6+ hours in utterly miserable, rainy cold, and all the Sox had to show for it was two painful losses.
I live-Tweeted most of this game, so I won't go back over every detail (not that you would want me to anyway), but as I was sitting there listening to the park slowly being given over to hollering drunks, I was making two lists:
Things the 2010 Red Sox can do:
- Hit homers (provided there are fewer than two runners on). Tek on Friday, then Marco Scutaro, Dustin Pedroia and Kevin Youkilis last night.
- Get on base. They stranded at least three runners on third last night alone, in fact.
- Keep (some) games close. But no cigar.
Things the 2010 Red Sox cannot do (yet?):
- PLAY DEFENSE. Let's not start pissing on each other as fans again about whether or not run prevention in itself is a good idea -- because we have yet to see it in action with this Sox squad, despite the way they've been marketed to us. Mike Cameron and Marco Scutaro's head-slapping gaffes over the last two weeks don't disprove the theory overall -- they're poor demonstrations of the theory, not necessarily proof the theory sucks.
As one of the Twitterers I follow said last night:
- Get a timely friggin goddamn blankity-blank hit: I said last night that if the Sox stranded another runner at third base, I was leaving. And I actually did almost leave after it was 6-1, Rays. Which is when Pedroia and Youkils brought it within a run, and with only one step between us and Lansdowne Street, we turned around, returned to our seats, and took in another two innings of teeth-grinding futility. I realize it was Clay's dentist-chair first inning and Mike Cameron's error that really sunk the Sox last night, but watching this offense so far this year is like chewing tinfoil. In fact, last night we were treated to a double helping of offensive failure (and I mean that in both senses of the word "offensive") as they kicked off the festivities by squandering a bases-loaded, no-out situation in the bottom of the 11h in the continuation of Friday night's game.
- Make consistent, quality pitching starts. Watching Clay Buchholz's godawful first inning reminded me of nothing so much of being in a dentist's chair, and not for a routine cleaning. The sound of drilling in this instance was replaced with the mosquito-like, constant chatter from a drunk dude a section over who by the end of the game was screaming at the few fans left huddled and shivering around him for not cheering louder.