All Wrapped Up!

According to wire reports from the city's news-houses, Red Stockings helmsman Terrence "Terry" Francona spent much of the week-end huddled in the dug-out, wrapped in a rough burlap chemise. The body shaking and pursed lips of the inimitable Skipper must have led many to diagnose an acute case of the grip, or at least a mild ague.

Alas, were it only an illness confined to the Fearless Leader of Heroes. The truth was more difficult to bear than a tumbler of castor oil after a Revere Beach roller coaster trip: The Red Stockings' ash sticks were as silent as the day they were hewn from the woods of Methuen. Altogether poor clouting from the gathered nine led to a four-match stretch of arid and unforgiving terrain.

Fortunes be had, however. Sunday's match felt the hand of the Almighty tipping the scales in the Boston's favor. Those ne'er-do-well High Seas Marauders from the City of Pittsburgh committed a Pennsylvania's worth of follies, from pill-booting muffs to tender-handed boners amongst the fielding corps. That allowed plates from the Heroes from the Fens, despite their ash sticks still remaining as ineffective as a North End wastrel mounting a campaign against indecency and opium dens (imagine such a scenario!).