....And The Horse They Rode In On
We managed to win our first series of the year.
But, as with always, not with a little controversy.
Anyone who knows me, my family especially, has heard me say this time and time again:
Why does ability to pay for field level seats seem to be inversely proportional to one's level of common sense?
Shouldn't they have psychological screenings before they let you sit by the third base line? Or at least put a clause in your season ticket contract, "If I reach over the wall, interfere with the ball at any time, whether it helps my team or not, I give my consent to be beaten severely about the head."
My take, and then I refuse to talk about it anymore: It was the fan's fault, but Sheffield reacted like an idiot as well, and hopefully we can move past it.
And sadly, it took away from what was an exciting game without them. And Chris House, the fan, replaced the real villain of the game :
Greg Gibson, the crappy ump with a Napoleon complex.
He was calling a strike zone which was alternately the size of a postage stamp and a refrigerator, which resulted in String Bean walking in a run when he SO should have gotten the K to end the inning.
And then, like all insecure tyrannical dictators, Gibson ejected someone for criticizing him, who turned out to be Ron "Papa Jack" Jackson, way over in the dugout. For talking, in. the . DUGOUT. Which necessitated our recently RELEASED FROM THE FUCKIN' HOSPITAL manager to come out and defend his crew. Violently yelling and gesticulating....and freaking out the tender hearts of fans everywhere who would prefer he take it easy. The best part of it, though, was Papa Jack storming out of the dugout himself, requiring 5 men to hold him back. 'Cause Papa Jack is a badass. (You're damn right.....)
(Apparently Tito missed Papa Jack so bad, that he went out to argue strikes an inning later, and got himself thrown out.)
Fortunately, Gibson was sucking bi-laterally, getting the Randy Johnson Death Glare more than a couple times. And I have no doubt he was responsible for the phantom tag call, very first play of the game, which robbed Tony Womack of an infield single.
Bright spots, of which there actually were quite a few:
*Three Sox homers, two multiruns and one solo by our Captain, off the supposedly intimidating Randy Johnson. To quote the eloquent Nelson Muntz, "HA-ha!"
*Our Yankee killer of a captain, who not only hit the solo homer, tying it up, but hit the two-run RBI triple which was involved in the Sheffield incident, and making the not-simple foul pop catch to end the game with the bases loaded. Let anyone who wants try to mock the C; I'll give them a complimentary ass-whupping.
*Chauncey, breaking out of his slump, with a two run homer and the go-ahead RBI double, finally knowing the passionate love of the Fenway crowd. And making me less likely to groan when he comes up with men on. Also because he can look just as awesome in the field as Lando.
*Kevin D. Buckethead, not as flashy as those mentioned above, but setting the table like a pro, and continuing to amuse the fans with his feats of physical comedy. Such as the unintentional head first slide, nowhere near the first base bag, on his wall-ball single.
*The return of the phrases "wall-ball single", and "wall-ball double".
*That Foulkie again gave us a heart-stopper of a 9th inning, but we WON anyway.
I'm actually glad that we have the Devil Rays tonight, one since I can't watch it, two because it would be nice to have quiet baseball for a change.