When Bronson Arroyo notched last nights win over the Detroit Tigers, he helped make the Boston Red Sox nine for their last ten, and the Hub sports pages were flooded with sunshine, most of it thin enough towell, thin enough to read a newspaper through. Leave it to Dan Shaughnessy to find a reassuring dark spot; just the right familiar note of negativity. In todays Globe column (untrustworthily titled Dark Days Appear to Be Long Gone), Shaughnessy says, in effect Does all this winning upset you? Does it leave you with a feeling of vertigo to get up in the morning and discover the Sox have won yet again? BLAME NOMAR! Thats right; blame Number 5, now living it up in Chicago under a different number. Shaughnessy dates the current roll of distressing good times (ooh, my tummy hurts, somebody pass the Dramamine) from July 31st, the day of the Big Trade. Never mind the two horrible losses that followed on its heels, or Orlando Cabreras terrible struggle to find his feet in the field and his stroke at the plate as he plays for the first time in years in front of a live audience. No, its Garciaparras fault, and why? Two reasons. First, because management pulled the trigger and management has to be right. Second, because we have just got to find the dark lining inside this silver cloud. How else can we define ourselves as Cursed, for Gods sake? I think George Orwell said it best in his classic allegory, Baseball Animal Farm Team Orlando good, Nomar bad. Nowhave all you little piggies got that straight? SO You know how fantasists talk about the willing suspension of disbelief? After tonights win over the Tigers (the 10th in our last 11 games, the 16th out of the last 20), Im experiencing an INVOLUNTARY suspension of disbelief. Knock wood. And yet, the Angels won their ninth straight to stay a half game back. Seems like we never have room to catch our breath. SK Yow! Given the first four months of the season, and the continuing injuries, who would have BELIEVED the August this team has turned in? It is unfuckingreal. September could be a fade, but we at least have a tame sked in the second half. Meanwhile, the series with the Angels (dont touch em, youll blister your frogging fingers) is shaping up to be miniArmageddon. I repeat Yow!! Stewdo you believe this shit? It is TOO FUCKING GOOD TO LAST and TOO FUCKING GOOD NOT TO. SO I was thinking yesterday that the team has shown a lot of character, and I cant remember when there was as sweet and wild a chase as the one shaping up. Some real scoreboardwatching. Way its been going, I just assume the other three are winning out West. The As are just as hot as the Angels. Damn you, Billy Beane! August 29th I recently read an interesting note from a sports psychologistcant remember who or where, or Id be happy to attribute it. Anyway, this guy said that when the local team wins, theyre we, as in we beat the Tigers last night for the third time straight. When the locals lose, theyre they, as in can you believe how lousy they were in July? You can call Bostons recent spectacular runeleven Ws in the last thirteen games, if my math is rightas a lesson in just how great the disparity is between the haves and the havenots in the American League, but that would ignore the soso way they played against the same clubs earlier in the season.It also ignores the fact that were doing it now with many players either on the DL or going out there hurt. Its a great run, and probably Stewarts and my emails show this best. I hope hell lay a couple of those daffy suckers in here. (Waabawaabawaaba, do you beleeeve this shit, Steve? and Im back with Waaackawaaackawaaacka, no fuckin WAY!) And, to top things off, Anaheim finally lost a game yesterday. That means that when the Red SoxAngels showdownminiArmageddonstarts on Tuesday at the Fens, were guaranteed the wildcard lead, and if things go the way Ive got them planned, that lead will be up to two and a half games. Even the folks at Scribner, who commissioned this book (at no small cost, either, heehee), have stopped crying doom. For the time being, at least. SO You going for the sweep today? Wakeywakey, eggs and bakey. SK Shhhh, no Wakeywakey. Just TimMAY. No wakey them Tigers. We won again yesterday behind a strong outing by Pedro, and this afternoon theres a carnival mood around Fenway. Manny, who fouled a ball off his knee and missed last nights game, comes out for batting practice wearing coach Ino Guerreros 65. In the field Mannys manic, flashing how many outs there are to Johnny, to the family section, to the Monster. In the fifth, down 10, he comes up with bases loaded and two out, and the crowd rises, chanting, MANNy, MANNy. First pitch, he drills a single to give us the lead. Ortiz rips another, then Millar. Wake throws eight strong, and the party doesnt stop. Its strange, this high from winninga straight drug, uncut. Faithful as the Faithful are, we tend to nitpick, even after a win. Not today. Everythings clicking, and, sure, its only Detroit, but weve won 20 games this month. The underachieving Red Sox have become overachievers, and no one is happier than the Faithful. SO It was good and breezy and Wake had his knuckler dancing. Just like yesterday, the Tigers hung in till the fifth, when their starter faltered, and then their reliever totally imploded. Yanks were losing last I heard. Could we be only four and a half back? SK Indeed we could! And 1.5 ahead in the wild card! SO Supersweet. Now, I dont want to throw cold water on the party, but the Yanks have a cake schedule the rest of the way. Theyre home 20 of their last 32, and were the only winning team they face (okay, and three against the Twins, but by then Minnesota will be resting starters for the playoffs). In any case, its time to square off with the Angels. Some very large games. August 30th The last time Tim Wakefield pitched against the Tigers, he gave up six home runs and still got the win, a feat only accomplished once since the days when most bigleague teams rode to their away contests on trains.Yesterday, though, on a day so hot the pitchers in the bullpen used a groundskeepers hose to spray the fans in the lower rightfield bleachers to keep them cool, Wakefield beat the Tigers again, this time more tidily, going eight strong innings and giving up only three hits. No one was any happier than me. I hate to sound like Annie Wilkes here, but Ive got to be one of Wakes biggest fans. And why not? Look at all we have in common. Wakefield stands 62; I stand 63. Wakefield weighs 210; I weigh 195 (and used to weigh 210). Wakefields middle name is Stephen; my first name is Stephen. Wakefield got hit by a car while jogging in 1997; I got hit by a van while walking in 1999. When Wakefield started against the Braves in the 1992 National League Championship Series, he was the first rookie to do so in nine years. When I started for the Boston Red Sox in the 1986 ALCS, I was the first rookie to do so in ten years. More importantly, Wakefield is the sort of player George Will was talking about in his overidealized booklength essay Men at Work, one who really is a man at work. There iswell, I was going to write theres little startime ego about him, but in fact there seems to be no startime ego at all about him. He comes to the ballpark not full of primetime flash like Jose Canseco did, not wearing the ostentatious earring like Barry Bonds does, or with the panhandlesized chip on his shoulder as Roger Clemens still seems to do (the Rocket still wants everyone to know they climb when he walks, by God). Tim Wakefield comes almost the way a man would come to a factory, not plodding but not strutting, just walking steady, with his shirt tucked in all the way around, his belt buckled neatly in front, his hair (whats leftof it) trimmed close, his time card in his hand. You almost expect to see him deposit his lunch pail on the bench before going out to the mound. He is the egoless workhorsewho signed with Boston in 1995, after being let go by the Pirates, and promptly won sixteen straight for the Sox. He gave them innings, innings, inningsincluding one harrowing stint as the clubs closer. (He was successful in the roleas he has been in almost all of his rolesbut he was also almost impossible to watch.) He became a free agent in November of 2000 and resigned with Boston a month later, taking a 1.5 million pay cut to stay with the big club (following his heroics in the 2003 postseason, when he came within five outs of being named the League Championship Series MVP, his salary went back to where it had been in 2002). Since then he has again given the big club innings and more innings, keeping his mouth shut while he does it. Now, after various stints in long relief and that one scary two or threeweek turn as the closer a couple of years ago, Wake is back where he belongs, starting games for the team of which he is the longeststanding member. Hes run his 04 record to a respectable 117, seems to be rounding into stretchdrive form, and if he doesnt garner the sort of fan adulation the Pedro Martinezes and Curt Schillings receive (not too many people come to the ballpark with 49 WAKEFIELD on their backs), thats probably to be expected. Working joesguys who keep their heads down and their mouths shut, guys who just do the jobrarely do. In fact, some guy once quipped, No great thing was ever done by a man named Tim. Our Tim could prove himself the exception to that rule. August 31st My wifes gone to see her parents for the night and she even took the dog cause Im going to Boston, so I feel its perfectly okay to give a yell of triumph when the Sox close out the month at 1007 P.M. with their twentyfirst win and their seventh straight, beating the Angels 107. The end ofthis one wasnt pretty, with Sox reliever Mike Myers giving up four straight hitsthe last a grand slam by a lategame subbut in the end we prevail (tonight the Sox can be we), and even if Anaheim should get up off the mat and take the next two, theyd still leave trailing in the wildcard race. And what puts the icing on the cake, the absolute perfect cherry on the banana split? The Yankees lost. Oh, waitdid I say lost? With a final score of 220, I think it would be fair to say that Cleveland administered a pantsdown buttwhuppin. Pricey midseason acquisition Esteban Loaiza gave up not one but two threerun homers in the ninth inning. The question, of course, is where the Yankees go from here. When the Houston Astros nohit them by committee a year ago, it served as a wakeup callbut that was earlier in the season, before their bullpen had taken such a severe pounding (Yankee starters have recorded just one win in the teams last sixteen victories). Baseball has seen plenty of amazing lateseason chokes; this could be the beginning of yet another. But the Red Sox players would undoubtedly say they can do nothing about the Yankees. They have thirtytwo more games of their own to play, and the next eight are going to be very tough. I hope to be at Fenway for as many of them as I can. But the great thing about the wild cardwhat I absolutely love about itis that it is, by its very nature, a slippery beast. If Oakland slides into first place in the AL Westhey, presto!the Red Sox are wildcardcompetitive again, only against a different team. There are baseball purists who hate the innovation for this very reason, but they would be folks who, for the most part, havent been stuck with George Steinbrenners bloated wallet for the last twelve years or so. The decision to wave Roberts home seemed out of character for the usually cautious Sveum and more like his predecessor, Wendell Kim, known to the Fenway Faithful as Send Em In Kim. Havent seen him at Fenway all year. In this context it does not hurt to remind ourselves that Globe ownership, New York Times ownership, and Red Sox ownership all overlap. In other words, theyre all in it together. Time to put the tinfoil on the