Game 7: Hello, Old Friend
This is familiar territory. This game is no different than the last two. This is no different than years past.
As game six progressed from “sure thing” to “laughable” it became frustrating. Not because the outcome was in doubt, but because Eric Wedge would finally get a chance to really bury himself in sh*t, and he blew it. The Indians pen was not burnt to a crisp, merely roasted to a nice golden brown. If only we saw Betancourt — the Moby Dick to our Captain Ahab. Touche, Monsiuer Wedge. We’ll see you in hell.
The Red Sox are, once again, the best team in baseball. They’re back on the doorstep of the ultimate goal, one win away from the biggest of dances. It’ll take a solid performance from Diasuke Matsuzaka, and the offense to show up again.