What was I thinking? I should have known because I had seen all the tell tale signs. The Sox Nation was all a twitter with high expectations. I must have said this is our year 100 times. Schilling was on the cover of Sports Illustrated, and the bookies had the Sox favored in game one. I had seen the Anaheim game when Schilling made the throwing error and then bent down to massage a little tweak in his ankle. I didn’t think much of it then but an even more pessimistic friend of mine had shouted the sky is falling.
So what happens in game one? The vaunted Sox hitting machine comes up against Mike Mussina and makes him look like the second coming of Walter "Big Train" Johnson. I wrote in my first inning game notes that he was throwing his over hand curve ball and his three quarter arm curveball on the corners for strikes. That is a bad omen! That compared to Schilling’s first inning in which he threw over 20 pitches and clearly did not have leg drive off his back ankle.
When you have been bitterly disappointed for over 40 years you end up having an uncanny scent for disaster and after inning one of game one the stink was all over this series. They get no hit perfectly into the sixth and before they start a too little to late rally they are down 8-0.
There is plenty to examine for the finger pointer but no goats in particular. A couple of things are worth mentioning however. Manny in the field reminds me of that kid in little league that was a ball magnet. You tried to hide him by putting him in right field against right handed hitters and then switching him to left field when a left handed hitter came out. Of course it would make no difference because the ball can sense weakness. Manny looked like that kid on a couple of plays.
Where is Johnny Damon? He struck out four times in game one and is the only starter without a hit so far in the 2 games played. He looks like he wouldn’t hit the ball with a tennis racquet. Being hitless is one thing but couple that with arm strength that can barely reach the cutoff man and you wonder if it isn’t time to give Dave Roberts a look.
Game 2 wasn’t much better. The immortal Jon Lieber was another Yankee starter who was made to look un-hittable, pitching three hit ball through 7 innings. Pedro put in a nice effort but you knew when he walked Jorge Posada, first batter in the sixth and had passed a 100-pitch count that somebody was thinking we should be bringing in a lefty to pitch to Olerud. Of course, Olerud puts one out and that proves to be the margin of victory.
It has to be a curse. How else can you explain the best hitting club in the league looking like the Mudville nine? Mariano Riviera, arguably the best closer in baseball gets four outs in both games. In game one he is on his way back from Panama after attending a funeral for two family members killed in a tragic accident at his home. After a five-hour flight he comes directly to the stadium and shuts down our boys. I guess the jet lag from Boston to New York is more grueling than from Panama to New York.
Now here is the part where we say no problem down 2-0. We have them coming to Fenway and we are going to get right back in it. The bats will come alive and we will head into game five all tied. It does sound like a Red Sox script. Get closer, raise our hopes and then rip out our hearts at the very end. Well, color me stupid cause I am still an optimist and buying into this is our year. Some of the nation has reached the end of the rope however. One example was an enraged email a friend had forwarded to me from one of the Fenway faithful who was apoplectic about the double choke in New York. Most of it was unprintable here but the gist of it was that after being scammed for 40 years he had had enough. Given the choice, he would rather rub dog mess in his hair rather than root for these losers anymore. I am almost there.