windows, line our baseball caps with lead, and check our phones for radioactive bugs. How ugly? He was the first pitcher in seventy years to surrender six home runs and still get the win. The Tigers hit seven long taters in all, the last coming off reliever Mike Timlin. The Red Sox hit three, one from David Ortiz and two from Kevin Youkilis. If the more analytical (and amusing) Dennis Eckersley had been teamed with Caron, he probably would have given this part of the Millar fatwa the horselaugh it deserved. A trait he shares with stopped clocks. Latest victim of the injury bug is Kevin Youkilis, who suffered a jammed ankle at home plate after being waved in from second by Dale Sveum in the final game of the Red SoxWhite Sox series two days ago (Youkilis was out). The Texas Rangers have won six in a row and show no sign of their usual August heat prostration. In it, a dreamy Manny fantasizes about becoming the World Series MVP. Back then, of course, it was Nomars fault; even while on the DL he was sticking pins in his Terry Francona voodoo doll. The last time it happened was September 1940, to George Caster of the Philadelphia Athletics, who beat us despite six dingers. For reasons he probably could not explain (its a fan thing), Stewart ONan calls the Red Sox knuckler not Wake but TimMAY. Hey, I dont make the news, I just report it. Call this a lie if you want to; I prefer to think of it as a part of my rich and continuing fantasy life. In a 1993 game against Atlanta, Wakefield went ten innings for the Pirates and threw 172 pitches. In 1996, while pitching for the Red Sox, he threw 162 pitches in a game against the White Sox. Dont dismiss these numbers by saying, Yeah, but hes just a knuckleball pitcher, until you yourself have tried to throw 150 or so pitches, even soft tosses, the regulation distance of sixty feet and six inches from the pitchers rubber to home plate on a hot afternoon. I think by number 90 or so, your shoulders going to be feeling like a turkey drumstick on Thanksgiving day. SeptemberOctober Hangin Tough September 1st SK The Yanks have a cake schedule the rest of the way And they start off by getting beat by Cleveland, 220. Thats some cake. SO There aint no steroids in humble pie (and that was a BIG pie). I havent been to Fenway since this terrific Red Sox run began (eight in a row now; 217 for the month of August), and Im astonished by how radically the atmosphere of the old park has changed. The glums and glooms of July are gone, replaced by a giddy nervousness thats not quite a playoff atmosphere. Seconds before Bronson Arroyo throws his first pitch, the PA announcer informs the sellout crowd that its seventyseven degreesthe exact temperature of perfect childhood summer evenings, if I remember correctly. New Englands First Church of the Baseball Unfulfilled is once more ready to rock, my son and threeyearold grandson are with me (the latter more fascinated by the Hood blimp cruising overhead than anything happening on the field), and the Yankees are now almost close enough to touch. For the second night in a row I wait for Anaheims pitching, which has been largely responsible for taking them to eighteen games over .500 in the fiercely competitive AL West, to show up, and for the second night in a row it never does. For the second night in a row Boston puts a fourspot on the board in its half of the first. The difference is that weve got Bronson Arroyo going instead of Curt Schilling, and Arroyo is still years away from Curt Schillings craftiness. Also, for some reason the kid justdoesnt pitch well in Fenway. Tonight the Angels come back from what sportscasters like to call the early deficit and briefly make a game of it; after three innings the score is tied 55 and Arroyo is gone. In the end, it makes no difference; the final score is 127 Boston, and my scorecard suggests there are going to be some very tired Anaheim outfielders tomorrow. I see fourteen flyball outs and five strikeouts through eight innings. Add in the sixteen or eighteen hits that had to be chased down, and thats an awful lot of running for the, ahem, Angels in the outfield. Anaheim came into Fenway on fire. After two consecutive poundings, Id have to guess that the fire is out, and that when Bartolo Colon takes the mound tomorrow, hed better have his best stuff working if he wants to help his team avoid a clean sweep. As for the Red Sox, its now a nice balance the team is three and a half back in the division and three and a half ahead in the wild card. The stretch drive has begun, and right now it looks as if we could go either way. Of course, I know what Id like to see the Yankees scrambling madly for that wildcard berth. And losing it on the last day of the season. I am a Red Sox fan, after all. Tonight were on the Monster, switching between two single seats and two standing rooms. The matchup of Arroyo versus former Sock Aaron Sele seems to be in the Angels favor, but Sele comes out shaky and slow. Our guys are hacking at every pitch, and banjo hitters like Bellhorn are swinging for the fences. We score four in the first. The ump is squeezing Arroyo, and he gives two back in the second. We add another in our second, but the Angels tie it at five in the third, and Arroyos history. Francona calls on Mike Myers to get lefty Darin Erstad. The crowd groans; the PA plays the theme from Halloween. Myers comes inand gets it done. Mike Scioscia gives Sele an extra inning to find his bearings. Instead, he gives up three straight hits and we take the lead. Like Mike Myers, Terry Adams has had his problems, but, like Myers, he comes in with two down and gets his man, then settles in for two scoreless innings of work (one, I must say, belongs to Tek, who throws out two runners in the fifth). Scot Shields is their crummy middle reliever. We beat him like a rock, Millar sealing the win with a threerun Cokebottle shot. And to cap it, after Johnny catches the last out on the warning track directly beneath us, he throws the ball up to me. The games on ESPN, and when we get home Ive got emails from people who saw it. There I was, filling the screen, pointing and hollering thankyou, letting Johnny knowonce morethat he is still The Man. September 2nd Improbable or not, the Sox Express keeps rolling alongthis makes nine in a row and we are rapidly leaving the land of the unusual and entering that of the outandout, pleasepassthehappygas unreal. No question tonights game is the toughest of the lot, with Bartolo Colon throwing in the midnineties and the Angels offense struggling hard to salvage at least one game of the three. It is important that they do, of course, because of the swing that comes into play when the clubs in first and second play each other;theres a hell of a big difference between leaving Fenway two and a half games out and leaving it four and a half out. The Halos end up leaving it four and a half out mostly because baseball is also a game of luck and Bostons still running. It would have to be, wouldnt you say, for the Sox to go 2 for 14 with runners in scoring positionand still manage to eke out the win? The tragickal Mr. Lowe, who has been snakebit most of the year (there have been innings when hes been forced to get not just four outs but sometimes even six), only has to endure a couple of miscues tonight, and Adam Kennedy is the beneficiary of both. One is an error by right fielder Dave Roberts; the other is a triple that center fielder Johnny Damon should have caught, and in neither case does the speedy Kennedy end up scoring. Lowe settles down after giving up single runs in each of the first three. The Red Sox are only able to touch up Colon for four, also in the first three (tonight the Angel bullpen is superb), but four is enough. Between the first of April and the end of July the Red Sox made losing onerun games an art, but now they have turned that around. By the time Keith Foulke faces the last Anaheim batter of the series, thirtyfive thousand or so of the Fenway FaithfulStewart ONan and myself among themare on their feet, screaming, SWEEP! SWEEP! SWEEP! Foulke induces a harmless fly ball to Orlando Cabrera at shortstop and the Standells launch into Dirty Water. Stewart and I (not to mentionthe rest of the Faithful) have what we came for. Its unbelievable, but we have swept the Angels. Bring on Texas. And can I say we? I think I can, and in a wider context than just my Fenway friends on this clear and slightly fallishfeeling Boston night. According to the New England Sports Network (NESN), the first of the threegame series against the Angels drew the biggest ratings of any regularseason baseball game in the networks history. Seen in 18.5 million homes from Canada to Connecticut, it blew away all the bignetwork competition. Said color commentator Jerry Remy, I dont even know how to think about numbers like that. (Only Remy, a Massachusetts native, cannot seem to say numbers; he says numbizz.)In any case, the numbizz only underline the meaning of the ninthinning Fenway Thunder Ive now heard at the ballpark two nights in a row. This team has caught the imagination of New England. This year it took a while to happen, but it finally did. And the team has caught mine, as well. This time theyand wecould go all the way. Not saying they will; the odds are still against it. But some team will become the 2004 World Champions, and yes, this could be that team. They certainly have the tools. Christ, I hope I havent jinxed them, saying that. Weve won eight in a row and tonight were going for the sweep against the Angels, a very good club, yet when Derek Lowe stumbles out of the gate, the Faithful grumble. Not this Lowe, not again. The Lowe who just misses his location and gets frustrated, puts runners on and gets distracted, gets ahead of batters and then throws too nice of a strike. The Lowe who kicks absently at the air like a bummed Little Leaguer after an RBI single. Colon is having an even worse night. It seems we have two on or bases loaded every inning, but he slows the pace of the game (doing a whole lot of yardwork on the mound), and manages to weasel out of what should be big innings. After three, its 43 Sox, and at the rate the games going, well be here till midnight. With one down in the Angels fourth, Adam Kennedy flies one to Dave Roberts in right. Roberts isnt a right fielder by trade, and he tracks this one awkwardly, as if he doesnt quite see it, freezing and then waving at the ball as if its suddenly reappeared out of the lights. It hits his glove, then his leg, then the grass. Booooooooo! Its tough to hear, since Roberts is an eloquent and genuinely nice guy and a recent addition, and hes playing out of position, but its an important game, and the ball should have been caught. Still, I cant help reflecting that, even in the best of times, the Faithful are a hanging jury. Lowe walks the next guy. Hes struggling, and in even more trouble when Chone Figgins pokes a shallow liner to rightcenter that should drop. The one real tool Roberts has is speed. He reads this ball perfectly, flashing in and diving, picking it cleanly with a nifty backhand. The runner on second is halfway home, and Roberts doubles him up easily to end the threat. A huge, deafening standing O, and gratifying as hell to see a good guy go from goat to hero in a matter of a few pitches. Lowe seems to take the lesson to heart, and battles into the eighth, when he leaves to a standing O from the same folks (including me) who were shaking their heads a couple hours ago. We hang on for the sweep, knocking the Angels to four and a half back. The turnarounds complete. Like Dave Roberts and Derek Lowe, with the August its had, this team has redeemed itself, and the Faithful are more than grateful, were wild with hope. September 3rd Tonights starter for Texas once pitched for Boston. Red Sox fans remember him well, and not with affection; because of all the