TATB Live: Dice-K vs. Norwich Navigators ace Chase Wright

Let's see . . . the clicker has settled on ESPN, our ass is planted in its usual spot on the couch, a couple of Red Stripes are within reach, and in anticipation of the fun the next few hours might bring, the broom is at the ready. Yep, we're officially in Live Blog mode. Play ball, yo.

But before we get rolling with this matchup of career one-game winners, thought I'd let you in on a couple of possible bets tonight, if you are so inclined:

• Dice-K and the Sox are heavy favorites at -170. Vegas does not love Chase Wright.

• The over/under on the number of times Gold Glove winner Derek Jeter's defensive problems are mentioned on the telecast: once, followed by a lame excuse that includes a reference to intangibles.

• The over/under on the times Joe Torre will get caught by the cameras "digging for treasure": Nine (once per inning).

• The over/under on the number of Dice-K pitches Joe Morgan misidentifies as "that's a cutter, Jon": (Searching without luck for the infinity symbol on my keyboard.)

Wager wisely, and let's go. (Sweep . . . sweep . . . sweep. . . ):

FIRST INNING
Well, that's not how it was supposed to start. After retiring Benedict Damon and Jeter, Dice-K walks Bobby Abreu, drills A-Rod (because the Sox do hit .300 hitters), then leaves a flat changeup on the outside corner that Jason Giambi pokes into the left-center gap to score two. It's 2-0, Yankees, and suddenly I catch myself wondering how you say "performance enhancing drugs" in Japanese. (By the way, Giambi is already sweating like he just stepped out of the sauna. The man is a walking armpit. Must be a side-effect of one of his vitamins.)

In terms of build and delivery, my first impression of Chase Wright is that he reminds me of Jon Lester a little bit, though the Sox's lefty throws harder. And like Lester at times last year, Wright seems hesitant to trust his stuff, which is why he starts out by walking Julio Lugo and Kevin Youkilis. Can't say I blame him - he's only the ninth Yankees rookie in 15 years to start a game at Fenway. The other eight either burst into tears or spontaneously combusted from the stress of the experience. True story. Domingo Jean was nothing but a grease spot and a pair of spikes by the time the Faithful got done with him.

All right, this Wright kid is officially . . . what's the term? . .. oh, yes, a puke. After getting Papi and Manny to pop to Abreu - both on very hittable pitches - he gets two strikes on J.D. Drew, then throws him a slider in the dirt, a good pitcher's pitch. Drew checks his swing, but before the third base umpire can rule whether he went, Wright hops off the mound and is halfway to the dugout before the ump rules no swing. Save that cocky ---- for when you have more than one (1) win above Double A, kid. (Drew whiffs on the next pitch to leave two runner stranded. Wright resists the temptation to do an Eck-style fist pump and point.)

SECOND INNING
Joe Morgan: "Watching Matuzaka now, you can just tell he's a good pitcher." You know, I was going to mock him for stating the obvious, but that might be the most insightful thing he's ever said. Sure doesn't take much to win an Emmy these days, does it? Dice-K cruises through the second, thanks in part to a nice running catch by Wily Mo Pena in center, who puts a sizable dent in the Monster after a minor post-catch collision.

Wright's starting to look like one of those ----balling lefties who've made a habit of tormenting the Sox the last few seasons. He's got a good change, a decent slider, and a fastball that touches 92. It's a more than adequate arsenal, though his command is shaky at best. (Exhibit A: He just walked the virtually unwalkable Pena as I was writing this.) Still, he gets out of it. Future Pawtucket mainstay Dustin Pedroia's first extra-base hit of the season, a rocketed double into the left field corner, goes for naught as Lugo grounds to three-time Gold Glove winner Captain Jetes, who flashes his two-step range and retires Lugo at first. Calm Eyes!

THIRD INNING
Uh-oh. Early trouble for Dice-K in the second. Damon singles up the middle, then Dice-K plants one in Jeter's back. It didn't look intentional - Jeter is a notorious diver - but now he has to deal with Abreu, A-Rod, and the Walking Chemistry Experiment with runners on. Man, they don't have lineups like this in Japan.

