As we get ready for the second game of the World Series to start in just over an hour, I realized something important (albeit not very revolutionary): we survived. Red Sox fans did not simultaneously combust after Sunday night, nor curl up in a corner weeping uncontrollably, nor go on rampages throughout New England burning cars and getting in fights. I'm not sure why, but most folks expected the whole of Soxdom to fall apart... and yet.

We're, surprisingly, dealing just fine thank you very much. Disappointed, nostalgic and a tad wistful - but not angry, and not heartbroken.

How and why is it that this year everyone seems to be dealing with the whole "on the brink, and then oops you're eliminated"? Commenter Maggie thought about that question, and earlier this week put together her Top Ten Reasons I Will Survive a World Series without the Red Sox.

What are your reasons? (top 10 or otherwise)

Hit it, Maggie!

I've recently started getting questions about how I will react now that the Sox won't be participating in the World Series. Coming up with this list does not mean that I love the Red Sox less or make me a lapsing Sox fan - I named my cat "Pedey" after a small, scrappy, hairy 2B! El Caballito don't give up that easily! - but really just a realistic one.

So in thinking about my reaction, I would like to share with you my Top Ten Reasons I Will Survive a World Series without the Red Sox:

1. The Tampa Bay Rays are fucking good. They are the hottest team in baseball, hands down. They came out of nowhere, their fans (all 10 of them) were hoping for .500 ball this year, and they've shocked everyone with how consistent they are. They've made history by winning 30+ more games this year than last year. They've been in the bottom for so long that they've gotten the first pick in the draft for many years in a row. This rise was inevitable. Whether it's sustainable is a different story.

2. The Red Sox are beat up and bruised. Yes, there was a chance that the Sox could have come back. History could have repeated itself. However, it would have been much more likely if we had a healthy Mike Lowell & JD Drew, or if Big Papi were making contact with the ball that didn't end in a pop-up, or Jason Varitek had more than one postseason hit (sorry Cap'n).

However, I'm still REALLY PROUD of my boys. Had they gone down in Game 5, I would have been more heartbroken, because it felt like they were out-matched and giving up. But that almost impossible (.06% chance!) comeback followed by two stellar pitching performances by Beckett and Lester made me feel like they really took it one-day-at-a-time, executing one (fucking) pitch at a time. There has been no fighting, no bitterness, no John-Lackey-esque "we were better than them!" sentiments; they lost the Series without losing their pride, grace or dignity.

3. Philadelphia is a hungry city. As much as I complain(ed?) while living in Philly, I really enjoyed my 3 years there, and some of my fondest memories were spontaneous trips to the Vet to see Pat Burrell and J.Roll. I can only imagine how crazy that city is going right now, with the Phillies going to the World Series for the first time in 15 years ... and it will be much easier to cheer for my National League team roots if they are not playing against the only team I love more.

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In the end, 2008 was not to be. The Sox fought valiantly in the face of naysayers, haters and an onslaught of injuries... but the fuel in the tank was not enough to take them victoriously to the ultimate finish. Battling back from (another) playoff deficit brought them to the brink, but didn't push them over the line. Their story didn't finish this year with another magical ending. It just ended.

I can't say I'm not sad, that I'm not disappointed. We always want to have it all, especially after we've tasted what it's like to be at the top. But damn it, I'm still proud. Proud of the team, proud of the season, and proud to have been a part of a city that so fully embraces the sport of baseball and the team that I love so much. 2008 was one helluva rollercoaster, and I'm happy to have been able to tag along for the ride. The high peaks are only as exhilarating as they are because of those low valleys you dip through along the way. And this season had its share of both. As a fan, you can't ask for much more than that.

The loss is hard to take. There's no way around that. But half of the agony is not just saying goodbye to the hope of another title, it's saying goodbye to baseball. The companion that's been around since March, that's filled the days and nights for almost 8 months. The pal that you've snuck in a radio for on long summer days at work, the buddy that you've kicked back with a beer for at the end of a long day, the friend that you've bundled up for in April, sweated your ass off with in July, and bundled up for again in October.... that's suddenly, harshly, gone. When the Sox exited the season tonight, we weren't just saying goodbye to the team, we were saying goodbye to that constant called baseball. I'm not really sure which is harder to stomach.

Then again, that's the brilliance of baseball. It'll sting for a week, it will feel like a punch to the gut every time you see an ad for the World Series, and you'll wonder whether you can even stand to watch the games at all. But in the end, we'll all watch (and cheer for Philly, of course) because the allure of the game is just too powerful. And after the sting wears off, the 2009 season will already be beckoning tantalizingly on the horizon.

