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Fight club

If nothing else this October, we’ll have this.

Good Lord.

What is it with these guys?

Is there something hardwired in their DNA that makes it difficult to thrive in any situation other than teeth-grinding adversity? Are they like a writer (say, like me perhaps?) who’s able to produce only with a Damoclean deadline looming over his head?

That was something to see last night.

Something I sorta still can’t believe I saw.

I’m still pretty skeptical that we’ll be moving much further forward. But at the very least they raged — and raged, and raged — against the dying of the light.

Solid relief work. Quality at-bats. Taking pitches. Fouling them off. Finding the gaps.

And, yeah, booming, well-timed bombs.

This is how it’s done. I’m glad to know they hadn’t forgotten.

So we’re heading back down south. Going inside. To a place where Upton and Longoria won’t have that friendly GreenMonster to golf balls over anymore.

One has to think, their protestations notwithstanding, all these young dudes are getting just a little bit tense. Let’s try to exploit that. Let’s try to pitch like we need to pitch, and hit like we did for three mind-blowing innings last night.

May the best team win.

And anyone at Fenway who booed Ortiz last night shouldn’t be allowed to watch.

 

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