contributing something.

Mike Lowell’s on the mend.

And even Dave Wallace is feel