Abreu whiffs. A-Rod whiffs. And Juicin' G. should have been retired, but his broken-bat flare to right nicks off a retreating Pedroia's glove as Damon crosses the plate to make it 3-0. Pedroia, who had shifted to shallow right already for the pull-heavy Giambi, absolutely should have made the play, and if he were taller than 5-foot-6 or blessed with better range than a lawn gnome, he would have. (Robinson Cano whiffs to end the inning.)

I thought my dad was the only person on earth who still wore those goofy glasses that tint depending upon the level of sunlight, but Gammons, doing his sideline/insight thing tonight, also has them on. I wonder if Gammons also hikes his tube socks up to his knees while wearing shorts and sandals. That's my dad's sartorial trademark, you know.

Morgan is prattling on about how Wright can't keep getting away with throwing only his changeup for strikes. Meanwhile, Papi just popped up, the Sox have but one hit, and Jamie Moyer has 218 wins . . .

. . . and Manny just wallops a changeup to the Mass Pike to make it 3-1, Evil.Do I have to give Morgan credit for making a reasonable point there? I do? Damn.

. . . Um, geez, I guess I do, because J.D. Drew creamed another Wright meatball over everything in right-center to make it 3-2. Like I said, you can't live on the changeup alone. Nope, not in this league.

. . . Holy ----. Back-to-back-to-freakin'-back, with Mike Lowell hitting the longest yet, an absolute bomb that should be landing in your swimming pool at any moment. Oh, and that Joe Morgan? Love him! Give him another Emmy. He knows his stuff.

. . . All right, now this is getting ridiculous. Jason Varitek makes it four homers in nine pitches - the first time the Sox have ever hit four consecutive homers - and Chase Wright is morphing into Bobby Sprowl before our eyes. Theo Epstein's reaction sums it up best: "Oh. My. God." Wily Mo whiffs trying for five, but it's 4-3, Sox, and this one just got fun again.

FOURTH INNING
Nice, easy uneventful inning for Dice-K - in other words, just want you want your pitcher to do after the offense has just given you a lead.

Torre manages to get through his between-innings interview without sticking his finger in his nostrils. Progress, Joe. Progress.

Colter Bean, an enormous (6-foot-7) slopballer who spent a spring as a Rule 5 pick with the Sox a few years ago, is in for the Yankees. We're going to assume Chase Wright is either curled up in the fetal position in the shower or on a bus to Scranton. Probably the former.

Papi's wearing No. 42 tonight as the Sox are paying tribute to Jackie Robinson after rain washed out the original day of homage. Papi's one of the select few players I think should be permitted to wear Robinson's number on a regular basis - it just seems right to me that his number would be on the field, rather than permanently retired - though seeing the 42 on Papi's back is giving me Mo Vaughn flashbacks. Anyway, Mo . . . er, Papi is stranded on second after a double, and it's still 4-3, Sox.

FIFTH INNING
So it turns out Francona's dad, Tito, was involved the only other time in history that one pitcher gave up four consecutive home runs. Also, Drew was one of the Dodgers that hit four straight homers to win that memorable game in the ninth inning last season. Baseball always seems to have cool coincidences like that, doesn't it?

Jeter dinks a hanging slider (according to Morgan) into the Monster Seats, and it's 4-4. And no, that's probably not the only time "Jeter" and "dinks" have been mentioned in the same sentence.

Someone needs to tell Jon Miller than Dice-K doesn't throw a freakin' gyroball. I realize that working with Morgan all these years has probably broken his spirit, but he's starting to get annoying with the inane references to something that doesn't exist.

Dice-K throws several pitches that aren't gyroballs, striking out Abreu and A-Rod and getting Giambi to pop up to escape the inning. Time to up the dosage, G.

My wife just realized her Sunday night habit of watching "Desperate Housewives" was sacrificed for the sake of this blog, though it looks like the DVR saved the day. I actually find the show funny and well-written in a hammy sort of way, and of course there are other reasons for a guy to watch as well. Teri "They're real and they're spectacular" Hatcher, a pretty decent comedic actress, would probably get my vote for the show's hottest babe, if only because I've seen one too many frightening photos of Eva Longoria without makeup.

