Okay, so that title's not entirely accurate. It's more of an ITM anxiety preview. I'm worried. I'm sitting here with a glass of whiskey neat - what should be a warm treat on a crisp October night. But undeniably, this is just medicine for my nerves. There's nothing pleasurable or autumnal or old-fashioned about this drink. It might as well be robitussin going down my throat.
Were you aware that the Angels hit 15 points better than the Red Sox, with a league-leading .285? Or that they had as many hits as the Yankees - over a hundred more than the Red Sox? That they actually were right around the league average in walks, something the old Angels never even approached? Or how about that they actually struck out fewer times than the Sox? I used to calm myself by noting that they were the free-swinging Angels, a strategy that never worked in the cool twilights of October. That was then. Now I'm looking at pregame clips of Bobby Abreu. The man travels between Venezuela and the U.S. on an ocean liner, that's how patient he is!
But we've got Jon Lester and Josh Beckett and a hell of a bullpen. I try to tell myself that a few times every minute. And we've got J.D. Drew. Don't ask me how, but I've convinced myself that he's gonna be the hero this series. It must be the whiskey writing.
I'm not sure how many more Octobers I can take. I profess to love all these chilly thrills, but really, I'm sort of a dog-days kind of guy. I like the slow pace of baseball. The oh-well-there's-always-tomorrow attitude. The statistical evening out. These games count. How am I supposed to handle that?
I looked to my ITM-comrades earlier today for the answer to that question, but instead we ended up sending this link back and forth:
I'd say that about sums it up. It's gonna be a long ALDS.