Back to the Farm League?

The honchos of the Red Stockings have rendered their decision on the fate of one Daisuke Matsuzaka, our talented though maddeningly inconsistent hurler that has been equal parts flannel-clad hero and ineffectual pill tosser in his years with the home-town club.

The solution? It is the "injury list" for Mr. Matsuzaka-san, where he will be free to apply as many bandages and liniments as it takes to salve his ailing hurling arm. Or, perhaps, a long and refreshing stay at a western Maine resort where the cool air and purified waters will help him emerge from his current fugue like a sober man from a night in the hoosegow.

This year has shown our hurler from the Land of the Rising Sun to be a curious and difficult case. He allows sharp clouts as often as un-planned "walks", and opponents' ash sticks seem neither cowed nor deceived by Mr. Matsuzaka-san's pretzel delivery.

But fortunately for Rooters -- many of whom have spent much time anxiously chewing their moustaches as a result of Mr. Matsuzaka-san's pitching mound peculiarities -- there is hope on the horizon in the form of John "The Elder" Smoltz. The crafty veteran is sure to lift the spirits of many Red Stockings' fans just by toeing the hurling rubber in tomorrow night's major league debut. To see such an accomplished delivery-man wearing the flannels of the Olde Towne Team is enough to make one's base-ball-squeezed heart leap a few beats.

For while we wish a speedy recovery to our Daisuke Matsuzaka, we are secure in the knowledge that all has not gone astray with the full 162-game campaign. Alas, would that the same could be said for our peers down Bronx way!

Turnabout in Gotham

In what is surely one of the most miserable displays of base-ball ever witnessed by these eyes, our Bostons fell hard to the hated New Yorks in an interminable match of shabby twirling.

Disgust is the order of the day. Our diamond knights brought their terrible timber to bear against the wiley Wang, cuffing the crack hurler for eight scores in merely four chapters, and at one point securing a two-run “lead.” But a parade of ineptitude from the Bostons’ bull-pen conspired to return each of those runs, and more, to the bats-men with the billowing bill-folds of the New York squad. It was as if our hurlers had never before palmed the horse-hide and stitching, and knew nothing of the art of directing the sphere sixty-and-six.

Such are the comings and goings in the bitter struggle for supremacy in the League’s Eastern Division. Another battle awaits to-night, with Gen. Beckett leading the charge. We’re sure his gallantry and grit will propel the nine to a joyous outcome.