(What, you haven't seen the pics?)

(Well, trust me, you don't want to. You'll never look at her the same way again.)

(You want to see them? Really? Are you sure?)

(Okay, if you insist, but don't blame me if your retinas burn.)



(All right, it's not that bad. But it's not quite what she's selling on the show, either. Wonder if Tony Parker knows about this.)

Oh, and the Sox don't score.

SIXTH INNING
The number of Yankees I've liked over the years is roughly the same as the number of championship rings Alex Rodriguez has won, but I have to admit, I really am coming to appreciate - okay, like - Robinson Cano. Not only is he a line-drive machine who's going to win a batting crown or two, but he seems like a terrific kid who appreciates his place in the world. He also plays the game the right way, as his shrewd first-to-third baserunning on bloop single that fell in in front of Drew just put the Yankees in position to go ahead, 5-4, on a double-play grounder by Melky Cabrera.

Andy Pettitte, who started Friday in the opener of this series, is coming in in relief. Hmm, Torre knows he has a recent history of elbow problems, right? He remembers that an MRI that made Pettitte's elbow look like pastrami is the reason why the Yankees let him go after the 2003 season, right? Guess this is one of those April must-wins for the Yankees, because otherwise this really doesn't make much sense. When Pettitte's visiting Dr. James Andrews in July, let's remember this one.

Jon Miller just referred to Pettitte as "Clemens." Does he know something? Was there a formal union over the winter? Should we get them something? Candlesticks make a lovely gift. The new Mr. Clemens gets Papi to hit into an inning-ending double play, so I suppose the move works for now.

SEVENTH INNING
Dice-K whiffs Abreu on a nasty gyroball* to set the Yankees down in order in the seventh. Looks like Scott Proctor is coming in for the Yankees. Meanwhile, Pettitte is phoning Tommy John to ask for advice on how to comb his hair now that he can't lift his arm over his head.

* - Not actually a gyroball, but who would expect an Emmy Award-winning baseball broadcaster to recognize a forkball, anyway?

Manny greets Proctor with a hard single to right. When Manny starts smoking the ball the opposite way, it's a tell-tale sign that he's about to go on one of his patented tears. And it looks like he will get one more at-bat tonight. Just sayin'.

Drew inside-outs a curveball that scrapes off the wall in the left. Classic Fred Lynn double right there, and yes, Drew does remind me a lot of Fragile Freddy, for reasons mostly good.

Well, maybe those of us who have been fretting that Mike Lowell will suffer an offensive decline this season should shut the *%*% up for a while. Lowell just cranked his second homer of the night, three-run line shot off the base of the Coke bottles, giving the home team a 7-5 lead. Did we mention that this is - er, make that was - Proctor's 12th appearance in 17 games? Leave it to Torre to ride his horses until they turn into glue . . . in April. As it is, Proctor's out, and Luis Vizcaino, this year's version of Antonio Osuna and Felix Rodriguez, a hard thrower with a penchant for melting down, is in.

EIGHT INNINGS
After giving up a single to A-Rod on a 2-2 pitch, Dice-K's debut against the Yankees comes to an end with this line: 106 pitches, 7 innings, 8 hits, 1 walk, 7 Ks, 5 earned runs. Acceptable, though hardly an ace-like performance. I was mildly surprised he got a standing ovation, but then, he's leaving with the lead. I'll really complain when we start giving every damn home run hitter a curtain call.

The Yankees aren't going to surrender quietly, are they? After A-Rod's single, new folk hero Hideki Okajima gives up a single to left center by Giambi, bringing longtime Sox pest Jorge Posada to the plate as a pinch hitter. Suddenly, I'm sweating like Giambi.

Walk. Loaded. Okajima out, Donnelly in, Cabrera up. Hold me.

Cabrera grounds into a fielder's choice in which that little weasel Miguel Cairo swipes at Lugo to prevent him from turning two, and it's 7-6, Sox.

Suddenly, I feel kind of bad for all of the Pedroia short jokes. That was one hell of a clutch play. Then again, he probably wouldn't have been able to make that diving stab to rob Josh Phelps of what surely would have been a go-ahead two-run single had he not been so low to the ground in the first place. (Sorry. Old habits, you know.)

