Three cheers for a "sweep"!

The Bostons manhandled the visiting Torontos in capital style over the course of three games, serving notice that they will not allow their Northern rivals to enjoy divisional pre-eminence for much longer.

“Nothin’ Doin” Lester displayed fine mettle on the mound, surrendering a mere one “run” to the flighty bird-men. Our crack squad of reserve hurlers picked up the thread and sewed the sack shut.

Meanwhile, our batsmen continued their assault on hapless Toronto twirlers, with our own resident alien Jason “Argonaut” Bay once again making the loudest clout. A forceful message indeed that this mild-mannered Canadian gives no quarter to a squad representing his homeland!

To-night, the Bostons cross bats with the Metropolitans of the National League, in the annual diversion of inter-league contests. Tho’ fielding a weakened aggregation, the “Mets” ride forth this evening behind their own General, the spectactular-hurling Johan Santana. Will the returning Matsuzaka-san measure up to the task?

Rooters wait in keen anticipation!

And thus spoke the Colossus!

And a tremendous sigh of relief was exhaled by the assembled Rooters as the Colossus made hay with a doozy of a delivery, clouting the pitch deep into the Boston night. And a restful sleep certainly was enjoyed last evening by Mr. Ortiz, our genial clouter who had seemed to have traded his ash clouting stick for a damp noodle.

Welcome back, Our Feared Colossus!

The Greenest Yannigan

Curses on the inexperience of youth! As I sat in my armchair, an afternoon tumbler of Duffy's at the ready to bring me along into extra chapters during yesterday's thrilling stalemate with the Seattles, I heard the most horrendous sound.

The radio man's voice became high-pitched and wheezy, as he recounted a disastrous turn of events from the yannigan between-sacker Nicholas "Funny Britches" Green. Seems the rook made a colossal muff, hurling the apple beyond the first sacker and into a stand of bugs and cranks.

"What gives?" yelled I, receiving nothing but the crackle of the wireless as a reply.

Lo and behold, Green's gaffe led on the very next striker to a Seattle tally, and the conclusion of the match. The Seattles stormed the pitch like long-suffering seamen finally reaching port, while our flannel-clad heroes in Red hung their heads and boarded their Pullman sleepers for the journey back east.

Blargh on you, Mr. Green! And assorted follies for the other chaps who made this traveling set of games such a dismal basket of base-ball.

A Downpour in the Cascades!

The clouts came early and often last evening as the Red Stockings and the Seattles squared off on the banks of Puget Sound. Before the attendees had settled into the stadium seating, The Argonaut blasted a mighty four-ply drive to put the Olde Towne Team on top by two aces. Capt. Varitek followed with a full circuit clout the very next chapter, adding another two Red Stockings across the pentagon.

Yannigan Jeffrey "Champ" Bailey Gen. Beckett pitched admirably, despite his penchant for offering the occasional batsmen a particularly fine pill to mash into the night sky.

This after-noon, the Red Stockings again face the Seattles, and will feature a batting order without The Colossus, who has appeared to trade his mighty ash for a cattail-and-reed this very season.

The case of the disappearing Colossus

A warm spring sun cannot un-chill the hearts of New Englanders this morning. Some bemoan the fall of our ice hockey squad. Others grimly chew their moustaches and lament the inability of their green-clad basket-ball men to seal victory in their own championship tournament.

But stopping by the local tavern for my morning whiskey, I heard the loudest argle-bargle coming from Rooters pondering the performance of our great hero, David "The Colossus" Ortiz.

This once fearsome swat artist is now a mere spectral presence in the batting-box, his ash stick no better than a willow switch in his tentative fists. Last evening, in the far away Anaheim township of the Los Angeles metropolitan region of California, our Colossus failed to make a hit in seven trips to the pentagon. Worse, he had on two occasions a full complement of red-stocking base runners just waiting for him to deliver the fatal blow.

Skipper Francona, as befuddled as all Rooters, has determined that the big man be relieved of swatting duties for the evening. In the interim, he's cabled the local constabulary, inquiring whether they have a detective trained in the latest sleuthing sciences that can uncover the mystery of our missing Colossus.

Courage, Rooters. Courage.

