Spring’s glorious rebirth inevitably leads the Dog Days of summer. A time when our spherical Earth-ark transverses a treacherous section of the heavens that brings unsettling ill-winds, madness-inducing heat, and general lethargy.
The ancients blamed this temporary frenzy on the prominence of Sirius, the dog star. Accordingly, they sacrificed helpless canines in an effort to appease the stellar pot-stirrer.
So it is today with our Bostons: The Dog Days have disrupted our once-reliable hurling, merciless swatting and pill-gobbling glove-work. The malaise demanded a sacrifice, and it was delivered. Manuel “The Wonder” Ramirez has thrown off the white flannel and red stockings and boarded an express locomotive to the Western coast. His clouts will no longer sunder the New England sky and punish opposing flingers. His dubious diamond antics, a veritable one-man vaudeville show, will play now for the moving-picture set in Los Angeles.
Exiling the malcontent masher seemed the only course available to club officials. But we Rooters are left pondering whether the sacrifice has appeased the base-ball gods. Can the Nine, so recently strutting as the World’s Champions, reclaim their great and terrible prowess on the pitch?
Contests resume to-night, with a chance for this club to prove that they still have the stuff. I’ve thrown open the curtains, removed the damp cloth from my aching fore-head, and placed the nerve-tonic back on the remedy shelf. Let it begin.
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