Wednesday, October 26, 2005

No, we didn't sleep.

The longest game in World Series history? Are you kidding me? Game 3 was Wagnerian. See-sawing reckless baseball. Bases loaded more times than we could count. Double plays, dudes getting plunked in the helmet, closers closing, lineups flip-flopping like John Kerry at Cape Cod. We were very concerned John Rooney and Ed Farmer were going to have heart attacks. Sox gamers all over the place: Geoff Blum was the hero. Brought in by Ken Williams in a much-debated mid-season trade, he was not previously a, um, fan favorite. Boom. 14th inning game-winning tater. Or maybe Mark Buehrle was the hero. On the radio yesterday afternoon, we heard Buehrle say his arm felt like a piece of meat after pitching Sunday night. That's right folks; just a little more than 48 hours after pitching 7 innings in Game 2, Mark got the save last night. Ozzie made the call for the lefty in the pen and Buehrle was there to man up. Gutsy like John Wayne.

Freddy Garcia takes the bump tonight for Game 4. He faces Brendan Backe, who we aren't too darned afraid of. Report from the United Center at 11.

See Philip Seymour Hoffman in Capote. It becomes obvious by the end of the film that In Cold Blood describes Capote as much as Perry Smith and Dick Hickock and their crime. Can a masterpiece destroy its creator? What am I, fucking Richard Roeper? Oof.

As per Hopper's blog, last night we discovered that we aren't as conspiracy oriented as we might have thought. William Cooper does not dominate our conciousness.

Jon Z, we know last night was tough. Good on you for hanging in there. It's almost time to break out the Springsteen. For we can see the promised land.




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1 comment:

Wolfgang Pynchon said...

Sleep?!?

Indeed, no need for such nonsense at a time like this.

By the way, nice work with the new format. At least now I can now provide a bit of commentary on your work of pulchritude.

'Til next time,

WP