A Viewpoint On Demise

I'm kind of at a loss for words. I guess everyone is. My Sunday morning started out with a huge cup of Dunkin' Donuts and the horrific prospect of being late for the game because my cousin who was going with me decided to wake up in Hartford two hours before first pitch (I don't know how he made it, but he did).

When he finally arrived, he asked me if he could borrow one of my jerseys. I was wearing my Ted Williams 1939 and had an Ellsbury game worn that was a gift from my roomate and a Papelbon replica still hanging in my closet. I asked my cousin "Which jersey you wanna wear?". Of course, the way the baseball gods aligned things this year? He chose Papelbon.

From here it was an easy coast into the park. An inexplicably quick cab ride (we thought it would take forever because some genius scheduled a half marathon that shut down most of the streets around Fenway on their first home playoff game of the season), a quick cut down Beacon Street, through a busy parking lot, into ticket services and BOOM: Finally inside Fenway Park. We initially asked the ticket serviceman where we were sitting and he brought us to the wrong section. We did failed to notice until the fourth inning when people finally showed up to claim their seats. We moved over to the next section and as I sat in my "13" seat in row 9 of section 29, I quickly dismissed any thought of their being connections to unlucky happenings. 13 is a cliche, a has been, it's like the equivalent of the curse of the Bambino...long in the past! Why worry???

The fall air was crisp and the view of the skyline behind the retired numbers of past greats was especially clear. The sun shone down on fresh cut grass as the boys of summer idled through the first few innings until Pedroia finally smashed a laser off the center field wall. The crowd erupted, that sick-twisted-I-can't-do-anything-about-the-lack-of-offense feeling immediately vacated. We were in business. Amazing. A star is born...(clap for em').

We went crazy for Billy Wagner. That psychopathic, 5'6 flamethrower who was gonna shut the door. I thought for sure that after Torii Hunter got into it with the Fenway faithful, all hope was lost for the Angels. He was back to whining instead of leading. Crying about a bunt swing the umpire got right. The boo's came and the Torii chants floated through the air like a Banshee's scream. Wagner struck him out looking, prompting an outburst of insanely loud proportions. Enter Papelbon. As loud as you'll ever hear the Dropkick Murphy's in your lifetime. Game Over...

Hold on. Rivera knocks the first pitch he sees into the outfield. "Ok, swung first pitch. Got his pitch. Smart move. No biggie". Inning eventually ends. We're up one run. We need some insurance. A couple of gutsy at bats and good management lead Joey Gathwright to 1st base. Everyone in the park knew he was going to go for it--and he made it. Mike Lowell, as clutch as ever, let's loose an inside out swing and knocks the ball fair inside the first base bag. A huge run. The dagger. The Aflac Mr. Papelbon needs. This is for sure over. We even got the insurance run.

Papelbon stepped back out onto the mound and quickly erased the first two batters of the inning. The crowd stood on it's feet, believing they would be leaving within a pitch or two. 0 - 2 on Aybar (who has absolutely murdered us last year and this year)...anticipation. Here comes the pitch. Base hit...

From here on out the situation is almost jumbled and I couldn't even remember that he got 2 strikes on every hitter the rest of the way out (excluding of course Mr. Guerrero and Mr. Hunter). I quietly reflected to myself what I'd throw in the situation. I thought about if Martinez was calling the game or if Tek was helping from the dugout. Why Papelbon, someone who features one of the nastier split fingers in the game, could only hold onto his fastball during that inning. Soon, the comfort of standing had disappeared and only the uncomfortable wooden seat grinding my legs was left.

Bobby Abreu was now up. "He is batting over 600. against us this series" I thought. The pitch was high and over the plate, that was clear even from our standpoint in the grandstands. The ball landed high off the monster and now the game was truly on the line. Papelbon, shut the fucking door. Please. No more scares, just get it done.

I'm not a manager. I have seen statistics. Torii Hunter had 6 hits in 10 at bats with the bases loaded this season. He had a ridiculous home run against us in game 1 of the ALDS. He was the guy who wanted the chance more than anyone in the ballpark. He is also more capable of striking out than Vladimir Guerrero ever has been (I've seen the man hit balls off the ground out of the ballpark). That is a Francona call...maybe all the "leadership" of Torii Hunter scared them into facing Vlad (who hadn't hit all postseason).

Farrell and his fake jog out to the mound. A conference. I pause and think about what they might be discussing. Do they think about this maybe the last time they are all on a field together until next April? Do they joke around like Crash Davis? Do they seriously have a plan for Vlad? Are they going to insert Tek in just to call this batter? Who knows. Vlad is gonna pop out. Give him something off the plate Pap, He'll swing. Conference over.

