Sox Offenders

The Yankees have just completed a clean five game sweep of the Red Sox, and while hardly the end of the season; it’s pretty easy to see this embarrassment as a “turning point.” Me, I say they’re cooked. Finished. Deader than Don Knotts. Denton, playing the role of “good cop” for once, insists that they’ve got enough spice to fight their way back. Okay, so now that you know the players, let’s get to the debate.

The 2006 Red Sox are Done: Dudes, let’s be honest. Forget about it. Put the pennant and puffy hand away. Stop dreaming of a Red Sox-Mets fall classic. Oh, and all that research you’ve been doing to identify the perfect vantage point for the 2006 Rolling Rally? Just stop. Enough. It’s over.

This critical series with the Yankees – the series in which we were supposed to dig in our heels and stop the advance and try to win back a little ground in the AL East race – turned into a travesty. An embarrassment. An ass-kicking of biblical proportions. Like a big dick contest between Peter North and Peter Dinklage. Only we weren’t Peter North, if you get what I’m saying.

And as we head out to the west coast, six and a half games out of first place and free-falling in the wild card hunt, I’m finally facing the truth. This is not a team that’s built to win it all. Hell, at this point, I don’t even see the playoffs in our future.

How could it happen? Do you really expect Coco Crisp to turn it around and hit .400 the rest of the way? Guy was something like 1-for19 over the five games with the Yanks, giving us absolutely nothing in the leadoff spot. How ‘bout Wily Mo? Is this the guy you want up in Game Four of the ALCS with the tying run on first and two outs? Or Gabe Kapler comin’ off the bench to kick it Mazel Tough style? Please. It’s all over. For the better part of the season, the 2006 Red Sox have exhibited a nasty inability to deliver a key hit when they need it most. It’s an Achilles heel that became much more painfully apparent during the Yankees series. Against a stacked line-up like New York’s, they’re basically rendered ineffective. During a series that should have separated the mortals from the warriors, no one on our side, save Schilling and, oddly, David Wells, rose up to the challenge. And this lack of fire in the belly, coupled with, let’s face it, a lack of skills, doesn’t add up to a playoff berth.

The offense can’t take all the blame, though. The pitching has been abysmal; far, far worse than I think any of us dreamed it could be. Josh Beckett has slowly morphed into “the dude we had to take to get Mike Lowell.” Mike Timlin has been reduced to a shadow of his former self. Delcarmen, Lester and Hansen – so precious they were deemed “untouchable” at the trade deadline – are showing their inexperience. Tavarez and Seanez don’t even warrant a mention, as their very names have become synonymous with deep, steaming piles of horse crap. I don’t trust any starter not named “Schilling” to get us beyond the fifth inning. And that’s not the sort of rotation you go places with.

This isn’t to say there aren’t a lot of cool reasons to keep watching. There’s Manny. And Papi’s run for MVP. And Papelbon. And Kelly the Ball Girl. And Wally. And Remy. These are the things that make life worth living for me, and I will continue to feast upon their exploits because I know all too well how long and cold the winter months can be when they’re not around.

There’s Plenty of Season Left: And plenty of room on the bandwagon. Should be first class all the way for the real fans. Stretch your legs out and get comfortable, we must be in the front row!

Am I saying this team is going to come barrel-assing back like a bat out of Hell and win the division on their way to the World Series? No. But I am saying it is possible. Forget the clichés and the comparisons to 1978, that shit is as tired as the “curse” talk. I’d prefer to stick to more modern history, like 2004 for example? Or how about this past April? Or six friggin’ weeks ago? That’s what I’m talking about.

This weekend was an abortion, or an aberration, pick your poison. A five-game series in four days against any team in August would be rough. But the Yankees have been on fire and they are locked-and-loaded with left-handed bats. And the Sox went into it with no leftie help in the pen. Poor planning? Yes, that would be an understatement. End of the season? Slow down, Chicken Little, the sky isn’t really falling.

The reality is the Red Sox need one thing right now: momentum. As Ron Burgandy said, “it’s science.” When these guys get hot, they are untouchable. All cylinders click and the whole becomes much greater than the sum of its parts. And when they go bad, pitching, hitting and defense alike go down like together, just like the Thompson triplets on prom night. That’s where we are now, hitting a low. But it will turn around like it always does, and before you know it they’ll be in the midst of a 10-game winning streak or a 14-out-17 run. And you bitches will all be like “I never gave up on them.” Whatever.

Do people really think Beckett just decided to start sucking? Look a little closer and you’ll see something interesting. Beckett has been throwing a lot of breaking balls lately. Expect more of that, a lot more. He knows he can’t get everybody out even with his nasty fastball and he’s perfecting the curve. And the Sox know that the so-called marathon has become a sprint and if the breaking stuff has been the cause of Beckett’s blister problems in the past, so be it. He can still carve the Thanksgiving Day turkey with a few blisters. And what about Lester? A simple explanation might be he is approaching a new career high in innings pitched. Look for a skipped start or two, and a rejuvenated Jon Lester. Di you look at Papelbon in Sunday night’s game? Did you look into his eyes? Did he look done? Ready to go home start his Christmas shopping and building ships in bottles to put on the mantle? He looked more like he wanted to win. And shed some Yankee blood in the process.

Can we talk about the bats for a second? Manny. Ortiz. And yes, Wily Mo Pena. These three guys are built for one thing, to hit baseballs far. Before the apples get ripe in New England, Manny and Ortiz will be battling each other for MVP votes and Wily Mo will erase the memory of Bronson whats-his-name forever while putting Trot out of a job. Don’t forget about Youk, and Mikey Doubles and Mr. “three-hundred” Loretta. A-Gon will be back flashing the nasty leather. And speaking of injuries, with any hope, Tim Wakefield has a few fluttering knucklers left for September.

I’m done. But the Red Sox aren’t. So don’t you come crying back to me for your seat on the wagon with that bullshit story about just getting up to buy some Cracker Jacks. We know who belongs. Red, I don’t even know who Peter North or Peter Dinklage are. But I do know this: this team deserves a little better than to have Joe Morgan and Jon Miller saying their eulogy on Sunday Night Baseball. Did we give up when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor? I didn’t think so. I’m here for the long haul, anybody with me?