Pain! Torment!

O, the despicable head-aches! The fuzzy tongue of whiskey and ale! The punishing and agonizing pain from a day that began with so much hope and splendor!

Indeed, yester-day was the debut of the Flannel-Clad Heroes from the Hub, ready and willing to take on all comers in 162 tilts from Boston to The City of Angels. Your humble correspondent, Hurdy Chadwick, gathered with several like-minded gentlemen in putting our ears to the wireless and listening, breathlessly, to the exploits of our Gang of Base-Ball Wonders.

The day began gaily, with much mirth and several cup-fulls of tonic and cheer. The mood soured as quickly as the horsehide caromed from the Texans' bats into the arms of their ever-loving rooters. Our starting hurler, Nothin' Doin' Lester, did nothing to prevent clouts from ringing out from seemingly every direction. An added insult was the muff-prone antics of the infield defensemen. Though their flannels clearly were embroidered "BOSTON", it was if they were a band of derelict street urchins who had learned the rules of base-ball just minutes before the nine innings began.

The dreadful missives from the wireless announcer meant one thing: Cups of Duffy's, one after the next! The result: A fitful night's sleep and a day spent in fog, despite the clear blue April skies above.

A luncheon of smoked meats did little to ding the effects of the previous nights' fugue. Alas, we will persevere, and resume our post in front of the wireless for the next tilt. Let us hope it brings us relief, rather than us seeking solace in nerve tonics and ale.

The Stockings continue to slide!

Not even a cloud of dust from a muffed bag-burgling can obscure the fact that the Red Stockings are in the midst of a base-ball cataclysm. For even those upstarts from the Tejas Territories hosted the Red Stockings and kept the Boston heroes from tallying more than a small child's handful of aces on the board.

Back at the emerald-hued confines of the Fens is sure to do a body good beginning to-morrow eve, as the Home Towners take on the Birds from Baltimore. And in the dug-out there are sure to be some new faces, with General Manager Theodore "Boy Wonder" Epstein coming out aces in a series of backroom shenanigans with two National League squads.

And alas, it is good-bye to our stone-fisted between sacker, Mr. Julio "High Pockets" Lugo. May your britches always be uncommonly hitched upon your lithe frame, and let the breezy winds of St. Louis turn your stern countenance into one of mirth and child-like wonder.

Twists and turns in the final weeks

With a resounding victory over the Texans in today's matchup, the Bostons move just one-and-one-half games from the top of the American Base-Ball League's Eastern Division, behind only the Sunshine State squad from the Tampa region. Why, just days ago that number stood at five games, and many Rooters were left to wonder if the old boys from Boston had enough gumption in stock to climb upwards in the standings.

Well, I am here to tell you, good friends and regular readers, that I am trusting in our flannel-clad warriors. I will have eyes trained on each and every match for the balance of the season, and I invite you, dear readers, to weigh in on each and every development -- from the mundane to the positively explosive -- as the season winds to its conclusion.

Rest assured, there will be no shortage of massive ash clouts from our corps of batsmen, and mystifying and crafty pill deliveries from our hill-top pharmacists, whose gyrations are designed to befuddle the other squad's would-be swatters. In short, it's a wonderful time to be in base-ball!

Push the broom, gents!

The heroes of Boston made no doubt of their clouting abilities during the three days of matches with the Texan ball-men, performing a "sweep" of the Rangers of Arlington. True, the Texans wield some heavy ash, but their hurlers were certainly affected by some sort of distemper or other affliction.

But looking forward, Rooters around the nation are contemplating whether our new twirler, Paul "Frasier" Byrd, will lay a gem or an egg on the Fenway mound. Since he's matched against the formidable Roy "Smeck" Halladay, Let's hope for the former from Byrd and his new-fangled pitching contortions!

Go get 'em, Red Stockinged heroes of the Fens!

Scores in the stratosphere

Aces! Aces everywhere! When I returned home from my daily office work, I warmed up the wireless whilst I went to the cellar for a cool can of ale. When I returned, the wireless tubes glowed bright and the youthful voice of Joe "Stumpy" Castiglione was boundless in its enthusiasm. It seemed the Colossus had entered the game in grand fashion, driving two great full-circuit clouts with his stout ash in just the first chapter! Indeed, by the time those dusty old Texans came up to bat in the second frame, they had dug themselves a hole so deep it's a wonder they didn't strike oil!

But as I plundered my ale collection in the cellar, the going got bad for the blue-eyed Boston boys. As Charlie "The Fink" Zink fluttered his high knuckler at batters, it became clear that our stalwart Knuckles Wakefield isn't easily replaced. (And Godspeed in recovery, Wakefield, you old knuckling fool!) A string of goose-eggs in the Texas column quickly turned to crooked numbers, including a chapter that saw the Lone Star louts spin eight men fully around the sacks. Eight aces in one half chapter!

The mood was tense as I collected empty ale cans on my sideboard. At only one point did I take a respite from the game, and that was to chase the family's invalid pet feline out of the listening parlor. The Rangers from Arlington certainly took justice into their own hands last night, belting rocket after rocket, spinning men around the sacks until they led the Boston heros by a pair of runs.

But thanks be to the Beard of the Ages, good ol' Yukon Kevin Youkilis, the balding and bearded infield threat whose second four-ply drive of the game would provide all the margin the Home Town boys would need. Huzzah for ol' Yukon!

"The Wonder" Of It All

Had the public-relations experts on Madison Avenue truly done their bookwork, they would surely have found the plum pitchman for their glittering Emerald gaming establishment, the Foxwoods: One Manuel "The Wonder" Ramirez*. The Wonder of It All is not in the Mystic Region of Connecticut, but in the heroic beating chest of Slugger Ramirez.

The clout driven by The Wonder in the last night game against the Texans was so far as to perplex motorists on the thoroughfare to Boston, which abuts the Fenway turf. Many a wheelman was said to exclaim "Beans!" when The Wonder's clout bounded across the turnpike. Meanwhile, inside the park, Rooters remarked on The Wonder's shot with different exclamations -- some of which may have made the ladies in attendance blush.

The Bostons triumphed due to The Wonder's prodigious drive with a score of five homeplates to three for the Texans.

(Note: Photographic subject is not The Wonder Ramirez, and is used for illustration purposes. Few photographs exist of the right-hander's trademark swing.)