Papelbon is getting loose, with Damon, Jeter, and Abreu due up in the ninth. A few insurance runs here sure wouldn't hurt. Maybe four homers in a row, if that's not too much to ask?

Phelps is now catching for the Yankees, the first time he's caught in the big leagues since 2001. So far, he actually looks like he knows what he's doing.

Manny ropes hit No. 3 tonight. The hot streak is officially underway. Unfortunately, he's left stranded, and it comes down to Papelbon against the heart of the Yankees' order, just as it should, I suppose.

NINTH INNING
"Gritty at-bat by Damon," Jon Miller says, and I guess he's right, though I thought it was an unwritten rule that only David Eckstein can be called "gritty" after hitting a routine fly to left.

Now that's a fastball. Sit your intangibled ass down, Captain. Two outs.

Abreu walks on a high 3-2 fastball that looked like it was about 102 mph. Remember how A-Rod recently said that it always seems to come down to him, good or bad? I think he was onto something.

Mr. Clutch reverts to his Fenway form and bounces an 0-2 pitch to Lowell, and the Sox have their first sweep of the Yankees at Fenway since 1990. A hell of fun game, all in all. As for parting thoughts: It would have been nice if Dice-K could have spun a gem, but thanks to an offense that got a lot of production this weekend from some players (Coco Crisp, Lowell, Varitek) who had been concerning us, we're certainly satisfied with the final results. Hey, he's 1-0 lifetime against the Yankees, the Sox are 3-0 against the Yankees in '07, and it's starting to look like this could be a very interesting summer at Fenway. Nothing to bitch about here. Speaking of which: Remind me to pick up the New York tabloids tomorrow, will you?

The Sox may be dead, but TATB is live, baby . . .

Probably should have dropped a mention of this earlier, but your lazy but loyal blogger here is writing about tonight's Sox-Yanks epic as it happens, given an occasional assist from the DVR.

I tried this once last year, during a late-season Sox-Jays game, and not only did I have a blast and get a lot of positive feedback, but if I recall, the Sox pulled off one of their defining victories of the season. (Pretty sure that Ortiz cat was prominently involved.)

So with the kids snoozing, the chance to chronicle the dumb crap Joe Morgan says in a given three hours too tempting to resist, and a change in mojo absolutely necessary for the Sox, here goes . . . well, something. I'll update the post every inning or two, so be sure to check in periodically . . . you know, if by dumb luck you actually stumble upon this as I'm doing it. Man, I really do need a better PR department.

YANKEES FIRST
* Johnny Damon (not sure if we should refer to him as Traitor, Sox Killer, or simply $*&$&#&@&&#$&&face at this point) starts the festivities by grounding out to first, the first time in the series he hasn't led off with a hit. He also shattered his bat. Please be symbolism. Please.

* Schilling goes 0-2 on Jeter, who smells like apricots with a just hint of lime tonight. The Captain works the count to 3-2 before he's called out on strike three. Predictably, he breaks into his Do-You-Know-Who-I-Am-How-Dare-You-Call-That-A-Strike routine, ducking his head, lingering in the batter's box to offer a few suggestions to the ump, then smirking, shaking his head, and looking out at the pitcher as he walks away. Same act, every time.

* K-Zone shows the pitch to Jeter was a perfect strike on the inside corner. K-Zone, of course, does not measure intangibles.

* Schilling is dealing - 96 and 97 mph on the corners - but the Yankees are making him work. (Damon fouled off a pitch that was damn near in Mirabelli's mitt.) After whiffing Bobby Abreu on five pitches, Schilling is on pace for 198-pitch perfect game. Take that, Bill James. Seriously, where else do you get this stuff?

RED SOX FIRST
* Both children, apparently made aware that daddy is both awake and motivated for once, have decided to start howling in unison, so here's the abbreviated version: Coco makes his obligatory leadoff out (he'll make a great Pittsburgh Pirate one day); Loretta singles hard to center; Papi singles hard to center; Manny (who is hitting over .500 with 7 homers against New York this season), rockets a liner to the wall, scoring Loretta; Youkilis singles, scoring Papi; Lowell hits into his obligatory double play. (And I'm pretty sure his left foot fell off running to first base. Danged rigamortis.)

