The Morning After.

The season that (with the exception of the first dozen games or so) started out so promisingly, came to a crashing halt last night. Your average sportswriter will gleefully write about historic collapses but this season wasn't lost in September. The season was lost with the torn ligament in Daisuke's elbow and a broken back for Clay Buchholz. (Someone really ought to have warned that little girl with the stripper name about the hazards of stepping on lines.)

Now, there were some good things that happened. Josh Beckett, despite being a surly, insufferably rude jackass, pitched better than he had the previous season. With the exception of last night, Jonathan Papelbon had a good season. And Jacoby Ellsbury (it's a real shame that he's been co-opted by the fangirls and I can't like him) had a terrific season. Matt Albers pitched well until he turned back into Matt Albers. David had a pretty good year. And Freddy was a god-send.

But: Bobby Jenks was useless, except for when he was being worse than useless. Carl Crawford was disappointing. Even Adrian Gonzalez failed to live up to expectations.

Kyle Weiland pitched a lot, given what he showed. Andrew Miller had an exceptionally long leash for a guy who, at times, couldn't throw a strike to save his life. Erik Bedard was...as advertised, so you can't fault him for that.

John Lackey had another rough year. JD Drew barely played this season and wasn't very good when he did. And Kevin Youkilis gave up walking in favor of striking out.

No doubt that this was a failure. But an epic collapse? In August this club was clinging to the cliff by their bloodied fingernails and in September their nails finally snapped off and down they went.

Losing Losers Who Lose.

So. That happened.

Heh. Last night I wrote a long melancholy post about failure and losers and all sorts of sad, depressing things. Then my Internet went on the fritz and when it came back up this morning, all that was saved was: the title and So. That happened. And it seems just right.

Not Dead Yet.

When you win by eighteen runs it doesn't count for more than winning by a single run with the tying run in scoring position, so good enough boys. One can always hope, of course, for a more definitive ass-kicking of the Orioles tonight.

You, my best beloveds, are the Boston Red Sox. No reason to be ashamed of it. No reason to take pity on the Orioles. Be the Boston Red Sox. Play like the Boston Red Sox and everything will *finger crossed* *knock wood* *spin around counter-clockwise three times while hopping on your left leg* turn out alright. Hopefully.

Finish Strong.

There was a time, cabbages, when you were the best in baseball. Better than the Phillies or the Yankees, the Tigers or Texas, ages better than Tampa. Your pitching was good but, boy, could you hit. Now, I know that you've run into some injuries; Youkilis went down, you lost two-fifths of your rotation and your rather good lefty out of the 'pen, and Matt Albers turned back into, well, Matt Albers but for the most part, you held on. You dug your heels in and survived. Sadly, my little cabbages, just surviving isn't going to cut it any more: You need to win tonight and you need to win tomorrow. That's all that there is to it.

Cornered.

Back in July, this team looked like world beaters. Now? Not so much. If you're going to repeatedly lose to the Orioles, then you've got problems. Who knows? Maybe back against the wall, no choice but to win, is what this team needed. A wise man once said, "You either ride or you either die." Let's hope that this holds true.

End Game.

Alright, lads. It's hard to root for a team that melts into a quivering puddle of goo at the least sign of adversity but as much as it pains me, I continue to do it. I've tried my best to get you to win: Ignoring you? Doesn't work. I've tried lining up all of my talismans...nothing.

So let's have a frank chat: All that you have to do today is win one, just one little game. Preferably, you'd win the first game and take the pressure off of John Lackey but either game will do; the other game won't matter as much, as long as you win one.

Now, perhaps it's been so long since you've won a baseball game that you'd like a refresher on how to do it. Never fear, that's why I'm here. There's no big trick to it. It's really pretty simple. The way to win at baseball is to score more runs than the other team. There are a couple of ways that this easy-peasy little goal can be accomplished, 1. (The preferred method with Wake and Burnett pitching) Use brute force and beat the hell out of the baseball. Do not, however, swing at the first pitch until it has been established that today, the inbred-hayseed can throw a strike. 2. The second method is dicier with Wake pitching, given that he can lose it in a heartbeat and Saltalamacchia struggles to catch the damn ball, but using this method you would limit the number of runs that you allow the other team to score. Simple, right?

There was a time, not all that long ago actually, when asking this team to score more runs than the other team wouldn't have seemed like a ludicrous request and, hopefully, today it won't be. As for tomorrow? Well, who knows.

Onward.

Fine. You know, sugarplums, that the plan only works if you win, right? And if you can't beat the Orioles, then I don't really know what to tell you. We'll go to Lenny again for inspiration and hope that it's not too soon after the last time we had to use him.

No pressure, or anything, John Lackey but you've got to be a somewhat decent pitcher this evening or the whole thing will be in shambles.

Giuoco Piano.

Here's my new theory: People say that Joe Maddon and Tony LaRussa are geniuses (and they obviously believes it about themselves) but Terry Francona is a friggin grandmaster.

His opening gambit in this series was very passive; almost to the point where it looked like he wasn't making any effort to win baseball games. You see: for this strategy he couldn't let Tampa sweep the series but he really didn't want his team to win more than one. Right now Tampa is feeling really good about themselves and is flying down to New York for a four game series in which they will try to beat the Yankees in Yankee Stadium.