Papelbon gave one final cold stare in and inhaled the crisp fall air, the very same October breath that has propelled him to legendary status since his entrance into the league. He has never given up a post-season run. The pitch goes right down broadway, a bit to the inside portion of the middle and is stroked uncomfortably out of the reach of Ellsbury. Before the ball leaves the infield we know the game is over. There is no inklings this year of a comeback, especially with a hit or miss offense like the Red Sox. The ball lands and Ellsbury throws as hard as he can.

I seem the runners slide in but am distracted by Erick Aybar, who throws his hands up in disbelief, first just his arms are in sight, then he emerges from the dugout. He turns aroud. His jaw drops and he is completely and utterly shocked by the base hit--as if even he could not believe it. He was staring into the seats almost as if he was checking to see our reaction, if it was all real. I think of 2004. I think of 2007. I think of 2008. I think of 2009 not even coming close. I think of the Angels believing more than us. I don't really remember the rest of the inning.

The Sox get up for one last attempt. Pedroia had to be the one that finished the season. The MVP of last year. The Angels fans in the center section behind home plate are the only fans you can hear in the park. Pedroia hits a soft liner towards short stop. Game over.

The walk out was kind of deaf and blind. You couldn't really find anything to calm anxiety over what had just happened. Speechless. Silence. Except for an Angels fan behind me who asked the Sox fan next to him "How can you hate a team like the Angels? You can't". He wasn't one of the obnoxious fans that were yelling and trying to berate the defeated crowd. He was pumped. He was amped. He exclaimed on his way out "The hex is finally over".

I thought of Papelbon and what used to be an array of pitches turned into a one pitch pony...who had finally been figured out. What if he had thrown a splitter? What if they had Tek come in? Was he worried Martinez couldn't block it? What if they hadn't walked Torii? Then I thought to myself "What if's are bullshit". Every Yankee fan felt this sting even worse in 2004. The Sox have felt worse stings in the past. It's just, well, this one doesn't seem to make sense. I'm sure I hurt more when Pedro gave up that hit to Posada, or when Aaron Boone defined his career with one swing of the bat. I'm not sure I was this confused. Pedro was at 100 pitches. Boone hit a home run off Wakefield. Those are understandable, but, Papelbon? 2 outs, 2 strikes and three chances with three batters? No way.

I'm not sure where Papelbon is headed. I hope he stays here, because he is a natural born closer. Brad Lidge bounced back from a mammoth shot off him a few years ago to win the World Series--while remaining perfect in the saves department last year. I hope he realizes the only guy in the league who gets away with one pitch is the best closer of all time. Papelbon doesn't have a cutter. He does have a splitter. He has a great fastball. If Papelbon wants to reclaim some form of status he needs to come into his own. He could learn something from Mariano Rivera-- he's not him. If he wants to be anywhere close to as good as Mariano over the longrun? He needs to have faith in other pitches (This needs to come from you Mr. Farrell, Mr. Martinez and Mr. Francona).

The walk back to Allston is long and eventually we give up and grab a cab. I think about what it was like to be a Sox fan before 2004. I think about how we have turned into a major force in the MLB since then. I think about how we can no longer claim underdog status and that a large portion of the country probably despises us, as we used to despise the Yankees. I think about the Angels playing the Yankees. I think about next year. I think about going home to watch the Patriots beat the Broncos to help wash away this nightmare (gulp). I get home and immediately take the two jerseys and throw them into a ball in the corner, but like an addict, I rush back into the room a few minutes later to flatten them out and hang them in the back of my closet.

My fall has changed drastically over the course of a couple of batters. So have all the Red Sox. I thought I was miserable until I saw Rocco Baldelli later that evening in Lir. He was the most miserable looking son of a bitch in that bar. Seriously, my friends and I couldn't stop looking at him: His face like a poster for depression; defeated and stripped of his passion. He sipped his beer and stared off blankly into space. I wonder what Rocco thinks about Papelbon?

It's cliche, it's old and it's annoying but there is always next year. The weather has been fair...don't you follow suit. It has been much colder this past couple days and maybe things do happen for a reason. I hope Papelbon comes back like a bat out of hell next year with something to prove. People say you learn more when you lose than you do when you win and these back to back playoff years have turned out to be as tough as they come. I'm hoping next year moves are made to ensure another playoff berth and a better outcome.

The longest winter break probably belongs to Jon Papelbon (so far) and Matt Holliday comes in at a very close second. Closers also need resilience, and this marks the first time Papelbon has been crushed when it mattered most. I'm rooting for the Angels and the loss of their fallen Comrade. I'm also rooting for them because they beat us at Fenway in the fashion they did. They deserved to win. The off season is short and the Sox will be back before we know it, with or without Papelbon. Hopefully, they have all learned alot from their unfortunate demise.