High larceny on the base-paths!

After Saturday night's festival of clouts, I was curious yesterday whether we'd see another match defined by brawny four-ply drives. Fortunately, the evening's contest was a thinking-man's affair, with the two teams engaged in a chess match of fundamental base-ball. The Bostons triumphed, making it a clean sweep of the week-end tilt.

The Gothams scored in the third, but that ace was equalized the very next chapter when the Gazelle-like Ellsbury scampered home from the third sack after a long "sacrifice" rap by The Colossus. The "score" was tied, and Ellsbury's swiftness down the base-paths was just a foreshadowing of the excitement to come!

For just two chapters later, Ellsbury again was occupying on the third sack, sitting in the catbird seat as Andy "Astro" Pettitte went through his usual hurling machinations. As a southpaw, Pettitte's pretzel delivery puts the third sack in his blind spot. On one certain pitch, ol' speedy Ellsbury had wandered far from the safety of the pillow, quietly padding into a no-man's land for base-ball running men!

And then it happened: Pettitte wheeled to deliver the pill, and as his frame rotated toward the batter he glimpsed a flash of speed racing its way to home. An awkward delivery was not enough to catch ol' Jacoby, who slid under the backstop's pill-filled mitten in what is the most stupendous bit of bag burgling I ever have seen.

The surprised Rooters assembled at the park created such a joy-fueled cacophony that local constables were called to investigate the disturbance. Men cheered, the few women in attendace wept and convulsed, and children stood in awe of the bullet-like speed of our Jacoby Ellsbury.

The ambition and fortitude required to tackle such a feat is higher than most mortals every will experience, yet it is clearly something our Heroes in Flannel quaff by the flagonful before each match.

Huzzah for a week-end of victories!

Escape these chains!

The good lads of Boston are preparing for quite a fight this eve, when the Red Stockings engage the Floridians of the American Base-Ball League in the fourth of a best-of-seven matchup for league victors.

Today, the Bostons are in a two-games-to-one hole. One might say they are wearing the manacles of the underdog, those heavy steeled chains that apparently are binding our sluggers' hands to their leg-irons. Would that the Mighty Colossus and our Lil' Hands Pete have the strength to swing massive ashen clouts out of that abominable base-ball stade in the St. Petersburg area! Would that our hurling corps remind themselves of where "ball" and "strike" land, and how best to deliver the pill to would-be-swatters.

Tonight, let us remind our wobbly pill-man, Knuckles Wakefield, that all of Boston beseeches him to grasp victory with his well-leathered hurling hand.

Onward, Bostons!

NB: It has come to our attention at FCC that one David John Drew, whose clouting heroics against the Clevelanders were celebrated far and wide nearly one year ago this night, takes over the leading off position from our young buck, Jac Ellsbury, the human wind machine. Godspeed, David John! Round the basebaths so Little Horse and the Large Father may bring you home!

A return to form

After last night's disheartening loss to the pale hose of Chicago, I was feeling gloomy about the Bostons' clouting skills. Except for a tremendous wallop by our magnificent midget second-sacker "Li'l Hands" Pedroia, not one of the nine seemed able to scuff the old pill, let alone strip it of its horsehide.

A few chapters into this evening's contest, and the pattern was the same. Weak taps, rainbow "fly" balls, and flailing three-strike "outs" left the Bostons with another awful "goose egg" on the score-board. Such was my dismay that I even beseeched Mr. Chadwick, "What's become of our batting?"

Well, the base ball gods must have heard my whinging and decided to teach me a lesson. In one frame, the ruddy-ankled roustabouts put on a classic assault from the batting-box: Speedy Ellsbury laced a "grounder" through the gloves of the sprawling Chicago fielders; Capt. Varitek followed with a solid single; Ol' Aches and Pains proved why his eye for the incoming orb is second-to-none, recording a base-on-balls; Li'l Hands once again weilded his large lumber for a run-scoring swat.

The decisive blow came, of course, from "Colossus" Ortiz, who swept the diamond clear of Red Stockings with a two-bagger that caromed off the left-field bulwark! Advantage, Bostons!

