Hey, has losing 2 of 3 in New York evah left you feeling so … well, I'm leery to say it for fear of latah being boned by karma, but you know …
Yeah, "good;" is probably too strong a word, but let's just say I feel "not-panicked" … And why not? Schilling is back. Wakefield is as hot as evah …
An Octobah stahting rotation of Schilling, Wakefield, Wells, and Clement with Papelbon and Arroyo working in front of Timlin? Sign me up for that mojo.
Man, is there anything bettah than a Septembah in Boston during a pennant race?
It's like a fahmah planting with his crops in the spring, watching the tiny shoots emerge and grow, weathering the drought, the downpours, the locusts, to find himself all of a sudden ready to reap the bountiful hahvest.
Anyone who can watch a pennant race gem like yestahday's game without tears in their eyes, without being moved in the same way as they are by a work of art is a fucking philistine — there's no othah word for them.
Doug's final "philistine" speech is taken from Geoff Dyer's wonderful first novel, The Colour of Memory, though Dyer's character, Steranko, was speaking of World Cup Soccer and not baseball, still the sentiment holds.
The title of today's post is from a Spanish proverb found on ThinkExist.com