Meanwhile, Baltimore is also coming into town for a four game series. And while Baltimore is paying lip service to their games being important and saying that they have some say in how the race turns out, they are still, fundamentally, Baltimore.

But Francona has his team lying in the weeds. And as long as Boston suddenly remembers how to play and win at baseball, he's positioned them perfectly to make their move. If Tampa wins or splits the series in New York, then the division is still up for grabs. If New York wins or sweeps, it'd be like handing Boston the wild card.

If they can beat Baltimore, it's really very brilliant.

And you thought that starting Conor Jackson in left and the repeated use of Matt Albers (apologies to Messrs. Jackson and Albers) was a joke.

And Now A Word From Josh Beckett.

Without, you know, the whole going down with the ship thing. That would be the last thing that they'd need.

I've got this image of Josh Beckett strutting out there tonight, bellowing, and then spiking the rosin bag. It would be very dramatic and highly amusing.

Yuck.

Well, ducklings. I wonder: do you ever get tired of getting your collective asses handed to you by this team?

Can't hit, can't field, and can't pitch. It's certainly not much of a recipe for success. I haven't given up on the thought of the post-season simply because Tampa still has seven games against New York (and as much as it pains me to say it, the Yankees are a far far better team than you at the moment) while you are playing the Orioles (although, I'm not entirely sure that a little league team wouldn't give you a run for your money the way you're playing right now) but it's really difficult to believe that this is a team that could possibly do anything.

Let's hope that Theo's lame duck of a team has more of a shot at revival than Theo's duck in Pippin.

200.

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Rumble.

So it's come to this, huh? If you're going to make me invoke the magic of Lenny and West Side Story, I'll do it. I won't like it but I'll do it.

No pressure or anything but Wake? We need Tim the Enchanter tonight. We need knuckleballs that skip and fall and confound the hitters. We need strike outs and weak contact. And since, for the most part, the bullpen can't be trusted, we need efficiency: quick outs, and easy innings.

And dearest bats, I hope that you had a nice day off. Remember when, not to long ago, you were the best offense in the American League? Wasn't that fun? Let's have some more of that today.

Win one for Timmy today.

Doom And/Or Gloom

"I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night."

Alright, boys. I'm just going to save myself the time and trouble and assume that this is some sort of Mets-ian collapse you've got in the works rather than the late August-early September swoon that I had originally assumed it to be. I feel that this will save me a lot of needless frustration as you stumble your way down to third place. But it's been fun and I don't regret spending my summer with you.

Prove me wrong, boyos.

The Shrinking Bard Adown the Alley Skulks.

I don't care about losing to the Toronto Blue Jays. When I think about the Blue Jays (and I admit to their existence completely slipping my mind on more than one occasion) it's usually with a sense of apathy. They're in the same class as the Royals or the Mariners or the Athletics: they're certainly there but whatever or the real word equivalent (because I can't think of it) of meh. Their fans are Canadians (useless, pointless people) so that's certainly a strike against them but they've been terrible since before Tim Wakefield joined this team. So who cares?

But the loss hurts though because tonight was about Timmy. And the way that that went down was just really rotten.

Dan Wheeler I could (and did) yell at: "Come on! When did you graduate from high school? You're not that old and Wakey's been around forever. You must've rooted for him at some point. Do it for Wake." (It was 1996)

But Daniel Bard clearly has no concept of how long and how hard Wake has worked to get to this point; the way he's dealt with utter nonsense with quiet grace and dignity. Tim Wakefield is a true gentleman and a genuinely good person; a rarity among baseball players--certainly the only one on his team. If Daniel Bard understood, then he would have figured out a way to pitch better. This may be petty but I was glad the Matty Bumpo allowed those runs in: Wakey may not have deserved the win but Bard certainly deserved the loss.

Perhaps things will be different next time, if there is a next time.

The title is from Robert Burns' Epistle from Esopus to Maria.

Boo.

Daniel Paul Bard. What is wrong with you? How could you do that to Wakey?

Don't Panic.

There seem to be two options: We could engage in a flurry of Gordon Edes-style panicky whining or take the Douglas Adams zen route and calmly accept that for the past week, this team has not been good at baseball and hope that they right the ship. Soon.

May Jon Lester be our buoy.

Sleepwalking.

If life hands you lemons but forgets to give you water and sugar, your lemonade's gonna suck. Life (or MLB) made them play in Canada but forgot to wake up the offense and that sucked. Just terrible.

I'm going to watch Canadian Bacon to feel better.

Life Support.

Well, pigeons. That was unimpressive. I suppose that it was impressive in it's awfulness but unimpressive in all the ways that count. It was lifeless and sad. Hopes of a triumphal march through September into the post-season are quickly fading.

Annoyed Mid-Game Post II

(These are kind of fun.)

Ha! Have a mentioned how stupid bunts are? Bunts would be a legitimate play if they were executed properly but so few players are able to do it well that should just be eliminated from the game. Bedard really should send Ron Washington some flowers for that.

Annoyed Mid-Game Post.

I feel like I ought to apologize to Erik Bedard. Here he was thinking that this was great! He had been traded to a team that actually had some skill at baseball; they could win at this quirky little game. When in fact they play this ridiculous game of hot and cold and when they're cold they are the Mariners. Blech.

Open Letter.

Dear Team:

Do you remember winning? With the high fives, and the music blaring, and everyone feeling good about themselves? I do. It was lots of fun. Maybe you should try that again.