The Littlest Hero!

It is rare these days to see full and bushy moustaches amongst New England's gentlemen. Indeed, the once-lush pushbrooms of Red Stockings Nation have been reduced to a mottled landscape of perturbed follicles.

And for what reason? The answer is quite clear: The opening chapters of the Red Stockings' base-ball season has been a most difficult fortnight for all involved. With defeats piled among a smattering of victories, it is without surprise that most of the region's whiskers have been mercilessly twirled and chewed by anxious Rooters from Mattapan to Madawaska.

O, but the gilded lining of this angry cloud has been revealed! And he has the littlest hands of them all! Friends of the Flannel, our savior has made himself known, and he is Dustin "Lil' Hands" Pedroia!

To be sure, Lil' Hands' swatting average is not the top of the pickle barrel, and his physique is more child-like than man-sized. But look deeper into Lil' Hands' person and you will find a heart that beats more strongly than any assembled cadre of men. Peer into his eyes and you see a wondrous tableau as if gazing through a looking glass at Nirvana itself.

Lil' Hands' guile, courage and unflappable charisma have elevated him to a place of reverence among Rooters and Flannel-Clad Heroes alike.

Take, for example, the events of last eve: Following a poor series of tilts against the often woeful Seattles, Rooters were in their cups with despair. A match against the most vaunted hurler of the young season left many with agitation, indigestion and a general feeling of uneasiness.

Along came Lil' Hands to convince Rooters to spit their whiskers and instead use their piehole for more savory pursuits -- such as shouting and leading the Home Team to victory! This Knight of the Keyboard speaks the truth of Lil' Hands more lyrically than I.

For now, let us be thankful for the bounty that comes in small packages. Huzzah for Lil' Hands!

Delivery from the West Coast!

The results from sun-dappled California are here just days after the contests began between the Oaklands and our flannel-clad heroes.

Let me tear the envelope and deliver the goods:

In two tilts, the Red Stockings squandered a surprisingly efficient performance by "Simple Jack" Lackey, falling prey to the Athletics and their shiny white shoes, and took full advantage of effortless twirling by Beanpole Buchholz to even the series at one apiece.

To-night, the Bostons, having traveled the length of the new outpost of fashion and cinema that is California, will acclimate themselves to base-ball in the dry desert conditions of Anaheim.

We may sneak downstairs after mother puts the children to bed and repair to the wireless with a short glass of Duffy's. I am not, however, inclined to root in silence. Give me strength to remain quiet should the infield react to sharply hit ground balls with heavy handed muffs and boners, or should to-night's twirling cause me to chew fretfully on my moustache.

The bats, they slumber...

Like a little lad all tuckered out after a day skinning squirrels and chasing tadpoles, there was no waking the Red Stockings' ash bats yester-day.

Indeed, our heroic clouters turned in at an early hour yester-day, despite the Anaheimians continuing to take the field and push "runners" 'round the sacks. Following a first-chapter dustup between Gen. Beckett and Bobby "Barrels" Abreau -- all concerning a wildly uncorked speedball that nearly knocked Barrels' noggin cap clean off -- the Anaheimians certainly were the squad with the most vim and vigor.

Perhaps the Red Stockings' Pullman trip across the Great Plains was marred by lumpy mattresses and stale crackers. Or perhaps there is some corps-wide malady affecting the lads' level of grit and determination.

Whatever the case, Rooters from Presque Isle to Pasadena are calling for a return to form this eve against the Athletics of Oakland. The challenge has been laid down, heroes of the flannel!

A festival of clouts!

On Saturday, the Bostons returned to the ball-park in Anaheim invigorated after their loss Friday evening. The walloping by the "Angels" must have sparked many a locker-room diatribe by the team's veteran members, for the Red Stockings responded famously.

It was, as the Germans say, a cloutfest.

Huzzah to Jason "Argonaut" Bay and Mikey "Two Bags" Lowell, who swatted furious full circuit clouts to bring the Bostons ahead of their West-Coast Foes. And to cap the back-and-forth tilt, old "Dancin' Jonny" Papelbon engaged in ninth-chapter battle with several of the Anaheimians before securing the Victory with a routine fly-ball to the right outfielder, the Pride of Little Rhode Island, Rocco Baldelli.

Five games down, 157 to come.

Missed by a hair!

Yester-day's tilt against the upstart Tampa Bays was a delightful match played on a delightfully sunny and warming spring day. Huzzah, base-ball!

Alas, the ending result was difficult to stomach: Following Capt. Varitek's resounding four-sacker, the Red Stockings were just one plate-crossing from tying the Floridians. Poor Jed "Square Face" Lowrie: One hit in 11 tries, and six "strike-outs" to mar his batting record. It was Square Face's limp noodle of a bat that failed to continue the ninth chapter.

Still, a fine effort by the heroes in Red -- though some have expressed concern about our Friend from the Far East, the Diasuke Dynamo, Mr. Matsuzaka, who allowed four Tampa Bays to slide across the home plate whilst he kept watch on the pitching hill.

To-night, our beloved Red Stockings complete their wire-to-wire Pullman voyage across the plains and prairies, steaming into southern California to be hosted by the Angels of Anaheim. The start time is too late for this Rooter, who will instead dispatch his young nephew to keep an ear on the game until the wee hours, and scribble updates on parchment for his dear uncle to read upon first light.

God-speed, you Red Emperors!

