There is nothing with which I have had less direct involvement than the Red Sox making it into the postseason … and there is nothing with which I will have less direct involvement than their performance in the postseason … and yet, every time they get to play October baseball, I am more excited than a grown man should ever be about something with which he is not directly involved … let alone something for which he will be fully clothed.
But so be it. It is the postseason … and I am psychotically excited.
Wanna know what else I am? Slightly worried.
Why, you ask? Well, here is a photo of all of the Red Sox starting pitchers in whom I have confidence:
He f’n terrifies me. I do not trust him. And if by some chance Porcello doesn’t win tonight, and we head into Game 2 in dire need of David Price nailing down a split in Cleveland, I will not have any fingernails left by game time.
Listen, I love Clay Buchholz. Hell, I was at the no-hitter he threw back in ’07. That alone made me a Buchholz fan for life … but if we come back to Fenway down 0-2, I will be in a straightjacket by game time.
You know who I’d love to have in our starting rotation? This guy:
Sadly, the Red Sox front office — in perhaps the worst decision since Harry Frazee sold Babe Ruth to the Yankees — low-balled Lester and then, for some inexplicable reason, gave his money to this guy:
Fortunately, we also got this guy:
Hanley is the guy I’ve been loving all season long. Seriously. I have witnesses. I’ve been raving about him since I saw him play during the Sox’s first spring-training game back in March. And since no postseason blog post would be complete without a prediction: I predict that Han-Ram will A.) have one of the most clutch hits of the entire postseason, and B.) will be the ALCS or World Series MVP. And you should trust me on this, because I am a nerdy web developer with absolutely no baseball credentials whatsoever.
OK, it’s game time, people. Let’s do this. (And by “do this,” I mean sit on the couch, drink Sam Adams and act like I have something to do with what a bunch of gifted athletes are doing on a baseball field hundreds of miles away.)