A double-fisted hero, with talent to spare!

What a gentleman ball-player! The previously derided David John "J.D." Drew, he of the "Ol' Aches and Pains" moniker, has been such a breath of fresh mountain air for the Bostons this first half-season. Indeed, his play has been a tonic for the spirit, much like a nip of Duffy's Pure Malt Whiskey to cure dyspepsia.

But until last night, David John's heroics were largely sequestered in the minds and hearts of Boston's Rooters. Now, his name is known far and wide after his most-valuable play at the All-Star shenanigans at New York's Yankee Stadium -- a park so festooned with bunting during its final victory lap amongst the base-ball cognoscenti that it nearly collapsed under the weight of the gaily colored felts and cottons.

And not only did David John drive the pill into the cheering throngs late in the seventh chapter to make a "tie", but he also surrendered his ego to volunteer for hurling duty as the match wound its way into the wee hours before a victor was named. Alas, there was no need for David John's knuckler as Tampa's Scott "Church Mice" Kazmir twirled the final frame to bring in the victory for the American League ball-players.

Sideshow in the Stadium

Base-ball’s mid-season respite from match playing takes a turn toward the carnivalesque to-night, with the folly known as the Four-Ply-Drive Derby.

As an aficionado of the full-circuit clout, I confess mild interest in the festivities -- at least to a point. To follow the arc of a scalded pill from the crack of the ash up into the firmament and beyond the confines of the ball-yard is to witness a miracle of the physical sciences.

But removed from the other beauties of the game – twirling, glove-work and base-running – clouts become cause stripped of effect. To-night, there will be no “runs” put on the board, no “ties” broken with one mighty swing, no conclusive blasts in the final chapter to secure victory for our home-town boys.

Instead, the swat artists will stand in the batsman’s box and clobber slow hurl upon slow hurl, until they resemble less a ball-player than a Fiji mermaid or bearded lady wielding the lumber. I will gawk for a moment, but in time, my thoughts will drift toward a half-season of meaningful clouts yet to come.

The heroes enjoy summer

On a fine and sunny Sunday, assorted musings from your friend, Hurdy Chadwick:

• As we approach the midpoint of the season, the reigning base-ball champions must certainly be looking forward to a vacation away from the diamond. However, a full seven of the Boston Red Sox will be accompanying Manager Terrence "Terry" Francona to New York for the annual "All-Star" festivities. Rooters are indeed pleased to have such fine representation from their home town team.
• In the waning days of July, teams around the Major League of Base-Ball will be convening meetings amongst their brain trusts, no doubt sequestering the assembled minds at some lake-side retreat to mull the future of their squads. Will the Bostons commit to a "trade" of any of their diamond-minded heroes? Will the Olde Towne Team add to their already significant ranks? No-one knows, but rest assured that Hurdy and Stuffy will be watching!
• As I write, the wireless is tuned to the Sunday base-ball match between the Bostons and the Baltimores -- a match in which the Bostons have a two-run-to-nil advantage -- and the broadcasters recently noted that the upstarts from Tampa are losing to the Clevelanders by a score of five runs to two in the twilight chapters. Dare to dream, good Rooters, but if current trends continue, the heroic Bostons may again be atop the vaunted American League East category as the teams break for the respite of the Minmidsummer Classic.

Update: The Tampas have indeed dropped their match with the Clevelanders. As the Bostons continue battle with the Baltimores in the Fens, there is a "tie" at the tippity-top of the American League East division. Huzzah!

Second update: The Bostons have triumphed and take a one-half-game lead over the entirety of the American League East base-ball squads! Huzzah, indeed!

Thank you, Wonder!

No sooner had I wired over a dispatch decrying the lack of clouts from the local nine than Manuel "The Wonder" Ramirez answered with a tremendous four-ply drive deep into the New England summer night.

As the pill screamed across the sky, three Bostons completed their circuit of the diamond to "tie" the game at 5 points apiece. The Wonder had done it again!

To-day's match will be contested under the brutal mid-day sun, with Gen. Joshua P. Beckett assuming the hurling duties. All Rooters should report immediately to the ball-park or a local tavern (preferably those with the wireless) to hoot on the hometown squad while staying cool with a fine tankard of suds.

Bring back our Colossus

The recent epidemic of ineffectual swatting has worked my patience to its limits. “High-Pockets” Lugo stands at the dish with the countenance of a street urchin caught in the path of trolley car. Capt. Varitek swings as if underwater. And Coco “The Brawler” Crisp appears to be suffering ill effects from his recent tussle with half of the Tampas. How else to explain his inability to square ash to horsehide with any effect?

Even The Wonder is afflicted with some variation of the swat-sapping disease (despite knocking the pill for a deciding “run” last evening). That so many are failing so spectacularly at their batting duties makes us ache for the return of our Colossus -- the Mighty Ortiz, the one with the fists as big as hams.

Reports that he’s facing live hurlers again -- albeit in pre-match warm-up swatting -- are heartening. We can only hope his recovery continues apace, so he can bring his great and terrible clouting back to the diamond in time to help the Bostons capture another American League pennant.

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.