* "This is what the Red Sox needed, to get off to a good start." You know, normally I'd mock this as stating the obvious, but for Joe Morgan, it's actually pretty astute.

Morgan, three seconds later: "It was important in my opinion to get off to a good start." Okay, Joe, we get it.

Morgan, roughly 10 more seconds later: "You had to get off to a good start here if you're the Red Sox." He's officially beaten this horse into Alpo. Bottom of the first, and I'm already longing for Remy.

* Did I mention I have company tonight. Yup, Mrs. TATB is in the house, and she was kind enough to offer this pearl as her first question of the night: "If I was on the Red Sox, would I be the worst player?" Instinctively, made some wise-ass comment about most big-leaguers having played ball beyond the North Berwick, Maine girls' Little League, but given more thought, there's a pretty good chance she's a better defensive catcher than Javy Lopez. Red Sox 2, Yankees 0

YANKEES SECOND
* The perpetually sweating Jason Giambi doubles to left center, and as he lumbers his way to second, I'm reminded of the title of one a Seth Mnookin blog post a few days ago: Jason Giambi Is A Gutless, Steroid-Using Punk. I liked that title. The oft-updated site ain't bad either.

* Morgan, in attempting to praise Melky Cabrera, a completely worthwhile pursuit: "The Yankees [before Abreu] were getting a lot of production from Cabrera, from Bubba Crosby . . . they did get a lot out of Bubba, and they owe him a debt, because he did do a lot to help them stay afloat early." Bubba Crosby, 2006: .207, 1 HR, 6 RBI, .258 OBA, designated for assignment Aug. 15. I'm not suggesting he doesn't do his homework, but I suspect Joe wouldn't know Bubba Crosby from David Crosby.

* The basket case known as A-Rod, sweet-swinging Robinson Cano, and Jorge Posada leave Giambi and his chemistry set stranded at second, but Schilling's pitch count is piling up.

RED SOX SECOND
* Mike Mussina is pitching for the Yankees. Probably should mention that at some point. Not much good usually happens for the Sox when Moose is involved. He mows through Wily Mo Pena, Mirabelli, and Alex Cora in order. (Regarding Mirabelli, that trade keeps getting worse and worse - as you probably read in the papers this morning, Cla Meredith has emerged as a bullpen force for the Padres, having allowed something like 1 run over his last 17 innings. This trade pisses me off so much, I won't even mind when Lobel catches on to this and asks his patented, "What would we do with guys like that?")

* Tarp's on the field. Rain delay. Bonnie Bernstein gives the weather report from the Sox dugout as Papi and Youkilis ham it up in the background. Glad to see they're loose. The Red Sox, I mean. You guys are sick.

* This sucks for the Sox - not only do they have the early lead, but the more this drags on, the less likely it is that Schilling returns to the mound. Fortunately, staff meteorologist John Kruk is live from the ESPN studios to tell us, in between bites of a Nutty Bar, that Schilling will definitely stay in the game no matter how long the delay. Thanks for the wisdom, Krukie. Got any Star Crunches left?

YANKEES THIRD
* Fifty-seven minutes later, ESPN returns from a commercial to find Schilling delivering a live pitch to Cabrera. Guess the rain delay is over. The Worldwide Leader, my foot. Anyway, Schilling looks no worse for the delay, breezing through 1-2-3.

RED SOX THIRD
* Bonnie chimes in on Mussina's 1-hitter against the Sox back in the Despicable Summer of 2001. Ugh - thanks for the reminder. I've never been more disgusted with the Sox than I was late that season, and that night in particular. No matter how bad this season gets, it won't get that bad. Carl Everett, of course, broke up the perfecto with two outs in the ninth, then acted like himself (insert your own vulgarity) by pumping his fist and acting like he did something noble. I'm glad to see that after Seattle released him a few weeks back, he was left unclaimed. It's about time that jerk's career went the way of the dinosaur.

