So which wins out?

The baleful squirrel portending the Yankees’ inevitable doom?

Or the curse of the grackle?

Time will tell.

In the mean time, Bob Watson will continue to be a self-important douche.

And Joba Chamberlain will continue to be (in Josh Beckett’s astute formulation) an “f-word c-word.”

The sun will rise, the sun will set, and I will continue hating J.D. Drew.

For all the talk that this series has suddenly been rendered all but meaningless, it didn’t seem to make much difference when it came to my blood pressure last night.

I wanted to win.

And the fact that we did not win is bothering me a lot more than perhaps it should.

I don’t care what Baseball Prospectus says. (97.6 percent chance of winning the division, as of this morning.)

Or what Tony Mazz was crowing the other day. (“For all intents and purposes, the Red Sox just wrapped up the American League East.”)

And especially not Shaughnessy says this morning. (“Fear not, gentle readers.... They are going to finish ahead of the Yankees.”)

If, worst case, we should happen to get swept in this series, we’ll be staring at September with a five game lead. That’s still pretty good.

But nowhere near as good as a seven game lead, or a nine game lead.

Does anyone in their right mind think a five game lead with a month to play is utterly insurmountable, especially when it comes to the Yankees?

And especially if Manny is hurt?

(Remember, one SoSHer points out, "New York's next opponent is Tampa Bay, and somehow, the Yankees will manage to avoid facing Kazmir (yet again) and Shields.")

Is it extraordinarily, exceedingly unlikely that they’ll overtake us for the East? Yes.

But all the jubilation around these parts after sweeping that execrable Chicago team has left me a bit queasy. I really hope it doesn’t somehow turn out to be a jinx.

I want to win tonight. I want Beckett to spin a gem. And I want to bomb Roger Clemens back to the stone age.

And we damn well better, because I somehow don’t see Curt Schilling as the stopper he used to be.

Do I wish Tito had lifted “boy named ‘Suzaka” before “I'm Johnny [Bleeping] Damon” launched his pitch about a half inch over the right-field fence? Sure, now I do. But I have to admit I didn’t have any problem with him starting the seventh last night.

Do I wish J.D. Drew didn’t strike out swinging with two out and two men on in the eighth? Yes, I certainly do. But I knew he would. And I’m getting tired of talking about what a massive bummer the guy is. (Are we really gonna have to put up with four more years of this?)

It was a tough game to lose. If only because it gave those pinstriped jerks a flicker of hope, no matter how faint it might be.

While our scribes, tabloid and broadsheet both, are proclaiming the race to be over, the media down there are convincing the bleacher creatures that “the starter's gun just went off."

Let’s hobble these lonely long-distance runners for good.

Win tonight. And then tomorrow. Then we’ll talk.

“In a matter of a couple pitches, that was it,” Farrell said of the changeup, which has become known as the Oki Doki.

Now if we can just get an MP3 of the "Oki Doki" song.

(Any clubhouse spies wanna e-mail it over? Please do: mmiliard@phx.com)

 

What can one say?

Well, one can say that that was one fucking awesome weekend. That when even J.D. Drew decides to get in on the action, things must be going well. That Bobby Kielty is a welcome addition to this team. That Julian Tavarez is one helluva pitcher when he wants to be. That Tim Wakefield is no slouch himself. That it sure is good to see David Ortiz swinging for the fences again. That it’s a big relief that Kevin Youkilis is not toast. That it’s good that Eric Gagne got through another inning unscathed. That Mike Lowell should maybe keep on being our third baseman. That making history is a lot fun, but not for the other guy. That I have no problem at all wishing for the Yankees to lose tonight so we can knock on the door of Stade Fasciste with an eight-game lead. And that we better have saved some firepower for this series, no matter what Tony Mazz says.

That about says it for now.

The most disappointing thing yesterday?

No, it wasn’t wasting Julian’s perfectly serviceable spot start.

Nor that I got all excited to see Crazy Jools go all Cassius Clay on O-Cab and it never happened.

It wasn't J.D. Drew’s maddening refusal to lift his bat off of his shoulders with two men on and two outs in the eighth. (Though that's still got me steamed.)

Or Eric Gagne finally deigning to hold the line — barely — in a losing effort.

No, it was Bobby Kielty.

Certainly not his on-field play, mind you.

The catch was amazing. The two hits were gravy.

But I was sorely disappointed by the haircut.

Hinske’s ‘hawk is cool and all, but I’m really wishing we could’ve had this guy...

This isn’t the MFY, buddy. Feel free to keep rocking the Carrot Top/Alexi Lalas look.

In Oakland, he kind of looked like a manic leprechaun. (Luke Kelly would be proud.)

Maybe he figured the ginger hair wouldn't go with the red jerseys?

Lester? Amazing. If he can keep giving us outings like that, we’ll be in really good shape.

And thank the Maker we didn’t have to waste it.

Gagné wasn’t perfect (that double woulda left the park in a lot of other places) but he was nasty when he wanted to be. Something to build on — and silence the
boo birds for now.