home runs he gave up, mostly in a relief role, he became known as John Way Back Wasdin. Since then hes been around, and hes improved. Not a lot, mind you, but enough to return to the show after a stint in tripleA and land a starting gig with the Rangers, who have performed above expectations all season long and are only now beginning to fade a little in the wildcard race. We have Pedro Martinez on the mound, and on paper this game looks like a ridiculous mismatch, but I enter Fenway feeling really nervous for the first time since getting here for the second game of the Angels series. Yes, Wasdin is only 22, and yes, his current ERA is an unremarkable 7.01, but he remembers perfectly well what the fans here used to call him and hed really like to be the guy who ends the Red Sox streak. Also, Texas has a formidable hitting lineup. Guys like Michael Young, Kevin Mench, Hank Blalock, and Alfonso Soriano (who came to Texas in the ARod trade and has lit it up at Arlington) seem made for Fenway. All my worries about Way Back Wasdin turn out to be justified, and it doesnt help that two more Red Sox players are sitting wounded on the bench David Ortiz (shoulder) and Johnny Damon (ankle). Wasdin is throwing some kind of heavy shitthat has our makeshift lineup popping up all night, and when Wasdin finally departs, he has given up less than a handful of hits. Luckily for us, one is a home run to Manny and another is a home run to Bill Mueller. Pedro strikes out nine, and faces only one serious threat, in the seventh. With runners on first and third and two out, Gary Matthews Jr. tests Jason Variteks arm by trying to steal second. Varitek passes the test. Orlando Cabrera slaps the tag on Matthews, and that takes care of that. Timlin and Embree tagteampitch the eighth and Foulke closes out the ninth. The Standells are singing Dirty Water no later than ten past ten and the crowd goes insane. The Sox have won their tenth straight, and I find myself doing the Funky Chicken in the aisle with a seventysomething woman I dont know from the Lady Eve. Shes wearing a Curt Schilling Tshirt, and thats good enough for me. Did I say the crowd goes insane? Thats wrong. They already went. It happened at approximately 950 P.M., when the scoreboard showed the Orioles beat the Yankees in the Bronx by a score of 31, reducing the Yankees lead in the AL East to a mere two and a half games. Weve gained eight in the East since the middle of August, a stretch of less than three weeks. Later, in my hotel room, I learn that Kevin Brown, who started that game for the Yankees, broke his hand after being pulled. He punched the clubhouse wall in frustration. As so often happens in such battles, he fought the wall and the wall won. At least it was his nonpitching hand, and hes vowed not to miss a start, but I wonder. For one thing, hows he gonna wear a glove on that baby? I never expected to see John Wasdin starting again in Fenway, but with the expanded roster, he gets another chance. And as the Sox complete their fifteenth shutout of the season, and their tenth straight win, Adam Hyzdu, the twentysixth man, the last one cut in spring training, makes his 2004 debut as a replacement right fielder. Like Wasdin, hes made his way back to the show, and if its only for a short stay, still, hes here, playing under the bright lights. September 4th Sarah McKenna, a Red Sox media rep, calls me while Im still doing my morning workout and flummoxes me by asking if Ill throw out the first pitch before this afternoons game. The Farrelly brothers, she says, creators of such amusing (if not quite familyfriendly) movies as Dumb and Dumber and Theres Something About Mary, are making a romantic comedy called Fever Pitch with a Red Sox background, and they want to recreate Opening Day, complete with sellout crowd and giant flag unfurling across the Green Monster.I guess neither Ben Affleck nor Matt Damon is in town, and of course native son John Kerry is otherwise occupied this Labor Day weekend. I want to do ithell yesbut Im still slow about agreeing. Some of my reasons are purely superstitious. Some, although pragmatic, are about superstition. The purely superstitious reasons stem from having thrown out the first pitch at Fenway once before, around the time I published a book called The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon. That was a work of fiction, but in 1998, the year before it was published, Gordon was brilliantthat was a fact. We lost the game at which I threw out that ceremonial first pitch, and not long after (my memory wants me to believe it was at that very game, but surely that cant be right), we lost Gordon to an arm injury for the rest of the season. When the 2004 version of Tom Gordon shows up in these pages, he is, of course, wearing the uniform of the hated New York Yankees. And, only a month later, I was struck by a van while walking at the side of the road and badly hurt. Certainly if I had been a baseball player instead of a writer, my career would have been over. So the last time I threw out a first pitch, bad things happenedfor theteam, for my favorite player on the team, and for me. Those are the superstitious reasons Im slow about agreeing to Sarah McKennas proposal. The pragmatic reasons about superstition? Well, look. I know how superstitious the ballplayers themselves are, and the fans put them to shame. I mean, some guy actually risked his life to change that Storrow Drive overpass sign from REVERSE CURVE to REVERSE THE CURSE. And the press only eggs them on. Lately theres been a story on several TV stations about a local Massachusetts teenager who got two of his front teeth knocked out by a foul line drive off the bat of Manny Ramirez. Because this kid just happens to live in the house where Babe Ruth once lived, the curse is now supposed to be broken. Broken teeth, broken curse. Geddit? This is the sort of numbnuts story you kind of expect from the local If it bleeds it leads TV in the doldrums of summerbut then, holy shit, the local papers pick it up too. So of course some people actually believe it. Why not? There are still people out there who think Fidel Castro had JFK shot and that cell phones cause brain cancer. So one thing I know if I throw out the first pitch and the Red Sox lose, if their tengame streak ends this afternoon, I will get some of the blame. Because Im not only a Red Sox fan, Im (creepy music here) NEW ENGLANDS HORRORMEISTER!!! And worsewhat if someone gets hurt (someone else to go along with Trot, Pokey, and Johnny Damon), or the game ends with a bum call, orGod forbidtheres some sort of accident in the stands? Or what if the Red Sox go on to lose ten straight, end up nine back of the Yankees again, and four behind Anaheim in the wild card? Nor is this an entirely unbelievable scenario, with three coming up against Oakland (on their turf) and then three more in Seattle, who has suddenly gotten hot. ILL GET BLAMED FOR THAT TOO! THEYLL SAY IT ALL STARTED WHEN THAT BASTARD KING THREW OUT THE FIRST PITCH ON SEPTEMBER 4TH! So of course I say yes. 1 P.M. Its stifling hot behind the gigantic American flag, and Im scared out of my mind. I cant believe Ive agreed to do this. On my previous pitching adventure, I only had to walk from the Red Sox dugout to the mound, a matter of twentyfive or thirty steps. Now Ill be walking in from the deepest part of the park. I am, in fact, positioned just beneath CLE in the outoftown section of the leftfield scoreboard. My introduction finishes. Marty, my Red Sox minder, lifts the flag forme. I step out into brilliant sunshine and off the warning track, onto green grass. The crowd roars, and I have to remind myself that the PA announcer has cued them to go batshit, has told them that the cameras are rolling, and that they should make as much noise as possible.


Still, that fortysecond walk is a remarkable period of time for me, every second crystal clear, and as I approach the rusty red dirt of the infield, the exact color of old bricks in a factory wall (I cross at shortstop, where Orlando Cabrera will soon be standing and where Nomar Garciaparra stood for so many years before him), I remember that I promised my daughterinlaw that Id give the crowd the Manny Salute. I do so without delay, cocking my free hand and glove hand like guns, and the crowd roars louder, laughing and delighted, giving me a verbal high five. Its probably the best moment, even better than toeing the blinding white strip of the pitchers rubber and looking in at Jason Varitek, squatting behind home plate. Except maybe the moment before I throw is the best moment, because I can see him so clearly (theres no batter, of course, and hes not wearing the mask). His face is grave, as if he actually expects me to throw a sixtyfoot strike in front of thirtyfive thousand peopleme, who does his best work in an empty room with a cup of lukewarm tea for company. And I almost do. My pitch dips at the last second and hits that redbrick dirt just in front of home plate. Varitek catches the ball easily and trots out to give it to me (its beside me as I write this, a little red scuff on one curve) as the crowd roars its approval. Varitek is kind, calling it first a sinker, then a Hideo Nomo strike three. Too cool. I try to shake his hand with my glove. Thats how dazed I am. 345 P.M. The good times have rolled and now my darker fears are coming true. Tim Wakefieldmy current favorite Red Sox playeris on the mound, and hes getting lit up. When Terry Francona finally comes out and takes the ball, the score is 81, Texas. 425 P.M. The Sox make a game of it, at leastMark Bellhorn hits a grand slam, and David Ortiz follows with a basesempty roundtripperbut in the end Boston falls two runs short. There is even that bum call I obsessed about, a phantom tag on Dave Roberts the secondbase ump sees as onehalf of the gameending double play. Manny Ramirez is left in the ondeck circle, and the Sox streak ends at ten. I am 02 in games where I throw out the first pitch, and tomorrow the newspapers will blame me. I just know it. SK I got a LARGE charge out of throwing the first pitch today. Broke off a slider that hit the dirt in front of home plate. Varitek, laughing, called it a Nomo strike three. And then we lost. Shit. But still a great game. SO Saw you on the tube joking with Tekv.v. cool. Taped it if you want it. Wake looked awful. Whats his record in day games? Because Ive seen him at least twice get shelled on beautiful Saturday afternoons. I called the Bellhorn granny, and had a feeling Big Papi would solo right after that. If Bill Mills shot up the middle gets through in the eighth, Tek pinchhits with one out, but that galoot made a skate save. Least the Yanks lost. One more and The Stands over. Be sweet to bury the Rangers right here right now. Mr. Schill on the hill. September 5th Bob Hohlers Boston Globe piece on yesterdays game leads like this Searching for scapegoats? Try horrormeister Stephen King, who tossed out a ceremonial first pitch. Blame the horrormeister. What did I tell you? Please, baseball gods, let Curt Schilling win today. A weird, glancing Sox experience today. We drive the two hours from Avon to Boston, and around game time we deliver Caitlin and all her stuff to her dorm at B.U., then go over to Beacon Street for a farewell lunch. Fenways less than a block from us, and fans headed for the rubber game against Texas stream past, decked out in their Red Sox best. So not only do we feel lost, losing Caitlin, it feels like were going the wrong way, or doing the wrong thing, as in some unsettling, ominous dream. On the way home, three now instead of four, we listen to the game unfolding farther and farther behind us. Schilling throws well, and we hold a 41 lead until the seventh, when Gabe Kapler adds two more with a basesloaded single. It turns out that we need them, as Francona unwisely gives Schilling a chance at a complete