Uh, yeah. Perhaps
I should not have been so hubristic.
A dose of
humility may be just what the doctor ordered. So, Wake,
could you please float like butterfly tonight? A
win would be much-appreciated.
In the mean
time, I’m gonna try to erase the memory of that tragic waste
of a dynamite Beckett outing by thinking back on my honeymoon, where I was
surprised to discover that Red Sox nation extends south easterly to the British
overseas territory of Bermuda.
One of our cab
driver’s cars was bedecked in Olde
Towne Team paraphernalia (he didn’t miss Manny either). One friendly cashier
filled us in on the details of the previous
night’s game. (You can get NESN down there — and the NBC affiliate at the
hotel, weirdly, was WHDH.) And at The
Swizzle Inn, the island’s oldest pub, the flag out front proudly trumpets its
Ten things about one-run games.
Recipe for Rum Swizzle. (Not to be abused after one-run losses.)