Tuesday, October 19, 2004
No Yankees' celebration on the field of Fenway. No champagne in our visitor's clubhouse. No pin-striped high-fives, no balco-boosted chest-bumps, A-Rod won't be puckering his purple lips to plant one on Jeter's posterior as the beaten down faithful wander home for another off-season. Hell no, not in our park.
So the Bronx blowhards are nobody's daddies, just the stuck-up cousins you tolerate at holidays, the ones who prove your mama done raised you better.
Our belief, even our hopes, they wavered, but it seems our team's never did. Hands-down heroics from the bullpen, especially Sir Tim Wakefield. The image of the three amigos striding across the outfield in extra innings. Of Timlin, arms raised, asking the crowd for even more noise. And Ortiz. His picture will be under 'clutch' in the Boston baseball dictionary.
Everything beyond the major league low of Saturday night is a bonus. Near defeat, they put up a fight, showed spirit in the face of the Yankees eye rolling and pouty mouths. (Did anyone else catch A-Rod's dismissive little hand gesture after Trot burned him with that ace outfield catch? Such a massive tool.) Whatever else happens, however Schilling pitches tonight, whether or not Damon finds his swing, they flat-out refused to stay down. For once, instead of boosting our hopes just to let us fall, they squashed them then raised 'em high. Even if they come up short tonight, they've given us grand theater, put on one hell of a show.
For one more day, we are not commiseration nation. Win or lose, the Red Sox 2004 season can only end on a high note.
Be sure to check out Surviving Grady's as-always excellent write-up, Boston Dirt Dogs headlines, and the genius of ESPN's Sports Guy, Bill Simmons.
live in cambridge, ma
on november 14th, 2008
previously: joy formidable - boston 2011
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