SINS OF BUCKNER, WAKEFIELD, STANLEY, PESKY ERASED!
The moon was officially blacked out when Nixon pushed through the insurance runs. So tell me, in your whole stinkin' life, did you expect to see the BeanSox take a title? All the Bucky "Fucking" Dents, Aaron "Fucking" Boones, the Enos "Fucking" Slaughters later (I can't make snappy asides to the '67 Bosox, as I was pretty damn young at the time. I hear they had a guy named Lonborg and possibly a Petrocelli, but what do I know?), and it takes a scrap-heap starter like Derek Lowe to bring out the Lazarus in the Boston team.
And don't EVEN try to tell me you "knew" this would happen. You didn't. Not you, Peter Gammons. Not you, Bill Simmons. Not even YOU, Dan Shaughnessy (especialy not you). Don't try and say Matt Damon spoke to you in a dream or your aunt Effie in Southy had that "weird cold feeling in her goiter," cuz that just DID NOT HAPPEN. This was the work a brilliant--yet maligned--manager, an excellent--yet maligned--pitching staff, and the best team no GM could get rid of. Twenty-nine baseball teams didn't want to take on the overloaded contract of a misplay-prone Manny, and Theo the Boy Genius and Werner the Douchebag Who Invented Roseanne and John "Norman Bates" Henry, the see-thru magnate knew that A-Rod was not much more than a stunning stat sheet. America knew the Sox had screwed themselves by not doing what EVERYONE...EVERYONE!...thought they should do, by grabbing...by paying whatever they could, to get the most overhyped player to never prove ONE DAMN THING.
I tell ya, it says something about a baseball squad when with a few outs left, a semi-total stranger turns to you and says: "Can YOU think of anyone on this team who will take the Series MVP?" I sat stunned. Not ONE person on the 2004 WS Sox did not participate. Kevin Millar, Trot Nixon, Bronson A-MotherFucking-Rroyo, Curt Leaskanic, Timlin...you name it. They ALL contributed. Manny wins it? Okay. Why not? Sure. But this was a 25-man job from the fourth game of the NLCS against the hated Yanquis to the Foulke-to Mientkiewicz (or however the hell you spell it) 27th out of Game Four of the 2004 World Series.
This is bigger than everything. Bigger than an upcoming major election. Bigger then two straight Patriots NFL titles. Bigger than the crime upon style of Bronson Arroyo's cornrows. There's nothing I can say, total eclipse of the moon.
