TATB Live: Patriots 31, Eagles 28

While watching one of today's junior varsity games a few hours ago - the Chargers-Ravens, I think it was - the color commentator opined with a certain level of confidence and a high level of ignorance that no one will beat the Patriots this season, but that the Patriots "will beat themselves," his point being that they will suffer a mental letdown one of these Sundays, and that's when they will lose.

I'm not sure who said commentator was, but he clearly suffered multiple concussions at some point in his career. The 2007 Patriots will never lack for motivation. Because of the over-the-top fallout from the CameraGate nonsense, this is the most vengeful, focused, angry, motivated, downright pissed off football team you, me, and any other football-watcher is possession of a shred of common sense has ever seen.

They may lose somewhere along the road, though at the moment I tend to doubt it. But should it happen, it won't be because they beat themselves. And it sure as hell won't be tonight against A.J. Feeley and the Philadelphia Eagles.

Let's go for 11-0. Gentlemen, start your engines.

FIRST QUARTER
. . . And as I'm writing that intro/rebuttal, Asante Samuel picks off a Feeley duck and takes it to the house, becoming the 20th Patriot to score a touchdown this season. It's 7-0, New England, and Tom Brady hasn't stepped on the field yet. I believe we can file that one under "Going According To Plan."

Well, I guess I'm going to have to eat at least a few of those words I just wrote. The Eagles just strung together a 14-play, 77-yard drive featuring several quality throws by Feeley and capped off by a one-yard leap into the end zone by fantasy football franchise player Brian Westbrook, knotting the score at 7-7. "You'd have to call that shocking," Al Michaels says, and I think most Patriots fans are nodding in agreement right about now.

The Pats' offense takes the field for the first time tonight with 6:31 to play in the first quarter. Did I mention how impressive that Philly drive was? Dammit, it's only the first quarter, and I'm already exposed as a hypocrite.

Rodney Harrison has already limped off tonight (it didn't look serious, but you never know) and Brady has taken a hellacious hit that you could tell he was feeling. No, the karma definitely is not good thus far.

The Patriots come out in a hurry-up offense with four wide receivers, including Kevin Faulk lining up wide on at least one play. I'm getting Air Coryell flashbacks, and you know I'm digging it. Someone let me know if you see J.J. Jefferson.

Now that's what you call a goal-line offense: Mike Vrabel at tight end, Junior Seau at fullback in the I Formation, and Heath Evans at tailback. Surprisingly, the play that gives the Pats a 14-7 lead isn't a pass to touchdown-machine Vrabel, but a one-yard blast into the end zone by Evans. All in all, an impressive, effortless answer to the Eagles' drive.

Says John Madden: "You wonder, where is Laurence Maroney?" Actually, I'm not sure it was Madden. It might have been that Frank TV guy for all I know. But it's a valid point. It seems like a long time ago that we were giddy about Maroney's explosiveness and potential. I don't know if he needs to grow up or his nagging injuries are holding him back, but I sense that there are some doubts as to whether he is the back of the future here after all. Heck, he might not be as good as his U of Minnesota runningmate, Dallas's Marion Barber III.

SECOND QUARTER
Maybe it's because I watched so much horrendous quarterback play today - I just cannot believe Kyle Boller and J.P. Losman were ever first-round picks - but Feeley actually looks more than competent, just as he did in 2004 when he was in Miami and the Dolphins upset the Patriots in December. He and Westbrook have the Eagles moving the ball effectively again, and the Patriots' defense looks out of sync and a little bit slow right now.

Junior Seau on Westbrook: "He's one of those three-dimensional players you can't stop, you've just got to try to contain him." Somewhere, Dan Patrick nods in approval.

Well, well, what do we have here . . . a competitive ball game? I'm not ready to say the Patriots are in for a four-quarter battle just yet, but Feeley just connected with Greg Lewis on a dazzling deep ball right out of the Brady/Moss highlight reel - really, Feeley made a perfect throw and Lewis a sensational catch - and it's even at 14. I'll concede this much right now. The Pats aren't going to cover that 24-point spread.

The Eagles are playing like they have nothing to lose, attempting and recovering an onside kick after the TD. "They're taking it to them," Madden says, and there's something disconcerting about that truth. Fortunately, the Eagles go three and out after Feeley stunts the possession by falling for a sack on first down.

Brady has completed four straight passes, three to Moss. It's like Brady and the offense has suddenly switched into "Quit ------ around" mode.

Five straight . . . six straight . . .

The Patriots are moving the ball effectively, but Philly is getting a consistent pass rush off both ends. The Patriots' offensive line has been outstanding all season, but suddenly the tackles are looking a little Max Lane-ish. (You know, I take that back. Matt Light with two peg legs would be more effective tackle than Reggie White's whipping boy.)

I won't say a field goal that gives you a 17-14 lead is a lost opportunity, but with first and goal inside the Philly 10, you'd think the Pats would be able to punch it into the end zone. But Brady gets sacked, Welker can't bust a tackle on third down to get into the end zone, and Gostkowski bangs home the three. That should be Maroney territory, you know.

Feeley is picking apart the Pats' secondary. Jeez, now there's a sentence I didn't think I'd write tonight. But he's doing a great job of getting rid of the ball just before the Patriots' pass rush arrives . . . and dammit, he just did it again, hitting Lewis on a post pattern for the go-ahead score. It's 21-17, Eagles, and the Patriots have shown no indication that they're capable of stopping them. Better hope for some shrewd halftime adjustments, folks, because whatever they're doing right now is not working.

Lewis has as many catches tonight (5) as he had all season coming into the game. In a completely unrelated note, remember when Eugene Wilson looked like a future Pro Bowler? He's inactive tonight despite not being on the injury report at the end of the week. What an inexplicable fall from grace.

The Patriots have allowed scoring drives of 77, 76, and 70 yards tonight. To an offense led by A.J. Feeley. At this point I will note that I've seen more of Eddie Jackson and Rashad Baker tonight than I have Adalius Thomas and Richard Seymour, and I wish that were one of my usual exaggerations.

Despite Lito Sheppard and friends doing a decent job of keeping Moss from getting deep, it appears the Eagles can't stop the Patriots, either. With typical precision, Brady passes the Pats down the field (I don't recall a single running play on the drive, and Maroney, apparently the Gene Wilson of the offense, still has not seen the field tonight), and a strike to Jabar Gaffney gives New England a 24-21 halftime lead that it probably doesn't deserve.

Four quick halftime thoughts, one of which actually has to do with this game:

1. Feeley is playing admirably tonight, but you have to figure the Pats will solve him in the second half. Belichick is a master of adjustments, of course, and you have to figure Feeley really isn't that sharp given that he supposedly ditched US soccer babe Heather Mitts.

2. Costas, Collinsworth, and Olbermann (a hat-trick of look-at-me blowhards) make me long for the days of Brent Musburger, Phyllis George, and Irv Cross. Especially Phyllis George.

3. At this point, Archie Manning has to wondering if Eli is really the milk man's spawn.

4. If Peter King still claims Baltimore has a chance to beat the Patriots, he must be drinking crystal meth lattes these days. That team is excruciating, and Brian Billick owes his career to Moss.

THIRD QUARTER
Not exactly the way you'd draw up the first possession of the second half, with a penalty on the kickoff, a penalty on first down, a near interception, and a sack in which Brady got rattled by Darren Howard. Fortunately, Patriots punter Chris Hanson (who I'm assuming is a part-time employee) launches a bomb from the end zone, and the coverage team keeps the Eagles on their side of the 50. Time to see about those defensive adjustments . . .

. . . and a much-needed three-and-out by the Eagles, with Rosey Colvin, Ellis Hobbs, Thomas, and Seymour swarming Westbrook on third and 2. So far, so good.

How about taking a deep shot with Moss here? He'll strike at some point, right, or does Brady not have the time to let a deep play develop?


Damn, Wes Welker is just fearless over the middle. It is reminiscent of Troy Brown in his prime, except I don't remember ol' No. 80 taking the shots Welker takes. How does he get out of bed on Monday mornings?

Well, there it was - the deep shot for Moss, I mean. Damn near connected, too, except he couldn't quite hang on to what looked like about a 50-yard gain. Give the Eagles' DBs credit - they're not letting him beat them.

Third down . . , Welker . . . first down.

Dude, check it out - a Maroney sighting! He looks good, too, carrying the ball three times on this drive and hitting the holes with decisiveness rather than falling into his maddening Reggie Dupard happy-feet dance in the backfield. Perhaps sitting him out in the first half was all part of the plan rather than anything more sinister.

Wes Welker is just . . . well, he's just one hell of a football player. Taking a little screen pass from a pressured Brady at midfield, he turns upfield, ducks behind a beastly Stephen Neal block, and zips all the way to the Philly 4. He really does do all those Troy Brown things, doesn't he?

Now that is a wasted opportunity, one that will linger in the Patriots' minds should Philly somehow steal this game. On first down, a Moss touchdown was negated by an offensive pass interference call (which, to be honest, could be called on him much more often than it is). Brady, under siege, threw a pass behind Welker at the 5, and on third down he was hurried and underthrew Watson. It's to Stephen Gostkowski's credit that we assume the three points whenever he trots onto the field within reasonable range, but he hooked this one from 32 yards, and what should have been a 10-point lead is stalled at 3.

I'm not convinced Feeley is even an average quarterback - although considering what constitutes a starting QB these days, I might be selling him short - but I will say that he's playing better tonight than I've seen Donovan McNabb play in quite some time. Philly fans can have a quarterback controversy if they want one.

Michaels: "The Patriots find themselves in a dogfight." (Pause.) "Sorry, poor choice of words." And somewhere, a single tear rolls down Michael Vick's cheek as he snuggles his affectionate new roommate Bubba.

Sorry, no time for jokes. Philly is driving again, and as Madden points out, the Patriots are doing a poor job covering the in-cuts of the Eagles' receivers. Philly may well take the lead here, and at the least Gostkowski's lousy kick looms large.

