Well I haven’t seen a turn around like this (from last to first in one season) since Richard Nixon poisoned George Romney’s cream seltzer. David Ortiz not only crushed the ball almost every time he came up, but he also got on base more than anyone in World Series history including Lou Gehrig. Talk about “locked in”! What amazes me the most, is that the General Manager Ben Cherrington brought all these players to the team during the off season—Gomes, Victorino, Uehara, Ross, Drew, and Napoli. Genius! Even my sister who couldn’t care less about sports watched the game and called me when it was over, exulting about the beauty of the victory—first home win in the series for Boston since 1918. And silly old Fenway Park, painted, repaired, but still outdated and dented, and lovely—the last standing old time park. And Johnny Gomes! With his billy goat gruff beard leading them all in Walt Whitman hirsute pursuits! Walt would want to kiss every one of them! And Ortiz is entirely beloved in Boston in a profound way. There will be a street named after him. “Big Papi Cul de Sac!”
I drank two Sam Adams and then shifted to Diet Coke so I wouldn’t pass out in the 6th inning.
Its funny but I knew in June the Sox would be in the Series—the pitching was lights out all season, and the ability of almost everyone to make the big play was consistent and finally, so routine it was reliable. In my experience there’s a moment in every championship sports team where they go from being damned good to superbly reliable. I remember in ’85 seeing this with Larry Bird. But Bird ain’t got no street named after him and mark my words, there will be Ortiz de Sac.
Meantime Dad, things down here are execrable. Republicans destroying the middle class; racism out of the cage; toxic dumping and environmental crises; religious zealots; but hey, for one night we had a Red Sox wheelbarrow glazed with happy tears.
Planet of the Blind 