Last weekend, I drank extensively with two Redsockian nutcakes. Normally, you could call them "surly," "defiant" - even "wolfen." Not anymore. These days, they just pee in the litter box and say meow.
Normally, they'll talk up the Boston farm system, like it's the Hadron super-collider, capable of milling gold bars. Not anymore. Everything ended with Jackie Bradley Jr. They're even losing hope for Blake Swihart. But if you want to hurt them - (and who doesn't?) - ask about Allan Craig. God, it's wonderful. Three years ago in St. Louis, Craig hit .307 with 22 HRs, an MVP candidate. Now, he's the bane of Pawtucket, batting .268 with 3 tatters. Want to see the blood drain from a face? Mention Allan Craig. They practically recreate the climactic scene where Jerry Lewis goes from Buddy Love back into "The Nutty Professor."
Then there's Mike Napoli. Mwahahaha. I honestly think they are nearing the point of wishing they never heard the name. You know how Yank fans feel about Stephen Drew? Triple it, and you've got Boston's sense of hope with Napoli. But here's the rub: They can't dump him. He stinks at 1B and is hitting below Mendoza, but he's a local icon who famously woke up naked in the street after winning the World Series, the stuff of frat boy legend, so they're stuck with him. (Though considering how they've dealt past stars, who knows?)
But I've held the
Ten days ago, the Redsocks were streaking, ready to cut the deficit to 3 games. Had they swept the Yankees, every $100 haircut on Fox would now be yodeling how they are the team to beat. But the rug got pulled. Yeah, it's the Angels who swept them, not us. But those two wins in Boston, for my money, that was the ACME super scooter that blew up on poor old Wile E. And right now, they're standing on the side of the road, 9 out, wondering what happened. Rain in California. What a beautiful sight.