Functionally ReTodded

First, let me commend the Cardinals for getting up and tying the series, forcing a game 7 to be played tonight at Busch Stadium. I watched Edmunds come to the plate and told the wife “that’s it. He’s gonna park one.”

Sure enough, first pitch fastball letter high that he jumped on and absolutely destroyed. Hit it into the Cardinal bullpen. Cardinals 6 - Astros 4.

Now, you get Clemens vs. Jeff Suppan in a game seven. If Clemens wins, he will bring yet another team into Fenway to attempt to beat the team that made him famous. Amazing. I can’t wait.

But for now, let’s forget that series and get to the good stuff…

As I turned on the TV to watch the pre-game crap from FOX, I sat and wondered what I would write about this series today, regardless of how game 7 turned out for the Sox.

Of course, on the inside, I was secretly working on the “regardless of the fact that they lost, they still did something no team in the history of baseball has ever done: force a game 7 after being down three games to none” thing.

Then I thought about the great performances by David Ortiz and Curt Schilling.

Then I thought “what if the Sox actually win? What will I write then?”

I drew a blank. There was no place inside me that I could convince that these Red Sox, despite getting off the deck to tie the series after trailing 3-0, could win a game 7 in the Bronx or Boston or Peoria or anywhere else. Period.

Sure. I WANTED them to win. But did I really think they could or would? History told me no.

Then it started. Damon got a hit. Then Damon stole second. Manny singled to center field and Damon was thrown out trying to score after being sent on a ball he should never tried to score on. I thought “Uh oh. That’s it. That’s the sign of how it’s gonna go.”

Then David Ortiz strode to the plate and got one pitch, and smoked it. 2-0 Sox. I offered a timid high five to the Mrs., muttering “it’s gonna take alot more than two to beat these bastards.”

Bottom of the first with Derek Lowe on the hill (gulp) and what happens? Three up - three down on 13 pitches. We only glanced at each other, but we both thought it…”What if?”

Top of the second comes and Kevin Brown is wild, and Kevin Millar singles, Bill Mueller walks, Orlando Cabrera walks, and Torre pulls the evil Kevin Brown. His line:

1 1/3 innings pitched. He got four outs and left the bases loaded. In comes Javier Vazquez and up comes Johnny Damon (he of the worst series of anyone with Boston on their jersey so far).

First pitch fastball up and in a little, and Damon hammered it into the right field seats. Red Sox 6 - Yankees nada.

Big high fives followed by “it’s still really early.”

Except it wasn’t early. Derek Lowe pitched the game of his life and the Yankees couldn’t really get anyone out.

The Yanks scored one in the third but the Sox plated two in the fourth, so now it was 8-1 Sox.

And then it happened. Fox mentioned that, during the sixth inning, only one pitcher was working in the Sox bullpen…

Pedro.

WHAT?? Did he just say PEDRO is up in the pen after pitching just two days ago? Why is this happening? Did the rest of the pitchers die in a hotel fire or something? The crowd is down, beaten even as their team is choking away a 3-0 series lead to their nearby bitches, the Red Sox, and you are going to bring in the ONLY pitcher on the staff that can make every player and fan stand up and fight again? REALLY?

And that’s what happened.

Lowe threw an incredible 69 pitches thru six innings and was pulled for Pedro to start the seventh inning.

Oh God, I may vomit.

Pedro took the mound to the chorus of 55,000 plus chanting “CLAP, CLAP, CLAP-CLAP-CLAP…WHO’S YOUR DADDY?”

How could this get worse?

Matsui doubled to deep right, Bernie Williams doubled to center, Matsui scored, Posada moved Williams to third, Lofton singled to drive in Williams, and finally…PAINFULLY, Pedro ended the inning throwing 100% gas. Sox 8 - Yankees 3, but now, I’m visibly shaken. Francona has obviously suffered a series of strokes or is in the early stages of dementia or Alzheimer’s.

Top of the eighth and I am scared. Then light-hitting Mark Bellhorn hits a homer to right and the Sox lead 9-3.

Bottom of the eighth, Timlin relieves Martinez and Pokey Reese is in at shortstop. Francona’s apparently okay. All I’m thinking is “Six more outs. Six more outs. I’d like some more insurance, but six more outs.” I even leave the room and watch via Gamecast on ESPN because I physically cannot watch a single Yankees batter take a pitch. I can’t. The other shoe is nearby and I can feel it falling towards the floor.

Jeter grounds to third, A-Rod (of the sissified glove slapping fame of game six) strikes out and Gary (can’t get me out) Sheffield grounds out weakly to short. Three more outs. Three more outs.

Top of the ninth and Trot Nixon singles, then Doug Mientkiewicz singles Nixon to third and it’s two on, nobody out, and my insurance is on the way. Cabrera flies to center, Trot Nixon scores and it’s now 10-3 and I feel better. A little better. In comes Mariano Rivera to get out of the jam, but it’s 10-3 and the Sox only need three outs.

Bottom of the ninth, Matsui singles to deep right field, and the flop sweat starts again. I promptly head back into the office to watch on the internet. Thanks ESPN. By the time I get there, Williams has put it in play but Matsui’s out on a fielder’s choice at second and then on one pitch, Posada has popped to short.

I rush back in, knowing (or hoping) that there’s no way the Yankees can score 7 runs to tie before getting one out tonight. It’s not going to happen. Period. A grand slam here and it’s STILL a three run game.

Williams saunters to second on a catcher’s indifference, Kenny Lofton walks, and Francona wastes no time here. Hard throwing Alan Embree is in for Timlin to face 87 year old Ruben Sierra. Two pitches and a grounder to second.

Sox win!!! Sox win!!! Sox win!!!

And now, two things that I have wanted to see my whole life have just happened:

Yankee Stadium is mostly silent but for the cheers of the Sox fans in attendance.

The New York Yankees have lost a game 7 to the Red Sox…at home…on their field…in front of The Mick and The Babe and every other ghost in that nasty building in that shitty neighborhood.

I am still struggling to accept it. Regardless of what happens tonight, these Red Sox will play in and try to win their first World Series since 1918.

All I can say is pass the Rolaids please.