24 hours after his ultimate laser show, the very night after I found myself with that playoffs-a-possibility spring in my step, thinking about Josh Beckett's impending return coupled with Pedroia's continuing ass-kickery, and the unthinkable happened: Dustin Pedroia was kicking ass so hard, so indiscriminately, he accidentally kicked his own.
Pedroia as a player is someone who comes across loud and clear, but who is nonetheless difficult to wrap words around. It's hard to express, without sounding hyperbolic, just how outlandish the ratio of his stature to his presence. It begins to sound like one of those Chuck Norris Facts.
But this scenario also sounds like something straight off that site: He broke his own foot with a foul ball, and thus, the only person who can knock Pedroia to the DL is Pedroia himself. (Remember, this is the same guy who played, and contributed, with a broken bone in his wrist during the 2007 World Series.)
So now my smug little "We Got Pedroia" bubble has been burst like the pinata in Pedroia's Sullivan Tire Commercial, and no sooner do I recover from that sucker punch than Clay Buchholz also comes up lame running the bases last night out in San Francisco.
For some, the instantaneous reaction is to say "Damn you, Interleague Play!" I personally don't have as much of a problem with the whole concept, but on this count I can't say I disagree.
Still, there are years that injuries just happen, to the point where it begins to feel like some otherworldly intelligence has selected your team for certain doom. Take 2006, for example. I'm not saying we're in that scenario just yet -- after all, the Sox bullpen came up huge last night after Buchholz's early exit, a fantastic sign for any ambitious team, and the Sox still won -- but I do know that the last time that slithering insect came around to chew up our season, it only wanted our best.