My dearest Timmy was not having his best day. I'll admit that. Five runs on eleven hits in five and one third to the worst team in baseball? Not the kind of game I would write home about... but in all fairness, I never write home. I'd rather just call. So anyway... we had nothing. The pitching wasn't so hot, there was literally no hitting between our second batter of the game and the end of the sixth inning, and they were in that horrible little park in Houston. Has anyone been there? Is it as horrible as it looks on TV? I don't want to unfairly categorize it as awful if it was just a trick of the light, but it looked like a place I'd never want to be. Ever. For anything.
The top of the seventh began and five straight Sox batters reached base. Two Drews, a Salty, a burger-slinging clown, and Reddickulous combined to bring in two runs and load the bases. Scutaro, looking to take advantage of the situation, promptly struck out, but there was more offense to come. A midget and George Lopez's best friend combined to drive in the last four runs that would be driven in during the game. A single for Munchkin put two on the board, and a double for Ernie matched that. Viola! You have your final score, ladies and fellas. 7-5 Sox.
Timmy didn't get the win, but let's be fair. He didn't deserve it. I'm saddened that he doesn't take a step closer to The Record (is that TM'ed? It should be), but hopefully he'll get many more chances to get that record. And maybe the Sox will remember how to hit WHILE he's on the mound instead of AFTER he comes out of the game. I won't hold my breath for that, though.