It's been a strange time in the Boston area recently. Black clouds have literally been hanging over us for most of the last month, and tensions have run high as people were trapped indoors for weeks at a time.
And then, on Thursday, the sun came out.
That afternoon, a few posts popped up on my Google Reader in anticipation of John Smoltz's first appearance in a Red Sox uniform. The cabin fever built as a sunny workday played out. It might not have been very realistic to expect greatness from the aging Smoltz, who has pointed out that some of his other "first starts" as he transitioned between closing and starting have been equally sucky, but we were playing the Nationals. What could go wrong?
By the first inning of the game, Smoltz had been tattooed for four runs. Shortly after the Nationals sent the Sox packing to the tune of 9-3, crashing thunder erupted over the northern suburbs. I mean, epic, window-rattling, Biblical thunder.
It was as if the universe had dangled the sun and baseball excitement in front of us, and then yelled PSYCHE!
On Friday, the sun came back out, and Commander Kickass restored order against the same team he'd owned for 9 innings in his last start.
Speaking of which, I finally got around to uploading the rest of the photos I took at that game. A few highlights:
Today, Saturday, hot sun prevailed again, and like 90% of the rest of the state (judging by the traffic on Rte 128), I lit out for the coast for most of the afternoon. Consequently, I missed most of the frestivities in hot-'lanta, but did get to shave about five months off my life watching Jonathan Papelbon save a 1-0 game.
But, best not to look a gift horse in the mouth - he got the job done. It's hard to sweat the small stuff, anyway, on the first real weekend of summer, when you've also been seeing a lot of this: