A Prose Ode To The Red Sox Rotation
The national media gave you no credit. Said, "Oh how can the Red Sox ever survive with Curt Schilling, and David Wells?"
They wrote you off. But your manager didn't. Your team didn't. Your fans didn't. With Tim and String Bean, we knew how rock solid you'd been over the past month. With you, Halama, you quietly impressed with your stability out of the pen. So we went in cautiously, but with our full support at your backs.
In the beginning, there was the Honorable Halama.
Though "CUIDADO!! HALAMA!!" started out as a joke, it came true.
5 strong innings, 3 earned runs. No walks.
All we could have expected, and more.
Giving us a a quiet little weapon in the bullpen.
Then came the honorable M'Lord of Wakefield.
The God of the Knuckler. The Lord of The Flutterball.
7 innings. 3 earned runs. And baffling nearly all the Tiger hitters.
The Big Man of the Rotation, both in seniority and talent.
Finally, there was String Bean. Bronson of The Saturn Balls.
Taking a motherfucking no hitter into the seventh inning.
Screw Carlos Guillen. Though the score may have been 2-1, what will be remembered is the eight inning beauty spun by the String Bean.
They may have been surprised. But we weren't. And we still believe.