Who's minding the store?

Hullo? Hullo?

Is there any-body here?

Please forgive the dingy appearance of Full Circuit Clout these past days. Your genial proprietors Hurdy and Stuffy, Esqs., have been plundering the depths of their inkwells and scratching parchment after parchment to satisfy their day-do-day employers.

Indeed, such joy as is taken from maintaining this enterprise, your friends of the pen haven't kept up the store as we'd like. That said, we assure you, dear reader, that we haven't forgotten our mission, to produce a periodical where "we celebrate this fine pasttime of base-ball, a sensible game for sensible men, where morals reign and comradeship is paramount."

In the coming days and weeks, we will make certain to weigh in on matters of import to the base-ball fandom the world over, including:

• Manny "The Wonder" Ramirez' running afoul of league inspectors, and a rumored visit by the Pinkertons to inquire about unlawful shipments of contraband whisky from our friends in Canada.
• Dustin "Lil' Hands" Pedroia and the state of his beleagured frame. Will the extra days' rest refill his flagon of grit and determination to overflowing?
• The crafty willow-wielding by our offensive juggernaut, Jason "The Argonaut" Bay
• Our cadre of scouts in the garden, who have of late patroled the green grass of Fenway's outer-field with speed and aplomb
• Will our Colossus return? "Fear not," say base-ball compatriots!
• The redemption of our stout-limbed Captain Varitek, who was content on a recent night to hoist the entire team to victory thanks to a well-timed swat of his ash club.

All that and much more in store for you, dear reader. Until then, onward to victory, you flannel-clad heroes of the Red Stockings!

Sweeping out Gotham

After a humiliating series in the miasma-infested hippodrome of the Tampas, the Local Nine steamed north for their first visit to the new base-ball edifice of the New Yorks. To the delight of Rooters all across New England, our boys were very unwelcome guests.

That facility’s preposterous trappings of empire failed to cow our lion-hearted ball men, who instead made clout upon clout ring out through the city’s damp skies. The only sound louder than the crack of ash against horsehide was the invective hurled toward their own team by enraged bleacherites, many bundled in mackintoshes and ulsters against the miserable weather conditions. Seems the New York crowd is feeling a bit fleeced this spring – from both the outrageous fees required to enter the turnstiles of the new ball grounds, and from the high-priced ringers acquired during the off-season who as yet are counting more silver dollars than “hits” or “quality starts.”

Pardon me if I fail to sympathize with those whinging malcontents -- I have a ball game to follow this evening, as the Clevelands arrive for two tilts in Fenway Park.

Recuperate that golden throat!

I recently noted my affection for our beloved base-ball announcer in this space, and it appears our broadcast hero is on the mend from an ailment that has accursed him since early this season. We at Full Circuit Clout wish Mr. Remy a speedy recovery and offer this tonic as a remedy for full-health: Duffy's Pure Malt Whiskey, for when you are not looking well!

Meanwhile, our wireless will crackle with the goodness of The Eck, direct from Gotham's grand new fortress, where our local nine will spend two evenings tussling with the inimitable New Yorks.

Vapors in the batting box!

What gives, Heroes of the Hub, our flannel-clad warriors of the base-ball pitch? When you swing your ash sticks, why does it look so feeble? When you put ash on horsehide, why is it more like an ineffectual slap than a mighty clout? Why must it appear that you swoon from a case of the vapors each time the hurler deceives you with his pretzel delivery?

I am not accustomed to being stern with our local nine, but the time has come to remind our erstwhile heroes that they are men, and men who clout and produce four-ply drives with efficacy and grit! Men who make merry on the opposing squad's home-plate! Men who beguile and consternate with each new delivery of the pill!

Above all, Boston Red Stockings are men who achieve victory. Let us not forget our purpose, gentlemen.

White washed!

When we bestowed our "Yannigan of the Week" honor on young Van Every, we surely did not expect his exploits to include hurling a frame of relief in a debacle of a base ball contest.

More troubling is the fact he commanded the pill with more aplomb than our erstwhile leader, Gen. Joshua P. Beckett. In fact, the General has appeared of late more like a buck private, and the dark clouds of concern are gathering over New England this morning.