In the end, 2008 was not to be. But I can't wait to see what 2009 brings.

The Rays learned last night what so many who have gone before them have learned: never count the Red Sox out. Because even when it looks like they may be dead on arrival, the Sox have a funny knack for rising from the dead. In the words of Deadspin commenter AugieOjedaFanClub:

Red Sox = Jason Voorhees

Oh its safe to go home. We shot Jason 8 times and buried him under that slab of cement.

Oh it's safe to turn off the tv. I guess the Red Sox just didn't have it this year.

You turn around and look back, and there are dead teenagers everywhere.

Last night's miraculous, come-from-behind, "holy cow, did you see that?" walkoff win did a lot more than keep the Sox alive in the postseason... it was a weed killer.

It killed off every bandwagon fan who jumped on when the going was good, and jumped off again when the Sox were down 7-0 and 3 games to 1. It killed off every pink hat who professed deep and undying love for the squad, but became oddly disinterested once Jacoby didn't start and the Sox weren't winning. It kept the See And Be Seen people out of the stands at Fenway, and left room for the diehards who bleed Red Sox red. It humiliated the malcontents who booed Papi (BOOED PAPI?!? WHAT. THE. FUCK.). It shut up the TBS crew who were already counting their unhatched chickens. It shamed the unfaithful who didn't learn their lesson in 2004, or 2007, and went to bed early... missing the greatest comeback in modern day playoff history.

No matter what happens from here on out, last night's game was a turning point. The weeds have officially been killed... and hopefully for good.

I think this whole city, just now, started breathing again.

That one was for the haters, the doubters and the TBS broadcast crew. The battle is far from over, but sweet JESUS was that beautiful.

Of course you know this means we're now required to listen to "Eye of the Tiger" before every game.

It's almost go time. And the Sox are 27 outs away from being out of time. I figured now was the perfect opportunity to pull out the big guns. The ammunition that is guaranteed to get you hyped and superubermegapumped and ready to go.

That's right. It's Eye of the Tiger time.

So crank up the volume on your speakers, get your best air guitar goin', and get ready to ROCK OUT.

Maybe this'll channel some of that Philly mojo our way?

It's about time to call on the combined powers of awesome that encircle two of the biggest Red Sox folk heroes... neither of whom happen to play in Boston any longer.

If only TBS were as awesome as FOX (there's a sentence I thought I'd never type), we might get a repeat of this video below tonight... but alas, I believe we'll just have to content ourselves with last year's Kevin Millar pep talk. Hey- it worked back then...

OK, so we may not have Manny or Curt, but we have Bay and Dice-K. And not only do we have Kevin Millahhhh, we also have the power of the Trotter on our side.

Wondertwin powers, activate!

The other teams had their turn at this. Now, staring up at 3-1 deficit, it's our turn. A sample smattering of chatter about the Sox from the guys on the other our side of the field.

By all accounts, we are dead. Roadkill. Scragglers whose pitchers can't hold any lead that our dismal offense might get lucky enough to conjure. Lame duck champions who are hours away from having to surrender the trophy we'd fought so hard to reclaim. Every time the Rays hit the ball, it finds a gap, the wall, or Mass Ave. Every time we hit the ball, when we actually do hit the ball, it finds a glove. None of this bodes well for our chances to take three straight.

Which means it's time to turn it on.

You know, like we did after that embarrassment in game three of the 2004 ALCS. Or after last year's postseason meltdowns against the Indians. We do our best work when it's win or go home. And all of a sudden, it's win or go home.

We choose to go to the moon and fall behind in the ALCS and these othah things not because they are easy, but because they are hahd.

The last 16 times that an ALCS went to 3 games to 1 in the series, 12 times the team with the 3-1 advantage has gone on to win the series. Three times the other team has reeled off three straight wins to take the series. The 16th time is this season's playoff scenario.

The three teams to pull off the unlikely three-game heist of the ALCS you ask?

The Red Sox...all three times. In 1986, 2004 and then last season after falling down by a 3-1 deficit to the Cleveland Indians.

Which 90's dance song best describes Game 4?
* "Run Away" by Real McCoy. [I can't watch this.]
* "I like to move it" by Reel 2 Real. [Stampede to the exits.]
* "Dreams (Will Come Alive)" by 2 Brothers on the 4th Floor. [Nightmares manifest.]
* I hate dance music. I hate the 90s. I hate Jason Varitek. I hate Tim Wakefield. I hate life.

It is familiar territory, this hole.

