Good.
That was my first impression watching the Sox get taken out behind the woodshed by, in no particular order, the entire Rays batting order, Joe Maddon, the TBS announcers, two beer vendors, a small log and some chickens.
If being embarrassed in front of the home town team, if hearing the crowd rain boos down on the likes of the Captain himself, is what it takes to wake these guys up, to remind them that they're the defending World Series champions until someone can wrestle the trophy out of their hands, then I'm fine with it.
Because I know we've been here before. I've seen the boys in deeper holes, staring at 3-0 deficits, watching the likes of A-Rod and Jeets playing slap-ass on our turf. And we were able to turn things around. Can we do it again? I don't see why not.
It ain't gonna be easy. Not so long as Ellsbury and Tek keep hitting a robust .000 for the series. Or The Large Father remains possessed by the evil spirit of Lee Tinsley. And whenever your hopes rest on Timmy Wakefield's shoulders, it's safe to assume that you'll be watching the game from the corner of Heart Attack and Vine.
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