"Mientki...Mentka...Minnie...Muh--dang, boy, how you pronounce that name?"
Orlando Cabrera absolutely smashed a ball to deep left in his first at-bat as a Red Sox. But he later booted the ball on a bullet-throw from Gabey in the eighth, prompting my boyfriend to observe, "Yep, when he started the game, he wasn't broken in yet. By the end, he'd become one of them."
Pedro was matched, pitch for nasty pitch, by Johan Santana. Manny grounded into a double play in the top of the ninth, and it's another loss.
Frankly, I was expecting them to lose this series with or without Nomar. I remain evenly divided on my feelings about their chances for the post-season, with or without Nomar.
Right now I'm remembering the Lawyer Milloy situation with the Patriots, and the great cry of doom that ensued from the fans, especially after the debacle that was the first game with Buffalo. I see many analogies, in fact, to that in this.
Or this could just as well be the start of the Curse of Nomar. The difficulty is that we just don't know. It's out of our hands. Of course, it always has been--we just don't like to be reminded.
So why fight it? In fact, I even feel a little proud that I've notched a major transition, now that I've seen the Nomar Era come and go, and I can look at some troglodyte the next time the opportunity presents itself and say, "Hey. I remember when Nomah left. This is nothin'."
As Ed put it on Friday, "Time now to be like the stalwart weed in your lawn: no matter drought, rain, hot, cold, herbicide, it perseveres."