It's like that distant cousin who comes to stay every year for a week at about this time, uninvited, unwelcome and unwanted. Putting his feet on the furniture, eating all your food, and then getting drunk on an old bottle of peach schnapps and barfing all over your rug. Just when you think it can't get any worse, he "borrows" your car and runs it into a tree... and, of course, he doesn't have insurance. And even though this guy is family, you hate him. You hate his visits, you dread hearing him ring the doorbell, your stomach curdles because you know what lies ahead. And it sucks.

And yet. It seems that lately, somehow he manages to leave you better off than when he shows up. After his hellish stay, as he's jamming all his faded Ocean Pacific tshirts into his high school gym bag that serves as his suitcase, you look around and realize that he's somehow managed to fix the coffee table, restock the pantry, steam clean the carpets and hammer out that tree-sized dent in the car. And on his way out the door, as he gives you that big old bear hug that you only get from family members, you realize: you're actually going to miss him. Because without him showing up and fucking everything up so royally, you never could appreciate the aftermath and recovery so acutely.

So it's that time again. The time when we're standing at the bottom of a very big hole indeed (although there have been deeper holes, to be sure), and peering up at the blue sky above. We're used to this hole. We've been down here before. And even though we're not able to climb out of that hole every year in time to see the rest of October before it passes by, maybe this year we will. Maybe, despite the setbacks and injuries and cold bats and Rayknob-slobbering press, the men in red can pull it together and dig their way out to keep October alive.

Grab a shovel, and start digging.

Please allow me to summarize Game 3:

COACH FARRELL: Now is the time, young Lester. The time to turn the tide, the time to stop the cowbell, the time to regain the lead. The time to cement your postseason reputation into a legitimate legacy. The time to deliver your team, NAY, your kingdom and all of your subjects from the devil that is Tampa and send their "fans" on to the next local bandwagon. The time to ascend the throne of awesome, and rain down fastballs upon those who are not believers. The time to taste victory.

JON: Do you think Josh will like this shirt I'm wearing?

A sample smattering of chatter about the Sox from the guys on the other side of the field.

"You can't go down 0-2 and head to Boston," Cliff Floyd said. "You do that, you might as well start pulling out some wardrobe boxes. I mean, let's be real."

Rays Index:

We said this before the series, but it is worth repeating, anybody that says the regular season means nothing now just isn't paying attention. With the Rays winning the second and third game of the September series in Fenway and maintaining their lead in the AL East, it proved to the players that they can win in Boston.

Tampa Tribune:

No longer do the Rays view the Red Sox - and Fenway Park in particular - as an insurmountable obstacle. As they begin a three-game set today, they can turn to their triumphs here in September and Saturday night's breathtaking 11-inning victory at Tropicana Field as proof that they can handle the defending world champions under just about any circumstances.

Rays Of Light:

Just when you think you know the Rays, they suprise you again and win with a slugfest against a Boston team that has done that all year. I know I'll be tired today but it was worth it listening to Rays history. It must also be a sign that the final score was 9 to 8 Rays with the Maddon philosophy of 9=8. This ALCS isn't going to be over in 4. If the Rays can take one of the games in Boston, then come back all tied up at 2, they can win the series at the Trop. We still have a lot of baseball left!

A sample smattering of chatter about the Sox from the guys on the other side of the field.

The American League Championship Series arrived in the sport's loneliest outpost Friday night, and it looked and felt exactly the way postseason baseball should.

Sellout crowd, tense game and a post-midnight ending. There was no cool October breeze inside Tropicana Field, but on the other hand, they did find the most annoying American Idol singer available.

All in all, it was a perfect ALCS debut for Tampa Bay.

Other than, you know, the lack of runs.

Rays Report:

The Rays won 97 games during the regular season and beaty [sic] Boston 10 out of 18 times to win the AL East for the first time in franchise history and gain home field advantage for the ALCS. They lost that edge in one hard fought, closely contested game Friday night in front of a sold-out stadium that included a fair number of Red Sox fans, but was dominated by Rays supporters.

One more thing you couldn't have said about this team, or this place, before this season.

Her Rays:

There is one huge issue that needs to be addressed immediately. Ever since Evan Longoria was spotted at the USF game in the vicinity of a girl with a very nice set of boobies, he's been stinkin it up at the plate. This can not be happening right now. He does not even look his normal comfortable self. There is only one solution. Get him a flat chested girl stat. He needs to balance the scales. That way he can go 4-0 not 0-4, and stay out of excruciating inning ending double plays.