game. Michael Youngagain!hits a Monster shot, and its 63 with one down when Foulke comes in. He gets an out with his first pitch, then gives up a single, a double, a single that makes it 65, until, finally, as were just pulling into the driveway, Bellhorn snares a kneehigh bullet to save the game. Yi yi yi. 945 P.M. It was closer than it should have beenthe Rangers turned a 61 laugher into a 65 nailbiter in the top of the ninthbut in the end, Father Curt and the Red Sox prevailed. The Yankees also won (on a basesloaded walk), and the Angels are winning, but for tonight, at least, I dont care about the other guys. My personal curse has been lifted. Of course all that superstition stuff is the bunk, anyway, and we all know it. And with that said, I can take off my lucky shirt, turn my pillow lucky side up, and go to bed. SK Dja see todays Globe? I took the hit for the lossI knew I would. Superstitious ijits. Thats twice Ive tossed out the first pitch and twice they lost. Think Ill get the call in Game 7 of the World Series? Steve Just Call Me Hideo King SO Hey, Hideo, YOU didnt give up the threerun dinger to Michael Young. And Bellhorns comeback granny was some kind of magic. For a game we were basically out of, it was damn close. The way todays was for Texas. Yeesh! Foulke had absolutely nothing. Well take the W and plant it on their grave. On to Chokeland! September 6th While some of the Faithful grouse that weve become more and more like the Yankeessigning free agents rather than developing our prospectsthe team we most consciously resemble is Oakland. Theo and Bill James tend to follow the tenets of Moneyball, valuing onbase percentage above other indicators, and in our two seasons under their reign, weve approached the playoff chase like the As, staying close until the AllStar break, making a few deals and then charging. Beyond absorbing Billy Beanes philosophy, we also appear to be importing players hes already poached from other teams. Mark Bellhorn, Johnny Damon, David McCarty and Keith Foulke are all recent As, as is manager Terry Francona, Oaklands bench coach in 2003. So its no surprise that the As are our constant competition, and that the games we play with them are tighta situation that ironically does not benefit a Moneyball club (since defense, speed and a closer are less highly prized in Billy Beanes universe), but a smallball team like the Angels or a more traditional slugging club like the Yankees. Tonight out by the East Bay, Mark Kotsay (who lost the last SoxAs game with his bobble of a Bill Mueller double on the track) solos twice off Arroyo early, but Bronson settles down, retiring eleven in a row. In the fourth Manny and David go backtoback against Barry Zito to tie it. The game stays that way till the seventh, when Bill Mueller and Dave Roberts hit RBI doubles. The As rally to make it 43 after a terrible call in the eighthManny clearly traps a line drive by Kotsay, yet the ump calls him outbut in the ninth their lack of a pen shows, as Chad Bradford and the everunreliable Arthur Rhodes combine to give up four runs, three of them on a David Ortiz basesclearing double, and we win 83. Thank you, Moneyball! The Yankees, meanwhile, were scheduled to play a doubleheader against Tampa Bay in the Bronx, but due to Hurricane Frances the DRays were late getting to the Stadium and missed the first game. Yanks general manager Brian Cashman immediately lobbied the league office for a forfeit (the league turned him down, Id hope with a look of disbelief). So while in Florida the storm has torn peoples homes and lives apart, the Yankees only thought was to use it to pick up an unearned win. Now thats class. September 7th It wasnt that long agoat the end of this seasons fantasy August, in factthat Red Sox writers and commentators (not to mention your runofthemill bleacher creatures) were saying that Bostons postseason chances might hinge on how well they could do in the upcoming ninegame stretch against the big fish of the AL West, before leaving those sharks to swimand hopefully to bite one another as seriously as possiblein their own tank. Most hoped for six wins at most, two against the Angels, two against the Rangers, and maybe two against the Oakland Athletics. Many partisans would have been satisfied with five. Few, I think, would have guessed at our current position six wins and one loss with two of the ninegame set left to play. When the Red Sox last visited Oakland, during the playoff seriesagainst the Athletics in the fall of 2003, they left a bunch of pissedoff As and As fans behind. The same was true following last nights rematch, the only difference being that we have to play them again tonight instead of next year, and tonight the chief object of the As ire will be on the mound. That would be the tragickal Mr. Lowe, who supposedly made an obscene gesture toward the Oakland bench after striking out the final player of the game. The animus of last nights Oakland Coliseum attendees was directed not at any Red Sox player so much as it was at the ump who ruled Mark Kotsay out after Manny Ramirez appearedfrom the umps perspectiveto have made a rolling, tumbling catch of Kotsays dyingquail line drive. Manny actually caught it on whats known as the traphop, a fact his diving body obscured from the umpire, who fearlessly made the call, anyway. Manny himself acknowledged this in the locker room, after the game. I knew I din catch the ball, he said, but the umpire say I catch the ball, so the guys out. He then shrugged, as if to add, Tough luck, Markbut we gotta jus keep goin. To add insult to injury, Kotsay made almost exactly the same play on a Red Sox dying quail of a liner later on in the game, only this time the ump saw the ball hit the ground and ruled the batter safe. Kotsay raised his arms in frustrated body English even a baby could read Aw, come on! Gimme a makeup call here, Blue! No makeup calls for Oakland (not last night, anyway), and it probably wouldnt have helped; in the end, the game just wasnt that close. That didnt stop the angry Oakland fans from hurling their trash into the outfield, however. It was a sight that filled meI admit itwith childish glee. I had zero sympathy for their outrage, given the umps honest effort to make an honest call; not so soon after the blown call on Dave Roberts that ended our game against Texas three days ago, and probably, if Im to be honest, in no case.Blown calls are, after all, a part of the game, and the fans rage somehow made this one even tastier. Thats right, ya babies! I thought, watching the hotdog cartons and empty beer cups rain down. The umps are relaxing in the Officials Room, probably soakingtheir tired feet, so take it out on your grounds crew! Go on and chuck that shit, why not? Are Oakland fans coming to hate us the way we hate the Yankees? Theres an interesting thought. Trot comes off the DL today, and Pokey, and Johnny, whos been out with a strained pinkie (when in doubt, pinkie out), is back in the lineup. Scott Williamson, whos been gone a long time, throws batting practice to Trot and may be ready soon. Mr. Kim, however, appears done for the year. The PawSox finished their season yesterday (as did Cesar Crespo and Brian Daubach, who both contributed to the big club early on), and Theo says theyre putting together a conditioning program so the 10 million man (and his eleven innings of work this year) will be ready in the spring. Of course, theres nowhere to put all these guys. The roster, like the dugout, is overflowing. Youk hasnt seen action in weeks, or McCarty, or Ricky Gutierrez. No ones going to rock the boat, though. The teams doing too well. Tonight Johnny celebrates being back in action by leading off the game with a home run. Its Derek Lowes first appearance in Oakland since his alleged crotchtugging in the direction of the As bench after clinching last years divisional playoffs, and the crowd lets him know it. He scuffles early (as usual), but Gabe Kapler clocks a tworun shot for a 30 cushion, Billy Mueller makes three highlightreel stops at third, and once again we bulldoze their number four starter Mark Redman for a 71 win, making us 71 in our gutcheck stretch against Anaheim, Texas and Oakland. September 8th Im primed to stay up late and watch the PedroTim Hudson series finale, hoping for the sweep, but Hudson cant find the plate, and after three its 70 Sox and hes gone, and we havent really even hit the ball yet. What do you do when the one strength of your club fails you? You lose. We sweep the As at home after sweeping them in Fenway in July. Even better, the Angels lose, so were five up in the wild card. And the rain left over from Hurricane Francesin a fitting revengewipes out the YanksDRays doubleheader, so were only two back in the East, and with the makeups, their rotations a mess. September 9th The Red Sox offense didnt beat Tim Hudson last night, and Pedro Martinez cant exactly take credit, either. After walking the first three batters of the game (four in the first inning) and giving up a double to David Ortiz and a single to Jason Varitek, Hudson pretty much did the job on himself. Meanwhile, the Yankees current series with the Tampa Bay Devil Rays,a seemingly endless exercise in baseball existentialism during which the DRays never win and the Yankees never seem to gain ground in the standings, is continuing this afternoon, with the New Yorkers leading in the first game of a doubleheader by a score of quite a bunch to one. I could check and get an exact score, but it hardly seems worth it. Based on my last peek I can tell you that a.) theres hardly anyone in the stands at the Stadium, and b.) Rocco Baldelli looks like he wishes he were playing for the Tokyo Sunflowers, assuming there is such a team. After last nights rainout and the Red Sox win in Oakland, the gap in the AL East shrank to a mere two games for the first time since early June, and reading the sports pages of the New York tabs has become a wonderfully cheering pastime for Red Sox fans; the Post and Daily News baseball columnists, used to a steady diet of Yankee triumphs down the stretch, have started to sound like holyrolling revivalshow ministers, warning that the Horsemen of the Apocalypse are on the horizon Behold, I saw a pale horse, and on him was Manny, and he spake, saying, Hey man, we gotta jus keep goin. Meanwhile, on other fronts The hapless Devil Rays will be more hapless still if Ivan, third and worst hurricane to menace Florida in the last thirty days, blows away their JuiceDome down there in Tampa; like a certain unlucky Jew, they may be doomed to simply wander, dragging their dusty equipment bags behind them, playing everywhere and always batting in the top of the first. We once had a home, theyll tell those who will listen. It wasnt very full, and most of the folks who showed up were old, many equipped with shunts and pee bags, but by God it was ours. In Foxboro, the New England Patriots, proud winner of exactly one preseason game, prepare to defend their Super Bowl title. And on I95, just north of Augusta, Maine, at a little past noon and in a driving downpour (the remains of Hurricane Frances, or so the radio assured me), I saw an oak tree blazing with orange leaves. Football, autumn colors, hurricanes omens of the end. Hurry up and finish your four games with Seattle, Red Sox. Hurry up and come home. Its almost time to deal with the Yankees. SO Maybe because all this is happening late at night way out West there isnt the crazy celebrating like last week, but it almost seems too easy, too calm. Its quiettoo quiet. SK Its like people are getting used to it. If so, bad people. Bad people. Ungrateful, BAD people. Or maybe, who knows, theyre just not as crazy as we are. Also, they ARE away. And some people DO have to get up and go to work. Not us, I mean, but SOME people. Tonight in the topleft corner of the country, Seattle throws