ON SPORTS ~ Impending Doom...

OVAH THE MONSTAH

Impending Doom:

where previously Molly basked in the sweep of the Angels...

I spent the night of my 2nd wedding anniversary watching the Sox face the Yankees in a rematch of the prior year's playoffs. You may recall that the 2003 ALCS didn't end up the way I had hoped. In the blink of an eye it went from the Sox moving on to the World Series to a bench player crushing my dreams. But in 2004 it felt different. I was confident again. I wasn't afraid of the Yankees. I wasn't afraid of their vaunted offense. I wasn't afraid of their pitching matchups. I wasn't afraid of their Closer. I wasn't afraid of their clutch hitting. I wasn't afraid of their Manager's experience. I knew that this time around it would be different.

And then, after Curt Schilling went on T.V. before the game and said he was looking forward to making all those thousands of Yankee fans shut up by starting the series on the mound in Yankee Stadium, he BOMBED. By the third inning he had given up 6 runs and was obviously struggling with a balky ankle that just couldn't hold up when it counted. And to make things worse, Mike Mussina was spinning a No Hitter into the 7th inning.

But wouldn't you know, those Sox came storming back and not only broke up the No Hitter, they came within a run of tying things up. But in the end, the Yankees came out on top and took Game 1 by 3 runs. I was a bit afraid of Curt's weak ankle. But I still knew the Sox would take Game 2 with Pedro on the mound. And Pedro held up his end of the bargain. He kept the Sox in the game only giving up a few runs but in the end, the Sox bats went to sleep and they lost Game 2 by 2 runs. I was getting annoyed with this falling short business. Game 3 for sure.

After a rainout, Game 3 came with much anticipation. We gathered with family and watched the Sox give up several runs early but then rally back and take the lead. The game saw both starters get knocked out early and then got out of control. The Sox pen couldn't hold back that powerful Yankees offense. I have never had a more deflating feeling than after watching the Sox take that beating, losing 19-8 at home and on the brink of being swept.

Have you ever been picked on by a bully? Have you ever worked so hard only to fall on your face at the end? Did anyone ever swoop in and steal the show? Intimidation, shame, jealousy. Nasty feelings. I was surrounded by dejected people who threw in the towel. They were angry and didn't want to see a Sox/Yankees matchup ever again. What was the point?

I'll tell you what the point was. The fat lady hadn't sung yet. I tried to tell them this at my niece's Christening the next morning. I got laughed at - as much as one could laugh during such depression. Thankfully religion and an adorable baby girl helped everyone through the day. Only Andy's Great Aunt was on my side with a shred of optimism. But then again, in her early 90's, she was the only person we knew who had been alive the last time the Sox had won the World Series. So we went home that night to watch Game 4 alone. No group gathering for the impending doom.

next week, NOT SO FAST, in which Dave saves the season...