Tampa Tribune:

There it was, a brightly wrapped moment for the Can't Miss Kid named Evan Longoria.

As he came to the plate in the eighth inning Friday night, two men were on and he represented the go-ahead run in an evening the Rays spent chasing the Boston Red Sox. As we have seen so frequently this summer, Longoria thrives on stages such as these. Even his tormentor, Boston starter Daisuke Matsuzaka, was out of the game. You could picture the ball rocketing toward the left-field bleachers to pull another one out for the Rays. Or perhaps it would clank off one of the catwalk rings. But surely he would do something dramatic.

Alas, he did.

On a 2-0 pitch, he swung at would have been ball 3. Two pitches later, he grounded routinely to short. As soon as the ball left Longoria's bat, you knew. Everyone of the 35,001 at the Trop knew.

Double play.

Longoria slammed his helmet to the ground in real anger as he crossed first base.

Opportunity lost.

Game lost.

Rays Of Light:

Every single time the Rays loaded the bases, they shot themselves in the foot. The first inning was pretty much the whole game. The Rays load bases through walks. The Rays strand baserunners because no one can get an RBI. Shields had a good game but Dice K pitched a 4 hitter. The home field advantage vanished last night. Tonight is a must win game with Kazmir taking the mound. If the Rays lose both games at home, the prospects look bleak. I'm not saying it's over but the trends show that most 0 - 2 teams don't win the ALCS.

hu·bris (hyü-brəs) n. Excessive pride or presumption; arrogance. See, also:

And anyone who buys one of these should be ashamed.

Hat tip: Soxy Lady.

In an exclusive scoop, the Outside Track girls can now reveal that the dirt dog Red Sox have been caught cheating... and have taken up with a brand new rival!

That's right: the Sox-Yanks rivalry lost so much heat, the Sox apparently were forced to look down South for a new plaything.... and the racy Rays from Tampa were just the ticket! We even have photographic evidence of the heat these two AL East teams generate together:

Sources say that although the teams have flirted with rivalry for the better part of a decade, they finally seemed to come together as true rivals during a fortuitous day back in June of this year. They've been inseparable ever since, united in hate.

When asked for comment, Hank Steinbrenner responded with a flurry of unintelligible cuss words, and George Steinbrenner asked for another sandwich. Calls to the Sox and Rays were not immediately returned, although we did receive an emailed photo of Dustin Pedroia flexing his biceps while wearing a "Welcome To The Gun Show" shirt.

Never.

A sample smattering of chatter about the Sox from the guys on the other side of the field.

Who was that dressed Sunday in Josh Beckett's uniform?

Considering that Beckett was a shell of himself in Game 3, Mike Lowell can hardly move without wincing and American League most-valuable-player candidate Dustin Pedroia is still looking for his first hit, it's a wonder the Red Sox lead the series.

The only reason for Red Sox fans to celebrate early this morning was that, for the first time in the series, a game ended before 1 a.m. EDT.

Halos Heaven:

I thought we were dead when that pop-up dropped and this may be it, and if it is, it is slightly sweet, knowing that Chowd nation will all be late for work, or find out about the Angels win at work and have to rearrange their useless northeastern ice and sleet lives to see the game that will start late so that TBS can have ratings dollars from the well-tanned and rested west coast fans.

It would be nice to win tonight, it was nice to win last night, in the cold, wet Boston morning. Our faith has been restored, but even with their backs against the wall, John Lackey is the man you want to have on the mound and the pressure is where you want right where it is: on Team Lovable Nation. You know, the team that swaggered with a 3-run pop-up; the team that couldn't wipe its a s s with the bases loaded against Francisco Rodriguez; the team that bowed and said "yes, master" to Jered Weaver in his first-ever relief appearance; the team that held Paul Byrd back in the pen.

Daily News:

It was the laziest of popups that threatened to eat at the Angels until spring training.

When Howie Kendrick and Torii Hunter let a second-inning pop fly from Jacoby Ellsbury fall untouched on the outfield grass in shallow center field, playoff history was made.

Instead of being the final out of the inning, the popup instead cleared the bases and put the Red Sox in the lead in a game they needed to win to advance to the American League Championship Series. Never before in the playoffs had a single allowed three runs to score.

OC Register:

Put the game plan in the shredder and spend five hours and 19 minutes on the edge. That, apparently, is how you beat the Red Sox, 5-4 in 12 innings. The Angels now trail by two games to one, but their self-esteem is at .500, at least.

You know what they say. The 101st victory is the toughest.

