Bambino's Curse

You Do Not Hear the Fat Lady Singing

Maybe I've totally lost it or maybe I'm just in deep denial, but I find it impossible to accept that the Red Sox will not bounce back, win the next two at Fenway and even this series out.

I'm being totally serious.

Is it facile to cling to hope? No, it's really the only rational choice. There will be time for lamenting later, months of time. Later. Not today.

Regarding yesterday's loss, (and I'm sure this is going to get the anti-Curse crowd reaching for their pitchforks and torches to storm the castle and kill the monster created by the evil Dr Shankenstein), Dan Shaughnessy [cue evil music] points out: "technically, that gives [the Red Sox] two playoff losses on the 25th anniversary of Bucky Dent."

Now you can roll your eyes and say it's just a coincidence and say shame on the CHB for even bringing it up ("He's trying to sell more copies of his blasphemous book!"), but you can't deny the fact that it is two playoff losses on the 25th anniversary. Coincidence? Of course, but it doesn't make it any less uncanny, and I daresay humorous. But I like stuff like that. Perhaps you do as well?

OK. Getting back to the title of this post: "You do not hear the fat lady singing."

While I've gone with this overused metaphor many times before myself, I'm now going on record as saying I'll never do so again. It's time for that meme to be retired. Why? Well, besides it's triteness, the fact is that the "greatest theatrical musical artist of our time," and some would argue of any time, is not only not fat but was for her day quite a little hottie. I'm speaking, of course, of the late, great Maria Callas. The diva of all divas.

And one of Callas' greatest operatic roles was as Medea in Puccini's opera of the same name. So just to stoke up the anti-Curse cabal (assuming they can even bring their Aristotelian selves to this site with the horrible name) I quote from Euripides original Medea text:

Zeus in Olympus is the overseer of many doings. Many things the gods achieve beyond our judgment. What we thought is not confirmed and what we thought not god contrives. And so it happens in this story.

And so it happens in our story. Heh heh …

Again, though, don't give up now even if it seems that again the gods have aligned against us. The Red Sox are going to win the next one.

Come back on Sunday to see if I've been vindicated. And if my positive vibes turn out to be apocryphal, you can trust that I'll have my hair shirt on and the self flagellation will commence. I'll be so acrid you'll think I've morphed into Silva.

Bring It

OK. It's going to take more than that to crush the life out of me. Are you kidding? Last night was small potatoes on the heartbreak scale.

Horrigan writes,

Workplace production in New England will undoubtedly suffer a drastic drop today due to the overtime required on the West Coast last night. For the bleary-eyed masses, however, their Red Sox [stats ,schedule ]-induced sleep deprivation was hardly worth the wait.

Not so. At least not for this fan. Yeah, I had the wind knocked out me when I slipped into bed at 3am. And I got exactly 78 minutes of sleep before having to get up to write this and get to work early so that I can slip out at 3:30 p.m. to be home for today's afternoon start.

But I feel strong. This "surprise with a perfect bunt in the 12th inning" by the dudes in white spikes and pants (after Labor Day no less!) is just a pimple on my prom day face. Pop it. Rub in a little Stridex. And move on. It's nothing.

Look, the way I see, I'm glad we got this one out of the way in Game 1. You know what I'm sayin' … Despite all the feel good stories and the "there is no curse" talk, deep down, way down deep where the eternal truths hang around waiting for a chance to bubble up, you knew and I knew that the bullpen would blow a game in this series and that more than likely such would occur after "Pedro Martinez plowed through the first seven innings" with a "grit and gusto" and a chance for the win.

And you knew (you did) that the offense would slump, as they did last night going a "miserable 1-for-10 at the plate with runners in scoring position."

Hey, that all three happened in the same game? Don't "curse the October sky" but count your blessings. All the bad karma happened at once. It's over.

Now the Red Sox can go out "whip some ass, and take it from there" as Todd Walker prophesied and tried nearly single handedly to accomplish last night.

Believe it.

"Make No Little Plans …"

I like to keep mentioning this to myself over and over: It's October and there's a Red Sox game tonight. Wow. Does that feel great or what?

And here's another sound bite that is going to be running through my head over and over as we count down to the 10 o'clock hour tonight:

"He's the best I've seen him in two years right now" — Grady Little

The "he" of course is the quiet one, Pedro Martinez. And while there was much hand wringing and teeth gnashing over "the Fragile Flamethrower [who] goes on his regular DL trip a month early [and] [c]an't pitch in two critical series against the Yankees… " is there anyone (Mr. Silva?) out there who still wants to object to this plan?

"It wasn't a bunch of charts," explained Red Sox manager Grady Little. "It was more of a feeling thing. We decided to watch each inning, to see how much intensity he'd have to come up with, and go from there."

"We all agreed we didn't want to give up an opportunity for him to be this pitcher -- the one he is right now -- by trying to win one game in May or June" (MacMullan, Globe).

And now we wait … Let your watchword be order and your beacon beauty.

Regarding my bit yesterday calling into question the connection between late night TV broadcasts of baseball playoffs that are too late for kids and the ever shrinking baseball fan base, reader, parent, and blogger Chris O'Donnell thoroughly fisks me in an excellent rebuttal on his blog.

