With the big man standing at the plate, with two strikes, with two outs, with Red Sox Nation once again reaching for its collective Pepto-Bismol, that feeling came, the feeling that David would come through, that just getting him to the plate this inning was checkmate--now sit back, relax, and enjoy His Clutchness.
When it happened, the inevitable clutch base hit, I got goosebumps. David Ortiz appears once again to have gotten that ball to fall in by strength of will alone. On base, he looked somber, resolute, tightjawed. Grim, even. He had that ALCS look about him, the look that says: I've had enough, motherfuckers, let's GO.
What would we do without him? When I step back and look at how completely crucial Ortiz really is to the current, blessed incarnation of the Sox, I can't help but think about how someday we're going to have to find out.