In Play, No Outs:

I was joking with the people around me during the 11th inning that "neither team wants to win this game." But the Angels did. This win is a hallmark of successful Angels baseball, and for that, bravo, boys.

6-4-2:

Yet despite the confusion, despite the impressive string of stupid plays that the Angels seem to invent every time the face Boston in the postseason, they were saved by a pair of home runs by Mike Napoli, who stood alone among the Halos as doing almost everything right; indeed, it was his leadoff single in the 12th that Aybar (the forgotten man in the Angels' second inning trio of suck) eventually got him home from second on an RBI single.

The best, though, is the inanity of those LA sports writers and fans who try to dream up some sort of curse for the Angels. Seriously.

Yes, poor, poor Angels. God knows how they've survived not winning a World Series since... 5 years ago. Lord only knows the pain it must cause them not to have won a playoff game (before last night) since... 2005. How shitty life must be not to have won the division since... this year! And also last year! They really are suffering under a cursed sign. Please, Angels fans, I implore you: go bitch about your "curse" to the Pirates. Or the Indians. Or the Royals. Or the Brewers. OR THE CUBS.

Look, losing isn't fun. Folks in this town know plenty about that. But you are not allowed to call a few years of playoff failure a "curse". Ever. Go 100+ years without a World Series victory, and then we can talk.

A sample smattering of chatter about the Sox from the guys on the other side of the field.

The Angels almost beat the Red Sox at their own game, taking pitches and taking walks, then taking our emotions from despair to anticipation and back, then doing it again.

They had us believing. They were down four runs in the first inning, three runs in the fifth inning, two runs in the seventh inning, one run in the eighth.

And then -- holy Scott Spiezio! -- the Angels had tied the game. All even, into the ninth, with their record-setting closer on the mound.

David Ortiz, double. J.D. Drew, home run. Red Sox 7, Angels 5.

Halos Heaven:

Friday's game was grueling, but I was so pumped at the comeback to tie the game tonight that I thought, consciously, that the pain was finally over. I was pain free for about 3 seconds. And then Frankie threw that pitch to J.D. Drew.

Daily News:

Boston swept the Angels in the 2004 and 2007 division series and have defeated the Angels in 11 consecutive playoff games, dating to 1986. In Game 3, Sunday in Boston, the Angels must stay alive against Boston starter Josh Beckett, who has a 6-0career playoff record.

That will require putting together both hitting and pitching, something the Angels have yet to do in this series.

In Play, No Outs:

For all my criticism of Boston, their team has been run admirably over the last few years, with an emphasis on player development that stresses OPS over AVG and RISP2 hitting. The Angels have produced seemingly millions of slap-hitting outfielders, and in the American League, few teams are outslugged by the boys in red. Unless Moreno plans on extending the outfield walls to 600 feet away from the plate, the Halos will not win without more power. Too bad Teixeira is leaving.

OC Register:

Now the Angels trail Boston, 2-0, in a division deries that could end Sunday night in Fenway Park. The two have only met in three playoff series since 1986. Really, just three. It just seems like one of those annual ordeals, like April 15, or NFL draft day.

6-4-2:

I'm seriously thinking about not renewing my season tickets. I don't use half of them and when they get to the postseason, they roll over and die. This is just an obscenity. Seriously, guys, just take the draft picks for Tex and K-Fraud and rebuild.

Losers. Choke artists. I'm not watching Sunday. There's no point anymore.

A sample smattering of chatter about the Sox from the guys on the other side of the field.

It took the Angels six months to earn home-field advantage, three hours to lose it. It took the Angels six months to win 100 games, three hours to turn their next game into a must-win.

It took the Angels six months to build themselves into World Series favorites, with Mark Teixeira and an offense fortified for October, three hours to resurrect all those nagging questions, to remind us good pitching alone cannot beat good hitting.

Halos Heaven:

John Lackey was great. Garret Anderson had the audacity of hope. Darren Oliver was great. Torii Hunter was great. Teixeira was okay. Scot Shields was terrible. Vlad was October Vlad but will suffer the biggest criticisms while it was Howie Kendrick choking that cost us this game.

The Angels have dug themselves a hole, so we will now see if they are as resilient and competent as the 2002 Halo squad

Daily News:

Armed with the homefield advantage in the ALDivisional Series on Wednesday night, the Red Sox limping into Anaheim like wounded revolutionary soldiers with drums, fifes and flags, and Manny Ramirez safely relocated to the Dodgers, the Angels again assumed the position against their nemesis.

