The curse of the Sunshine State

O, lovely summer sun, that disappears when the mighty Bostons march into the home of the Tampa Bay tormentors. O, cruel irony, that the squad giving our fair base-ball heroes such a prolonged case of agitation carries the moniker of sunshine! For everyone knows these days of the Bostons' unfortunate performance when shielded from the life-giving rays of the firey orb!

Indeed, the Bostons' dismal appearances in the Sunshine State have given Rooters little in which to revel this base-ball season. Consider the heroic night by the Lil' Hands Pedroia, in which he belted a four-ply drive and a three-bagger followed by a pair of gutsy two-sack punches. What reward does the bantam basher receive for his ash-stroked goodness? A corps of hurlers that offer meaty pills to the hungry swatters of the Tampa crew, gagging up a two-plate "lead" and leaving the Bostons in a difficult pinch.

It is last of the eighth chapter and the wireless announcers' glum voices are those of the entire Rooter nation. As Hurdy Chadwick signs off to prepare his night-time routine of Duffy's Pure and salted pork, he asks Rooters and U.S. Americans alike to plead to The Almighty for base-ball heroics to return to the arms and ash batons of the Boston squad.

Will we wake tomorrow to hear that the Bostons made a thrilling escape from the dark clutches of sunless Tampa Bay, Florida? That much is unclear. But following this unfortunate stretch of matches, the Olde Towne Team must pull up their collective britches to face another foe tomorrow: The Gotham Yankees.

Onward, gentlemen!

Vexed by our vim-less Bostons!

The calendar turns, the midpoint of the base-ball contesting season is behind us, and Rooters are sorely discomfited at the penultimate position of our local nine. Playing “runners-up” to the belligerent Tampas is unbecoming of a champion squad.

To-night, it is time for heavy batting, artful catching, and deft twirling to record another victory to the Bostons’ credit. Let us see our mighty swat artists bat the journeyman Garza all over the field. And let “Knuckles” Wakefield, a veterans’ veteran and true gentleman of the sport, atone for “High-Pockets” Lugo’s unconscionable “gag” at the plate last evening, when the equalizing runner was a mere one bag from home.

To be sure, Knuckles may be the only Boston who prefers playing amongst the miasmas of the Tampa sporting gymnasium. Somehow, the ill-humors of that wretched affront to the pure and platonic beauties of a ball-park have the opposite effect on his fluttering twirls, helping him notch nine “wins” while only a single “loss” under its roof.

So lead on, Knuckles, and carry your squad back to glory.

Cry Havoc!

The topsy-turvey has been righted, and our Bostons have claimed their rightful perch atop the rankings of the American League’s Eastern regiment. Swell batting from the likes of Ol’ Aches and Pains Drew have to this point made the socking absence of our Colossus an easier pill to swallow.

Amidst the joyous rout, however, were signs of escalating tensions between the Old Towne Team and the league pretenders from the Flower State. The instigation? A dodgy defense of the second bag on a burgling attempt by our fleet-footed field patroller, Crisp. It seems the over-eager short-stop violated the ball-man’s code of ethics by obstructing Crisp’s “slide” with his lower gam. One jammed digit later, and Crisp was seeing red!

He plotted his payback, and delivered in a later frame with a charging attack that sent a wayward Ray tumbling. Thinking the tactic shabby, the Tampas’ skipper had sharp words for Crisp, who engaged in a jawing-match from the dug-out that featured the kind of blue language rarely heard outside a longshoreman’s tavern. (One can only hope that ladies and children were not privy to the exchange.)

The visiting squad will surely attempt their own rebuke of Crisp’s painful message. There can be only one outcome: A donnybrook!

All eyes will be on the conduct of the Tampas tonight. The merest provocation will surely lead to fisticuffs, turning the diamond on its side and creating not a ball-field, but a boxing ring. Do these Rays not know that “Hoss” Timlin is waiting in the bull-pen for just such a scrap? Advantage: Bostons!