I enjoyed the way Mike Timlin, struggling when he first came in, finally pulled himself together and hauled his own sorry carcass out. He made some nice pitches.
Alan Embree should never have quit dipping. That's his problem, I think.
Also, back at the point where we were slapping around Rodrigo Lopez and it looked like we might actually, I don't know, win the ball game, Manny Ramirez came to bat as the ninth Sox hitter of the fourth inning with the bases loaded for the second time. He walked up to the plate, regarded the panicking Lopez with raised eyebrows, and smacked his first desperate pitch into left field for two runs.
It was just so nasty the way Manny hit the first pitch. It was the ultimate loogy to hock on the corpse of the game for Lopez. He didn't hit a grand slam or a wall-ball, didn't torture or toy with Lopez and build the count, just knew Lopez would be trying to throw a strike right down the middle and pretty much just pimp-slapped said strike without an iota of mercy in his entire being.
The outcome of last night notwithstanding, remembering that just makes me cackle and quiver with sadistic delight.
You have to take your joy where you can.
Anyway, the one problem at times with being such a big Red Sox fan is that the day after a really infuriating loss like yesterday's, everyone I run into wants to talk to me about it.
Today...I really don't want to talk about it anymore.
Update: Click the below to see something Sam made, which is the only thing that's made me smile all day, I'm not kidding.
I still would like very much to have "relations" with you, Foulkie, but...you totally deserve this.