They dropped a 4-1 decision in front of 44,996. It was 2-1 into the ninth, which sounds like a taut game, but the word has more to do with the way the Angels' collars bunch whenever they see New England's finest.

The Halo Is Lit:

As disappointing as last night's game was, it was made worse by having to listen to TBS's broadcasting team of Chip Carey and Buck Martinez's game-long, incessant verbal suck job of the Red Sox team. It was ridiculous as to how much time they spent going on and on about Lester, Ortiz, Ellsbury, et.al.

OC Register:

Sure, teams have come back from bigger deficits than 2-0 in the postseason. The Red Sox, for example, did it against the Yankees not long ago.

But the Angels winning three in a row against Boston? Two of which would be at Fenway Park? Please.

In Play, No Outs:

I shouldn't have to root for a god damned hit by pitch in the bottom of the ninth to get the tying run to the plate. Papelbon throws straight fastballs. Mike Lowell is hurt. Try bunting for a base hit. Play Angels baseball. For some reason, every time October rolls around, Scioscia thinks he's managing the Yankees and stops doing the little things that make him a good manager and his team fundamentally sound during the regular season.

6-4-2:

The excruciating sameness of this game compared to the 2007 or 2005 (against the White Sox anyway) or 2004 postseasons was just numbing. True, the Angels went through so much this year, beating the Red Sox in the regular season both soundly and reliably, and yet when all was said and done, the Angels really didn't have an answer different from those other postseasons.

Some celebrated with many.

Some celebrated alone.

But they all celebrated... together. As a team.

This is 2008. This is not 2007 or 2004. This team is not the goofy collection of misfits and cowboys from 4 years ago. And despite the many familiar faces, this team is not a carbon copy of the team a year ago.

It seemed natural enough last year to try and compare the (basically incomparable) teams from those championship years... but it's time to stop the comparisons. To stop judging the team's success in 2008 based on the sentimentally insurmountable yardsticks used in 2007 and 2004. To stop agonizing over former long-haired and/or dreadlocked players who have departed for coasts near and far. To stop bemoaning "just making it in the playoffs", and acting lethargic over anything short of total domination. Because this 2008 team is never going to be the 2007 or 2004 team.

We wrapped ourselves in a cocoon during the offseason, when everything seemed to be falling into place for an easy path with a near-identical cast of characters. Like we'd be able to slip right back into another year like an old comfy pair of slippers. But injuries, rookies, more injuries and Scott Boras have shaped the Sox into an entirely different group of men. This year's team has its own identity- strangely familiar but yet oddly exotic. And if the hand they are dealt means they have to scrap to bring home the hardware (instead of coasting to the top)... by golly, that's what they're gonna do.

This is 2008. And it's a whole new ballgame.

First, there was video of the final out and on-field celebrations.

Now, there's video of what happened next.

When the champagne flowed like cheap beer, and the cheap beer flowed like champagne. When no person was safe from getting drenched with one or the other -- except, apparently, Tito. When Heidi Watney poses inane questions to progressively less-sober ballplayers. When Jonathan Papelbon steals ballpark property and hands it out like party souvenirs. When an army of baby Sox were let loose on the Fenway turf. When even Billy the Bullpen Cop got to cut loose.

Quote of the night:

Josh Beckett (to Mike Lowell): That cigar makes you smell like a hamster.

Mike Lowell: Well, I've been called worse things, so I take that as a compliment. But, as long as Josh can pitch and not curse in the dugout, we'll be fine.

Part 1: The tarp-covered locker room, the bullpen cop gets his, Papelbon sprays the Fenway crowd, Coco Crisp and Big Papi get interviewed.

Lots more video -- parts 2, 3 & 4 -- after the jump!

Continue reading »

Let's see how many raucous (and slightly disturbing) ways we can photograph the champagne-drenched playoff celebrations, shall we?

Lots more, after the jump...

Continue reading »

Bye-bye, Victor Martinez.
Hello, postseason.

And a special fond farewell to the Yankees. It was a pleasure eliminating you.

Only Sean Casey would make sure and snag Justin Masterson to capture a Top 5 Playoff Clinching Moments List on camera in the middle of an insane clubhouse.

Was that David Aardsma who blew cigar smoke across the lens of the camera?

Sometimes I really, really love baseball.

Today was one of those times. Tomorrow, fortune could change, the bats could go cold, the pitching could fall apart, the standings could change. But for now, I'm just going to sit back and enjoy this:

Next to 0 and 0.5, 1 is just about the best number around. And after the collapse against the Rays last week, I will certainly take that 1.0 and wave it around in the air like I just don't care.