Third and four at the Pats' 8. Huge, huge play. . . gotta be Westbrook, right?

Nope. Ten plays (all passes, Michaels points out) and 78 yards after the drive began, Feeley hits Reggie Brown on - you guessed it - an inside pattern, and the Eagles take a 28-24 lead. I feel like I'm watching a Pete Carroll team right now, with Randall Gay playing the role of Chris Canty.

Sure-handed Kevin Faulk drops a third and 3 pass deep in Pats territory, and this has officially gotten frustrating.

I've never heard of Nick Cole until this moment, but I'm glad I did. The anonymous Eagle, No. 59 in your program, is called for a neutral zone infraction before the punt, giving the Pats a first down. They must take advantage of this. It's imperative the way this game is going heading into the final 15 minutes.

FOURTH QUARTER
Madden says he's suspects that the Eagles are frustrating Moss right now, and that leads to an interesting point: this is a great opportunity for Moss to prove that he can be depended on when things are not going well for his team. Because, let's face it, hanging in there during dire or frustrating circumstances has never been one of his personal attributes.

On fourth and 4 from the Philly 35, the Patriots go for it rather than have Gostkowski attempt a 52-yarder. I like the decision, though the play ultimately had no chance. Takeo Spikes, who has lost about three steps since his Cincy days, nonetheless gets to Brady on a blitz, forcing him to underthrow Moss on a short sideline pattern. And I'll say it again: The Patriots' line, fantastic all season, has been absolutely porous tonight.

Andrea Kremer - who isn't shy about giving Brady the ol' Moonie Eyes - informs us that Colvin (foot) and Gay (back) have gone to the locker room with injuries. Cruel as it sounds, I'd be more concerned if they were actually playing well.

Pats inside the red zone again, thanks to two more huge catches from Welker, including one on third and 9 that extended the drive. I think that gives him 11 tonight. I wonder how Moss likes being the decoy?

Okay, Kool-Aid (check out the ridiculous door on his ride), all is forgiven. Maroney blows through the guts of the Eagles' defense from nine yards out - seriously, it's the best run I can recall him making this season - and the Pats retake the lead, 31-28.

Just under seven minutes left. Philly starts inside the Pats' 10. A championship-caliber defense makes a play right here, doesn't it?

Maybe, but the current version of the Pats' defense doesn't. Feeley hits Lewis for 11 yards on third and 3, and the Eagles wiggle out of a bad situation.


Feeley is killing the Pats over the middle, completing three straight passes for three straight first downs well into New England territory. What the hell is this, a prevent?

God bless you, Asante Samuel. Pay the man, Mr. Kraft. Pay the man!

. . . and after No. 22's second pick of the night, running under a Feeley floater in the end zone like he was the intended receiver (now that's the A.J. Feeley I used to know), the Pats convert on third and 6 on a slant to Gaffney, who has been immense tonight. Philly has just one timeout remaining, so one more first down ends this thing, and we can all exhale.

"Who will cowboy up on Sunday Night Football"? Man, I hope Millar gets royalties for that commercial crap.

Philly gets it back after three Maroney runs take time off the clock, but Feeley, who apparently turned back into a pumpkin around 11:15, hits James Sanders in the numbers with his first pass, and that'll do it. The Patriots are unbeaten. Still.

A parting thought while we wait for the '72 Dolphins to put away the champagne glasses: I guess there are two ways at looking at tonight's developments. First, you have to figure there will be nights like this even if the Pats do ultimately run the table, and it is to the immense credit of Brady (who was outstanding tonight despite taking a beating that would have put Tony Eason in a permanent fetal position) and Wes Welker (13 catches, 149 yards), among others, that they won this game when it so easily could have been lost. Despite tonight's far from perfect performance, I still disagree with that nitwit broadcaster who said the Patriots will eventually beat themselves; they're the last team in the history of football that will beat itself. But that brings us to the other way of looking at this - Philadelphia followed the Colts' approach to attacking this team, and it damn near worked. They pressured Brady constantly, took advantage of the underbelly of the Patriots' pass defense (I wish they had just one more quality linebacker who can run), and had the talent in the defensive backfield to hassle Moss. So I guess the lingering question is this: Is there another team on the schedule who has the personnel, coaching, and discipline to pull off the "blueprint," as Madden called it? I still doubt it, but it certainly adds a little more intrigue to the next five weeks.

Wait! Four more things I forgot to mention:

1. The Patriots had one sack tonight. Feeley did a fantastic job getting rid of the ball quickly, but that's no excuse for Vince Wilfork, Ty Warren, Jarvis Green, and Seymour to be invisible against the Philly passing game.

2. I was encouraged by what I saw from Maroney in the second half, and frankly, they are going to need that if this season is going to end with a victory. The Eagles obviously had little respect for the Pats' running game, and while the spread offense was effective in the first half, it's alarming that they had just one carry from a running back in the first 30 minutes.

3. Keeping Brady healthy is obviously the key to, well, everything, and he took way too many bone-rattling shots tonight. This simply cannot happen again.

4. Samuel really must be signed. He's convinced me. He's an elite cornerback, he does the things Ty Law used to do, and the drop-off from him to Hobbs and Gay is like going from Mike Haynes to Elvis Patterson. All right, so that's hyperbole (hey, it's late), but you get the point. He's essential, and he's as big a reason as anyone that they survived tonight.

TATB Live: World Series, Game 4

I'm rooting for more than the Red Sox tonight; I'm rooting for the story, and I imagine you know exactly what I mean.

As appropriate as it might be for ace Josh Beckett to pitch the clincher tomorrow night, if you have a sentimental bone in your body, you want Jon Lester to be the one to deliver the Red Sox their second World Championship in four seasons a few hours from now. We all know that a year ago, the young lefty had far greater concerns than throwing a baseball. Now here he is, a 23-year-old cancer survivor poised to pitch a game we will all remember. Something tells me he's up for the challenge.

Other pregame notes: Trisha Yearwood sings a lovely anthem. For the record, I'm pretty sure she's not a Beckett ex. She looks more like Gagne's type . . . In the Fox pregame, Kevin Kennedy sagely notes that the Sox have some good young homegrown players (I'm pretty sure he first heard of Jacoby Ellsbury around this time last night), Joe Girardi offers a non-denial denial on whether he's the Yankees' next manager, and Jeannie Zelasko wrestles the last chocolate coconut donut from Mark Grace's grasp. The more I see of this crew and the nitwits on ESPN, the more I appreciate TC and the Eck . . . The great Fred Willard, reading the Sox lineup: "David Ortiz, no designated hitter, he wants to play first base, YOU TELL HIM NO!"

All right, let's get this done, the less drama the better. As much as I dearly miss my angst and a lament my lost identity as a Sox fan, for as much as I secretly enjoyed the stomach-churning, soul-crushing misery inflicted upon me by Grady Little in '03, I suppose I could live with a sweep, a sequel to "Faith Rewarded," and chance to watch Papelbon make a fool out of himself during the victory parade. Yes, I suppose I could.

FIRST INNING
Ellsbury slaps Aaron Cook's second pitch into left field for the a double. In a related note, Coco Crisp catches himself daydreaming about how he'll look in a Braves uniform next season.

Cook is the Rockies' version of Jake Westbrook, an occasionally effective sinkerballer, but he hasn't pitched since August 10. The Sox shouldn't lack for baserunners. It's a matter of converting them into runs and taking the Rockies out of it early. (Wow, that was Tim McCarver-like wisdom there, was it not? Excuse me while I take a swig of Metamucil.)

Well, there's one. Ellsbury smartly advances to third on Dustin Pedroia's grounder to the left side, and David Ortiz makes it 1-0, Sox with a rocket through the right side of the drawn-in infield. Manny bounces into a double play to end the inning, but the Rockies definitely have to be left with a "here we go again" vibe.

Rockies go down 1-2-3 in their half. I'd be glad to write that sentence, oh, eight more times tonight.

My 3-year-old daughter just came out to give me one more hug goodnight, yell her patented "GoRedSoxGoRedSoxGoRedSox!," and remind me to "drink your beers." Right now I'm feeling an odd (and surely misplaced) sense of pride.

SECOND INNING
Cook breezes through Mike Lowell, J.D. Drew, and Jason Varitek in order. It's funny, this is one of the few nights during the postseason that I haven't been at the Globe, and while we have the game on in the office, obviously we're too buried trying to make first edition to pay attention to the nuances of the telecasts. So, having just noticed this, I have to ask: Does a commercial break pass without the fake camaraderie of a Budweiser ad or a completely uninteresting promo for "House"? I guess I shouldn't be surprised.

Todd Helton, Mr. Rockie, leads off with a rocketed double to left. Ellsbury cuts it off and seems to have the ball just after Helton hits the first base bag, but he still beats the throw comfortably to second base. Yes, I think the Rockies have paid attention to the scouting report on the kid's arm. Let's just say he's going to follow in the Damon/Crisp tradition of noodle arms in center field, though his is slightly stronger than both of theirs - his throws reach home plate in seven hops rather than eight.

I've said it all along: David Ortiz is not a bad first baseman. Sure, he has the range of Mo Vaughn after a KFC Snack Bowl bender, and playing D takes a fierce toll on his knees . . . but he has excellent hands, and has Jeff Suppan can tell you, his throwing arm is strong and accurate for the position. I mention this, as I'm sure you know, because he just made a smooth scoop to spare Julio Lugo a throwing error. Youkilis wouldn't have done it any better.

After Ryan Spillborghs (whom I like a lot as a fourth outfielder-type, but whom Rob Dibble killed on 'EEI the other day) flied to center, Lester fell into his maddening habit of nibbling, and walked Brad Hawpe, who has been atrocious in this series. He slips out of it without allowing Helton to score, however, getting hot-hitting Yorvit Torrealba to ground to Lugo for the third out. I should note that Lugo made his two best defensive plays of the season last night, has been steady all postseason with the glove, and is even swinging the bat well in the series. If he and Drew keep this up, Theo's second-guessers are going to have no one left to complain about. (And I include myself among them.)