* Jon Miller still calls a better game than most broadcasters, but he's lost his best fastball. All these years of listening to Morgan remind us that he played for the Reds and misidentifying "cutters" must have broken his spirit. There was a time when Miller was as good as it got, Vin Scully being the lone possible exception. And if you remember the hilarious Strat-O-Matic games that occasionally filled radio time on the Sox broadcasts during the '81 strike, you know exactly what I mean.

YANKEES FOURTH
* Jeter singles, then Abreu hits a rocket off the wall, but Manny plays the carom flawlessly and holds him to a single. "Manny is very adept at playing the wall," Miller informs us, and I catch myself thinking none of the Fox broadcasters would praise this play or even realize that it is indeed the truth. Morgan resists the urge to mention that George Foster played left field for the 1975 Cincinnati Reds.

* The walking science project . . .



. . . crushes a three-run bomb to right, his 35th of the season. In fairness, the pitch was such a meatball that Jeremy Giambi probably could have hit it. Fortunately, no further damage in the inning, though Schilling has thrown 76 pitches already. Given the flammable state of the Sox 'pen, I imagine he told Tito his max pitch count is somewhere around 250.

RED SOX FOURTH
* Manny leads off with a sharp single, which means he's now 8 for 11 in this series and 25 for 45 (.556) against the Pinstripes this season. I'm reluctant to jab those who take glee in criticizing his big-moment performance, but dammit, don't the numbers speak for themselves?

* Mussina against Wily Mo. From a baseball standpoint, it's a classic brains-against-brawn matchup. Brains wins this round, though Brawn did work the count full and got a pretty decent pitch to it before popping up to right. All in all, a good at bat for Wily Mo. Small progress.

* Mirabelli flares one to right, scoring Youkilis (single) and tying it at 3-3. Chicken parms all around. Red Sox 3, Yankees 3

YANKEES FIFTH
* Francona, during the in-dugout interview between innings, after Miller asked him if Jonathan Papelbon would be available for two innings tonight: "Two? I was thinking about four." I almost hope he's not kidding. By the way, have I mentioned that I think he's the best manager the Sox have had in my lifetime? I blame him for none of this.

* Schilling cruises . . . and better yet, Morgan and Miller are speculating that Mussina might be done after the camera catches him seeking out the trainer in the dugout. A break at last?

RED SOX FIFTH
* Sweet. Mussina is out, Ron Villone is in . . . but wouldn't you know it, the one time those dugout interviews actually might be useful, the audio kicks out during Joe Torre's explanation of what happened. (Something about a tight groin . . . he might have been talking about Jeter and A-Rod's personal chemistry, though Mike Lupica suggests they aren't exactly pals.) Morgan, being an intrepid, Emmy Award-winning journalist and all, shrewdly skips the opportunity to ask a follow-up question on what may be THE crucial development in this game, and instead asks him some ridiculous question about Abreu. M-O-R-O-N.

* Papi. Red Sox lead, 4-3.

* Seriously, do I really need to say anything else at this point? Hell, if you didn't see the home run, you already have the image of it burned into your mind's eye - the quick and mighty rip, the knowing bat flip, the majestic trajectory - having witnessed it all so many times before. And it NEVER gets old. Red Sox 4, Yankees 3

YANKEES SIXTH
* Abreu, whom I'm really wishing had remained somewhere far away from this rivalry, singles to right. After Giambi, who's sweating so profusely that I can smell him through the TV, strikes out, Abreu rolls over to third on a wild pickoff throw. But Schilling dodges the bullet - A-Rod swallows his tongue before coming through with the requisite infield popup, and Cano pokes a flare over second that Alex Cora hustles to track down. Somewhere, RemDawg takes a drag and yells to the gimp in the basement, "Alex Cora, he does something to help the Sox win every time he's in the game." The gimp squeals in muffled agreement.

* Jeter gets a whiff of Giambi and, being a great captain and all, offers him a sample of "Driven." Giambi says thanks, rubs some on his leg and injects the rest into his left buttock.

RED SOX SIXTH
* Good lord, Morgan is actually lecturing us that we can't blame the Sox's problems on the Curse anymore. If you think I'm going to spend a single moment of my existence transcribing a blithering idiot's take on a television-driven myth, you've come to the wrong corner of the internet, folks.

