Functionally ReTodded

As I was watching the Red Sox - Yankees game start last night, I had a few random thoughts.

First, I thought that whether the Sox win the series or not, I just want them to win game 6 so the Yankees and their fans could stew and sweat and feel nauseous like Sox fans feel almost all of the time.

Then I thought of all the curse crap. Seeing those pinhead fans in pinstripes skipping around Yankee Stadium dressed sort of as ghosts with the name Ruth on the back and a three on the back as well was as typically classless as Yankee fans tend to be. Shit folks…this is why Red Sox fans are still Red Sox fans.

I thought of last year when Grady Little left Pedro in one inning too long and ultimately of Aaron Boone’s game and series-winning home run. That one still hurts and will always hurt, regardless of what happens from here.

Then, I thought about Curt Schilling. Whether Fox painted his sock to look bloody so they could get their own made-up hero story, whether that was the medication or whether it was actual human blood…his blood, is irrelevant. As Schilling took the mound, I knew as did every Sox fan on the planet knew that this series, this game, this moment is why the Red Sox pursued Schilling and why Schilling ultimately signed with Boston.

And when he snapped the first pitch at 93 on the gun, you sort of heard that song from “The Natural” in your head…or maybe Fox was playing it in the background…I’m not sure.

Curt Schilling is a champion and a warrior. He has always been one of baseball’s great players and one of its greatest citizens. For him to return from the brink of season ending surgery to attempt this…to keep the Sox in the Series to do what no other team has ever done before (force a game 7 after trailing 3-0) was almost too much to ponder.

And what did this champion do? Under the strain and pressure unmatched in his or possibly any player’s career, on a damaged ankle that would have driven most players to bail on their start or even to have the surgery now to avoid missing time next year, he went out and pitched the game of his life.

After struggling with his control a bit in the first inning, I watched in absolute awe as Schilling repeatedly hit 92, 93, 94 and 95 mph on the radar gun. He worked batters, made pitches and even covered first base a couple of times on the fly which I am betting that few pitchers in his condition would have done.

Then, after each inning pitched, he would tie and untie his shoe, bury his head in a towel and talk himself into being ready for the next inning. You could see in his walk and in his face that the pain was terrible. But you also sensed that they’d have to come get him to get him out of the game.

The Sox scored one run in the top of the fourth to get it started and then were rewarded by an unlikely three-run bomb to left by Mark Bellhorn, giving them a 4-0 lead.

Then you knew it was Schilling vs. the Yankees for four more inning (if he could make it) and the bullpen to finish the job.

Curt gave up a homer in the bottom of the 7th and a single to lead off the 8th inning, and then they came and got him. The pen gave up one more run in the bottom of the 8th but held, and Foulke saved the game.

Red Sox 4- Yankees 2.

Now, the Sox take the field tonight, October 20th, 2004 at Yankee Stadium, already having done what no other team had done. The only thing left for this team to do in this series is what I asked for in a blog on October 12th:

“And I hope Schilling shoves it down Steinbrenner and Jeter and Sheffield and Mariano Rivera and Joe Torre’s collective throats. And I want them to win the series in New York, because that would be the ultimate way to make 55,000 people from New York shut up.”

All I can say now besides pass the Rolaids is this:

LET’S GO SOX!!!!