a rookie lefty Ive never heard ofBobby Madritsch, whose route to the bigs included time in the independent leagues, the outlaws of the minorswhile Tim Wakefield takes the hill for us. Wake came out flat in his last start (our last loss), so hes due for a solid game. Wrong. The Mariners score early and often, and when a fly to the track goes off Mannys glove in the fifth for a tworun error, this ones done. We lose 71 while the Yanks sweep a doubleheader from the DRays, the first game of which has an officially reported attendance of zero. Zero, as in no one. Zero, as in one less than the guy sitting at his desk writing this. If the Yankees win and no one sees it, does it still count? September 10th SO Im definitely making the Tuesday game next week versus Tampa, and if youre not using the tix, I could see myself there Wednesday and Thursday too. There just arent that many games left. Here on Monday I went to the Rock Cats last game of the year; after they won, the players tossed their hats and batting gloves and all the balls in the dugout and even the leftover bubble gum to the crowd, and I realized that once the seasons over, thats it, its fall and then winter. I didnt like the feeling one bit, and I guess Im doing what I can to stave it off. SK Youre so right. Winters coming. I felt a change in the weather the day after Labor Day. Losing two straight to the lastplace Ms, with Schilling going, isnt likely, and Im uncharacteristically certain of this one from the start. Seattle keeps it close till the fifth, when David Ortiz sneaks a linedrive homer over the wall, and then, after an error by backup second baseman Jose Lopez, with two outs, Bill Mueller singles, Dave Roberts doubles, Johnny Damon triples and Mark Bellhorn singles. The next inning, Manny, who started our scoring with a solo shot, piles it on with his 17th career grand slam, and Schilling cruises to become the majors first 19gamewinner. Meanwhile in Baltimore, Javier Vazquez melts down, walking and hitting batters with the bases loaded, and the Yanks go down hard, so were two and a half back. Anaheim wins and the As lose again, so the Angels are a mere game off the pace in the West. With the unbalanced schedule, the Angels have six games remaining against the As and a chance to make them our wildcard rivals. September 11th Manny Ramirez hit home runs 39 and 40 last night to amble past Bostons Dwight Evans on the alltime list and further enhance his MVP chances (although for that to happen Boston will almost certainly have towin the American League flag). Boston didnt look particularly good against Seattles collection of battered veterans and freshly calledup farmhands in the first of the teams fourgame series and Tim Wakefield suffered for it, but the whole team appeared to be ambling in that game, probably a natural enough result of having just finished an 81 tour of duty against Oakland, Texas, and Anaheim. Father Curt took matters in hand last night, thank God (he righted the ship, as the Sports Cannibals like to say), and bagged his 19th win in the process. The Angels, currently five back in the wildcard race, are now the only other contender for that ticket to the postseason dance.They have nineteen games left, two against the soso ChiSox, seven against the shlubby Seattle Mariners, and ten against good teams, including six against Oakland. We, on the other hand, have six games left against the Yankees, and eight against Baltimore, who has played us tough all year. The moral of this story is simplewe gotta jus keep goin, man. SK We kicked their ass, all rightanother granny for Manny, and it was one inning after I went to bed. As for Being There, Owen has talked me into going down to at least one game and then driving back afterward. Meantime, another day off the schedule, another day closer to the Yankees. SO If youre going to catch just one game, make it Thursdays, Curts first crack at 20 wins. Arroyo threw well against the Mariners in his other start against them and got screwed out of a W when the pen fell apart. Tonight hes wearing some of the ugliest dirtyblond whiteboy cornrows Ive ever seen, but he pitches beautifully, that hard curve of his dropping off the outside corner, making hitters lunge. Manny homers again, and Mark Bellhorn. Kevin Youkilis starts at third to give Bill Mueller a breather, and by the late innings Pokey Reese, David McCarty and Ricky Gutierrez all get some playing time. In the ninth were up 70 when Adam Hyzdu sees his first atbat as a Red Sock. He looks anxiousand awful, chasing pitches away. Hes down 12, and I think how much that would suck, striking out in your one atbat all year. Hyzdu lines a double to the wall in left, knocking in a run. So hes batting a thousand and slugging two. When the Sox have to declare their playoff roster (knock wood), some of these guys arent going to be on it. We keep having to make room on the expanded roster for people coming off the DLlike Scott Williamson last nightand with all the guys we added in midseason, I wonder if guys like McCarty and Pokey wont be going to the party. And can we keep Dave Roberts, Trot and Kapler as backups? Someones going to be left out the way Dauber and Cesar Crespo have already been left behind. September 12th SO Did I tell you my theory that Napoleon Dynamite is about the Sox pitching staff? Eck is Uncle Rico, wanting to timetravel back to 1982, while Napoleon is the lost and tragickal Derek Lowe. SK Who is the nerdy older brother? Bronson Arroyo would be my guess. Peace out, Napoleon. Cornrows, indeed. SO I was actually thinking of Wake for the brother, but youre right, Arroyos cornrows might win him the role (who did emManny? Pokey?). And I did see a VOTE FOR PEDRO Tshirt at the park the other day. Speaking of voting Mr. Schill should have the inside track on the Cy Young, and Manny sure as heck looks like the MVP. My too quiet prediction comes true, as righty Gil Meche scatters five Red Sox hits for a completegame 20 shutout. Manny sabotages our best scoring chance in the first with one out and two on, he forgets how many outs there are and gets doubled up off second on what should be an easy sac fly. Derek Lowes only mistake is a tworun shot to Raul Ibanez. Time of game two hours, twentytwo minutes. SK What can you say? Guy pitched a great game and Manny ran us out of an inning. Oh, that crazy Manny. At least itll take more than this one game to cost us our dream. But 3.5 back of the Yankees. And hows by the Angels? White Hot Colon (as per the Angels website) over Chicago, 110. Back to five up in the WC. And do you know what? I think the DRays might put a hurtin on us. SO DLowe deserved better (and be sure the GM of the Os has taken note of his last seven starts). So were where we were on Friday, just two games closer to the finish line. With Petey and Mr. Schill slated to go against the DRays, Im optimistic. Just gotta hit. I wonder how much Mannys little fugue states will hurt his MVP chances. What a weird series he had. He clouts a bunch of big dingers, including that granny, makes a great flying karatekick, giveupthebody grab in the corner, then muffs that can of corn on the track, and today he forgets how many outs there are. Its like Sun Ra said space is the place. Somewhere Im missing a gameour record says we have 20 left but I only count 19 on the sked. Must be a rain date in there somewhere. Ah, found it weve got a doubleheader in Baltimore on the nexttolast day of the season. So that means of the 20 games we have left, 8 are with the painintheass Os. And 6 are with the Yanks. So we had better beat the DRays. SK I doan like the sound of tha, man. Too easy to see the headline ANGELS IN AS WILD CARD, TEJADA SINKS SOX. You think? Say Nahhh SO Nahhh. Theyll be meaningless. Our starters will be Abe Alvarez and Frank Castillo. Or whoever needs the innings for his bonus. But youre right, Tejada will hit four homers. (Talk about some fans who should (continue to) be pissedthe new and improved Os didnt even make .500.) Plus Im looking for the Angels to knock off the As. Be nice to see a team with real fundamentals overcome their injuries and eliminate the Moneyball guys. September 13th In the mail, a gift from Steve The Year of the Gerbil, by Con Chapman, a chronicle of the 1978 pennant race. The Gerbil, of course, was just part of Bill Spaceman Lees nickname for then Sox manager Don Zimmer. The whole name was The Mad Gerbil. On the cover is a shot from the TV feed from the onegame playoff, the centerfield camera keying on Bucky Dent just after his fateful swing, Mike Torrez starting to follow the ball up and to his right. Torrez, Im surprised to see, is wearing Roger Clemenss 21. Another good reason to retire it. SO Thanks, man. The title alone had me laughing (though you know by the end Ill be grimlipped, bumming once again at Mike F Torrez and Bucky F Dent). And this year sure looks like a photo negative of 78. We just have to catch the Yanks at the wire and let Mark Bellhorn do the rest. SK I saw the cover of this weeks Sports Illustrated and my heart sank into my boots. If you dont know whyand Im sure you doGoogle Sports Illustrated Curse. SO I believe Tommy Brady and the Pats survived it, so maybe Mr. Schill can too. At least its not the Chunky Soup curse; thats a careerender (Terrell Davis, Kurt Warner). Keep your eye on Donovan McNabb! If we gather all these curses (Titanic, Bambino, SI) and STILL win, will folks shut up about them already? And will we get extra points for degree of difficulty (like overcoming all our injuries)? September 14th The Yankees got roughed up again last night, roughed up bad, this time by lowly Kansas City. The final score of that game was 178, and this morning the New York sportswriters will once more be eating their gizzards out about the pinstripes lack of pitchinglovely. The Red Sox, meanwhile, only split with cellardwelling Seattle, which is a long way from wonderful, but the road trip is over, four more games are off the schedule, and were coming back to Fenway Park almost exactly where we were in the standings when we left three games behind the Yankees in the East, four and a half ahead of the Angels in the wild card. Furthermore, were looking at three with the hapless Devil Rays, and the Sox have been strong against them this year. So, at least until we meet the Yankees on the seventeenth, alls okay with the world, right? Wrong. Theres a problem. A big one. Father Curt is on the cover of Sports Illustrated this week, thats the problem. Hes standing on the mound at Fenway with his arms spread and every letter on the front of his uniform clearly visible. How could they? With all the other stuff we have to worry about, how damn could they? Because while theres no evidence of the Curse of the Bambino other than the failure of the Red Sox to win the World Series since 1918 (and they are not alone in that), theres plenty of evidence that the Sports Illustrated Curse actually exists. Two games after his cover appearance on SI, Kurt Warner suffered an injury that sidelined him for five games (although in Warners case Im at least willing to admit the possibility that Campbells Soup may have been a contributing factor). One day after Anna Kournikova appeared on the SI cover, she was bounced from the French Open, her earliest exit from a Grand Slam event in three years. In his first Monday Night Football game after his cover shot, Howard Cosell went from hero to zero by referring to a Redskins wide receiver as that little monkey. After Dale Murphy of the Atlanta Braves appeared on the cover, the Braves dropped fourteen of theirnext fifteen games. Other sufferers of the SI Jinx have included Tom Watson, Kirk Gibson, George Brett, Pedro Martinezs brother, Ramonand exRed Sox franchise player Nomar Garciaparra. After Nomar, stripped to the waist and looking most righteously buff, appeared on the cover, he went down with