THIRD INNING
Cook gets the Sox in order again, retiring Ellsbury on a slow grounder to Kaz Matsui to end the inning. So far, the Sox have just two hits. Don't know about you, but I'm starting to miss Josh Fogg.

You think Papi really plays badminton? And if so, does he call the thing a "birdie" or a "shuttlecock"? These are the kinds of questions Tina Cervasio should be asking.

Gah. And now we have our first episode of the Manny In Coors Field Adventures. Matsui rips a liner to left that, oh, 90 percent of major league left fielders would probably catch. Unfortunately, Manny is in the other 10 percent, and it soars just past his reach and rattles around for a double. All of the statistical measures that I'm aware of say Manny is a horrendous defensive player, and while I happen to think he's made himself at least an adequate Fenway outfielder, this play gave us a sense of how much his home park masks his lack of range. (Part of it, I think, is that Manny has only one speed: ambling.)

Lester whiffs Troy Tulowitzki for the second time tonight. I saw the Rockies a lot this season on the MLB.com package (in part because they're so damn fun to watch as far as NL teams go, but mostly because I had Matt Holliday in a semi-lucrative fantasy league), and I think between here and in my Fox column I've made my appreciation for Tulowitzki apparent. You watch him play for any length of time, you can't help but think he's a bigger, rangier, less metrosexual version of Derek Jeter. The kid is going to be the Colorado cornerstone for the next decade. Now, that said, this series for him thus far can be filed under Learning Experience. To put it another way: The shortstop in the Boston dugout has been much better, and that's not something we've said about Julio Lugo, well, ever.

(And while I was writing Tulowitzki's biography, Lester whiffed Holliday. So far, so good, kid.)

FOURTH INNING
As Pedroia leads off the inning, Ken Rosenthal (who I hope to meet someday at the FoxSports company picnic, just to see if he really is three feet shorter that Eric Wedge, as it appeared during an ALCS postgame interview) tells us that Pedroia refers to his at-bats as "the laser show" and that his cockiness is an "endless source of amusement" to his veteran teammates. It really is a tribute to Pedroia's ability and "I'll-show-you" attitude that he could be such a vital part of this lineup and clubhouse after looking so overmatched in April. If you don't like Dustin Pedroia, you don't like the Red Sox. (By the way: Pedroia could definitely call Rosenthal "little fella.")

Pedroia grounds out, Papi pops out, Manny lines out, and I'm really beginning to become suspicious of this Aaron Cook character. Just where has he been the last two months, anyway?

Francona, when asked during those usually insipid in-dugout interviews what Lester's pitch count is tonight: " 'Bout 180." The dry wit (teetering on sarcasm) is a tremendously underrated aspect of Tito's appeal.

Joe Buck usually oozes smarm, but I have to admit, he's made a couple of good points tonight, especially in noting that the 2004 Sox might have had more talent than this team, but that the '07 version is set up for the future much better than the veteran-laden Idiots were. I hadn't thought of it that way, but he's right.

Lester retires the first two hitters, walks Spillborghs, then gets Hawpe on a popup to end it. Very, very impressive. If he keeps this up, he might be pitching Tim Wakefield into retirement.

FIFTH INNING
Good things happening. Lowell leads off with a double into the left field canyon. Drew grounds out without advancing the runner, but Varitek follows with a ground single to right, and DeMarlo Hale sends Lowell despite Hawpe's cannon. It looked like it would be a bang-bang play at the plate, but Lowell makes a beautiful slide and touches the plate with his hand for a 2-0 Boston lead. If there's any justice, upon returning to the dugout Lowell was greeted by Theo holding a three-year, $39 million contract offer.

We always hear that Lester is one of the purest athletes on the team, one of those three-sport-captain types who shoots an 85 his first time on a golf course and can dunk a basketball while wearing street clothes. But he doesn't particularly athletic with a baseball bat in his hands, and he fails to get a bunt down in three tries with two on and one out. Ellsbury follows by striking out (the Rockies have apparently figured out he'll fish for the low-and-in stuff), and we might consider this the first real lost opportunity of the night.

SIXTH INNING
See, this is where I really miss my angst. The Sox have a 2-0 lead, hardly insurmountable, and Manny Delcarmen, who has spent the postseason wearing a wide-eyed, "Holy bleep, I can't believe I'm pitching for the Red Sox in the playoffs!" look on his face, is warming up in the bullpen. If this were, say, 2003, I'd be chomping my fingernails and wondering how they were going to lose this one. Instead, I'm nursing a Shipyard Pumpkinhead, casually typing in my inanities here, and fully expecting that somehow, the Sox will be celebrating in Denver tonight. If enjoying this likable, well-run, winning baseball team means we've lost our identities, well dammit, I hope we never find them.

By the way:



Dude, I know. I don't believe it, either.

Pedroia, Papi, and Manny hit three straight ground outs, Cook is cruising, and I sure hope Lester can give them another easy inning or two.

All right, now I'm a little nervous. (IT'S NOT ANGST, LOBEL!!!) After retiring Holliday and Helton on, what, four pitches, Lester walks Atkins on a 3-2 count, and that after it looked like he had struck him out on ball three. I'm not going to question Francona's decision to remove Lester for Delcarmen here, because heaven knows Tito is managing circles around everyone this postseason (just as he did in '04). It's just that Lester has been so good, and Delcarmen so shaky lately, and . . . Delcarmen blows Spillborghs away. Tito, I hope I get the chance to buy you a beer someday so you can tell me how you keep a clear head (figuratively as well as literally, I suppose) with nitwits like me second-guessing you at every turn. Hey, did I ever mention I wanted the Sox to hire Glenn Freakin' Hoffman after Grady was sent back to Hillbillyville? I didn't? Well, let's keep it that way.

SEVENTH INNING
Lowell, solo homer, 3-0 Sox. PAY. THE. MAN. And that does it for Cook, who induced 13 groundball outs and did everything the Rockies could have asked for given his inaction the last two months.

Says Buck: "What a night for Mike Lowell. This could be his last night in a Red Sox uniform." You think so, Nepotism Boy? Well, aren't you going to be surprised when Theo presents him with a four-year, $52 million contract offer between innings.

Jeremy Affeldt in for the Rockies. I have never understood why this kid isn't a consistently excellent big-league pitcher - he has some wildness issues, but he has an unbelievable arm, and he's a lefty. I'd rather have him than every single Javier Lopez ever to play in the big leagues. (Official TATB Sportswriting Binky Joe Posnanski had a melancholy anecdote about being dazzled by Affeldt one hopeful spring day during his Royals days in a recent blog post.)

Lonestar does a fine countrified rendition of God Bless America. By the way, didn't they play at the Red Sox kickoff dinner that NESN showed three times a day in April? I wonder if the Rockies are aware of their dual loyalties. (And no, none of them dated Josh Beckett, either. That I'm aware of.)

Affeldt does the job. Nine outs away.

Well, here we go. Hawpe takes Delcarmen deep to cut it to 3-1, and I hate to say it, but you could see it coming. When Delcarmen is wild high, it's because he's overthrowing . . . and he's wild high right now. As the Sox infield coverges on Delcarmen to settle him down (Papi was particularly animated), the Fox cameras show Mike Timlin and The Hero In The Dark are up in the bullpen for the Sox. I wonder how many outs Okajima and Papelbon are capable of getting tonight.

Delcarmen retires Torrealba on a flyout, then Cory Sullivan singles, and that'll do it for the pride of Hyde Park. Timlin is coming in, and while he had nothing last night, I have faith in him in this situation that I didn't have in Manny D. This might be one of those situations were experience and poise is preferable to pure ability.

Sit, Matsui. Huge whiff for Timlin. Now he must get Tulowitzki, because Holliday as the go-ahead run is an absolutely terrifying thought.

Bless his 41-year-old, slopballin'-huntin'-fishin'-possum'-killin' soul, but Timlin whiffs Tulowitzki on a 3-2 pitch, and that right there is why Tito was so loyal to Timlin when he looked cooked in April and nitwits like me were urging the Sox to move on. That may have been the pivotal moment tonight, and just as he did so often in the '03 and '04 playoffs, Timlin came through.

Remember all the times I said Tulowitzki reminds me of Jeter? Still does.

EIGHTH INNING
This clown . . .


. . . leads off as a pinch hitter with an absolute moonshot to left, and it's 4-1, Sox. Hey, we always heard Bobby Kielty mashed lefties. He sure picked a swell time to finally show it.

Rosenthal jumps in with perhaps the first worthwhile "breaking news" report by a sideline reporter in the history of television: Alex Rodriguez will turn down the Yankees' five-year, $150-million offer and opt out of his contract, the alleged reason being he is concerned with the direction of the Yankees.

Buck and Rosenthal are speculating that A-Rod may be with the Sox next season, especially if Lowell isn't back. I'm sure I am looking at this with sentiment rather than logic right now, but screw A-Rod; Mike Lowell belongs on this team, not him. Slappy's made to be a villain. And by the way, you're telling me Boras didn't plant this story for this precise moment? He can't put a price on the publicity. I might think he was trying to steal the Sox' thunder, but since it makes the Yankees' look bad, I'll look at it as a rich dessert after a delicious meal. It's not necessary, but it sure tastes good.

Okajima in for the Sox. Bless him for his warrior mentality, but he has to be exhausted. His arm must feel like he spent the past five seasons pitching for Joe Torre.

Holliday grounds out (0 for 4), but Helton pokes one to left (he's a perma-helmet away from being John Olerud at this point), bringing up Atkins with one out. Huge batter here.