* The wet look is definitely working for Bonnie Bernstein. Did I mention my wife went to bed about two hours ago? Hey, at least I'm still wearing pants. Anyway, Sox leave a couple, and we move to the. . .

YANKEES SEVENTH
. . . where Schilling has an easy inning precisely when he needs one, getting two fly balls (including one by the always scary Jorge Posada), then getting a called strike three on Nick Green on his 109th pitch of the evening. When ESPN comes back from commercial, Schilling is wearing his warmup jacket and shaking hands in the dugout - sure looks like his night's work is over. If anyone other than Papelbon comes out for the eighth, Francona should be tarred, feathered, fed to locusts, and dangled from the Monster seats on the spot, my earlier praise be damned.

RED SOX SEVENTH
* Mike Myers in for the Yankees. You already know I believe the Sox should have re-signed the slinging lefty, who did his job well for the Sox. I consider his inexplicable departure one more small mark against Theo, post-World Series.

* Someone is warming up in the Sox 'pen. It's . . . (sniff, sniff . . . do I smell gasoline?) . . . (oh . . . oh, no . . . oh, the humanity!!) . . . Timlin. Good lord . . . NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! (Someone heat up the tar and collect the feathers, I'll put the locusts on alert . . .)

* With runners on first and second and two outs, Scott Proctor comes in for the Yankees. He's the frontrunner for Joe Torre's annual Setup Man I'll Burn To A Blackened Crisp By September award, given the last two years to Tom Gordon and Tanyon Sturtze. (Sturtze, by the way, was Giambi's best pal on the Yankees. Not suggesting anything, of course, particularly in regards to the 5 mph he added to his fastball in his early 30s or the bizarre shoulder injury . . . nope, nothing to see here . . .)

* Suddenly, a chance to break it open. Loretta singles, one out later Manny is intentionally walked, and Youkilis gets the fifth run home with a single. But after a Cano error leaves loads the bases with one out, Wily Mo whiffs (yup, slider down and away) and Mirabelli flies out to Abreu. These are opportunities a struggling team lets slip away.

* "In my day we didn't have bases, we had rocks." That makes me laugh. Damn, it's getting late.

YANKEES EIGHTH
* With Damon, Jeter and Abreu coming up, who's on for the Sox . . . yup, Timlin. WHAT. THE. *$&#*?

* SERIOUSLY, TITO . . . WHAT THE #*#*? WHERE THE #$&% IS PAPELBON??!!!

* Damon gets an infield single when Loretta shows his Stonehenge range, and Jeter, diving over the plate as usual, gets drilled on the hand. First and second, no one out, and The Other Javier Lopez is coming in to face Abreu. I just punted the cat.

* Lopez gets Abreu 1-2, then walks him. Didn't see that coming. Did I mention that Lopez has walked 6 in 8 2/3 innings this season and just got recalled to the Sox today? Yup, he's just the guy I want in this game.

* Hey, look . . . coming out of the bullpen . . . it's Jonathan Papelbon!!! And he's pitching for the Red Sox!!! Dude, I didn't even know he was still on the team!!!

* (Deep breaths . . . deep breaths) . . . Giambi just crushed a majestic bomb that deflected off the moon, and somehow landed in Gabe Kapler's glove on the right field warning track for a sac fly. (Whew.) That looked very gone off the bat, and it capped a classic power-vs.-power at-bat in which Papelbon touched 98 on the gun and Giambi expertly worked the count in his favor and got his share of healthy hacks. Compelling baseball, that.

* A-Rod walks. God, you've gotta make him swing there, especially with Cano coming up. And if that last sentence isn't an indictment of his status as the reigning MVP, well, nothing is.

* Cano whiffs on a split, the location of which Morgan predicted. I have to admit, Morgan is making a little bit of sense tonight. Then again, I haven't eaten in five hours and the other cat is starting to look like a rotisserie chicken, so I may be slightly delirious.

