Tonight, Boston fears it more than the fiery bat of Robbie Cano.
Tonight, when we return to the pit of our fears to face demons that have beaten us eight out of nine times, we have Karma in our lineup.
They simply can't beat us forever. Right, Karma of the Universe? Are you watching? Have you been keeping tabs? Because nobody wins them all. They simply can't beat us every single frickin time -- which is what 8-1 is.
On paper, Boston should own us tonight. We're throwing the long washed-up watertank, Bartolo Colon, who has more chins than pitches. By now, everybody expected Colon to be greeting at some drug cartel casino. Instead, he has staked a claim on Comeback Player of the Year and become our game two playoffs starter. If he keeps it up, he has seriously elevated his status as a potential Hall of Famer.
He pitches against Jon Lester, the modern Yankee killer, whose mere presence melts our bats like wax. This shouldn't be a fair fight, if not for you, o, Karma of the Universe. We know you're out there, and dammit, you've got to be on our side.
Everybody knows 8-1 cannot last. Everybody.
You're move, Karma. Time to show us what you got.
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