Pre-Emptive Celebration, Anyone???

As the Warbler was good enough to point out, today's improbable win over the Carmine Hose reduced the Magic Number to 1.

One.

One more Red Sox loss, and it will become mathematically impossible for them to match the Yankees' all-time, combined regular-season-and-playoffs-and-World Series record of 125 wins.

Which, when you consider how no sports plays so long a season as that in baseball, probably means that no other major league team, anywhere in the world, ever, has won so many games in a single season.

Tonight's loss, in fact, ensures that no matter what happens, the Red Sox CANNOT break that record, only tie it at the very most.

Bwahahahahahaha!

To keep the Sox from clinching the AL East and celebrating on our field, something they would dearly love to do, all they need to do is win one game in this series.  Something that, judging from our offensive output vs. Nathan Eovaldi tonight is, let's face it, all but inevitable.

So...I'm calling for a pre-emptive celebration.

If, somehow, we win Wednesday night's game—again, a massive "if," more formidable than the terrible island fortress and prison of the Chateau d'If—we will have clinched our record for another year.  And we should celebrate.

Just think of how puny this will make the Red Sox and their fans feel.

To see us celebrating this incredible meta record, before they even get a chance to revel in their all-but-insignificant division title.  Think of how much of the joy it will take out of that silly little outfield dance they do, and all their champagne popping in the clubhouse.

I know, I know:  what I'm proposing would not nearly be in the league of the incredible, "Moon Big Papi" protest which this site proudly pioneered.  (Was that LBJ?  Or LB no J?)

But still.  Think how it would flummox and annoy them if, after besting David "Steroid Chin" Price our whole team and everyone associated with it, including clubhouse boys and trainers, wives and favored annies, suits and cops, all went charging into a big pig pile in the middle of the field.

If there were fireworks, and cannon firing, and that trained eagle swooping around the field picking off Red Sox stragglers, and the groundskeepers formed a conga line around the stadium that one fan after another could join on to.

Saying to the Red Sox:  we are so far, far above your petty concerns that your passing triumph cannot even touch us!  We celebrate, again, being the greatest EVER!

Think about THAT!