Dammit, I shouldn't have said anything. Atkins, who was long overdue, tees off on a 3-1 pitch, cutting the margin to 4-3. That's all for Oki, who I have a hard time faulting considering it seems like he pitched a high-stress inning or two every single day all summer and fall. Anyway, here comes Papelbon. Does he have five outs in that right arm tonight?

Spillborghs is making Papelbon work. It's imperative to keep him off base with Hawpe coming up . . . and Spillborghs grounds to Lugo as I'm pecking that out.

Hawpe, after at least one hideous swing, hit it on the screws to left-center . . . and did I mention that Coco Crisp is in as a defensive replacement, with Ellsbury moving over? Three outs to go. A couple extra runs wouldn't hurt in the top of the ninth, however.

NINTH INNING
Two outs, top of the ninth, one run lead, and Joe Buck is conceding everything to the Sox, calling them "the standard by which all other teams are measured - including the New York Yankees." It's a lovely sentiment, it really is . . . but can we save the freakin' bouquets until there are three more outs, please? At least McCarver is silent. Must have dozed off again.

Tek grounds to Jamey Carroll (who looks like Mike Piazza's Mine-Me), and to the bottom of the ninth we go . . .

Torrealba. Pedroia. Two outs to go.

IS THERE A DOCTOR IN THE HOUSE? SOMEONE PLEASE RE-START MY HEART! (Seriously, if that's Manny out there, I say Carroll's ball Cansecos off his head and we have a tie game. Also, I'm pretty sure what I feel for Jacoby Ellsbury right now is how my sister felt about Simon LeBon when she was 12. Or maybe it was Nick Rhodes, can't remember. God, I'm so nervous I'm having "Tiger Beat" flashbacks.)

Seth Smith. Swinging. Strike three.

Game over. Series over. Red Sox win.

Also . . .

WHHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(No, seriously.)

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-
OOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!

(For the record, the only angst I feel right now is that I didn't buy a friggin' couch in April.)

* * *

So my little boy, 14 months, just woke up, something that may or may not have had to do with the gutteral howl that came from the living room. Curiously, the same thing happened when his big sister was eight months old and the Sox had just ended 86 years of disappointment, agony, and yes, angst. Like I did with Leah three years ago, I brought Alex out, pointed to the TV, and said, "The Red Sox just won the World Series. Someday, that will mean a lot to you." Oh, this victory doesn't lift a burden or end any fictional curse or shut up that #*$**$ Yankees fan that's been on your case for years, but go ahead and try to tell me the joy doesn't wash over you just the same.

I'm Globe-bound the next few days - I keep hearing something about a special section - but I'll be back in the next few days to crank out TATB's annual season wrapup. Given that I started this site in large part because I regretted not having an outlet to write about the magic of '04, I promise that when I get the story of 2007 posted, it will be done right. In the meantime, I'm going to pop open that last Shipyard or two or six, lean back on the couch I wish I had replaced eight months ago, and savor this. I imagine I'll throw a few more notes on here in the next hour or so, but if you're checking out to go celebrate, I just want to say thanks for joining me tonight, and always. This - this - is why I do this. -- CHAD

* * *





POSTGAME STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS WHILE CHUGGING BEERS, FLIPPING CHANNELS, AND SAVORING THE CELEBRATION: Mike Lowell, World Series MVP. All right, six years, $84 million, but that's the final offer. (Seriously, he'd better be under contract by the time he boards the duck boat.) . . . Just caught Gammons talking about Jon Lester's performance tonight. I thought he was going to cry, and I can't blame him. I agree with the commenter on this post: That's the best game Lester ever pitched. I had my doubts about this kid before he got sick, wondering if his failure to trust his stuff would hinder his ability to live up to his talent. After all he's gone through - and how he came through it - how can anyone ever doubt him about anything again? . . . The 2004 team will always mean the most to me - you know what they say about never forgetting your first. But this one is special in its own way, and anyway, that comparison is for another day. One of the truly unique aspects of this team is the impact of the young players. Pedroia is going to own the city - he's a Dirt Dog with actual talent. Ellsbury is a jolt of electricity. We know what Lester accomplished tonight, and Papelbon has been established for so long that it almost feels like he was here in '04. Theo's dream of a "player development machine" has become a reality . . . NESN just showed footage of the '04 celebration, and I swear on a holy stack of media guides, Royce Clayton was in the middle of that one too . . .I've said it before, and I'm guessing a lot more of you agree with me now: There's no one else I'd rather have managing the Boston Red Sox than Terry Francona. He's now 8-0 in the World Series and 22-9 in the postseason. He's Joe Torre with a little bit of an edge and a knack for handling a bullpen. He's the right man at the right time in the right town. That "Francoma" b.s. has always been born from the miniscule minds of morons. I hope he never has to hear it again. It's time he got the universal appreciation from Sox fans he deserves . . . Timlin just brought Wakefield to the verge of tears, interrupting the knuckleballer's interview with Don Orsillo to praise him for being such a selfless teammate. Nice gesture by Timlin, and it clearly meant a lot to Wakefield. They're getting emotional in their old age . . . Julio Lugo and J.D. Drew are World Champions. Chew on that for a minute. And you know what? The way they played the last seven days, they damn sure deserve it . . . All right, I'm officially gassed, in a delirious way, of course. But before I go, I'll sign off with the sage words of an old friend, the most optimistic Sox fan I know (he knows who he is):

FIRE UP THE DUCK BOATS!!!!

(And to all, a good night.)

(P.S. - How'd the Pats do today?)

TATB Live: Sox vs. Big-Head Barry

Two thoughts before we dig in here:

1) Barry Bonds is going to hear it tonight, and you, me, and Henry Aaron know he deserves every last boo. But I only hope Sox fans lean toward the creative side rather than the obnoxious side, because I get the sense certain Bonds apologists (boo-yeah!) are just waiting to say Boston disgraced itself in its treatment of baseball's most accomplished walking pharmacy. Go ahead and let him have it, Sox fans . . . but stay classy in doing so. Slowly climbing off soap box . . .

2) Dave Roberts is going to hear it tonight, and just as he's the polar opposite of Bonds in terms of personality and character, his reception will be the polar opposite of Bonds's as well. You surely need no reminded that his stolen base in Game 4 of the 2004 ALCS is perhaps the defining moment of that cathartic postseason, and other than his return for the ring ceremony in 2005, it's the first time he's appeared on the field at Fenway. Here's hoping his ovation blows away the Dr. Charles-orchestrated salute to Trot Nixon a few weeks ago. Without Roberts and his fleet feet, we might be talking about an 89-year drought right now.

All right, time to score some runs for once and get a win . . .

FIRST INNING
Roberts is leading off, and he looks genuinely touched as 37,000 or so Sox fans salute him in unison. (Though I have to admit, I thought the ovation would last longer.) Of course, while he's one of ours when it comes to all the highlight films and misty watercolor memories, he reminds us that its the Giants who keep his bank account full these days, singling to right off Julian Tavarez and coming around to score on Mark Sweeney's double into the corner. It's 1-0, Giants, and so much for sentiment.

Randy Winn grounds to second, moving Sweeney to third (they're so fundamentally sound in the NL) and bringing up Bonds and his size 24EEEEEEEEEEEE head. The reaction was pretty much one massive group boo, but it was hardly of the vicious Get-the-bleep-out-of-here-you-cheater nature the WEEI banshees led us to believe would take place.

Bonds pops weakly to Pedroia, who holds Sweeney at third. Guess who forgot to put his HGH on his pancakes this morning?

Tavarez heaves a one-hopper past Varitek, Sweeney trots home, and its 2-0, Giants. Just the start the Sox needed. Has A-Rod homered tonight yet?

Considering the over/under on the amount of runs the Sox would score tonight was probably one given the way they've been swinging the bats, this has to be considered a fantastic start. J.D. Drew gets brushed by a Barry Zito pitch, and wee Dustin Pedroia follows two pitches later with shot into the Monster seats, tying it at 2. By the way, is it obvious that my jokes about Pedroia's height are a pathetic way of trying to mask the fact that I was completely wrong about the kid? It is? Shoot.

Well, this is just a wonderful development. Papi argues a called third strike, slams down his bat and helmet on the way back to the dugout, and promptly gets tossed by home-plate umpire Tony Randazzo. As much as I hate to say anything negative about Papi, there's no denying he deserves this. First, the pitch was a strike, and second, it seems like he's never taken a called strike that he didn't complain about, which means he's probably getting the reputation as a pain-in-the-you-know-what among the umpires. And frankly, getting tossed from a game at a time when the Sox' offense is struggling and their lead in the AL East is shrinking by the day is inexcusable. He should be better than that.

Remy sums up the developments so far with his usual succinctness: "Plenty of action already tonight, with Bonds nearly hitting a home run [he just missed wrapping one around the Pesky Pole], Pedroia hitting a home run, and Ortiz getting tossed from the ballgame." If I've said it once, I've said it 1,000 times. There's just nothing like the Sox-Giants rivalry.

SECOND INNING
You know, I like to think I follow baseball pretty closely, especially now that I have the gig at Fox. I devour Buster Olney's blog daily, follow the minors like a "Baseball America" junkie, watch "Baseball Tonight," pretty much everything you'd expect. So it pains me to admit that I have no freakin' idea who this Schierholtz kid is that's currently at the plate for the Giants, and there were about a half-dozen guys one the Diamondbacks' roster last weekend that I wouldn't have been able to pick out of a lineup of baseball cards. Either I don't know as much as I think I do, or there are a lot of obscure players currently breaking through in the lesser league. I'm going to pretend that it's the latter, thank you very much. (And Tavarez, who I have heard of before, cruised through a 1-2-3 inning.)

Coco Crisp draws a two-out walk, but Julio Yugo grounds to third to end the Sox' half. I think my new policy is going to be to take my snack 'n' pee breaks during Lugo's at bats. (But not at the same time, sicko.) Good thing he's got only three years and $27 million remaining on his contract after this season. You're a sly one, Theo.