a popped wrist tendon and played hardly at all during the first half of the season. And now, in addition to all our injuries and our farfromsecure lead in the wild card, in addition to a threegame bulge for the Yankees that wont seem to shrink any lower than two games, I have to cope with the near certainty that Curt Schilling will not manage to win twenty games in the regular season, but will remain stuck on nineteen instead. Martinez, Wakefield, Arroyo, and the tragickal Mr. Lowe will have to take up the slack. Thanks, Sports Illustrated. Thanks a pantload. You guys suck. Behind Fenway, at the corner of Yawkey Way and Van Ness Street, sits the players parking lot. Four hours before game time the Sox take over Van Ness, barricading both ends and evicting any parked cars. By then a sizable clump of autograph hunters is already waiting. Theres no way you can get close enough to the players Mercedeses and Volvos and Range Rovers as they pull in (or Gabe Kaplers and Kevin Millars chromedout hogs), and the tall fence surrounding the lot is lined with a heavy green tarp so you cant see in, but a hundred feet down Van Ness there are three horizontal slots cut into the fence about thighhigh, and as the players walk from their rides to the clubhouse entrance, some will stop to sign. The slots are uncomfortably close to glory holes, with all that that implies. The only way to tell whos coming is to kneel on the concrete, press your cheek against the metal edge and peer sideways through the slot like the opening of a pillbox. Today Im the first one there, and stake out a spot at the end of the first slot. Position is everything some guys will sign just a few and then break off, leaving fans at slots two and three grumbling. Ive also chosen a weekday for my hunting because weekends people are packed six and seven deep, and Id feel like a heel claiming a spot before some little kid (little kids also have no qualms about stepping on you or crawling over your back). As the other hunters show up, I realize that compared to them, I am a little kid, a rank amateur. Theyre mostly pros, dealers who owe each other money and merchandise. They bring batbags full of Big Sticks, boxes of balls, albums of eightbyten glossieshighticket items they can sell on eBay. As we stand there waiting for the Sox to arrive, theyre cutting deals and boasting of recent acquisitions, trading information about upcoming shows. What are you working there? one asks me. Hat? Couple a balls? I try explaining that the hats for meto wearbut its impossible for him to understand that Im just a fan. The coaches arrive first, together. No one wants them but me. No one seems to know who Ino Guerrero is, or care. Im psyched to get Adam Hyzdus autograph on his PawSox card, while they just shrug. Likewise, when the middling Devil Rays players come walking right past us on Van Ness, the pros let them pass (Damian Rhodes, one calls Damian Rolls, used to play for Baltimoremixing him up with old closer Arthur Rhodes). When Jason Varitek signs, everyone behind me mobs the slot, crushing me down against the fence, reaching their merchandise over my shoulders and past my ears. Because all Tek can see of us are our hands, the pros get a first autograph, bounce out and grab a second bat or ball from their arsenal, shove in again and snag another. Doubledipping, its called, and while frowned upon (especially when not everyone gets even one autograph), its the pros bread and butter. How many Variteks you get? Three. Ha, I got four. I get one and Im happy. Thanks, Tek. Johnny Damon signs for a long time. Like Tek, he always tries to sign for everyone, and is always polite and nice. For a guy who looks like a wild man, hes surprisingly softspoken, and has impeccable manners, even with the pushiest fans; his parents should be proud. Pokey signs (he doesnt always), and Mark Bellhorn.


The pros gripe about some other players who blow us offSchilling and Wake especially (though Wake, Ive heard, only signs for charities, and you have to respect that). They say Pedro and Manny are almost impossible to get out here, and that they hardly ever even see Orlando Cabrera. Doug Mientkiewicz takes the time to sign, and Doug Mirabelli, Dave McCarty, Ricky Gutierrez, Billy Mueller, Dave Roberts. The hat looks greatsilver Sharpie on black. By four oclock Ive got half the club. If I came tomorrow and Thursday as well, Id be able to get most everyone. And even after three hours of being squashed and elbowed and having to listen to the dealers brag and haggle, I know Ill be coming back. Because while most of these guys are pros, and hustling hard, theres still something kidlike and hopeful about them. The rumor is that next year when the team enlarges the clubhouse the slots in the fence will be no more. I hope thats not true, because for a fan like me, this is as close to the players as Ill ever get. September 15th Pedro Martinez has pretty much owned Tampa Bay, the Red Sox have pretty much owned everyone while at Fenway Park, and the hapless Devil Rays were sending a twentyyearold rookie named Scott Kazmir to the mound last night. The result, of course, was a comfy Tampa Bay win. At one point Kazmir struck out five in a row, and the only bright spot for the Faithful was an eighthinning home run from the newly returned Trot Nixon. We have fallen a game further behind the Yankees (the Mariners beat the Angels, at least, there is that much joy in Mudville), and I find myself doing two things this morning to start the day. One is marking another game off the schedule. The other is wondering why, why, why Father Curt ever agreed to be on the cover of Sports Illustrated. SO Thanks for the use of the seats. Let me just warn you when the sun goes down, its fall. Couldnt have been more than fifty degrees out there. I had to buy a pricey sweatshirt to keep from shivering. The offense didnt create much heat either. Mason says its the return of the preJuly 31st Sox. I think its the usual wedonthavetohitforPedro virus. Funny how that works. We didnt hit for Clemens either; he was always leaving in the seventh tied 22. SK 1) It is a return to the July Sox. 2) It is the Curse of Sports Illustrated at work. 3) It was Cabrera (not Nomah) who ended the game firstpitch swinging in the bottom of the ninth. Sign me, ToldjaSo Boy SO Hey, if were expecting to win that game down three with two gone in the ninth, we truly are some cockeyed optimists. Aint no curse when you lose and deserve to, and we did. The only reliever who stopped the bleeding was Leskanic, and by then it was too late. Its not just saves were missing, its HOLDS. Our middle guys, like the Yanks the last three years, are our biggest weakness, and have been since spring training. SK Not WIN it, TIE it. SO True play for the tie at home. Still, we were losing from the very first batter. Tim Wakefield has struggledto be generousin his last few starts. Tonight he gives up a run right out of the gate. Mark Bellhorns tworun shot off DRays starter Dewon Brazelton in the bottom of the first gives us the lead, only to have Wake give it back. In the fourth we scrap for two more, but Wake immediately surrenders a pair. Its not that theyre shelling him, its just the usual fallout from the knuckler some walks, a wild pitch, five stolen bases. Thats it when Kevin Millars tworun Monster shot gives us a 64 lead in the fifth, Francona turns to Curtis Leskanic (he threw okay last night, right?). Three batters later, Tampa tripleA callup Jorge Cantu ties the game with a blast high off the Sports Authority sign. Not to be outdone, in the bottom of the inning Lou Piniella counters by using four pitchers to worm out of a basesloaded noout jam. It almost worksall we get is one on a Manny sac fly. We tack on another in the seventh when Trots grounder goes through shortstop Julio Lugos legs and pinch runner Dave Roberts motors around. Were leaving men on all over the place, but Timlin sets up and Foulke closes neatly, and we bag a long, ugly 86 win. Since the streak weve been playing terrible ball, splitting the last six with cellar dwellers, and yet, with the Angels and As losing once again, were now five and a half up in the wild card, our biggest lead yet, with only eighteen games to go. In other words were closer to the postseason than weve been all year. September 16th SK Theyre talking about taking Tim out of the postseason rotation. Thats okay. If we keep playing this way, postseason wont be a problem. I have neverNEVERgone to bed feeling so depressed after a win. They hit everything we threw at them. And they ran our Sox off. Blah. SO Maybe thisll cheer you up before this year, Timmay was 52 lifetime in the Metrodome, 52 at the Coliseum, and 53 with a 3.32 ERA at Angel Stadium. I wouldnt pull him just yet. You know how streaky he can be. If he gets unhittable after October 1, we could be wearing some big rings. Have hope. Tonights the kind of game weve overlooked in the past the last home game with a patsy before heading down to the Stadium. Before the advent of Curt Schilling, wed be scrambling to get our rotation in order for the Yanks, try to throw a number four or five guy and get burned. With Schilling going tonight, were confident of a quality start and can rest assured that Petey will be going Sunday. So this ones the mismatch we want (the one weve paid for). We jump on DRays starter Mark Hendrickson for three quick runs. Lous going to play us tough though with one down in the first hes got a guy warming. Its pointless; Schill wants his 20th. His splitters nasty and his location is spoton. Were up 60 when Kevin Millar hits a Monster shot to spark a fiverun seventh, and were set for the big (but probably hurricanerainy) weekend in the Bronx. September 17th Two more games off the schedule. Bostons threegame series with the hapless Devil Raysthe last time the Red Sox will see them at home this yearis concluded. The Sox won games two and three. Father Curt stoodup to the Curse of Sports Illustrated last night by remaining in the game until the eighth (with a threehit shutout until a Rocco Baldelli home run in the sixth) and becoming the first pitcher in the majors this year to win twenty games. The man is a horse, no doubt about it, but hes also had the kind of run support he almost never saw in his Diamondback days, and theres no doubt about that, either. His teammates, who have provided him with a staggering number of runs per start,last night staked him to three in the first and eight more by the time he left to a standing O. Wakefields start two nights ago was a smellier kettle of fish. I purposely stayed away from this manuscript when it was over, because any words I wrote would have begun harshly This team is almost ready for postseason, where they will become some better clubs steppingstone. Tim Wakefield did not figure in the decision, and looked terrible for the third outing in a row. The talking heads have begun to speculate that Terry Francona may go to a fourman rotation in postseason, and that if he does, Wake will be the odd man out. This may or may not happen, but the simple fact of Bostons 86 win over Tampa Bay on the evening of September 15th was that almost every pitcher Francona sent to the mound in Wakefields wake (with the sole exception of Keith Foulke, who pitched a onetwothree ninth) looked terrible. There may not be a Curse of Sports Illustrated (Ill wait and see on that one), but there certainly is a Curse of Middle Relief in the big leagues, and once you get past Mike Timlin (andmaybeAlan Embree), the Red Sox also suffer from the disease. Ive rarely gone to bed after a win feeling as unhappy and unsettled as I did after that game on the fifteenth. Usually when I cant sleep, what I see are key plays that went against my team (Jorge Posadas flare of a single against Pedro in Game 7 of the 2003 ALCS, for instance). What I kept seeing after that second