I had a talk with a Redsock fan Sunday; their boundless malevolence and fury is a cause for worry

Yesterday, I had the misfortune of meeting up with a Redsock fan at an otherwise enjoyable street festival. He carried a half-gallon jug full of tequila, apple juice and jalapenos, from which he suckled greedily. He wore a camouflage cap with a red "B." Before I could flee, he leaped upon me like Brett Cavanaugh, and had me in his pincers.

Had I seen the standings lately? Had I been following the pennant race? Who did I think should be MVP, Mookie or Martinez? Had I been watching?

I pivoted coolly and brought out my best card:

"So," I asked, "who pitches game one? David Price? 

He glared at me. 

"Game one, David Price," he said. "He will shut down the Yankees, and from that point on, it will be over."

Listen: These Boston blowhards... they don't want to beat us. They want to humiliate us. They want to drag our carcass through the streets. They want to parade through the Bronx, waiving our soiled underwear like a pennant flag. They don't want us dead. They want to keep our brains charged with electricity, so we can watch them dance on our gravestones.  

And they are so gassy with hubris that if we wave a bottle opener at them, they might explode into a thousand parts. They think this is the greatest team in Boston history, and the World Series will be theirs...  

As long as Joe Kelly doesn't have to pitch. 

Yes, Virginia, there is a Boston version of Sonny Gray. His name is Joe. And if we can somehow get to his "hundred mile per hour fastball" - (it would mean avoiding Stephen Wright) - all bets are off. The lone smirk to be wiped off the Boston fan's face... it was Joe Kelly.

Still, this conversation came while Boone's Buffoons were losing to the Buck's Clucks, with the worst Yankee news yet to come: Didi Gregorius has a slightly torn cartilage in his wrist.  

When a star goes down, great teams rally. By that measurement, the 2018 Yankees don't qualify. 

Earlier in the season, Boston lost Mookie Betts for a couple weeks. They never skipped a beat. Then it was Chris Sales. Nothing. Players stepped up. That's why they now have the final week to rest their horses.

When Aaron Judge went down, the Yankees installed Shane Robinson in RF. When Didi bruised his heel, Gleyber Torres moved to SS and made 5 errors in 19 games. And nobody, not even El Chapo himself, has replaced Aroldis Chapman as a competent Yankee closer. 

Now comes Didi's wrist, which with other teams would mean an immediate shutdown. The Yankees will wait and see. But if we've learned anything, it's that the Yankees lie about injuries. Judge was supposed to return in three weeks. It won't matter how much Didi and the Yankees are in denial. Nobody hits with a bum wrist. The Yankees hope to play the entire month of October. Didi will never make a month. It's over, at least for him.

For that, let's thank the 2018 Yankee Game Template: We score a few runs early, then take the rest of the game off. It's what happened Saturday, forcing Didi into the headfirst, game-winning slide that wrecked his wrist. It's what happened Sunday, while I was being mocked and catcalled, like a liberal on Fox & Friends. Watch out for the Wild Card, folks: If we score a quick two runs, it might be all we see. 

And make no mistake here: Boston doesn't want to just beat us. They want to drink our blood and eat our livers.