THIRD INNING
Roberts grounds to Pedroia to leadoff the inning as Tina Cervasio cuts in with a clip of Roberts talking about the warm reception and thank-yous he gets from Sox fans everywhere he goes - including, according to his anecdote, the bathroom. I don't imagine he's exaggerating - a buddy of mine ran into Roberts at a bookstore in San Diego a couple of years ago, and he couldn't pass up the opportunity to thank him for The Steal. My friend says Roberts was remarkably gracious, and told him a day doesn't pass when he doesn't encounter a Sox fan somewhere who wants to tell him how much 2004 means to him. As far as legacies go, that's surely not a bad one.

Tavarez works out of a minor jam (two-out double by Winn, intentional walk to the Human Syringe).

Upon further review, some nifty NESN split-screen camera work shows this Randozzo guy apparently had it out for Papi, peering at him all the way back to the dugout as if waiting for an excuse to run him. Says Remy: "If he had done that right around Randozzo at home plate, I'd certainly understand the ejection, no question about that. But that far away? C'mon, gimme a break . . . You can call that a homer call all you want, but that's the facts." As it is, Wily Mo Pena will be your DH for the remainder of the evening. Enjoy.

Drew singles (he's the present-day Rickey Henderson!), Pedroia reaches on a bobble by Sweeney, and Zito does the impossible and walks Wily Mo. So here's Manny, and isn't he about due for a two-homer, six-RBi night? Yes, yes he is. But he'll have to get the other five ribbies latee, because this time he bounces a fieder's choice to third to make it 3-2, Boston. It's probably worth noting that Manny was busting it down the line.

Youkilis hits into a double play to end the inning. Is it too late to take his name off the All-Star ballot?

FOURTH INNING
Benjie Molina of the Flying Molina Brothers leads off by hitting a one-hopper to Tavarez, who, against all odds, does not bowl the ball to first base, but actually throws it. Go figure. The Giants go down 1-2-3 again, and as usual Tavarez is giving the Sox everything they could ask for from a fifth starter.

NESN just showed Jon Miller, the ESPN Sunday Night Baseball play-by-play guy who is also the voice of the Giants. Maybe it's just my imagination, but he looks so much happier without Joe Morgan blabbering cliches and Big Red Machine anecdotes in his ear.

Ray Durham makes a nice play to throw out Coco on a roller up the middle, getting him in a bang-bang play at first. For some reason, I sympathize with Crisp in his current offensive struggles a lot more than I do with Lugo, perhaps because Crisp is actually doing something to help the team (Gold Glove defense in center) and seems anguished by his inability to buy a hit these days.

Lugo swipes second - his 19th without being caught, so I guess he is doing something to help the team - but this one comes with an asterisk. It appeared Zito had him picked off, but first baseman Sweeney threw to third to make sure Mike Lowell wouldn't break for home, and Lowell scurred back to third safely. Typically heady play by Lowell, and the Sox reap the benefits a moment later when Drew, who is apparently an amalgam of Rickey, Rock Raines, and Lou Brock as a leadoff hitter, ropes a two-run double over Roberts's head in center to make it 5-2, Sox. "Imagine if he finds himself as a leadoff hitter," Remy says with a laugh. Pedroia follows with his third hit of the night, scoring Drew to make it 6-2, prompting Orsillo to exclaim, "Here are the runs the Red Sox have been without lately!" Eloquent, Don-O, you vinyl-covered automaton. Vin Scully couldn't have put it better.

FIFTH INNING
Roberts pokes a one-out double to right, Sweeney bounces one to Youkilis for the second out . . . and then, wouldn't you know it, Tavarez busts out his mad bowling skills once again, fielding Winn's slow roller along the baseline and rolling it even slower to Youkilis for the third out. Francona looks like he just swallowed a wad of Copenhagen, but whatever works, right?

Sox go in order in the bottom half. Man, Barry Zito is going to be worth every dime of that $126 million, isn't he?

SIXTH INNING
Here's Bonds at the plate . . .

. . . and here's Bonds as an Alaska Goldpanner in, I believe, 1983.


Man, the dude really hasn't changed a bit.

Bonds bounces to second as Sox fans jeer him with what sounds like three or four different chants. The lack of cohesion is mildly disappointing. Maybe they should just go with the trusty old "steeee-roids" chant that used to greet Jose Canseco back in the day. Don't make it more complicated than it is, people.

Minor trouble brewing for Tavarez. With one out, Ray Durham singles, and moves to third on Molina's single. (By the way, I'm pretty sure that if they raced around the bases, Doug Mirabelli would lap Molina. The guy is so slow that time stands still when he runs.) But the Sox starter escapes, getting Schierholtz to ground to second. Pretty impressive performance tonight by Tavarez, especially given the team's semi-desperation for a win.

After third baseman Pedro Feliz punts Crisp's one-out grounder, Zito's night ends when Bruce Bochy gives him the hook. I don't want to belabor the point that this was a poorly-conceived signing by Brian Sabean and the Giants, but according to Bill James, Zito threw the second-most pitches below 80 mph in the AL last season, trailing only a certain local knuckleballer. My point: In terms of stuff and results, Zito barely resembles the young ace who went 23-5 in 2003. He's little more than a lefty junkballer now.

Drew, who is obviously the greatest Red Sox leadoff hitter since Wade Boggs was devouring chicken, Miller Lite, and Margo Adams, singles off reliever Randy Messenger to drive in Crisp, who had swiped second., and it's 7-2, Sox. It's like I've been saying, all the Sox need to get their offense going is to get that albatross Ortiz out of there. (Actually, I shouldn't even joke about a Papi-less lineup, should I? Bad karma - bad, bad karma. What say we scratch that joke from the record before the baseball gods get wind of it.)

Zito's final line: 5 1/3, 5 hits, 4 BB, 5 Ks, 6 ER. Hey, but at least the chicks dig him.

Now that's pretty baseball. With Drew running and the second baseman covering the bag, Pedroia pokes his fourth hit of the night through the vacated spot. Somewhere, David Eckstein is nodding his tiny transluscent head in approval.

Cervasio, who's due for a Murrow Award one of these years, has an exclusive with Ortiz's son, D'Angelo, who can't be older than 4. The kid's adorable, though a suspicious mind might note he looks more like Manny than he does his old man.

SEVENTH INNING
Another easy, breezy inning for Tavarez, though Remy points out that he seems to be limping and favoring one of this legs in his follow-through. No one in the Sox dugout seems particularly concerned, however.

Sweeney makes the final out of the inning, and I just want to drop a name Simmons-style here and note that he was a year ahead of me at UMaine and is a hell of a good guy. Which, come to think of it, is probably one reason why he's managed to last 13 years in the big leagues despite hitting .257 with just 41 career homers. I think even Bonds likes him.

Manny (who walked) is having a typically good old time chatting with Omar Vizquel while standing at second base. What are the odds that he remembers they were teammates for seven years in Cleveland? Fifty-fifty? In all seriousness, with the benefit of hindsight, it's astounding those Cleveland teams never won a championship, though I suppose they have Jose Mesa and Tony Fernandez to blame for that, as well as a pitching staff that never really had an ace. But those Belle-Thome-Manny Era lineups were so ridiculous, Manny sometimes batted seventh. (And while we were giving you Tribe flashbacks, the Sox get nothing and like it.)

EIGHTH INNING
The Sox have a new pitcher, and Remy dutifully informs us that "Okajimer" hasn't worked since the Sox were in "Arizoner." If anyone wonders why he doesn't have a national gig other than for reasons of his own volition, that classic Mass accent is probably why.

Bonds greets Okajima with a single. Must have rubbed some cream and the clear on the ol' Louisville Slugger between innings. (Sorry, pervs, but that's not a euphemism.)

Crisp singles to left off Jack Taschner, whom I couldn't pick out of a bullpen full of generic middle relievers. He appears to be lefthanded, however, which means he'll probably pitch another 20 years.

Two runs, eight Ks, 6.1 innings from Roger Clemens-Waldman tonight . . . um, not that I'm scoreboard watching or anything.

Drew just hit another one on the screws that Roberts ran down in center field. We joke about the whole leadoff thing, but he really does seem to be swinging the bat well lately, even if he hasn't always gotten the results. Yup, I suddenly have some hope for him - when he's been healthy, the guy has always hit.

Pedroia drills his fifth hit into the left-center gap, driving in two more runs (his fourth and fifth RBIs of the night), making it 10-2. And like I told you guys all along, the kid is going to make it no matter what all the numb-skulled naysayers claim. (Oh, okay, I'll admit it - I WAS WRONG! DOES THAT MAKE YOU HAPPY? I THOUGHT HE'D BE AS EFFECTIVE AS A LAWN GNOME! INSTEAD, HE'S A 1/16 REPLICA OF ROGERS HORNSBY! I WAS WRONG! AHHHHHHHHH!!!

All right, Manny's been lifted from the game, which is my cue to check out as well. But before I go, I offer you one more parting shot:


Give the guy a great hand tomorrow, too, Sox fans. For a priceless moment like the one he gave us, it's the least we can do.

TATB Live: Sox vs. '62 Mets

The rain has stopped after a half-hour delay, the Sox have taken the field, A-Rod has finally arrived after a delightful afternoon with a worn-out peroxide case at the Foxy Lady . . . and I've got the laptop, the clicker, and am fully prepared to be glued to the couch for the next three hours. So let's play ball already. But before we get this thing going, a few quick thoughts:

• The Sox's lead over the Yankees in the American League East is 13.5 entering tonight. Come Sunday night, here's hoping it's at 16.5 and Joe Torre wakes up Monday morning to learn that the classy New York tabloids are demanding Georgie Porgie roll some heads. Sox fans have been waiting a lot of years to spend a nice summer without concerning ourselves with the Yankees. Don't waste the opportunity now - win tonight, win tomorrow, blow 'em out Sunday, and stick a fork in 'em for the rest of the year. Who needs the drama besides the 'EEI banshees?