game against Tampa Baya game we probably deserved to losewas Curtis The Mechanic Leskanic shaking his head after giving up the tworun dinger that allowed the hapless DRays to pull even, 66, late in the game. Why are you shaking your head? I wanted to scream at him. This is a team filled with weak hitters, Punch and Judy hitters, but theyre still major league hitters, my friend, andif you hang one, its going out of the yard. Whats so hard to figure out about that? Never mind, I tell myself; that nights ugly piece of work and Father Curts thing of beauty last night are both going to look the same in the win column at the end of the year. Meanwhile, were just three and a half games out of first, and tonight its YankeesRed Sox. I really dont expect to get this one in, with the train of Hurricane Ivan due, but theres been such hype (and that rarityan actual capacity crowd at the Stadium, not just a paper sellout, thanks to us) that George will do whatever it takes to play it. In the third theres a rain delay. From their cozy NESN studios, Tom Caron and Eck gush over highlights from the last Yankee series in Fenway. Heres the TekARod tiff, and Bill Muellers walkoff shot against Motape weve seen hundreds of times already. In fifteen minutes were back, though it still seems to be spitting. And then a few outs later, its pouring, and here comes the tarp. TC and Eck babble for a good twenty minutes before resorting to canned stuff. And what canned stuff should they run first but Steve himself, dispelling the curse and telling us where he was in 78 and 86 and 03 when the roof caved in. In 86 hes in his car outside his place in western Maine because thats the only reception he can get; hes sitting there with the door open and an unopened bottle of champagne on the seat beside him. Now thats a storyteller, putting you right there with just the right details. You know its a serious rain delay when NESN cuts to the nature shows. At least its not Canadian football. And so, like Yeatss great rough beast, The Rivalry has once more come round at last.The Red Sox are in New York for three. Im here for the middle game, and so is Stewart ONan. Between publicity for Faithful (not to mention work on the book itself, which I am now doing) and more publicity for the childrens version of The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon, Iexpect to be immured in hardball until I go back to Maine on Monday night. With that in mind, I decided I would take Friday night off entirely, and give my nerves a rest. I decided to go to a moviesomething with subtitles, the sort of thing that never plays at the North Conway Sixplex or the Bethel Station Fourplex back homeand then return to my hotel, where Id go straight to bed without even checking the score, lest I be sucked in. I thought the Sox would probably lose the opener, anyway (with the exception of the August streak, they have made a career of losing openers this season, it seems) and I could read about it in the New York Times the following daynot the Post, the Post is simply too gloaty when the hometown teams win. Well, I didnt exactly give my nerves a rest; I saw an extremely nervousmaking French suspenser called Red Lights, but my plan remained on course until I got back to my hotel at around 10 P.M. Then everything fell down. And why, you ask? Because the YankeesRed Sox rivalry is simply in the air if you happen to be in one of those two cities, and especially if you happen to be in the one where the games are being played. Oh, its maybe not a big deal among the sort of people who flock to see French suspense movies (with white subtitles that are almost impossible to read when superimposed on white backgrounds, as at least 60 percent of these seemed to be), but when I got back to the hotel, the doorman took a look at my Tshirt (a gift from Stewart ONan, it features a picture of David Ortiz and reads I LOVE IT WHEN YOU CALL ME BIG PAPI) and greeted me with Hey, Mr. King! Welcome back! Your Sox are up onezip in the third! One of the carpark guys joined us at that moment, favored me with a rather loathsome smileif it was supposed to project sympathy, it failed miserablyand said, Nah, its tied, one to one. Then the house detective, for whom Id signed a book earlier, came out through the revolving doors. Nope, he said. Its two to one, Yanks. Olerud just homered. So much for my resolution. Five minutes laterno, threeI was sitting in my room with my Red Sox cap out of my suitcase and on my head, watching the game. Now, the playerssome of them, at leastwill try to tell you that a match like this is just another game, and that if it is more important, itsbecause of the lateness of the season and the swingfirst playing second. Few if any of them actually believe such nonsense. You can see it in their eyes during their lockerroom interviews, and you can certainly see it in the level of play they bring to the field.YankeesRed Sox is a classic rivalry, last nights game was one of the best in it Ive ever seenand I only saw it from the fifth inning on! If not for two rain delays totaling almost an hour and a half (almost exactly the length of my foreign film), I probably would have missed the whole damned thing, and Im so glad I didnt miss all the excitement in an effort to spare my nerves another jolt of what I was sure they would have to endure Rivera successful, Yankees triumphant. The part I did miss was Johnny Damons upperdeck shot to put the Red Sox ahead 10 (I also missed chortling gleefully over how George Steinbrenner must hate all that hair flying gaily in the wind as Damon rounds the bases) and the Ramirez Show first the Shakespearian nonhomer (fair was foul after all) and then the sensational Air Manny catch that robbed Miguel Cairo of his own home run. The fun of that one, of course, every bit as good on the replays, was watching Cairo run the bases in absolute surety that hed hit the ball out, and his blank look of amazement when he was informedafter slapping the bemused thirdbase coachs hand on his way homethat hed been out during his whole tour of the base paths. I was there, however, by then in my underwear (but still wearing my David Ortiz Tshirt and my Red Sox hat) when Mariano Rivera came in to seal the deal with the Yankees leading, 21, in the top of the ninth. That hes one of the great ones there can be no doubt (Johnny Damon says flatly that Rivera is the greatest closer of all time), but he has problems with the Red Sox. Bill Mueller touched himhardfor a tworun walkoff home run in the July rhubarb game at Fenway, and last night Rivera blew the save with one out and then blew the game with two out. You didnt have to be a lipreader to see what he was yelling at center fielder Kenny Lofton when Damons brokenbat flare (another of those dyingquail shots that seem to have decided so many games between these two clubs) dropped ten or twelve feet in front of Lofton on the wet grassCatch the ball! But in fact, Rivera had no one to blame but himselfor the Red Sox, who simply wouldnt quit and let Rivera pick up his fiftieth save in peace. The Yankee closer walked Trot Nixon, who was replaced by the speedy Dave Roberts. Then he hit Kevin Millar, who was replaced by the fairly speedy Gabe Kapler. With two on and one out, I expected a gameending double play. Instead, Orlando Cabrera singled through the hole into right. Kevin Youkilis followed with a strikeout (I love Youk, but he was simply overmatched in the ninth last night). Then came Damon, andball game. You would say that tomorrows gameassuming the remains of Hurricane Ivan dont wash it outcouldnt possibly measure up. But with these two teams, Im afraid to say anything but this its going to be another game off the schedule, and last night we maintained our good hold on the wild card. The gap between us and the Yankees for the top spot in the AL East has, meanwhile, once more shrunk to a mere two and a half games. Like happy families, all blown saves are alike. You overthrow and leave the ball up and out and walk the leadoff guy. Get behind the second guy and hit him. Miss your location and a .260 hitter goes the other way on you, and your right fielder with the best arm on the team throws one up the line so their speedy pinch runner scores. Next guy bloops one that your center fielder usually gets, but this timefor no other reason than things are going to hellhe pulls up and the ball drops, another run scores, and youve just blown another save. Closers blow saves; thats just a fact of baseball. Yankee fans will say that Mariano Rivera doesnt, but heres proofagainthat it doesnt matter if youre Mo or John Way Back Wasdin or the old Derek Lowe or Eric Gagne or Eck in his prime. Closers blow saves. You just hope they arent important ones. Like Game 7 of the World Series. Oh, sorry, Mo. September 18th For our publicity mission to Yankee Stadium (where the only sellouts are the players), I wear my Bill Mazeroski jersey. On the train down, I sit beside an older Yankee fan wearing a Yogi Berra cap. As youll remember, Yogi was playing left that fateful October day in Forbes Field and watched the Yanks hopes fly over his head and over the wall. The guy next to me doesnt recognize the jersey, and I thinkperhaps uncharitablythat being oblivious of history is a luxury we, as Sox fans, cant afford. Later, at the Stadium, in response to the chant Nineteen eighteen, I turn around and bellow Nineteen sixty. AndI swear to Godone kid says, What happened in 1960? September 19th The first game of this series was a pulsepounder which the Red Sox won in their last atbat. In yesterdays, played under swagbellied gray skies and in a drizzle that had become a steady rain by the seventh, the Yankees really won it in the first, when they tacked a fivespot on the tragickal Mr. Lowe, to the joy of the notquitefull Stadium. (Not to say the relief.) They added four more in the second and were off to the races. By then Mr. Lowe was gone, suffering from a tragickal blowe to the ankle, inflicted by ye olde horsehide sphere. It was, we are told, his earliest exit from a game in five years. I wasnt terribly surprised at how poorly he performed. Mr. Lowe is simply having one of Those Years. As for the Yankeeswell, they seem to be making a kind of goalline stand This close and no closer, with the this close part being two games. At one point in yesterdays game it was 130 bad guys, and the mostly unremarkable Yankee hurler Jon Lieber took a nono deep into the game, before David I Love It When You Call Me Big Papi Ortiz hit a home run to break up that nonsense. Worst of all, Scribner, who plans to publish this book, had set up an interview with Bob Minzesheimer of USA Today at the ballpark, along with a photographer who took pictures of Stewart and me until every Yankee fan in our immediate vicinityhad gotten a good gawk and a chance to boo. I have decided that hell is probably an endless photo op at an opposing teams ballpark where your club is getting its fudge packed most righteously, to the great glee of the sellout crowd where you are not being allowed to hide like the microbe you would dearly love to be. At last we were allowed to escape, and could I have written all that yesterday? Technically, yes. It was a Saturdayafternoon game, and I had plenty of time later on to jot these fans notes. Emotionally, no. I was toobummed out. And the bottom line? The ironic bottom line? After all the emotional highs and lows of the last two games, the Boston Red Sox are exactly where they were before coming to New York. Yes! Were three and a half behind in the AL East, and thanks to an Angels loss to Texas yesterday, we are five and a half ahead in the wild card. So in the end, its just two more games off the everdiminishing schedule. Ah, but this afternoon comes the cherry on the banana split Martinez versus Mussina. 