Get Out of My Ballpark

There is no real fall in New England. From Opening Day in April until the last out is made on the Boys of Summer, we have six (sometimes seven) glorious months of sunny days and warm temperatures. After that, it’s all dark, cold, gray winter. So I come to you today as a kid who just wants a few more days of summer. The Angels have every advantage in this series, from the motivational lift of Nick Adenhart looking down upon them (if ever you could say that there is a team of destiny, this is it; And to all those who thought it was bad that they showered his jersey in beer after winning the division, lighten the f#$% up, and just let it be what it was, a heartwarming tribute to a fallen teammate who never left their hearts), to the fact that I can throw out more base stealers from my couch than the Sox can, to the complete inconsistency of the Red Sox this season, especially on the road. If they win today, nobody can blame the Sox, who will have gotten beaten by, if not a better team, then at least one as good as them who was playing better.

One More Time. Please

But I don’t want it to end. I don’t want to have to start rooting for other teams to beat the Yanks, and watching ballgames that I don’t really care about. I don’t want to start thinking about the money that needs to be spent and how Jason Bay is highly likely to end up in pinstripes at the start of Spring Training. I want to keep believing, watching and hanging on every pitch. I want to keep that feeling of anticipation of what can go tremendously right or horribly wrong each time the pitcher winds up.

As the Sox sit on the brink of elimination, I am not asking for them to pound the Angels into submission, to throw a no hitter, to hit four home runs in the game. I am asking them to win, to hit, and to pitch as well as we know they can. I am asking them to just give us one more chance, one more day of anticipation, one more day of summer.

Go Sox.

Done.

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