• I always think of Tim Wakefield as something of a Yankee killer, perhaps because of his efforts in the 2003 and '04 postseasons (Aaron Boone excepted), but he has a 7.84 ERA against the Bombers this season and has won something like one of his last eight starts against them. My point: Now would be a real good time to start living up to his reputation.

• I'm beginning to realize that Derek Jeter's barely concealed disdain for A-Rod actually reflects pretty well on the captain. Who knew that judging a person's character was an intangible?

All right, to the ol' ballyard . . .

FIRST INNING
. . . and while we're still writing pecking out our lame intro, the Yankees go 1-2-3, with Mike Lowell throwing out Captain Jetes on play right out of the Brooks Robinson Gold Glove Handbook. Not a bad start for Knucksie.

Here's one of those wasted early opportunities that sometimes come back to haunt you. The Sox load the bases with two outs on a walk by Papi, a single by Manny, and another walk to the rotting corpse of J.D. Drew, but Lowell grounds to One-Step Range Jeter to get Chien-Ming Wang off the hook. Seems to me he's one of those guys who tends to settle down if you don't get to him early, so this might be one we're lamenting later.

SECOND INNING
Tom Werner is seated alongside Christie Brinkley. If they're actually a couple, then that's a major upgrade from Katie Couric. In baseball terms, that's like trading Milt Pappas for Frank Robinson.

A-Rod's leading off the inning. Surprisingly, he does not come to the plate to the strains of Motley Crue's "Girls, Girls, Girls." He works a walk. By the way, would it be cruel to suggest that Mrs. A-Rod is a first-team member of the Butterface All-Stars? ("Yeah, dude, her body's hot, but her face . . .") It would be? Okay, then let's just say A-Rod always does what he can to ensure he's the prettiest one in the room.

Wakefield is threatening to turn this one into a blowout early, and not the way we'd hoped. After A-Rod's walk, he whiffs Jorge Posada, but Robinson Cano, one of the main culprits in the Yankees' offensive underachievement, cranks one into the rightfield seats to make it 2-0, Yankees. Bobby Abreu (the Yankees' version of J.D. Drew) then doinks one off the wall, and Wakefield walks the next three hitters (including Benedict Damon with the bases loaded), to make it 3-0, Last-Place Team. Fortunately, Jeter hits into a 6-4-3 double-play on the first pitch he sees to limit the damage. Intangibles!

Dustin Pedroia pokes a double to right, putting runners at second and third with one out, and I have to admit the little feller is winning me over. I still wonder how he gets away with swinging like a righthanded-hitting Reggie Jackson up there, but what's going on with him right now seems to follow the pattern of his entire career dating back to college: he struggles at first in adjusting to each new level, but eventually he gets comfortable and becomes a very productive hitter.

After Julio Lugo plates Coco Crisp with an RBI groundout to cut the lead to 3-1, Kevin Youkilis works a walk after taking a ball three that everyone in the ballpark the home plate umpire thought was a strike. That's the kind of respect you get when you're hitting .354 and have a 22-game hitting streak. Papi, who has jokingly referred to himself as Ichiro during his recent power outage (16 games without a homer), Suzukis one to left to score Pedroia. Then Manny follows with one of his patented yup-he's-locked-in ropes to right to load the bases, pulling his incredulous how-did-you-not-score? comedy routine when he sees Youkilis still standing at third. Unfortunately, Manny is probably right in wondering why DeMarlo Hale didn't take a chance, considering that Drew is up next, and Drew pops to third to kill the rally, just as you, me, and Manny expected he would do.


THIRD INNING
One out, and here's A-Rod again. Got an email from a reader this morning suggesting Dr. Charles and the Red Sox production team should play the snippet of the seagulls from "Finding Nemo" chirping "Mine! Mine! Mine!" on the scoreboard every time he prances to the plate. I suppose I'm not doing it justice if you haven't seen the movie, but hey, I thought it was a clever idea. However, the Sox fans in the third base boxes apparently had their own creative ways of taunting A-Rod tonight - there are a lot of dudes wearing masks with a blonde woman's face. Whatever it takes, I guess. Of course, the best way to get to him is to make him look like a fool on the field, and Manny does just that, playing A-Rod's wall ball perfectly and making his trademark, oddly effective quick-release throw to nail him by five feet at second. It must have been a long walk back to the dugout, though at least he got to check out what he must have thought were some hottie blondes on the way. Anyway, it's an easy inning for Wakefield.

Doug Mirabelli is now a sizzling 2-for-his-last-23 after singling to left past A-Rod (still checking out the masked blondes) and Jeter (still shooting hate lasers at A-Rod). Crisp, who reached on a fielder's choice and swiped second, holds up at third, and the Sox have something brewing.

Pedroia, a gritty, gutty little gamer whom you'll recall I've championed all along, doubles to left, and it's 3-3. Also, Hideki Matsui plays left field like he's blindfolded. Just thought I should mention that.

Don Orsillo, my favorite vinyl-covered automaton, mentions a stat that everyone's been repeating the past few days . . . and damned if its not one that's worth repeating again. When Roger Clemens gave Suzyn Waldman the most pleasure she's had in years by - goodness gracious! - showing up in Steinbrenner's box, the Yankees were 5.5 games back of the Sox. Four weeks later, they're 13.5 back, which means they've lost two games per week in the standings since the Rocket's announcement. Man, I do love that stat.

FOURTH INNING
So I abandon my post here at the keyboard for a minute to help Mrs. TATB put the kids to bed, and I come back just in time to see the Yankees, with the bases loaded already, take a 4-3 lead on a wild pitch. Time to get Wakefield out of there, and don't let me ever mistake him for a Yankee killer again.

Wakefield's still in there, one out, and the Yankees lead, 6-3, now. I rarely have a beef with just about anything Terry Francona does, but seriously, what's he waiting for? It's apparent that Wakefield doesn't have it tonight, and worse, it's one of those nights where, typical of a struggling knuckleballer, he's giving away runs (he's walked in one, another scored on a wild pitch, a third on a passed ball). Don't let this one get out of hand. Get Kyle Snyder in there.

And after another walk . . . here's Snyder, about four batters too late. I knew he was pitching well, but I have to admit, I didn't realize he had a 1.53 ERA. Not too shabby for a long reliever.

Snyder hits A-Rod (unintentionally, we're sad to report), bringing up Posada, who promptly rips a three-run double into the left-field gap, blowing this one open at 9-3. It's a six-run inning, the Yankees have batted around, and Wakefield ends up charged with eight runs in 3 2/3 innings. Not quite what we had in mind at the beginning of the night.

An eight-pitch inning for Wang, who's helped by Manny double-play grounder, his team-high, Rice-in-'87-like ninth of the season. Drew also grounds to second. At this point, he should change his number from 7 to 4-3.

FIFTH INNING
Uh-oh. Lowell, who was hit by a pitch earlier in the game, is replaced by Eric Hinske. Given that Lowell leads the Sox in homers and RBIs, it's fair to say his absence for any length of time would be damaging. Here's hoping it's just precautionary.

I keep hearing how Bobby Abreu looks indifferent at best these days, but man, I don't think the Sox have gotten him out since he came over from the Phillies. He just clanged his second double of the night off the wall. And who said the Yankees weren't hitting, anyway?

Just as Lloyd Bridges once picked a bad day to stop sniffing glue, I apparently picked a bad day to start liveblogging the Sox. (Snyder just walked Melky Cabrera, the Yankees' seventh freakin' free-pass of the night.) So we're going to change gears a little bit here if/until the Sox get back into the game and comment on a few peripheral Sox-Yankees items.

• Seems like every time I read about one of Mike Timlin's rehab appearances at Pawtucket, he's giving up a run and a couple of hits per inning, which has done nothing to alter my suspicion that he's cooked. I appreciate him for all he did from 2003-05 (he was as guilty as anyone for what happened last August, IMO), but it's because of those watercolor memories that I worry Francona will be tempted to use him in crucial situations, something he hasn't been able to handle for some time now. I'm not saying I think he should hang it up . . . but it might not be the worst thing, just to save Tito from the temptation.

• Looks like Jason Giambi might be done for the season after injuring his foot "circling the bases" against the Blue Jays. I'm guessing "circling the bases" is a euphemism for A) "getting his foot shattered by a Selig henchman" or B) "sticking the needle in so far that it chipped a bone," but the way he was going, this might be a blessing for the Yankees anyway. It gives them the chance to play Cabrera regularly in the outfield while DHing Damon, Abreu, or Matsui, which probably makes them a better defensive team while keeping the old dudes' legs reasonably fresh.

• Is it me, or has Jerry Remy seriously toned down the pimping of his RemDawg trinkets this season? Wonder if he got a talking-to from Dr. Charles. Probably woke up one morning to find Wally the Green Monster's severed head in his bed.

• I don't care what he low K-rate suggests. If Wang can stay healthy - and judging by his minor-league track record, that's a big if - he can be a very successful pitcher for years to come. That sinker is an incredibly effective out-pitch, and it's not like he's a slopballer - his radar-gun readings reach the mid-'90s. I'm not going to hold it against him because he's uncommonly efficient.

• Papi's on pace for 29 homers. That's hardly lousy, but it makes you wonder how much those hamstrings are bothering him.

• After Wakefield's performance tonight, I officially consider Julian Tavarez the fourth starter.

• I usually forget to mention these things here, but while I think of it, my latest column on FOXsports.com is up, just as it is every Friday. Check it out if you get the chance.

• Quick note from the game: Torre just got tossed after the third-base ump blantantly blew it and called Bobby Abreu out on an attempted steal of third. My question is this: Why's he stealing third in a 9-3 game? That strikes me as something A-Rod would do. Also, Drew has left the game with a hamstring strain. There are no words for what a flop he has been so far.