* Posada whiffs on a nasty splitter, and Papelbon escapes the bases-loaded, no-out jam by allowing a single run. Somewhere, Dick Radatz is smiling. (Of course, Radatz might also say Papelbon is a **#** pansy for pitching just two innings, but that's how it goes.) Red Sox 5, Yankees 4

YANKEES NINTH
* Is it overstatement to say the fate of the Sox season depends on what takes place in this half-inning? Probably . . . but at the moment, it sure sounds like the truth to me.

* Cabrera, fast becoming a chronic pain in the ass, leads off with a double to right center, and alertly moves to third when Mirabelli fumbles a splitter. It's hustle like that that earns you coveted postgame fist-pumps from the Captain.

* Bernie Williams, a longtime chronic pain in the ass, whiffs on the next pitch. A good omen? Maybe, but I tend not to believe in such things with Damon and Jeter lurking in the on-deck circle.

* And as I write the words, "Traitor Johnny whiffs," wouldn't you know it, Jeter punches a patented bleepin' bloop single five feet in front of Kapler in right to tie it. When he's in the Hall of Fame someday, it had better say "uncanny knack for dinky clutch hits" somewhere on his plaque. I believe the word here is "demoralizing" . . . but Papelbon needs to suck it up right now, forget that his manager completely botched the eighth inning, and give Papi (and Manny, in the unlikelihood that Papi doesn't smoke a walkoff of Rivera) a chance in the ninth.

* He does, whiffing Abreu. Considering he gave up the tying run, though, maybe the cocky fist-pump coming off the mound wasn't quite so necessary. Red Sox 5, Yankees 5

RED SOX NINTH
* Rivera in. Papi up. This is one hell of a game, eh?

* . . . yup, and it just got a little bit better. Papi hits a one-hopper at Giambi, who thoughtfully plays it into a double. (He's got the range and hands of the Venus de Milo.) As Papi plods toward second just ahead of Bernie Williams's water balloon of a throw, for a brief moment it seems time has slowed down.

* Torre didn't achieve this lot in life by being a dummy. He walks Manny. I'm sure Michael Kay is blathering about this being a genius move.

* Youkilis bunts into a fielder's choice at third (hey, you try bunting Rivera's cutter), but Posada obliges the Fenway faithful with a passed ball, moving the runners to second and third after all.

* Pena gets four freebies, loading them for pinch-hitter Eric Hinske. A new Fenway hero in the making? Nope, no chance. Strike, ball, strike, strike, sit. And on the next pitch, Mirabelli predictably leaves 'em loaded, chopping feebly back to Rivera. There will be no chicken parm on this evening after all.

YANKEES 10th
* Hansen in. HGHiambi homers. Gee, didn't see that coming. This one's on you, Tito. The goddamn loyalty to Timlin is the same flaw that convinced you it was a good idea to keep running the likes of Millar and Embree out there last year. If EVER there was a game to use Papelbon for two, this was it - hell, you said so yourself during the game. You're a fine manager, but you had a horrible night exactly when your team could least afford it.

* Cano doubles and Posada hooks a liner around Pesky's Pole (is it me, or has that thing been much more friendly to visitors than the home team this season?) and it's 8-5. To his credit, Hansen looks awfully pissed for someone who grew up in New York. Yankees 8, Red Sox 5

RED SOX 10th
* So, hey, how'd Brady look last night? And Maroney? How about Dillon? Think they're deep enough at linebacker? Whaddaya say, 12-4? 13-3? Man, can't wait for football . . .

* And there it is . . . Papi flies out to right to end it. Remember that symbolism we were looking for way back in the first inning? Looks like we found it here. Not even the man who has rescued them so many times can save this defeated team now.

* * *
(Postscript: Just caught Tito's postgame press conference. Wow, is he a beaten man. He explained all too reasonably that he went to Timlin and Lopez in the eighth because Damon/Jeter/Abreu were "something like a combined 4 for 49 against them." Which is all well and good, except it forgets one crucial factor. The Mike Timlin pitching for the Red Sox right now is a far cry from the steady setup man of the past three seasons. He's 40 years old, might be hurt, is additionally weary because of the WBC, and cannot get the outs now he got in past seasons. This is one instance where past performance MUST be disregarded, because this simply is not the same guy. Tito should have known better.)