A plague upon this house

Instead of locker-room chairs, a club-house boy may ponder wheeling gurneys into the Fenway Park home of the Bostons, fluffing pillows and tucking in shawls to keep the once-heroic swatters and twirlers at bed.

Indeed, the Bostons' base-ball staff is in the full clutches of the dreaded Grip, with symptoms ranging from rosy skin to noses filled to bursting with effluvium. For the second evening in a row, the opening hurler for the Bostons was replaced at the last minute with another. In the previous tilt, David "Gap Tooth" Pauley performed well for the innings required, while last night's replacement for Matsuzaka-san, "Seattle Slop" Lester, allowed hits and plate-crossings, though was forced to hurl and twirl on only three days' worth of time since last gripping the pill.

Alas, the Bostons' six-game "streak" halted at the hands of the Anaheimians, though grit and determination was evident from the home side all through the nine chapters. Li'l Hands Pedroia kept his star rising, and the Collossus' return to form continued with a four-ply drive in the fifth chapter.

But the pressing question remains: From where is this Grip coming? Nearly every physician, every scientist and every Rooter has been asking the same question. Some have asserted it is a dangerous microbe carried on the return steam from the Far East. Others have said that we are passing through a region of star-dust, and that the minute particles are drawn into the body with every breath.

Whatever the reason may be, be mindful that the plague is decimating our Bostons to within a man of The 25. Our advice to our base-ball men: Counteract the enemy. Drive it from the system. Do not trifle with it.

In case of Grip you cannot afford to take any chances. Therefore, take that which is beyond question pure and medicinal: whiskey. Moreover, take Duffy's Pure Malt Whiskey. Remember, Duffy's stands at the head of all preparations and is the only medicinal whiskey upon the market.

Onward to victory, hurlers and twirlers!