And in one of the best baseball pieces I've read all season, Alex Belth reminds us all that kids still love the game:

I couldn't resist, so I asked if I could have a catch with him. We hung out for about fifteen minutes and talked a lot about baseball. I obviously didn't have a glove, but that was OK. He was careful not to throw the ball too hard, and each time he made a poor throw he follwed it with an immediate apology as he ran after it. He was 13 years old, and plays center field. But he wants to be a pitcher. I told him about some of the pitchers I like and asked him a lot of questions about who he likes, and why.

Read the whole thing.

Now from the shameless self-promotion and "I am a media whore" department, I must point out that I was quoted in an article appearing on CNN/SI today. No, the quote isn't going to go on to "Ich bein ein Berliner" or "Where's the beef?" fame and may be the lamest quote you've ever seen in print, but nevertheless it's there at C-N-effin-N. I like that.

Playofflicious (The Vibe's too Vibalacious?)

I don't think I'm ready for this playoff jelly. I mean every time I read something like these ESPN "expert predictions" and I read that folks like Jason Stark and Rob Neyer are not only picking the Red Sox to make it to the World Series (gulp!) but are also picking them to win it all, I get such a nervous feeling in my stomach that I think I might get sick. Seriously. As soon as I start to imagine a Red Sox win, that fantasy is always quickly replaced by a vision of myself writhing in agony on the floor when it doesn't happen.

With that said, I do like the results of David Pinto's "VS the Best" pitching stats. As David writes, "These numbers are a very positive sign for the Braves and Red Sox."

Speaking of David Pinto, in another post he contends that he's not a Red Sox fan:

I'm surprised that Alex thinks I'm a Red Sox fan. I swore off alliegence [sic] to teams when I started working for ESPN, but that had been disappearing on its own anyway. I am a baseball fan … I'm just hoping to see lots of good baseball.

Sure, Dave. And Clinton didn't inhale, right? Heh heh … I'm not calling Dave a liar. No, not at all. I'm sure he believes he's not a Red Sox fan anymore. I just don't think it's ever possible to truly quit when if the jones ever got in your blood. If you're a Soxaholic once, you'll always be Soxaholic no matter how much you repress it. So "one day at a time," Dave. Fight that little voice in your head saying "Go Red Sox!"

In other news, well, it wouldn't be playoff time without reading how late night games are destroying the game of baseball because "the kids can't watch it." Today's it's Callahan in the Herald who laments:

In Oakland tomorrow, Pedro is going against Tim Hudson, the best hitting team against the best pitching team, and there is not one 14-year-old kid out there who can realistically see this through to the end. Hell, he can't even tape it and watch it the next day because Game 2 of the series is on at 4:06 Thursday.

Fourteen-year-old kids used to live for this moment. This year most 14-year-old kids won't even be able to read about Game 1 in the newspaper Thursday. It will end too late to get in most editions.

First of all, when's the last time you've seen 14 year old kids reading the newspaper? And if I'm always being told how are culture is going to hell because the kids are all out of control doing drugs and having sex at age 12 and 13, I'm also supposed to believe the same age group is being shunted off to bed early under strict parental discipline? Or is it that only the nerdy kids, the kids with bedtimes and white picket fences with June Cleaver waiting to hand them a glass of milk who like baseball?

The Globe has actually managed to track down a couple kids:

Twelve-year-old Peter Langston and Sam, his 9-year-old brother, have put together a small shrine to the Red Sox in their Easton home, and they weren't happy yesterday when their mother broke the news that the boys won't be allowed to watch tomorrow night's opening playoff game.

OK. So maybe these two guys are the prototypical young baseball fans (a shrine?), but I still think the causal connection between late night playoff games and the report indicating that "only 13 percent of the American public considers baseball its favorite sport" (Callahan) is way overblown. Baseball is on the fringe in popularity because it no longer fits into our culture the way it once did. You could put MLB baseball on every channel, 24/7 and I don't think you'd increase that 13% (and shrinking) figure.

"Eleven More"

Have you seen this tongue in cheek quote from Theo Epstein regarding what he'd do if the Red Sox were to win the World Series in his first year as GM while he's still only 29 years old?

"I kind of joke about it when people bring it up. I say that I'm going to become Bill Clinton, give speeches and go to frat parties the rest of my life" (Massarotti, Herald).

Massarotti comments, "Really, what else would there be to do?"

Well, for one there'd be creating that Red Sox dynasty that Epstein has alluded to. The goal this year, if you recall, was to make the playoffs. We are still some years always from seeing what Epstein envisions. As Art Matone said back in May, "We haven't yet seen the full impact of the depth that Epstein has impressively amassed or retained."

So the fellas over at The Elephants in Oakland blog wrote asking if I'd be interested in a friendly wager with them regarding the ALDS. The terms of the wager are such: The loser buys the victors the 2004 copy of Baseball Prospectus when it's published; the victor chooses an ALDS MVP (where no such award exists) and the loosing blogger has to write a poem in homage to the said MVP.

I took the bet. How could I say no to another baseball blogger who alludes to Faulkner while poking fun at Joe Morgan?

Of course, the Elephants did get there panties in a bunch over Todd Walker's proclamation that "We're going to roll into Oakland and whip some ass, and take it from there."

I guess over there in Jerry Brownsville they prefer their players to be demure and politically correct. Personally, I'm tired of all the 21st Century forced civility. All the "they've got a really great team and I've got a lot of friends over on that club and, well, we are just going to try our best to win" blah blah blah horse manure.

Screw that.

At this point, I really prefer a team full of guys who aren't afraid to say they plan to kick some friggin' boo-teh. And if they don't, if Oakland wins? Whatever. Better to go out swinging than to be afraid of losing.