Sox Diary: Where Derek (Tries) Some Perspective
I’ve got just one compound word to discourage thinking about anything beyond the glories of last night and the possibilities for tomorrow: Nineteen-eighty-six. 1986. There. How’s that for a buzzkill, a major bummer, a serious reality check? In 1986 we won the first two games of the World Series against the Mets, and we all know how that ended. Now as always I do not believe in fate or curses or any of that nonsense. But I do believe in the possible. I do believe that the Cardinals did not win 105 games out of sheer luck. I do believe that going to St. Louis will make this a very different series. I do believe that a 2-0 deficit is not insurmountable, a 2-0 lead not bulletproof.
There. I’ve said all of the right things. In cliché form: Don’t count your chickens, don’t let your eyes get too big for your belly, don’t put the cart before the horse. I am a Sox fan, so I know the history. I know what can happen. I know that what is possible and what is unlikely are one and the same. I know these things. I’ve lived these things.
Still . . . how can we not be at least a little bit giddy right now? We have a 2-0 lead against the Cardinals in a series in which we have not even played all that well. We have had consecutive games with four errors after being nearly flawless in the ten preceding postseason games. Two nights ago it was Manny, last night Bill Mueller, who looked as if the baseball was an ex-girlfriend whose eyes he was not trying to meet. And yet last night we won more convincingly than the night before, 6-2, and we took it over from the get-go and never seriously allowed the Cardinals to compete. The bats were working, with Varitek driving in two with an early triple, Bellhorn driving in two with a double in the fourth, and Cabrera driving in – yes – two with a single off the Monster in the 6th. All three big hits came with two outs.
But if that is enough to make a fan feel happy about a two-game advantage in a series that many felt had letdown written all over it, what about Curt Schilling’s performance? He did it again. On an ankle almost literally held together by spit and bailer twine (on the farm when I was a kid my grandmother used to work magic with bailer twine) and more than a little hope and imagination, Schilling had another dominant performance. He went six innings, giving up one unearned run on four hits and one walk. We are witnessing one of those special events in sports and Curt Schilling, against all odds, is bringing it to us. My guess is that there will be a lot of young men born in July, 2005 with names like “Curt Schilling Johnson” and “Schilling Curt Smith.” Hell, I’m about to get a dog, and while I usually prefer to name pets after historical figures, you have to figure that he or she will bear a name reflective of this Red Sox team.
The Sox are absolutely rolling. But of course the series switches to Busch Stadium tomorrow night. They get their home crowd, a sea of good Midwesterners wearing red, applauding the fundamentals, and saying things like “shucks, dad, I sure wish that our pitchers could figure a way to get out these pesky Red Sox hitters,” and “me too, son, me too. Want a Vanilla Coke?” And in that environment, with the crowd behind them, and the last at-bats, and the ability to play their brand of baseball, and with no designated hitter (meaning David Ortiz will play first base and Millar will come off the bench to provide pop when we need it), at least some advantage shifts to the Redbirds.
Then again, we have shut down the middle of their vaunted lineup for most of these two games. Our guys are highly unlikely to feel intimidated by the loyal fans of St. Louis given our recent experiences in the Bronx. (Johnny Damon: “Did that guy just call me a ‘dastardly rapscallion’?” Kevin Millar: “Yeah, I think he did.” Manny:"We have a game tonight?”). And while Pedro seems to have lost a step or two, especially in light of the “Who’s your Daddy” nonsense in the Bronx, I have to say, I feel pretty good about Pedro facing off against Jeff Suppan. Pedro knows a good hunk of his legacy rests with tomorrow’s start. Jeff Suppan realizes that he could not make the Red Sox’ playoff roster last year. I could be very wrong on this one, but I believe that the Red Sox can hit Jeff Suppan. I believe they can hit him very hard indeed.
There are no guarantees. But we have five potential games left in the season, and we need to win two of those to win the World Series. Two of those games, if they prove necessary, will be in Fenway Park. We have been jumping out to leads, pummeling their pitching, and getting solid relief, especially last night when Embree and Foulke were lights out and Timlin gave up one run in what was at the time a 6-1 ballgame. We have all been through too much to start popping corks and popping off. We feel good.
Two more wins. And of course we believe. Not that it matters, but others are starting to too.