Not even a king's serving of fine wieners and lashings of Duffy's Pure Malt Whiskey can make me forgot the horrible spectacle of last evening's contest.
In one chapter, the wiley Matsuzaka is sending bats-men back to the pine perch with dazzling command of the pill. The next, he's apparently poured a canteen of kerosene over his head and struck a match! It happened faster than a motor-car collision on a rain-slicked street. Oh, untimely bases on balls! Oh, the surrenduring of full-circuit clouts!
When the horrendous hurling had ended, the surging squad from Anaheim township in the county of Los Angeles in the state of California had collected enough "runs" to place victory beyond the reach of the Bostons' bats -- not that they weren't presented opportunities to hew and hack their way back.
A hopeless "whiff" by Jac Ellsbury when the diamond was bristling with Boston base-runners made me think that perhaps this yannigan needs another turn in the junior league. Then, a poorly struck ball from The Wonder resulted in a twin-killing that discontinued yet another counter-strike.
To-night, we hope that the lanky Buchholz can reclaim his twirling prowess and keep these Anaheims of Los Angeles in California from tramping round the bags and festooning the score-board with numbers.
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