Gagné. It means “to win.”

And if Papi and Manny can’t get it done (and they can’t, lately) it’s good to know that Mikey Lowell can. What a blast. I knew we’d win after that thing sailed skyward
over the Monster.

And, lo, we did. With Tek just missing a homer and Covelli driving him home from second with an authoritative single to shallow right, there was pandemonium on the
field.

Dirty. Water.

First walk-off since Mothers Day. Crazy.

Remember when we used to have a couple of these a month?

Now it’s time to sweep. No, like, literally now.

(I had no idea it was a day game until I saw the hawkers and scalpers patrolling Brookline Ave. at 10 a.m. today.)

Hopefully it will be as exciting as last night, but not quite as exciting
as that Long Island Ducks/Bridgeport Blue Fish game.

Speaking of Jose Offerman...

RIP, Phil Rizzuto. You were a great player, a fine announcer, and
a helluva pitchman.

But how the heck did you get into Cooperstown with 0-fer-man as your most
comparable player?

“Pourquoi Eric Gagne suce-t-il des boules de chien pour Les Chaussettes Rouges?”

Sais pas.

Is he falling victim to the infamous eighth-inning closer disease? He just can get the competitive juices flowing unless it’s a save situation and it’s the ninth inning?

Pshaw.

I understand it exists, but I really fail to see how that’s an excuse. Shouldn’t the paramount goal of any pitcher, in any inning, to simply get outs?

If he needs to trick himself into thinking it’s the ninth, fine. But he shouldn’t need to fool himself that the game on the line. Because it quite clearly is — it was yesterday, and it was on Friday night, once he made it a save situation for himself.

Or does he just suck?

Whatever it is, the pen seems quite suddenly to have gone from a strength to a weakness. It’s like Gagne’s arrival jumbled up the formula, that that one extra piece has sent the old roles into disarray.

This SoSH thread on modern bullpen usage brings up a troubling fact:

“The Sox lost 2 games due to late-game bullpen meltdowns. Yet their best relief pitcher by far pitched only 1/3 of an inning (and a meaningless 1/3 of an inning at that, to protect a 4 run lead with 1 out to go) while our lesser options combined to choke away 2 games.”

Think about that.

And the starters were so good.

Dice-K pitched a gem, and saw it all go down the toilet. (He almost never shows much emotion, but he looked disgusted as he paced around the dugout after Gagne blew the lead.)

Beckett was just inches away from a complete game shutout when it all came unglued.

And Schilling was good in his second start back, the first outing of his career in which he didn't walk or strike out a batter. Should we be very worried that that’s the second game out of three in which he’s notched not a single K?

I am.

But, then, I’m worried about a lot of things these days.

And while, I wish I could get excited that we’re playing the Devil Rays, it’s worth noting that they aren’t exactly a team of creampuffs.

Scott Kazmir — both of whose next starts are against us — has a 1.16 ERA with 45/12 K/BB in six starts since the All Star Break, and avowed Sox killer Carl Crawford is batting .413 in the same period.

Happy times.

An apology is not enough

I’m no fan of mascots, but I can see why they exist, and can tolerate them — even if Remy’s Wally shtick has gotten really stale, and that Raymond dude down in Tampa Bay is a total creep.

But this was completely bush league. When a mascot’s antics are interfering with the game — never mind imperiling a player’s safety, things have gone way too far. Luckily, Coco is a quick thinker, and has a good sense of humor about it. But this could have been a disaster. It could have cost us our center fielder.

Other than that — and other than that disappointment on Friday — a pretty good weekend all in all..

Yesterday was nice way to wrap it up. But the highlight of the weekend for me was watching Dice-K’s gem on Saturday night with Kayoto Obata and Nanae Kuwashiro, two Japanese runners who were staying with my folks as they competed in Saturday’s Beach to Beacon 10K up in Maine. (The race was founded ten years ago by Cape Elizabeth native Joan Benoit Samuelson, winner of the inaugural women's marathon at the 1984 Olympics; she also won the Boston Marathon in ’79, then an unknown wearing a Red Sox cap.)

You couldn’t have picked a better game for the circumstances. Not only was Matsuzaka-san pitching, but he was facing Ichiro and Kenji Johjima. The only thing missing was Okajima throwing in the eighth — a task that ended up being given over to Gagne, who hiccupped a bit but got the job done.

Ichiro is a superstar, obviously, since his days with the Orix Blue Wave. And Obata’s team back home is the Fukuoka Softbank Hawks, for whom Johjima used to man the plate.

But on this night, Obata and Kuwashiro were Red Sox fans, and Daisuke was there man.

We watched every pitchi. With every sutoraiku we cheered. With every fauro (foul), we exhaled deeply, and with every sanshin (strikeout), daburu pure (double play), or goro (ground out) Dice-K induced, we clapped.

He kept Ichiro quiet (as has the rest of the Sox staff) and we notched our first win in nine tries.

It was fun.

Schilling goes tonight.

Let’s make that one fun, too.