• Even though he has just six fewer RBIs (31) at the moment than he had all of last year, I still don't get the Sox front office's fascination with Julio Lugo. He's played better than expected at short, but he's a mediocre offensive player who isn't getting on base nearly enough from the leadoff spot. Tell me again what was wrong with Orlando Cabrera?

Well, we're in the eighth now, it's still 9-3, Yankees, Remy and Orsillo are getting giggly, and it looks like the Sox lead over New York will be 12.5 in tomorrow's newspapers. I guess that 16.5 thing isn't going to happen after all. But I do want to mention, before I sign off for the night (assuming there is no miracle comeback in the works), that even if the Yankees sweep this series and cut the Sox lead to 10.5, I am entirely convinced that the Sox will win the American League East this season. There is zero chance that the Yankees can re-enact their comeback of '78, for one reason more than any other: Terry Francona is a far superior manager to Don Zimmer. He knows how to handle a pitching staff and manipulate a bench, he doesn't bury quality players with petty grudges, and he'll pace his regulars over the course of the season so they aren't deep-fried come September. Futher, this Sox team is much more well-rounded than the '78 crew that had a fearsome lineup, no bench (see: Frank Duffy), and a mediocre starting rotation after The Eck, while these Yankees, with their endless pitching question marks and aging core, are vastly inferior to the Guidry-Gossage-Reggie club that went 100-63 that season. The only people that think this severely flawed Yankees team has a chance to make up 12.5 games over the Red Sox in the coming months are the same ones who refuse to admit that the events of October, 2004 changed the dynamic in this rivalry forever. The Sox are better, and assuming there is no deluge of injuries, the final standings will confirm as much.


Postscript:As Remy just noted, things just got interesting for the rest of the weekend. With one out in the bottom of the ninth, Youkilis just got drilled in the shoulder by Scott Proctor (pitching for the 2,838th straight game), and Youks, who extended his hitting streak to 23 earlier in the game and thus probably figures he shouldn't have to put up with such b.s., started heading toward Proctor as the benches emptied. Proctor was ejected immediately, arguing the dismissal vehemently, and it appeared Posada was trying to convince Youkilis that the near-beaning was accidental and not retaliation for Cano getting hit in the top half of the inning. Whether it was intentional or accidental, it's fair to say that the odds of A-Rod getting a faceful of Varitek's glove tomorrow just increased exponentially.

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?

TATB live: Dynasty vs. Laser-Rocket Arm

So I'm upstairs with my 2-year-old daughter a few minutes ago, rocking out to the iPod shuffle and trying to get her to burn off that one last energy burst before bedtime, and what's the final song that comes randomly through our speakers? Cue Bono:

The heart is a bloom
Shoots up through the stony ground
There's no room
No space to rent in this town . . .

I trust Patriots fans don't need to be told what a good omen "Beautiful Day" is. But just in case, I've got the same superstitions going as last week, and the week before that: the old-school Pat Patriots long-sleeved T, the mangy old UMaine wool hat, the usual six-pack of Sam Adams Winter Lager . . . heck, I haven't even showered since the San Diego game. I smell like Booger McFarland's game socks. (Okay, kidding there.) But I'm ready for this. Now let's see if Peyton Manning is too.

FIRST QUARTER
We get our first of what is sure to be roughly 4,000 Adam Vinatieri sightings a few minutes before he boots the opening kickoff. Ask me, he looks terrified.

Three plays in, and I'm convinced the Patriots are sure they can run it down Indy's throats. On third and 7, Kevin Faulk gets 8 on a draw, and Corey Dillon could have had a lot more than 3 yards on second and 10 had he been able to make one more cut.

On the downside, Brady has bounced two of his first three throws, and Faulk let another doink off his hands on a screen that looked like it could have gone for big yardage. The drive stalls around the 35, and so Indy gets the ball and a chance to score first, something the Patriots really would like to avoid.

Indy's first play is a sweep to Tully Banta-Cain's side, a call the LaDainian Tomlinson and the Chargers got great results from a week ago. Of course, Joseph Addai isn't LT, but it bears watching, because it might be the main weakness of the Pats' D.

Richard Seymour hobbles off after the first play, clutching his ankle. Though it doesn't look serious, I'm having flashbacks to Rodney Harrison's injury early in the teams' previous meeting this season. Cross your fingers.

Colts go three-and-out. Manning has the Bledsoe Happy Feet going. Then again, he always seems to be jumping around back there even when he's on a roll, but I'll for now I'll take his jittery first series as a good sign.

The Pats get a first down on a Brady pitch to Reche Caldwell for about 12 yards, and Dwight Freeney hobbles off. Then, Laurence Maroney (who hasn't been hitting the holes nearly as hard since his rib injury) loses 2 yards, and linebacker Gary Brackett looks like he's down for the count. At the rate we're going injury-wise, this one could end up being a one-on-one game between Kelvin Kight and Aaron Moorehead at the end.

Another third and 8 draw to Faulk, and Jim Nantz isn't exaggerating when he says it's a "chain-link short." At midfield, the Pats take the first real gamble of the game and go for it . . .

. . . and 35 yards later, Dillon has the first down at the Indy 20, and the dome suddenly sounds like a mortuary. Major stones, Belichick. Major stones.

And if you had Logan Mankins in the "Who scores the first touchdown pool?", well, you must be a descendant of Nostradamus or something. How it came to be: On third and inches inside the 10, Maroney just plain drops Brady's handoff, the ball takes an odd bounce forward, somehow squirts away from a pair of Colts, and winds up in the end zone, where Mankins smothers it with every one of his 295 pounds. It's 7-0, Patriots, and you bet those are the kind of breaks that make people hate them.

Manning completes one to Harrison, then chucks one in the same direction incomplete, and he seems to be taking aim at Asante Samuel's side. I'm okay with that considering I don't trust Ellis Hobbs in anything but a dance contest.

On second and 6, Manning goes deep to Harrison . . . and Samuel tips it away with perfect coverage . . .

. . . but Indy is moving it, as Manning converts the third and 6 to Dallas Clark near the 40. He's covered by Eric Alexander, whom the Patriots have been using more and more during passing situations. Given the struggles by Mike Vrabel and Tedy Bruschi in coverage this season, I can't say I'm surprised, though you wish there were a more experienced alternative.

Seymour's back. Exhale.

First down, Indy, at the New England 26. Hold your breath again.

Right tackle Ryan Diem gets called for holding, negating a nice run by Addai. And somewhere, Bill Polian sucker punches an intern.

On first and 20, Hobbs punches away a perfect deep throw to Reggie Wayne in the end zone. If he's going to keep making plays like that, I might just be able to tolerate his Canty-like antics.

Hey, look! It's Adam Vinatieri! Geez, when did the Colts get him? He's pretty good! (He bangs it through - barely - from 42 yards, and it's 7-3, Patriots. For the record, I'm cool with keeping them to field goals all night, if that's how they want to play it.)

Brady completes one to Ben Watson, the first quarter speeds to an end, and I'm off to correct my posting issues. Be right back . . .

SECOND QUARTER
. . . and we're back. The Pats have marched into Indy territory. Maroney gets two productive carries in a row, then Freeney let's us know he's back by zipping past Matt Light and drilling Brady, forcing an incompletion. The dude is quick.

Fourth and 6 from the Indy 35 . . . and the Patriots appear to be going for it. A 52-yarder for Gostkowski seems makeable from this vantage point, but I think they know they need to be greedy about points against Manning and Co.

Troy Brown. You know the rest. Is it okay to feel love for another man?

. . . and Dillon takes the draw, plods past the over-accelerated Colts defense, and walks into the end zone, making it 14-3, Patriots. So far, so very good . . .

Our first Manning commercial of the evening. Nice timing. For the record, we think he's great in just about every one of his ads, though it's probably not much of a thespian stretch for him to play an affable doofus . . .

. . . and our favorite 6-5, 230-pound, laser-rocket armed pitchman comes back and promptly turns Asante Samuel into Ty Law 2007, hitting the Patriots corner in stride for a 40-something yard touchdown and a 21-3 New England lead. There's no way I'm buying a Sprint phone now if I'm a Colts fan.

Three and out for the Colts again, with Samuel blanketing Harrison on a deep pass Manning heaved in desperation from the end zone. The way No. 22 is playing, he might get a $10 million a year offer from Scott Pioli at halftime.

The only pressure the Colts are getting on Brady is coming when they blitz - which, prior to today, I can't recall them doing all that often. Did I mention that I think Dwight Freeney is overrated and his stupid Yankees hat at yesterday's press conference was hideous?

First penalty against the Patriots, taking them back to the Indy 38 and setting up a third and 16. Somewhere, Bill Polian just released his chokehold on the chief of officiating.

. . . and make it back-to-back penalties, followed by a Freeney sack (what a wonderful player!), thereby stalling the drive and bringing on Todd (Thank God He's Not Ken Walter) Sauerbrun for the first time tonight. Our all-time favorite jacked-and-pumped punter pins Indy at its own 11.

And we arrive at the 2-minute warning with Indy at its own 30. The Patriots simply cannot let them march down and get a touchdown here - it's imperative to send them into halftime miserable, not with momentum.

Manning suddenly finds his rhythm . . . 10 yards to Moorehead . . . 13 yards to Clark . . .and Indy is inside the Patriots 30 with slightly less than a minute left.

First and goal, inside the Patriots 10, 23 seconds left. Time for someone to make a play. How about Bruschi? He's overdue. Hell, he's been overdue all season.

Addai goes nowhere . . . James Sanders ruins Clark's end-zone plans . . . and it's third and 10 . . .

And we have our first real controversy: Hobbs gets tangled with Wayne on a fade pattern, Wayne bites the dust, and the official on the other side of the field throws the flag. Pass interference? Nope. After a zebra conference, the official says there's no penalty, which shockingly, doesn't go over that well with Indy fans. As Vinatieri bangs a chip shot through to make it 21-6, Pats, an enraged Bill Polian kills a hobo.

