Festive Day Concludes with White-Wash of the Detroits!

No sooner had the marching bands and standard-bearers left the field and the local heroes removed their jewel-encrusted baubles than the umpiring crew signaled the start of the match to be contested against the lumber-laden nine of Detroit. That grim-faced crew had stewed all night in their Pullman Cars after concluding a dismal week of home-field matches that resulted in not a single victory. Angry mobs jeered their departure, but if they expected an easier time of it in the Hub, they were surely chagrined by the envigorated state of our knights clad in white flannel armor.

The Hurler from the East, Matsuzaka-san, twirled a beguiling game for the Bostons, allowing only four connexions of horsehide and hickory, while leaving seven Detroits striking at the nothing but air. Dismouting from the hill after 6 and two-thirds blank chapters, Matsuzaka turned over the pill to a reserve pitching squad that completed the contest to thrilling effect, allowing no “Tigers” to maul even a single run-getting hit.

For their part, the batsmen from Boston had great success against Detroit’s grizzled veteran, “Gambler” Rogers. Whisker-powered first-baseman “Yukon” Youkilis wielded a merciless club, clouting three worthy hits that put two runs on the board. And two oft-invisible men at the plate, “Ol’ Aches and Pains” Drew and “High-Pockets” Lugo, obliged the frenzied spectators with their own single-bag slaps.

The greatest spectacle came in the third chapter, when Manuel “The Wonder” Ramirez fired a cannon shot into the out-field gap. What appeared to be a certain two-bagger became something more when Ramirez’s fleet-footed circuit of the bags so surprised his opponents that Detroit second base-man Placido “The Cranium” Polanco muffed his delivery to the third bag, sending the pill bouncing into the visitors' dug-out. The assembled Detroits could only watch, dejectedly, as The Wonder completed his circuit with a gentle trot, adding a run to the Boston's tally.

As the shadows fell over the sparkling green turf of the diamond, The Bostons coolly finished off the final chapter for a “white wash.” A jovial throng of rooters poured from the brick cathedral of base-ball to savor their memories of an Opening Day for the annals. All that was left was for yours truly and Mr. Chadwick to huddle with celebratory libations during the rail journey home, recounting the day’s heroics as mapped out in the pencil scratches of a tobacco-stained score-card.