Another awesome number? 6.0. That shore does look purty.

Dustin Pedroia is certainly amused.

Smart move to turn away from Lyle Overbay's (deserved) bitchfest at the umpire, so that Mr. Yellypants doesn't see him laughing.

If you listen very closely, and can block out the deafening silence from all those empty seats in "sold out" Yankee Stadium tonight...

...you can almost hear the sound of guys in pinstripes calling for their mommies.

I don't care what anyone says: if you're a Sox fan (or a Yanks fan), there is never a boring Sox-Yanks series. Ever.

Even when you're in the middle of a long season stretched out even further by starting off early in Japan. Even when your team is riddled with injuries and barely limping along through the dog days of August. Even when your starting pitching is thinner than flypaper (and your bullpen ain't much thicker). Even when you've already played each other 15 bajillion times this year, and will play each other yet again in a few weeks. Even with the ESPN-slobbering and ridiculous hype.

I don't care 'bout any of that. It's still Sox-Yanks. It's still fighting for a playoff spot I still hate them. It's still riveting.

BONUS for this series: we get to wave goodbye to the toilet that is Yankee Stadium, and send it off to that big trashheap in the sky.

FIRE UP, PEOPLE!

Last night's third inning blitz put the Orioles on top of the Red Sox, and the Sox were not able after that to come from behind for the win. That same third inning, though, brought two highlights for the game reel that you just don't see very often.

First, Kevin Cash dallies around holding the ball and chatting it up with the home plate ump and looking around at nothing in particular after a called ball four... and Melvin Mora seizes on the opportunity to steal an additional base. Fundamentals, Kevin. You have to pay attention.

And then, in the very next at-bat, Ramon Hernandez goes yard-- and Coco Crisp makes a spectacular attempt at a Web Gem catch, catapulting himself completely up and over the outfield wall.

The Sox may have run through pitchers like water through a sieve, but there's still never a dull moment.

Within, oh, MINUTES of the end of tonight's travesty of a game, Clay Buchholz was optioned back down to the minor leagues. More specifically, he's going down to AA-Portland.

Correcting the "drift" doesn't help very much, Clay, if you've got zero command.

Eck mused on the situation after the game, and reckons we won't see Clay pitching as a starter in Boston any time soon. I'm inclined to agree with him. The good news is that Tim Wakefield threw a side session today, putting him on track to be reactivated soon, and Josh Beckett is still on schedule to pitch on Tuesday against the Yankees. I suppose we could always go to Alex Cora in a pinch- he was warming up in the bullpen tonight, in the event the pitcher hemorrhage continued.

Other good news? Julio Lugo isn't coming back anytime soon, either.

Julio Lugo said he felt something pull in his left quad while sprinting in the outfield this afterrnoon and feels he might have suffered a setback from his comeback. Lugo said he was scheduled to start a rehab assignment on Monday in Triple A, but said, "I shut it down today and I'll see how it feels tomorrow. I felt I was getting really close and now this."...

I really enjoy days like today - when there were so many great performances during last night's game, that it makes it difficult to pick a favorite. It was hard to even narrow it down to three. For the first time in the history of Center Field, I'm awarding three-way tie honors for Baseball Boyfriend of the Day to Jason Bay, Jon Lester and Jason Varitek.

It's just too tough to decide between the new addition who pounds out two homers in a game, the newly crowned ace pitcher who always seems to deliver new life to the clubhouse, and the veteran captain who gained a toehold in digging his way out of a slump with a long bomb. So I didn't choose. Rather, I'm choosing them all.

I must give bonus props to Jason "Beaker" Bay for this gem:

Bay was asked, given his time languishing in Pittsburgh for most of his career, exactly how long it's been since he was in the middle of a pennant race. He smiled.

"Little League?"

Josh Beckett- I think it's time we had a talk.

No, not "the talk" -- I think you're probably covered on that front. I mean that we need to talk about what's going on with you lately. Eight earned runs in 2 and 1/3 innings, Josh? That's just not you. That's the most runs you've served up to an opponent on a platter in a long while, and in the shortest inning span by far.

Even more troubling than the stat line, is your post-pitching reaction. Josh Beckett does things like this and this and this when he sucks wind on the mound. There's lots of kicking and/or punching things, and always a hailstorm of cusswords from you. There are also impatient and condescending looks at reporters and snippy answers to dumb questions. Josh Beckett does not, after being pulled in the third inning, pull off his jersey and then gather his things together rather calmly and exit the dugout for the clubhouse without any temper tantrum or dramatic flair. But that's exactly what you did. And the post-game interview?

