Sports Redux: Look Out Below

The good news is, they got some hits.

The bad news is, they didn't translate into nearly enough runs. Terry Francona tried drastic measures, moving the struggling (to put it charitably) J.D. Drew to the leadoff spot, possibly to cut down on his left-on-base numbers. That sure didn't work. Francona stuck with the scuffling (again, we're being kind) Julio Lugo, which means that either Alex Cora doesn't know how to play shortstop or is trapped under something.

And Josh Beckett, who went into the game hoping to go to 10-0, came out of it looking like he got hit by an 18-wheeler. Most of the fans didn't even stick around long enough for "Sweet Caroline", as a Garrett Atkins grand slam in the third put the game out of reach. Last month, we thought the Sox were never out of a ballgame; now, get a 2-0 lead on them and we start reaching for the remote.

And, of course, the Yankees pummeled Arizona again. Hey, at least this is happening in June and not September, right? Right?!? So the lead over New York is 7 1/2, and we still have a 4 game lead on Detroit for the wild card (oh, right, like you haven't snuck a peek). Let's take a deep breath.

Because here come the Giants. They played here in the 1912 World Series (the Red Sox won), and would have played here (not at Fenway, but in town) in 1904, except Giants manager John McGraw dissed the American League and refused to participate in the new Fall Classic. But that's ancient history; the fans are poised to give enthusiastic receptions to two of the Giants.

First there's Dave Roberts. The man who was an afterthought pickup in the wake of the Nomar trade. The man who will be able to eat free dinners in New England for the rest of his life. All of modern Red Sox history, and possibly the history of the city of Boston, can be neatly divided into two eras: the first ending when Roberts took off from first base, and the second beginning when he got to second two microseconds before Posada's throw. If he doesn't get a five-minute standing ovation this weekend, we don't deserve a baseball team.

Then there's Barry Bonds, whose arrival Eric Wilbur breaks down pretty well. We need a good chant for Barry, but "STE-ROIDS!" and "Who's your dealer? clap, clap, clap-clap-clap" have been done. May we humbly suggest, "No one likes you, clap, clap, clap-clap-clap"? It's simple, inoffensive, and undeniable.

The Cavaliers mercifully decided not to prolong the dismal NBA Finals, losing to the Spurs and collecting their Certificates of Participation. The Spurs' Robert Horry, sad that Kobe Bryant's lately been getting all the recent "He said WHAT?!?" attention, opined that his Spurs would have beaten the Celtics or Lakers of the 1980s. While it would be fun to watch that game, and watch the look on Bob's face as the lead grew and grew, we'd prefer to watch a matchup of the Spurs and the early-90s Pistons. As much as we hated Rodman and Laimbeer, we'd put that on hold for a while until they finished picking pieces of Manu Ginobili out of the first seven rows of seats.

Image via Wikipedia.