Nuh-uh. Do it again.
(Which appears to not be the actual lyric but it is the way I've always sung it. To be fair, stomping around like a maniac doesn't mix very well with close listening.)
So. Gentlemen. Who would have guessed that we'd end up here? When you start the season by dropping three in a row to Baltimore (Baltimore! Of all places!) it doesn't instill a whole lot of confidence. But you just put your collective heads down and played. As Kyle Schwarber said, "A bunch of grinders." (And I know he's not from here but it still made me giggle. And subsequently start assigning grinders to players: Bobby gets cold cut combo, Iggy--sleek, slim, efficient--gets turkey, Xander: roast beef, Devers: meatball, and to round out the infield and really just for old time's sake Christian Vazquez gets Chicken Parm). And then seemingly everybody got sick, things went to Hell, and visions of chicken and beer danced in our heads. But you white-knuckled it and held on. For a team that was supposed to lower third, eighty wins: it was impressive. I was impressed.
Now, kittens, come what may, we'll say thank you. It was a hell of a ride and a fun (at least the first half) summer. But wins are better, so let's go with those.
And in aid of that, we turn to the most Boston-y, get-up-and-go song ever. (Which listening to it today makes me think that I may have been misinterpreting it for twenty-odd years. But whatever. It's a song for jazzing yourself up and can't be changed at this late date.)