So what's the take at the half? Well, a 21-6 lead is certainly the preferable side of things, but it's hardly enough against Indy (even though Phil Simms just noted that the Colts haven't scored a touchdown in their last 20 postseason possessions, which is downright stunning.) A three-and-out on the first drive would be reassuring to say the least. Offensively, the Pats ran for 85 yards in the first half, so apparently Bob Sanders is not the second coming of Ronnie Lott. I'd imagine we'll be seeing a lot more of Dillon and Maroney in the second half.

THIRD QUARTER
Sideline reporter Solomon Wilcots just said the "information was flowing" from Belichick during their obligatory chat at the break. I think he was being sarcastic.

Unfortunately, Indy comes out moving it, mostly via sideline patterns to Harrison (the chemistry between him and Manning really is something to behold) or runs by Dominic Rhodes, who's in for Addai.

Indy is inside the Pats 20, gaining a first down on a slant to Wayne despite Simms's assertion that the Patriots called "the perfect defense" to stop it. A touchdown here seems inevitable the way Manning is rolling in the hurry-up . . .

. . . and Manning sneaks (okay, lumbers) in from the 1, and it's a one-possession game, 21-13. Gulp. Time for Brady to answer.

On the kick return, Maroney gets blown up at the 15 by someone named Darryl Reed. "The momentum is shifting," says Nantz. No *&$#, Chief.

Brady chucks it away on first down after struggling to change the play. Not what we had in mind there, Mr. Bundchen.

Crap, three and out. Just what the doctor ordered. Why does it suddenly feel like they're down by 8?

I'm not worrying that it will come down to Vinatieri . . . I'm not worrying that it will come down to Vinatieri . . . I'm not worrying . . .

First play of Indy's possession, Manning hits Clark for 25 to midfield, then Rhodes busts for 19 more up the middle. I'm going to start using real swear words pretty soon.

Rashad Baker is in for Artrell Hawkins. I wouldn't know Rashad Baker if he walked through my living room right now.

Seymour gives Indy a first down on third and 5 with a neutral zone infraction. Inexcusable, particularly for a player of his ability and experience, but the defense is justifiably exhausted right now. Actually, I take that back. It is inexcusable, and Seymour has been a major disappointment this season.

Pass interference on Hobbs in the end zone. Couldn't have been more obvious - looked like he was defending a backdoor pass against Princeton. Even Chris Canty thought it was a stupid play.

The Patriots are getting a taste of their own medicine right now, as Dan Klecko (yeah, him) does a nice Vrabel imitation, getting wide-open on a swing pass for the touchdown, then Harrison makes a nice grab to convert the 2. It's 21-21, and this sucks.

New ballgame. Time for Brady and Co. to wake the hell up, put together an extended drive that results in a touchdown, and get the defense some friggin' rest.

I'm sure you heard Nantz tell us Indy has put up 18 points in the last 11 minutes of game clock. Simply amazing.

Well, this might be one way to answer. Hobbs takes Vinatieri's short kick all the way to the Indy 20 with a smart and dazzling return (Vinatieri, who's apparently slowed since his Herschel Walker-catching years, whiffed on the tackle), and you know the importance of getting 7 out of this.

Reche Caldwell, meet Jackie Smith. Jackie Smith, meet Reche Caldwell. Goddammit.

Jabar Gaffney, who somehow doesn't have his usual 10 catches tonight, hauls in Brady's third-and-10 wobbler at the back of the end zone and gets one foot down before he's cranked past the end line. The Colts wisely challenge . . . and still, it's for naught. Touchdown, Patriots, and it's 28-21, Pats. What's the over-under in this one, anyway?

Someone named Ben Utecht is down for Indy. Nice of him to help the Pats' D rest up.

Rhodes is murdering the Pats on short passes out the backfield. I'm fairly sure Manning is aware that the Pats linebackers couldn't cover Ben Utecht right now.

FOURTH QUARTER
I'm done with the play-by-play of the Indy Offensive Machine. Let's just say it sure as hell looks like they're going to tie it after a sick pitch-and-catch by Manning and Clark.

. . . and they do, appropriately freakishly, with Jeff Saturday recovering Rhodes's fumble in the end zone, an almost identical play to Mankins's TD to start this game. It's 28-28, and this is going to be one messed-up box score.

Simms: "New England needs first downs, to give their defense a chance to rest on the sidelines." Nice thought, but suddenly it's third and 8, and Maroney does his Savion Glover routine and can't pick up the first down on a short pass. The kid hasn't exactly shown up tonight.

Now would be a nice time for the Patriots' so-called pass rush to show up. As it is, the Patriots have Indy in a crucial third-and-17 after an incompletion and a Manning stumble for a 7-yard loss . . . and they hold 'em. Thank god, they finally bleepin' hold 'em.

Finally, one former Patriots does something nice for his former teammates tonight: Dexter Reid, who was a poor man's Guss Scott, gets called for a 15-yard facemask penalty on the punt, giving the Pats the ball near midfield. It goes without saying that you don't look a gift horse in the mouth, so to speak.

Manning's getting his thumb on his throwing hand checked out. Just rub some dirt on it, you doofus. (And in case you still have some optimism left, the Colts' backup quarterback is named Jim Sorgi. I'm pretty sure he's not one of the Manning brothers.)

Brady, with back to back lasers to Caldwell and Gaffney, taking the Pats to the Indy 14. Now this is what we've been waiting for . . .

. . . but not this, dammit. Caldwell just boxed another one to the ground after Brady finally realized there was no Colt within 15 yards of the receiver after the snap. Talk about a lost opportunity.

Gostkowski bangs through a short 3 after Caldwell gets slapped around without drawing a flag on a fade pattern, and it's 31-28, Pats, with slightly more than 7 minutes remaining. Here's hoping Manning's laser-rocket thumb has already been amputated.

Dallas Clark, for 52 yards to the Pats 20. Ordway is going to be insufferable . . . well, moreso than usual. The Patriots are going to need a touchdown to win this thing.

On third and 5, the Colts . . . run. Two yards later, Vinatieri jogs onto the field with a chance to tie it . . . and he does, barely. It's 31-31, with 5:31 remaining. This one's up to you, No. 12.

Hobbs takes it back to the New England 46. I take back all of the mean things I said - he's been huge, particularly on special teams.

First play, Brady hits Daniel Graham for 25. Would it be greedy of me to suggest a slightly better throw might have led to another 20 yards? I still think we find out a Brady arm injury in the immediate days after the season's end. He's thrown more inexplicably inaccurate passes this season than he had in the previous five years combined. Something's just not right.

Third and 10 at the Indy 32. How many times have I said the season hangs in the balance the last two weeks? And what's the play-call? A DRAW TO HEATH EVANS! WHAT THE $&%&#& IS THAT??? Josh McDaniels can take the Raiders' job right now as far as I'm concerned. (Curiously, Simms is okay with it, and I feel a little better after Gostkowski drills a 43-yard to make it 34-31, Pats.)

All right, Mr. Laser-Rocket Arm. A little more than three minutes remain. You're down three. You've got the ball. You've got two timeouts, plus the 2-minute warning. I guess we're going to find out if it really is "your time" after all.

Ray Mickens, you just earned your entire salary on one play. On third and 10, after two shaky Manning throws, the longtime Jet and midseason free-agent pickup springs in front of Moorehead and bats away the pass at the last instant. The Pats have it back, 3:22 left. Thank you, Ray Mickens.

Five yard penalty for too many men in the huddle, first and 15 . . .

Seven-yard out to Caldwell, second and 7 . . .

Four-yard out to Watson (a "dangerous, dangerous pass," Simms says, and a hell of a catch), third and 3 (and it'd be a first down if not for that dumbass penalty) . . .

How about a little Troy Brown action right now?

And damned if Bob Sanders wasn't thinking the same thing. Indy will get it back, and Brady's lucky that wasn't seven points the other way.

All right, Mr. Laser-Rocket Arm. A little more than two minutes remain. You're down three. You've got the ball. You've got one timeout, plus the 2-minute warning. I guess we're going to find out if it really is "your time" after all. (Man, that sounds so familiar.)

After Manning completes a pass to someone named Fletcher for a healthy gain, Tully Banta-Cain is nailed for roughing the passer after hitting Manning in the helmet. Half the distance to the goal, 1:53 remain. Very Charger-like, Tully. (And we won't even mention Wayne reeling in his own fumble after the catch.)

Third and 2, Indy at the Pats 3, 1:02 left. Season hangs in the balance, yada yada yada. Paging Mr. Willie McGinest . . . Mr. Willie McGinest, please report to the goal line.

Addai up the gut. 38-34. My stomach is in my throat.

Be a hero, Hobbs.

Eighty yards in 54 seconds. Is that even possible?

Sadly, no. Marlin Jackson is now officially a cursed name throughout New England. The Colts' cornerback catches Brady's final throw of the season, clinching the greatest comeback (from 18 points down) ever in a league championship game, and like that, we're just one of the 30 fan bases who'll could give a flying #*$*$ about the Super Bowl.

As for parting words . . . well, what can you say? I'm pissed that the Pats let it get away - it was so unlike them it's disconcerting. I'm having a hard time comprehending that this just happened. But there's no denying that Indy deserves to play on. They could have quit after Samuel's interception return made it 21-3, but unlike Indy teams of the past, they didn't. They sucked it up, Manning found his groove, the Pats' defense came down with one massive leg cramp, the team that had the momentum for the majority of the game finally took the lead in the final moment, and Bill Polian gave his manservant a big, sloppy kiss. Sure, this feeling sucks, and the thought that the dynasty might be in its final, wheezing hours is a depressing one, but I just can't find any shame in this defeat.

I just wish the game was two minutes shorter.