Speaking in clouts

Bleary-eyed Rooters awoke this morning still gobsmacked by the spectacle of swatting performed by our Bostons in last evening’s contest. Was it merely the fever-dream of the dyspepctic off his Duffy’s? Most certainly not!

It was, indeed, a contest book-ended by tremendous clouts from the Red Stockings, who have not let the unfamiliar environs of the Pacific Coast shake their resolve to achieve another World’s Championship Title. Fittingly, the decisive blows were delivered by two bats-men who share their names with mythical heroes from the mists of time.

First, Jason “Argonaut” Bay proved worthy to carry the name of that seafaring Greek adventurer, delivering a first-chapter four-bagger that achieved three “runs” for the local nine. Alas, frame after frame of pesky swatting by the Anaheims erased the Bostons superior run total, until our boys were down to their last three batting opportunities.

But then, “David” John Drew faced down the Goliath of closing-chapter hurlers, Francisco “Jowly” Rodriguez. Armed not with a sling, but with his ash bat, the result was the same. One stroke, and the villain was vanquished, as the pill sailed resolutely into farthest bulwark.

Huzzahs and congratulatory handshakes raced about the drawing room where myself, Hurdy Chadwick, and an extended gang of Rooters had been hanging on every hurl and swat conveyed over the wireless. The Bostons are as we speak steaming eastward to attempt a “sweep” of the Anaheims at Friendly Fenway Park. Gen. Joshua P. Beckett, scheduled to deliver the orb despite his recent infirmities, has no doubt been inspired by his team-mates to etch another heroic chapter in the legend of October Red Sox base ball.

V for Victory!

Indeed, the Anaheims spent a fruitless evening Wednesday swatting nothing but air as "Nothin' Doin'" Lester spun his webs of horsehide confusion. A fine way for the Bostons to announce themselves to the Los Angelenos!

There was much reveling after the victory according to the Hollywood reporters. "Lil' Hands" Pedroia--El Caballito in the flesh--celebrated in style at the Brown Derby, and at one point was good-naturedly accused of being "handsy" with the kitchen staff. Meanwhile "Yukon" Youkilis took in the scenes at one of the many moving pictures studios and in the end was featured in a newsreel bit starring none other than famed warbler Cornelius Smith, or "Old Smitty from Hartford," as he's known east of the Mississippi! What fun for our heroes from Boston, who spend more time clad in flannel and battling base-ball foes on the diamond than enjoying the sites and smells of good old U.S. America!

Alas, while Thursday was a day of rest and relaxation, today's squad buckled back down to business, assembling at the ball-park at an early hour to commence preperations for tonight's all-important matchup. This evening, Boston fans will warm the wireless tubes for a 9:30 p.m. showdown between Matsuzaka-san and Anaheimer "Big Erv" Santana.

What will come? Not one person knows! But know this: Hurdy and Stuffy and their assembled cronies will root, root, root for the gentlemen in red stockings, hoping heartily for a Boston homecoming with two matches stored tightly under the squad's collective belt. Moustaches will certainly be chewed, flagons of ale quaffed, and various meats gulleted by the gang. For baseball calls!

Stay tuned, good friends...

Prepare for battle!

One-hundred and sixty-two games in the musty old books. Thousands of pills delivered to home-plate, hundreds of erstwhile sluggers mystified by the Red Stockings' vexing hurlers. Numerous clouts beyond the reach of mortal base-ball fielding men, an uncountable basket of fine feelings among the Rooting set.

Tonight, the Bostons have completed their steam across country to the orange grove capital of the world, Anaheim, Calif., where they will take on the Angels of Anaheim in Los Angeles County. Halos be damned! Our boys are heading to battle, and Stuffy and I, Hurdy Chadwick, will be glued to the wireless, no doubt salving our anxious souls with a dose or two of Duffy's as the Bostons begin their post-season campaign.

Clear the women and children from the room: This is October base-ball!

To the play-offs!

Huzzah to the Gentlemen Red Sox, that band of lovable ball-hurling and hide-swatting urchins. They came from near and far, from lands of hot sunshine and lands of towering evergreens, from base-ball meccas and rural outposts that knew more of digging post-holes than tossing knee-buckling curving balls.

But let no-one take this away from our home-town team: We are going to the play-off sectionals, where the best of the best will be pitted against one another--just one of four squads from the vaunted American League to reach such a lofty goal. (Indeed, our frequent combatants from Gotham have missed that goal for the first time in a baker's dozen years! Double huzzahs from the New England region for that stroke of good fortune!)

The first opponent? Likely the Angels of the Anaheim region of Los Angeles, where orange groves multiply like so many of John Lackey's strike-outs. Indeed, this season, the Bostons have fared dismally against this band of southern Californian sun-seekers, going just one win out of nine chances.

But a betting man would be hard-pressed to lay his chits on another team than the Bostons in October. Who else has the Colossus? And what of Lil' Hands Pedroia, the Bostons' fancy-handed loudmouth (who also swings a prodigious club!), and the Beard of the Ages, Yukon Kevin Youkilis? And from Gen. Joshua P. Beckett and "Nothin' Doin" Lester to leather-clad stalwarts Jedrick "Square Face" Lowrie and Alexander "Benchy" Cora, the team has talent to spare, and will certainly be a fright for any squad that faces them in the cool air of early October.

Rest assured, Stuffy and I will be tuned to the wireless, ears pressed to the speakers as we shush the talking and send the children out of the room. Why, it's the play-offs! Celebrate in good health!