105 P.M., at the Stadium. Wonder if I could scalp myself a little ticket to that game? Hmmmm. Later I did, and Pedro was awful. The Red Sox were awful. The New York fans were loathsomely jubilant. I paid 350 for a box seat and watched the Yanks put an 111 pounding on my Sox. This afternoon, even the sunshine was awful. It was, in many ways, the apotheosis of the Dark Side Red Sox fan experience the Red Sox fan not as Fearless Booster of the Underdog but as Beaten Loser, slinking from the park with his head down, eager to put the sound of those cheering fans behind him and clinging to the twin tenets of the Manny Ramirez Credo for comfort Turn the page and We gotta jus keep goin, man. Tomorrow, Wakefield faces the Birds at Fenway Park. I hope, because I am faithful. I fear, because I know that when youre going bad, you usually get more of the same. The best news is quiet news from the West Coast the Angels are also weekend losers, and were still five and a half games up in the wildcard race. On that side of the dance card, its just two more games off the schedule. But yes, I fear the Orioles, with whom we have gone 14 so far this season at Fenway, where we have won so many against other teams. Today we get our asses kicked again, 111, with most of the damage done in an eightrun fifth, as the Yanks chase Pedro. Its humiliating, the kind of loss your friends at school will taunt you about tomorrow. Its also strangely unreal. The Yankees arent this good (even with performanceenhancing drugs), and were not this bad, and I have a creeping suspicion that this is payback for Friday night. WeSox fans, I meanget the thrilling comeback win, and their fans get the revenge blowouts. Looking back at how Mo blew the save Friday night (walk, hit batsman, missed location (and Sheffields bad throw), bloop that Lofton for some reason pulls up on), I suspect (at the risk of being labeled paranoid) this is all being orchestrated to ramp up interest on both sides. When a team does nothing to win and still wins, you have to wonder. Of course, 1986s Game 6 is a classic example of that walk, hit batsman, muffed grounder. Mo also blew the TekARod game with a gopher ball to Bill Mueller after throwing one to Trot that he just missed. And Mo blew Game 7 of the 2001 series. This fans got to wonder. The goal would be the dullest but most important of goalsfinancial security. Obscene TV ratings lead to obscene TV contracts. And who could blame the league? TV money floats the whole show. Just look at the NHL (if you can find them) for the flip side. September 20th Wake tonight against Baltimore, and theres a sense of letdown, as if these games mean less. Its not true, of course; its just a byproduct of all the hype, and the fact that its Monday. (Its no coincidence that of the six series we play against the Yanks, all but one straddle a weekend.) Wakes lost three straight and has looked awful. Tonight hes sharp until the fourth, when he walks a batter, gives up a groundball single, hits a guy, walks a run in, then surrenders a grand slam to B. J. Surhoff. The Os add three more in the fifth, walking and stealing bases, taking advantage of a passed ball and a blown rundown, and while we chip away late to make the final 86, this one was in reach only for one or two atbats. The Angels win so theyre four and a half back. Most of the Faithful think the wild cards in the bag, but we have problems with the Os, and face them seven times in our last thirteen games. Honestly, Id rather play the Yankees. September 21st SK My son Joe says that Derek Lowe (and a number of other Red Sox) were out partying hearty on Friday night (and into the wee hours of Saturday morning) under the assumption that the Saturday game (i.e., our game) would be a rainout. Have you heard this? Is it a Sons of Sam Horn thing? SO That Lowe rumor (stumbling in at 4 A.M. from the China Club)true or notpoints to how unprepared and spacey he looked in the first. I can see the logic only someone still halfdrunk would have made that throw to third behind Bernie. But look how we played last night after a good nights sleep. That hot streak seems long ago and faraway. Dear Red Sox, Its my birthday, and Id like you to give me a present. After three straight losses, Id like a win tonight, and with Father Curt on the mound, I think I have a chance of getting one. Even more than a win, Id like you guys to take stock of your current situationdo you think you could do that for me? First, since the splendid (and cattily crafty) win over the Yankees on the 17th, when Red Sox pitching gave up just two runs, the Boston staff has given up an average of eleven runs per game. The starters, so good during the August run, have been horrible. Second, Baltimore continues their absolute dominance of the Red Sox, and this had better change. The regular season has now dwindled to a mere thirteen games, and seven of themthe majority, in other wordsare with these perennial Red Sox killers. Third, the Angels show signs of snapping out of their funk. They won last night, shaving a full game off your wildcard lead. You guys had better realize that wildcard deal isnt sealed yet. Yes, the Angels have six games left against the Asbut we have three left against the Yanks. Its time to start winning some damn games against Baltimore. Its been a long time since a sellout Fenway crowd was as quiet as the one last night (especially with the Yankees losing). I think they sense you guys going bad and are waiting, hoping, for you to shake it off. So am I. So start tonight with a win, okay? Because, after the glory of the last six weeks, a September choke would be dismal, indeed. Thanking you in advance, Stephen King 1035 P.M. Baseballs a funny damn game. I got my birthday present, but it was Red Sox second baseman Mark Bellhorn who gave it to me after thehomeplate umpire tried to snatch it away (and after he did snatch away Curt Schillings twentyfirst win of the season). After seven and a half innings of scoreless baseball, during which Father Curt bagged fourteen Birds by way of the K, the Red Soxwho have had to struggle far too hard for the five or so wins theyve managed against the Os this yearmanufactured a single skinny run. On came Keith Foulke, the Boston closer. He got the first two guys, then surrendered a base hit. This brought Soxwrecker Javy Lopez to the plate. Foulke, who had never surrendered a hit to Mr. Lopez before tonight, massaged the count to 02. Then, twice, he threw clear strikeswhich the umpire called balls. Finally Foulke hung a 22 slider that Lopez lost, high and gone, into the night. In the bottom of the ninth, Boston put runners on second and third with nobody out (my man Kevin Youkilis led the inning with a walk). Then David McCarty popped up and Johnny Damon struck out. Just when I was absolutely convinced that the Sox were going to scuffle to their fourth loss in as many games, this time squandering a brilliant pitching performance in the process, Bellhorn laced a double to right, winning the game and bringing the Sox out of the dugout in a joyous mob of redandwhite uniforms while the Standells played and the crowd went bonkers a little touch of Fenway magic on my birthday, not bad. And even a little something extra tonight we have a magic number in the wildcard race. Its eight. Any combination of Boston wins and Anaheim losses adding up to that number puts us in the postseason. September 22nd NESN, in a strange lateseason move, changes the format of their morning SportsDesk to thirty minutes and replaces beloved girlnextdoor anchor Jayme Parker with heavily coiffed and tailored Hazel Mae, formerly a postgame analyst (read talking head) with the Toronto Blue Jays. In an introductory guest spot between innings with Don and Jerry, she lays down a swinging patter, trying to be chummy and knowledgeable, but comes off as slick and insincere as a gameshow host, without a touch of irony. Shes a pro, no doubt, but her style is wrong for dumpy, lowbudget NESN we New Englanders distrust fasttalking outsiders. And shes talking mighty fast now, flying out ahead of herself as if shes nervousas if she suddenly realizes what shes gotten herself into. I can smell the flop sweat through the TV. Don tries to help, feeding her cues to lighten and redirect her spiel. Jerry just stands there, giving her enough rope. SO What have they done with our Jayme? And with our 15minute quickrepeating SportsDesk? Is nothing sacred? SK Hazel Mae? What kind of name is that? And, to misquote Bob Dylan, Hazel, you look so HARD!! Foulked again. For the second straight night, he gives up a bomb in the ninth to tie the game, this time to the literally hobbling Rafael Palmeiro. We go to extras, where Curtis Leskanic makes us hold our breath before getting out of a basesloaded jam with an improbable 324 DP (Pokey alertly covering first), and then Orlando Cabrera, who had a chance to win it in the ninth but ducked a pitch that would have hit him with bases juiced, knocks one onto the Monster for a walkoff and another bouncing celebration at home. SO Yi yi yi. SK Alls welle that endes welle. September 23rd The Birds are making it outrageously hard, and Keith Foulke has blown a pair of saves (one with the help of outrageously bad homeplate umpiring, tis true), but the Red Sox pulled out another one last night (walkoff home run in the bottom of the twelfth, advantage Mr. Cabrera), and the Angels dropped another one. The magic number thus drops to five, and with the Yankees loss to Toronto and New Yorks impending weekend visitto our house, even the AL East gold ring seems within our reach. This September still aint a patch on Augustbut Id have to say its improving. SK 5 This magic number brought to you courtesy of the Seattle Ms. And by the way, have you checked dem crazy Tejas Rangers lately? SO Baby, can you dig your Rangers? Dead and buried last week, but after winning four straight (and going for the sweep of the As tonight), theyre a mere three back in the West, and the As and Angels still have to tangle six times. It would be sweet to see the one truly surprising club of this season sneak in on the final weekend. And Im sure you noticed the milestones last night El Jefes 40th homer and Bellhorns 163rd K. Just numbers. Like 5. Grady Little is no longer the Red Sox manager, ostensibly for his mistrust of the bullpen in an important game. Tonight new manager Terry Francona shows his faith by resting the hardridden Mike Timlin and Keith Foulke and letting lefty specialist and submariner Mike Myers pitch to a righthanded hitter with bases loaded and the score tied in the eighth. Then in the ninth, he lets righty specialist and submariner ByungHyun Kim (no, thats not a typo) pitch to a lefthanded batter with two on. Bill Jameshell, any StratOMatic junkiecould have told you these were lowpercentage moves. Franconas trust in his idiotic luck costs us four runs, and, when Manny gets two of those back in the ninth and David Ortizs twoout, twostrike blast to right settles into David Newhans glove, proves to cost us the game. Wake up the talkradio cranks, its Grady time! (A side note Ellis Burks, wholl be retiring after the season, pinchhits in the ninth for what may be his last major league atbat. When he first came up from Pawtucket in 1987, he was a reedy outfielder just beginning to develop power. Since then hes ripped over 2,000 hits and 350 home runs (nifty trivia hes homered against every club in the majors). This year he was hurt and wasnt really part of the onfield effort, but hes a clubhouse presence and sentimental favorite. After receiving a warm standing O, Ellis fights B. J. Ryan deep into the count before blooping a single to center. At forty, on creaky knees, hes still a professional hitter. We applaud long and loud as hes lifted for a pinch runner, and he goes into the dugout with a smile. Thanks, Ellis.) SK We almost took three of four. Papi came up four yards short. Mr. Kim still with the bad karma.