"It was frustrating," said Beckett. "Give up eight [fucking] runs - pretty frustrating. That's what it is."

But I think I have you figured out, Josh. Your sucktastical performance against the Jays prompted me to go back in time and figure out when the last time when you sucked that bad. And that's when it dawned on me: it's my birthday. I'm the jinx.

Ever since you joined the Sox, there has been a fantastically sucky belly flop (to varying degrees) on and around my birthday. 2006? August 19th versus the Yankees - 9 earned runs and a loss. 2007? I was at that game on August 17th versus the Angels - you left the game with 1 earned run, only to see Gagne blow the save in epic fashion. (that was the water bottle game.) And now 2008, the day before my birthday... the Ocho Incident. Yes, I've given it a name, Josh.

Listen, I know today is my birthday and all - but you don't need to stress out about trying to impress me. Remember what happened when I was down in Florida for spring training? Or against the White Sox in Chicago last year? Or versus the Yankees and Roger in the Bronx in '07? It seems like you always seem to do better when I'm not there, Josh. Well, not always.

From now on, how 'bout you just pretend every August 18th (or thereabouts) is Game One? And feel free to kick a water cooler, take a bat to the dugout bench, or cuss in the postgame press conference. It'll probably make you feel better than just about anything - short of being allowed to drink beer in the dugout or take target practice in between innings.

Well, hello, there, Mr. Beckett. Nice to see you again.

It's even nicer to see this:

6.2IP 4H 2ER 0HR 2BB 7K 2.70ERA

We missed you.

For the first time in a long while, I have a total baseball hangover.

The kind of hangover you can only get after a full and satisfying weekend of baseball. One that has nothing to do with alcohol, and everything to do with the play on the diamond. One that involved a sweep of wins notched on the scoreboard, but also displayed a combination of a killer offense and a cracking defense. Pitchers spotting their locations well and throwing some gas. Hitters seeing the ball well and maximizing on-base efforts every at-bat. Web Gem-like diving catches in the outfield and beautiful double plays in the infield. Spectacular baserunning and steal attempts. OK, well except for Sunday on that last one.

Red Sox baseball seems to have had a heavy cloud hanging over it of late. A sense of drudgery, a touch of antagonism, an air of melancholy. You got the feeling, even through the TV screen, that everything was labored for the guys, heavy and difficult where it ought to be light and breezy-- weighed down by... something.

The easy way out would be to point the finger at Manny - but I think that is not only wrong, it would also be a gross oversimplification of something that's far more complex. I think though his recent behavior was a part of the malaise, he was a symptom of the problem and not the cause. The team just seemed to be in a funk that they couldn't seem to shake loose (albeit not a totally unproductive funk - it's not like they went into a '07 Mets-like losing skid). A baseball team can't always run around all "HAPPY HAPPY JOY JOY" every day- this is a job, after all, and they have ups and downs like anyone else at work. But that mythical 'spark' seemed to have died out there for awhile, and the grumpiness and petulance and lethargy seemed to take off at the same time.

But that all seemed a thing of the past this weekend. Everything was fun again. And just like Manny was not the cause of all the problems before, Jason Bay was not the solution to all those problems either. But he certainly helped. I think the trade on Thursday prodded the team to stop and draw a line under what had happened in the first part of the season, and then decide to close the book on it and move forward to reclaim some of that spark back again. The clouds seemed to part over Fenway, and the heavy load seemed to lift. I'm sure a large part of it was subconscious, but the change is welcome all the same.

Maybe it's all just a happy coincidence. Or maybe it's just a mirage. Either way, I don't much care - because I'll happily suffer through a string of baseball hangovers from now until the end of October for more weekends like we just had.

Maybe it's a BAYsball BAYngover. Yeah, I'm pretty much going to keep up with as many Bay-related plays on words as I can.

It seems Jason Bay got the party invitation for Jason Bay Day, because he celebrated by going 2-for-3 with a triple (!), 2 walks -- and scored the game-winning run on a soft rolling hit by Jed Lowrie. In between, he found time to make a spectacular diving catch in the outfield that saved a run, and cemented the love of pretty much every Sox fan across the country.

The extra innings walk-off win also brought back something that has been missing from the Fens for awhile now: the sight of the guys jumping around like little kids in celebration, hugging and high-fiving and grinning like madmen. As a team.

It's pure poetry that today, on Jason Bay Day, I'm giving my Baseball Boyfriend of the Day honors to Jason Bay.

Yeah, I think Jason is going to fit in here just fine.