Jac Ellsbury's four-ply drive in the next frame seems to confirm that the lad is finding his stroke again, which is a portent all Rooters should find as comforting as a fine cigar and a leather arm-chair. Stuffy has been humbled to-night. I won't again doubt the dynamite in the Bostons' bats.

Clout! Clout! Clout! Clout!

In Sunday's deciding match between the Bostons and the Reds of Cincinnati, there was one single, immutable truth recognized by the thousands in attendance: Trotting out a starting hurler named "Homer" is not in a team's best interest.

Indeed, home-runs were the order of the day for the crack Boston squad, with even the littlest of the clouters swatting the pill over out-field fenceposts. "Lil' Hands" Pedroia and “Navajo” Jac Ellsbury burst four-ply drives from their ash sticks, and crafty veteran J.D. "Aches and Pains" Drew continuing his torrid affair with the full-circuit clout. Add a deeply powdered shot by Covelli "K.O." Crisp, our pint-sized pugilist, and the Bostons' order was shown to be particularly robust amid the sweltering Ohio summer sun.

But he-man heroics was not the only recipe in the kitchen. For the Bostons' fleet feet provided an extra dose of vigor and another means of posting numbers on the score-board. Take Ellsbury, the gazelle of the roster, whose snatched both second and third base in succession in the first inning after beginning the chapter with a one-bagger. That twin burgling surely placed the Cincinnati's on their collective heels, for the team never recovered and ended the day with nary a "run" on the board. Final score: 9-0, Bostons.

Today, the Bostons continue their swing through the unfamiliar National League parks as they visit the home of the Philadelphia Philadelphias. An exciting match, to be sure!

Colossal Clouts, Fleet Feet Propel the Nine to Unlikely Victory!

The evening’s contest began with the scales tipped precipitously against the Bostons. Capt. Varitek was still suffering from the ague, and would miss his second consecutive contest. Then, top hurler Gen. Beckett had to recuse himself from his mound-helming duties with a sudden case of the crick-neck!

Skipper Francona had no alternative but to hand the sphere to yannigan twirler Murphy and hope his bats-men could keep the Bostons alive for nine frames. His boys accepted the challenge with aplomb, collecting 16 hits and 7 “runs” for the victory!

Not a single team-member shirked his duty, yet the heroes of the evening were clear: “Navajo” Jac Ellsbury, one of the game’s true speed-artists, proved there is as much clout in his bat as wind in his feet by twice smashing the pill over the fences. “Li’l Hands” Pedroia was no less impressive following Ellsbury’s turns in the batter’s box, getting two-baggers in triplicate!

And on a night when the Los Angelenos were alert for the swift Ellsbury to attempt an extra base by stealth, Pedroia surprised all when he leapt from the first corner and burgled a bag! Well played, Li’l Hands.

State-side to victory!

One-hundred and sixty games to go for the season, and the home-town boys begin a tangle with the Oaklands. Fresh-faced Jacoby Ellsbury starts the first state-side chapter by rolling the pill to the first bag and games are underway.

What will the season bring? The intrepid Red Sox began by steaming their way to the Far East, playing before hospitable fans whose admiration for the full-circuit clout was evidenced by much standing and clapping. Then the vast coliseum of Los-Angeles, wherein opposing manager Joseph "The Neck" Torre was a welcome sight in the light blue colors of the Dodgers. Oh, to have that man shuck his pinstripes and bring his heavy-handed management of hurlers to another coast!

Sofar as this young season begins, the Colossus Ortiz has been eerily quiet, and the sly Manuel Ramirez has provided deafening clouts by the lumber, going full routes from Tokyo to Los-Angeles. What power and paunchy goodness! A man to take all comers!

From the squad of hurlers, pretzel deliveries abound to throw off opposing would-be swatters. Let us hope the balls of the Oaklands are hit obligingly to our field-men during these following chapters!

The game is afoot, and Full Circuit Clout will dutifully report on all comers as the base-ball season winds into the gloaming of autumn.

Huzzah, base-ball!